Tyrion

A few short days back in Kings Landing had already proven instructive.

In one sense the city was the same as ever. Meaning he would liken it to a perfumed turd; Disgusting in almost every way, and fit to make a man question the sanity of its creator.

It was hard to look upon the sprawling mass of filth and humanity without wanting to flush it and start from scratch, but he'd taken to his role as shepherd of the shits once before and when his father had made him Hand of the King he had thought to embrace the city in the same spirit of mingled determination and disgust.

But as much as it was the same city he had always known, it was also a whole new beast since the outbreak of war. One that King Robert's peace could never have prepared him for.

The walls must have seemed tall and strong indeed with so many armed men wandering the land, and the streets were thick with every poor sod who had thought to hide behind them. Meanwhile the supplies of everything that those people needed had shrunk like a septon's cock.

Lord Varys, Master of Whispers for three kings and counting, claimed that the Tyrells were dithering over whether to rebel against the iron throne outright, but the decision to close their borders and cut off trade along the Roseroad certainly wasn't a friendly one. Not to mention the difficulties of believing the words of spies when some of the claims that had recently filled the small council chamber included everything from marching hill tribes and shapeshifting northerners, to flying islands, volcanoes in the far reaches of the narrow sea, and a giant striding out of that same sea to lay its sword before Storm's End.

In a more private conversation, the Spider had claimed that it was proving unusually difficult to separate the fanciful from the factual and had even pondered aloud if the recent comet might be a sign of magic returning to prominence. Despite himself, Tyrion had been struck by the note of terror in the eunuch's voice. He'd promptly redoubled his intended volley of mockery and dismissal, having no time to chase grumkins with the war bearing down on the city…but something still prickled at the base of his spine when he looked up at where the red streak had seemed to split the sky, and not just because he'd been stuck in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of tribesmen when he saw it.

Their superstition hadn't touched him at the time, and he'd thought himself wise for it. More and more though, he found his attention wanting to drift skywards.

Fortunate then, that he had so little time to strain his neck and trouble his spine.

'King Renly' might be content to sit in Storm's End and play at court with his brutish new wife, but the elder Stormlord had a third of their bannermen and near every ship in the royal fleet supporting his claim.

King Stannis was surely coming for every Lannister head he could get, and with his lord father busy in the riverlands it fell to Tyrion to prepare the city for siege. Which mostly consisted of directing more experienced hands to the task and projecting a confidence he absolutely did not feel.

In that role he found himself atop the battlements of the sea wall, observing the route that Stannis would be taking on his not-so-merry way to removing the afore-mentioned Lannister heads. He'd just about satisfied himself that he did not in fact see anything that wasn't already detailed in his many many maps of the Bay, when a shop caught his interest.

It was still far out in the open waters at the mouth of the bay, but it glinted strangely in the morning sun. Through his myrish eye that distant glimmer of white resolved into a monster. A host of red and black sails on four masts topped the largest and heaviest ship he'd ever seen. It had lines in common with a swan ship, with the look of an ocean vessel, but for the white stone that capped its sides in four large domes -two on either side- and gave its prow a profile like the beak of some vast stone monster.

With such size and weight it shouldn't have been able to stay afloat, yet before his eyes -or the one pressed to the glass at least- it all but flew past one of the galleys patrolling the bay. The smaller vessel nearly floundered in its wake, such was the wave it made, and when he pulled the lens from his disbelieving eye Tyrion found the ship was moving so fast that he could already make out some details without it.

Starting with the fact that all four of the domes on its sides were leaving a thick trail of fog, or possibly smoke.

Some distant corner of his mind recalled dusty tomes and the curious mechanisms they described, wondering if he was looking at such a thing, or if magic really was returning to the world. It helped the rest of him to stay calm as he began to shout commands to men who, whatever their pessimism, had expected rather more time to prepare before anyone started attacking their city.

Though as soldiers began to replace labourers atop the walls, and word went out to close the gates and secure the docks, he comforted himself that no matter how large it might be it was still only one ship. Perhaps they had come to try and raid the docks before they could muster enough of a bombardment to drive it off, or to deliver a first wave of soldiers ahead of a larger force, or maybe they were just delivering a message.

The ship easily avoided the royal galleys that tried to intercept it, even as it slowed down and finally stopped. Close enough now that he could see the sailors rushing about the multi-layered decks, and use his far-eye to try and work out who in the seven hells was attacking them with a single ship.

The flag was unfamiliar, a white bird resplendent on a red field, and the sailors had no unifying origin that he could decipher at such a distance. The commanders, though, they were easy to pick out.

A heroically-built man who had to be at least of a height with the Hound stood in black and red, greatsword sheathed behind one shoulder. His limbs and shoulders were armoured and he wore a heavy cape, but his chest was barely covered by a shirt left halfway-unlaced and his cape would be no protection from arrows.

Tyrion wondered if he had yet to don the rest of his armour, but the women at his side hadn't put on any, even though one of them was shouting and gesturing to the ship's crew -a slight young blonde with a braid down to her knees and the mismatched and light clothing of a sailor on the warmer seas- and the other wore a long sword at her hip.

The swordswomen stood calmly beside the much larger man, clade in white and blue and with one hand on her weapon like it was more than the affection of a foreigner. Her hair was as silver as her companion's was black, and he thought she would have looked tall for a woman if she wasn't standing beside a giant.

The both of them stood on the highest deck at the rear of the ship, staring at the city like there weren't three royal galleys making for them now that they had lost the advantage of speed.

In fairness to them, the height of their ship would make boarding it more like scaling a castle wall, and even a dozen galleys might not have the same number of soldiers as could be hiding in that monster's belly…but they weren't even preparing a defence.

As if he didn't have enough problems, it was at that moment that Tyrion's nephew finally felt safe enough to venture atop the battlements of the most secure keep south of the Trident. His sister's eldest son was King Joffrey of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, the First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and a sadistic little twerp whose rash stupidity had spurred Tyrion's own father to send him riding for Kings Landing fast enough to wear out ten horses a day.

He was also accompanied by several knights sworn to his defence and looking to have their blood up at the thought of battle, so Tyrion opted for a more polite tone than he might have taken alone with the boy after such a delay.

"Your Grace. The city's defences are ready as per your royal command, and my standing orders to the garrison. The Red Keep has been sealed, and i have bid your captains to-"

"Your craven preference for diplomacy is known to me uncle. I want new orders sent out and that ship brought to heel." Joffrey faltered for a moment when he reached a point on the walls where he could actually see the ship that had come, but he rallied with the confidence of a man far out of bowshot and sneered down at the water so far below. "These rats dared to ignore the royal fleet. I'll see them hanged for their impudence, if they're lucky."

Tyrion might have had a response to that, but movement drew his attention and he brought the far-eye up before his idiot nephew could demand to be given it. He saw madness.

The large man, who was at least wearing enough armour to make it a death sentence, had stepped up onto the rail of the ship and stepped off as though plummeting into the water below was simply the quickest way to where he was going. No sooner had he gotten his view back up to the deck then the woman with the sword was following him. She even tipped her sword forward with one hand to keep it from striking the ship as she dropped into the water.

At a laugh he glanced aside to find Joffrey had his own myrish eye after all, and a broad grin on his face at the likely deaths of two unknown nobles -their clothes had made that much clear at least- despite that the commanders' decision to commit suicide did nothing about the actual problem. For his own part Tyrion was quick to scan the decks and check the sailors' reactions.

Neither they, nor their young captain, seemed troubled in the slightest.

Meaning either they were a ship of lunatics given their freedom and fools without motley to distinguish them, or, that something was wrong. Perhaps very wrong indeed.

The prickle at the base of Tyrion's spine returned. And then the world itself went mad.

The waters of the bay came alight in blue and red, and he realised at once that the colours matched the two strangers and even split on the line between where the two of them had hit the water. Then the water began to boil on one side, and freeze on the other, and he was glad -for the first time in days- that he had not been able to bring his newest nighttime companion on his mad ride for Kings Landing. The lovely Shae was a fortnight behind him, if she and his men were following at all, and safe from whatever was about to happen.

Then the water erupted as a great platform of ice thrust upwards from below the waves, the royal galleys were pushed back towards the port like toys in a tub, and the platform rose until it was clear to everyone watching that what had to be hundreds if not thousands of tonnes of ice was flying gently through the air.

Yet he hardly paid that miracle a moment's thought, and knew that his attitude was shared by everyone who beheld what stood atop the ice.

A demon, and a goddess. There was no other way to describe what he saw. Simply no other way.

The demon loomed vast and dark and tall enough to loom over most castle walls Tyrion had seen, not counting the great horns that curved up and backwards from its bestial head. It was also on fire, or bursting with it at every joint and join, as though its flesh was the heart of a forge and its dark skin had just freshly cooled enough to stop glowing.

The goddess flew above the ice, feet pointed as daintily as a dancer and arms spread as though she were lounging upon the air. She seemed to wear a dress, though the concept of clothing seemed no less absurd on her than the demon, and at her back fluttered a multi-layered mantle as vast as any sail. Had she stood on the ground it would have trailed behind her, for all that she was the size of a divine statue come to life, but she could not match the size of the demon.

Despite that discrepancy, Tyrion wasn't sure which of the two scared him more. He would have mocked his nephew -internally at least- for the acrid scent of piss that was rising from where the King stood, but he wasn't sure he wouldn't do the same if they came any closer.

Someone on the walls remembered what they were supposed to do to invaders, or maybe they just panicked and found a weapon in hand the easiest way to respond. Either way, an arrow flew.

It fell far short, having been fired from entirely the wrong section of the wall, but it was followed by a great many more. Not half so many as would have flown if an army had come upon the walls instead of a lone suspicious ship, but still enough arrows to slay anything that could be slain by arrows.

They fell upon the demon and the goddess like rain. Less than that. Rain at least left something wet.

Two score scorpions had been fixed in place on the sea wall since the outbreak of war, the siege weapons were intended to menace ships trying to land troops at the mud gate and though he hadn't thought that they'd be much good for that purpose Tyrion thanked the gods he hadn't had them removed when they loosed their bolts.

Their strings, and those of the poor archers continuing to waste their shafts, hummed like the harps of all seven hells had struck up a song. Great lengths of wood tipped in sharp steel and flung through the air like a battering ram. Tyrion raised his far-eye to be sure he saw their effect, no matter how small it was he might learn a weakness from it.

So he saw the exact moment that one of the bolts struck the goddess in the face. He thought he might even have been able to watch as the arrowhead flattened and the shaft turned itself into flying splinters. And he saw her continue without a single flinch, and wondered if she had even blinked.

If his legs weren't such stocky things, he thought he might have collapsed to his knees. Instead he watched and realised that the goddess' face was a twin to the swordswoman's. It was not so much a revelation as confirmation of what he had already begun to believe. That a new Conquerer had come to Westeros.

At least these ones didn't have the look of brother and sister.

He swallowed and tried to force a smile, if only to prove that he still could. He wondered if there might be some chance at diplomacy, and if the total lack of effect might convince them to ignore the attack on their persons. He was vaguely aware of his nephew's knights finally making to get him off the wall-

The goddess moved. Just a simple flick of her wrist, and the walls were capped in a great spiked wave of ice that a dozen strong men would have struggled to hack through in a day. It had slipped between Joffrey's group and those closest to them along the wall, so clear that Tyrion could see the men scrambling away from it on the other side.

The Kingsguard was much reduced these days, but Joffrey's Hound at least knew his business and made to take him around the wall the other way. Of course that just earned them another negligent flick and a second wall of ice. There would be no escape without a ladder, and while men below scrambled to fetch such a thing and the Hound led three Kingsguard in hacking at the ice, Tyrion simply steeled himself and straightened his clothing.

The platform loomed close, its bulk a shield from the lower walls even if anyone had dared to fire up toward the Red Keep, while those defending the seat of the Iron Throne finally seemed to realise that there was nothing they could do as the demon and the goddess towered over them all.

Joffrey was on his knees, and it seemed unfair, as Tyrion's whole life had been unfair, that his nephew was still taller than him.

The Hand of the King stepped forward as the King blubbered for mercy, and they were both cut off by a voice like the end of the world.

"The banners of your fleet."

The demon's voice was horrible. More growl than words, while the actual meaning felt like it was being pressed to his mind by a hot iron. Tyrion had the impression of a far more pleasant voice within it, but the anger of the demon hid that man away.

The reason for that anger fluttered down as the demon reached out and unclenched a fist. Banners, such as a ship might fly, with the crowned stag in a burning heart. They were unharmed by the demon's grasp, but as he spoke again that anger came with heat like a bonfire and their edges began to curl and glow.

"You will not trouble us further."

"These are not our banners, uh, my lord. They are-"

"No concern of ours."

The goddess' voice was far more pleasant sounding, for all that it still felt like it was being stamped on the mind of him and everyone else within a mile. If it were not so cold, he might have thought her voice beautiful, instead of a fresh terror.

"Your wars. Your conflicts. These are not our concern. You will keep them from our shores."

What would happen if they did not was left unsaid.

Tyrion looked up at the goddess, finding it easier than meeting the demon's gaze, and tried to see a person there. Someone he could bargain with. Certainly she was easy to see as a queen, with her long hair, now the colour of fresh snow, crowned by a tiara. Yet she wore daggers of ice at either hip and there was a promise of violence in her expression of cool disinterest. He realised that there being a person beneath the goddess did not actually guarantee that he could bargain with them, and switched tracks to trying to figure out what he could promise that wouldn't see his head on a spike once they left.

"We would be honoured to count ourselves as allies of your great house." He tried, desperately wanting to say 'vassals' and knowing that he could never hope to explain such words without these monsters to hand.

The goddess drifted away, and the demon stepped forward, off the ice and onto the wall. Only where the ice seemed untroubled by his footsteps, the wall immediately began to glow cherry red beneath the mighty claws of its foot. Stone ran like wax, and the Hound broke from his position in front of the king to stagger back so quickly that he almost tumbled from the wall.

The demon looked down at them, and said, "We will not involve ourselves in the affairs of this land, so long as you do not interfere in ours."

Which sounded like a wonderful return to more regular kinds of danger, but also made no sense at all. Why offer such an exchange to things that could not scratch them?

"Why offer us that?" He asked, before his wits could catch up and remind him that no matter how much like a tale the day might feel, he was still living in it.

"You fear us, but soon you won't. Soon, those who were scattered will find new homes in the people of these lands. Soon, you will think yourselves capable of matching House Rosfield."

"We have come to stop such foolishness before it can begin."

"To make this one truth clear to you."

The demon reached out towards the bay, as though he was grasping something enormously heavy with one open hand.

"If you harm House Rosfield. Touch our lands or our people."

Fire began to gather in the open palm he held out. Below, the waters of the bay began to glow red once again.

"You."

The fire condensed and brightened until it seemed more like the sun he held, and Tyrion had to look to the side from the glare. Barely able to see past to where a great stretch of the bay was boiling like a cauldron.

"Will."

The demon clenched his fist and strained at the air, then with a final roared-

"BURN!"

He thrust his fist into the sky, and a pillar of molten stone blasted in the same direction.

Ash blasted into the clouds ahead of it, and Tyrion only knew what he was seeing from descriptions of erupting mountains in books, none of which had mentioned magma rising in pillars as thick as an island and taller than the highest towers of the Red Keep.

The heat reddened his skin despite what had to be more than two miles between him and it, then the goddess snapped out a hand and the heat was gone in a heartbeat.

Something blue and glowing had snapped between her and it, then an enormous bank of fog exploded outwards. She rolled her wrist and that fog crystallised as snow, falling gently enough that every soul in the city could peer through it to the titanic pillar of volcanic stone that now rose from the bay, towering over every structure in the city.

Carved into its surface was a crest, drawn in stone at such a scale that it would be visible for miles once the snow and ash in the air cleared.

A bird, resplendent, over a forked device. The same as their flag and -he assumed- the crest of House Rosfield. As statements went, it was not subtle.

"When your own awaken, and think themselves powerful, bid them look to that. Know that whatever power they hold, Shiva, Ifrit, and the Phoenix rest within the bloodline of House Rosfield."

"Come against us, and you will be crushed."

"Leave us be, and we will return the courtesy."

With that, the demon stepped off the wall, and the platform began to float away.

Tyrion's impression that the whole city had heard the voices of the two was supported by the lack of any further violence as they returned to their ship, dropping a new iceberg into the bay and returning to human form in a flash of their respective colours of light before both distant figures made impossible leaps up to the deck of the ship.

It began to move, and Tyrion felt as though reality was returning with every yard it covered. A long slow turn to bring it around and then it began to speed up even as men started shouting orders and the ice trapping him and the king on the wall started to be hacked at in earnest. Tyrion barely paid that detail any mind, and almost missed the interesting fact of what looked like a number of water wheels churning away beneath the rear of that impossibly fast ship.

His thoughts were consumed by the conversation that had just echoed across the city. Well, he supposed, only their parts had echoed, but then those were the important parts.

'Within the bloodline' was it?

Soon to awaken within their lands?

He supposed that there was no hope at all of containing the information, but…the possibilities…

Tyrion Lannister looked towards the reminder that the Rosfields had left them all, and wondered.