Mathis

At a day's march from Bitterbridge Mathis had commanded near seven thousand men. Now, over two weeks later, at Longtable the host had swelled to over twenty thousand. Grown by other bands like his own led by Crane, Tarly, and Willum men any of those who had lost lords and kin at the Field of Fire. Further thousands of cravens who had fled the battle and their lords had been returned to their rightful place in the ranks thanks to the efforts of Ser Leo Blackbar.

At this very moment Ser Leo and his outriders were ranging to the north between Longtable and Bitterbridge and east all the way to Grassy Vale, hunting for more deserters to bring back to the host. Every day brought another few hundred men to the army.

Mathis looked at Lord Orton Merryweather from the corner of his eye. The Lord of Longtable was proving to be an exceptional host. As was the horn of plenty emblazoned on his banners indicated there was an abundance of food to be given to Mathis' army.

To be fair the presence of twenty thousand armed men likely did much to improve his hospitality . Mathis allowed a chuckle to escape him as he dug into the roasted capon served on a platter of spiced bread and roasted vegetables.

He put down the half-eaten capon leg and picked up a flagon of Arbor gold for a long draught. Lord Orton caught his eye as he drank deep from the expensive wine.

Lord Orton opened his mouth to speak but was quickly interrupted by Mathis loudly smacking his lips and taking another bite of capon.

Mathis covered his grin with a cloth as he wiped grease from his face. I suppose tis time to take pity on the poor man . Mathis idly flung the cloth to the table and waited for Orton to speak.

Lord Merryweather took a moment to scratch his bulbous nose. "My lord. How long did you wish to stay at Longtable? Not that you are unwelcome at my home, but Longtable's stores are not inexhaustible. Especially after so much of our lands were stripped from us by the Mad King and King Robert."

Mathis remained silent as Orton continued to speak at length on the various troubles of his house and the difficulties of supplying so many men.

"In short I fear that there will only be enough to supply the host for another few weeks my lord, if I am to have enough to keep my people through the winter."

Mathis nodded his head slowly. "I imagine My lord that the continued fighting between here and Bitterbridge is an ongoing concern. What with bandits and deserters and traitors burning every field between the Mander and the Blueburn." Mathis carefully left out that his own men were doing the same thing.

Lord Orton was quick to nod his head in agreement. "Yes my lord some nights my wife and I can smell smoke in the air."

He says that as if it is a miraculous revelation.

Mathis sighed. "I suppose it is time to move on, the soldiers do grow roudy when they're left in one place for too long. I'll make preparations to depart," Mathis stood up with a stretch and a groan. "Though I'll be leaving Ser Marton Broadtree, one of my vassals, with some men to continue gathering those cravens who fled the field."

Lord Orton looked even more excited at the prospect of Mathis leaving than Mathis had thought possible. Or perhaps he was simply relieved that the drain on his coffers and granaries would soon be gone.

"It shouldn't take more than a few days to arrange the departure. I trust that you will provide the necessary supplies for the host?"

"Yes… my lord."

"Excellent. Now has your maester seen to that business I needed?"

"Maester Martyn has my lord. Might I know what it is about?"

"I'm afraid not my lord. It is unfortunately a matter of utmost importance and not a word can be spared. Mums the word as they say." Mathis let his voice drop into a more ominous though still polite tone. "I advise you impress the importance of that on Maester Martyn and anyone he has spoken too. Lest more drastic measures need be taken to ensure their silence."

Orton looked like he had swallowed a particularly sour lemon.

Mathis shrugged his broad shoulders. "Martyn is in his chambers?"

"Yes. My lord." Lord Merryweather seemed shaken.

Mathis left his half eaten luncheon on the table and clapped Orton on the shoulder as he passed him by, provoking a small jump from the smaller man. Mathis whistled a mindless tune as he trudged through the long low halls of Longtable. He chortled to himself as he saw the bare patches on the walls that revealed where tapestries had once hung. They had likely been sold to maintain the lifestyle Lord Orton's wife, the Lady Taena, had enjoyed in Myr.

Still whistling Mathis arrived at the maester's chambers and bumped the door open with his hip. "Ah Maester Martyn just the man I wanted to see. I trust you are having a wonderful day!"

The older maester jumped and nearly spilled and small bowl filled with a black powder. Mathis' heart lept into his throat at the sight. "Have you? Is that what I think it is?"

The maester's long grey beard bobbed about as Martyn nodded. "Yes my lord. It took me some time to identify the materials in the sample you gave me."

Mathis rubbed his throat as he remembered how he discovered the sample. It had been on the second day of the march from Bitterbridge he had been parched and had seen a soldier run up to him with what looked like a waterskin. Grateful Mathis had grabbed the horn-like waterskin and had taken a great gulp. But instead of water he had been inundated by a wave of horrible tasting black pellets that had quickly dissolved into a foul sludge. After coughing up half his lungs and using a small lake's worth of water to wash the foul stuff out his mouth Mathis had managed to cough out a question. "What is this?"

The soldier answered with a grin. "Something those dragonmen were carrying, some o' us was playin' around with it las' night and it got tossed in a fire. An' then, whoosh!" The man raised his arms at the last word. "The fire went shooting up twenty feet high! Pate thought it was wildfire, but I figured you'd wanna see it m'lord."

"You thought right," Mathis opened his purse and tossed and pair of silver stags at the man.

Mathis shook himself from his small reverie and returned his attention to the maester. "Yes the err sample. What are these materials exactly?"

"Charcoal, saltpetre, and sulphur."

"Sulphur?"

"Better known as brimstone my lord."

"Ahh… I see. Is it dangerous like this?"

"I shouldn't think so my lord. Not without a flame to spark it."

"Hmmm and the dragon itself?"

"Oh yes, I had master Barton, the smith, take a look," Maester Martyn tottered over to another table and removed a cloth to reveal the dragon. "The tube is simple enough to make and the mechanism at the back is not much more complicated than that of a crossbow. From the residue and staining I've determined that one would load powder into the tube and onto this little pan here." Martyn pointed near the rear of the weapon where the mechanism was fastened under a lever that held a length of thick cord.

"Once the powder is placed the trigger underneath may be pulled," Martyn did just that letting the level flick down wards and having the cord strike the pan. "If the cord is aflame then the powder will be sparked and the fires will travel through this little hole into the tube where the rest of the powder is stored." Martyn smiled as he finished his lecture, he was clearly pleased with himself.

"And that is what would kill someone? The fire from the powder?"

"Oh no certainly not," Martyn opened a small box next to the dragon. "These are what kill people." Martyn dropped a small metal ball, a little larger than the knuckle of his thumb, into Mathis' hand.

Heavier than it looks . He rolled the ball through his fingers for a few seconds. "Is this lead?"

"Yes. I'm not sure why they used such a soft metal for the balls surely a steel or iron ball would be much better. The ball is put in the tube after the powder I think. Then the fires send the ball flying faster than any arrow."

"Did the smith say whether or not he could build one of these?"

"I thought you'd ask that," Martyn smiled. "I had him start already."

"Excellent work, Maester Martyn, excellent work. I have one other request, would you be so kind as to send a raven to Goldengrove for me?"

"Of course my lord, what would you like to say?"

"Simply inform my lady wife that I will be returning with twenty thousand men and that the granaries should be prepared for their hunger, and that she should try to stockpile as much charcoal, saltpetre and brimstone as possible," Mathis said that last part with a grin.

"Yes... my lord."

"Fantastic! Have a good day." Mathis swept the dragon off the table as he left the maester's chamber. He swung the weapon over his shoulder as he jaunted through the halls, out of the keep, across the courtyard, and into the smithy.

The smith was hard at work doing something that Mathis was sure was actually very important. He hadn't noticed that Mathis had entered the smithy.

Mathis coughed politely, he waited, then coughed again. The smith was either ignoring him or else couldn't hear him. Mathis frowned and then shrugged his shoulders before marching forward to tap the smith on his broad back. The result was rather louder and more colourful than Mathis had expected.

"Fuck! Damn! Shit your mother! You Bloody!" The smith swore as he turned hammer raised and clearly ready to beat someone half to death. He paused for a moment when he saw Mathis. "Er that is to say, what can I do for you, m'lord."

Mathis spoke as if he had not heard a word the smith had uttered before that point. "Maester Martyn said you were working on one of these," Mathis swung the dragon around. "I'd like to see what you've got so far."

"O' course m'lord. Jus' this way if you please." The smith led Mathis into a back room of the smithy and towards a locked chest. "Martyn said I should keep it locked up when I ain't workin' on it," he fetched a ring of keys from his desk and twisted the massive lock open, he reached inside and plucked out… a long slightly misshapen tube of metal accompanied by a bag of assorted odds and ends. He seemed to sense Mathis' distaste. "Now it ain't finished yet, an' it won't be as pretty as the one you got but it should get the job done m'lord. An' besides it's only a first try."

Fair points fair points . "I imagine the first sword didn't look very fancy either," jested Mathis.

"Aye m'lord I'd wager it didn't. Now these 'ere are the lock mechanism," the smith swiped a patch of table bare and poured the contents of the bag out. "Finicky little things they were but not much 'arder to make than a crossbow."

"Hmmm," Mathis poked around the metal pieces on the table. "That's interesting. That is very interesting. How long until you have finished the rest?"

"Mayhaps another few days m'lord. I still must hollow the bore o' the tube and make the chamber for the powder."

"Work on nothing else until this is done." The smith seemed about to argue. "I'll speak to Lord Merryweather you worry about nothing else." Mathis clapped the smith on his shoulder and pushed the half finished dragon into his arms.

Mathis jaunted out of the smithy almost skipping like one of his young girls, he was so happy he even began to hum tuneless rhyme to himself.

A-hunting we will go, a-hunting we will go

(Heigh-ho, the derry-o, a-hunting we will go

A-hunting we will go, a-hunting we will go)

We'll catch a stag and put him in a bag

And then we'll let him go

He snorted. Or perhaps not that last part .

Davos

With painstaking caution Davos slowly moved his fingertips down the line as he mouthed every letter. "Mill be? No. Will be. Ummm. Iven? No that's not right."

Davos leaned further out of his chair almost touching his nose to the page before looking up. "What's this word?"

Dyrrik, Davos' scribe and tutor, leaned over from the chair next to Davos. "It says given, the first letter makes a g sound, now start again."

"But in knight the g doesn't make a sound," Davos shook his head. "This makes no sense. Why doesn't every letter make a sound? And if they don't make a sound why are they in the word?"

Dyrrik sighed. "I could give a long and complicated explanation but I'd rather not waste both our time. Some words are just spelt oddly and you'll have to remember which ones. Now start from the beginning m'lord."

Davos repressed a grumble and began to, haltingly, reread the document again. "By the command of His Race. His Grace Stannis of the Hoose." Davos stopped for a breath. "House Baratheon, King of the Andals the Rhoynar and the First Men..."

With some difficulty Davos read through all the titles and other such fanciness until he reached his previous highwater mark. "Ser Bonnifer Hasty be given the… The honour of a place in the… Wan?... Van?... Vanguard! In the vanguard."

With a sigh of relief Davos tossed the parchment, an official list of all the honours and titles doled out after the Field of Fire.

Dyrrik nodded approvingly. "Very good my lord. Now read this one." The scribe placed another sheaf of parchment on the folding table.

With a groan Davos began to reach for the gods damned parchment and another few painful hours, but instead the gods took mercy on him as one of his guards opened the tent flap. "My lord. Ser Justin Massey asks to see you."

"Send him in," Davos said, perhaps a little too quickly.

The guard nodded and a few seconds later a disheveled, but still smiling, Justin Massey entered the tent. Massey gave a low bow. "My Lord, I trust you have been well in my long absence."

Davos nodded. "As well as can be expected," he raised a brow. "You're here to give your report about Bitterbridge?"

Massey nodded and was about to speak but Davos cut him off.

"You must be tired have a seat," Davos waved at a folding stool. "Have a drink," he poured well watered wine into a pair of small cups and pushed one across the desk to Massey.

Massey accepted the cup with a grin and a flourish. "Thank you my lord."

As Massey drank Davos eyed the bloodstains in Massey's surcoat. Stains that had not been there before Massey left for Bitterbridge. "What happened at Bitterbridge?"

Massey finished his wine and put the empty cup on the table. "We rode hard for over two weeks shadowing the forces of Lord Rowan. He arrived at Bitterbridge before us and set about to gathering supporters. Ser Erren and I arrived not long after he did, perhaps a quarter of an hour at most, and began to do the same thing."

Davos leaned forward as his interest grew. "And then?"

"Chaos. Madness. Fire and Blood. Everything went to the Seven Hells. There was near sixty thousand men at Bitterbridge before the fighting, and none of them knew what was going on when the battle started. Grudges that had been buried for a hundred years erupted into bloodshed. Still we had the initiative so it was not long before the rebels began to surrender or flee or die."

"And which was Lord Rowan?"

"Fled along with over five thousand men by my best guess."

"Was he the only person to do so?"

Here Massey seemed to grow uncomfortable. "In the chaos it seems that a goodly portion of the army fled, though only a minority kept any sense of order."

"How much is a goodly portion?"

"Perhaps thirty thousand men."

Davos went still and silent for a moment. "Half the host of Bitterbridge is a good deal more than a "goodly portion" Ser." Davos rubbed his face. "On to better news. How did the dragons perform?"

Massey brightened. "Excellently my lord. Wherever and whenever the enemy tried to make a strong point they were shot down by dragonfire."

"How many casualties did your company take?"

"A dozen most to archers or crossbowmen."

"Most?"

Massey paused for a moment. "Ser Erren and I attempted to make a cordon around the camp of mixed knights and squads of dragonmen Lord Rowan breached breached the cordon where it was weak and killed a dozen dragonmen."

"What did you do with them?"

"Their equipment was stripped and the men were buried with the rest of our dead."

"Bring their dragons to me and I will have them repaired. After King's Landing falls the King intends to make more dragons and arm as many men as possible with them. The Street of Steel will be put to work making thousands of dragons. With these weapons at the fore none will be able to challenge his grace at land or at sea."

Massey fell into an uncharacteristic silence.

"What's wrong?"

"A dozen dragonmen fell, but only eleven dragons were recovered. I think it safe to assume that it was taken by one of Lord Rowan's men."

Davos straightened in alarm. "Have you told the king?"

"Ser Erren is speaking to him now."

"Nevertheless we must speak to His Grace immediately," Davos stood. "Follow me."

With Ser Justin and his dragon armed in tow Davos left the tent and made his way through the immense camp in the Kingswood. The camp was even more crowded than before as thousands of infantry from Bitterbridge marched into the camp.

Davos' dragonmen were near the center of the camp separated from the rest of the masses by a lane ten yards wide. King Stannis' pavilion was just north of the dragonmen camp, it was in turn surrounded by his closest guards, Dragonstone men one and all, and now the small white tent set aside for His Grace's nascent Kingsguard.

The guards let Davos and Massey past them without incident and Davos walked up to the pavilion with a confidence he did not feel. After a momentary pause to gather himself he entered.

Ser Erren Florent was speaking. "Some five thousand left dead," he stopped to look at the sound of Davos entering the pavilion. King Stannis had assembled many of his lords and commanders he was flanked by his Kingsguard and Lord Alester sat at his right hand.

Davos bowed to the king. "Your Grace," he faced the others. "My Lords."

The king spoke. "Be seated Lord Seaworth," he motioned at an empty chair three spots to the left of the king.

With only a little trepidation Davos gently pushed through the crowded pavilion and occupied the seat. Stannis returned his attention to Ser Erren. "Continue."

"I returned with fifteen thousand men under arms. Having left five thousand under the command of Ser Mark Mullendore to garrison Bitterbridge after Lord Caswell bent the knee. The outriders reported that Lord Mathis Rowan fled the field with near six thousand men and was headed towards Longtable to gather others who fled. Ser Mark is doing the same from Bitterbridge."

Stannis nodded his acknowledgement. "You have our gratitude for your leal service Ser. Was the anything else to report?"

"None that I can say Your Grace."

"Then you are dismissed, see to your command," as Ser Erren left King Stannis turned to his Hand Lord Alester. "What news from the marches?"

Lord Alester cleared his throat before he answered. "Lords Trant, Grandison, Caron, Selmy have sent their fealty and promise to conduct the land surveys you requested and gather additional levies. Though they did ask for some promises in return."

"Once they have done their duty there may be time to speak of rewards."

"Just so Your Grace. Lord Swann is more reticent he speaks that his son Ser Balon is held captive by the Lannisters and as such he dares not move to your service."

Stannis ground his teeth. "Tell Lord Swann that he must begin the surveys before the next moon, but that until his son is free he need not gather levies in my name. What of Dondarrion?"

"With the disappearance of Lord Beric, his cousin and heir Ser Daven has command of the castle. He refuses to swear for any king until word is given that Lord Beric has sworn his sword so or else that his death is confirmed."

Stannis ground his teeth but nodded again. "Cape Wrath?"

"Every Lord has sent their fealty to you Your Grace save for House Tudburry, who declare you a kinslayer and a traitor."

Stannis clenched a fist and ground his teeth. "Instruct Lord Casper Wylde, and Lady Mary Mertyns to seize the the Tudburry lands and imprison Lord Merret for judgement."

Lord Alester wrote this down. "Yes Your Grace, did you wish for anything else."

Stannis eyed Davos. "No. You are dismissed my lord," Stannis waved his hand at the other lords. "See to your commands the van will leave at dawn tomorrow the rest an hour after. Lord Seaworth, Ser Justin stay."

Davos sat in silence as all the other lords filed out leaving Davos and Justin alone with the king and the kingsguard.

Stannis spoke first. "I presume you are here to discuss Ser Justin's actions at Bitterbridge."

"Yes Your Grace."

"Very well my lord you may proceed."

Davos decided to jump straight to the most critical piece of news. "Several dragonmen were killed and it seems some of the hand-dragons were captured my Lord Rowan's troops."

Stannis went utterly still for a moment. "Ser Justin leave us."

Ser Justin all but ran from the pavilion.

Stannis stood and leaned over the table. "I shall be true with you Lord Davos. I am not surprised by this event, though by no means am I content. I fear that the spread of these weapons is inevitable whether by the spoils of war or by these Beikango ," Stannis used the foreigner's name for themselves. "Knowledge will spread, like iron and steel were spread by the Andals to the First Men."

Stannis opened a leather case and pulled from it a sheaf of parchment. "Letters from my lords bannermen. They speak of strange ships sighted in the Narrow Sea and the Summer Sea. Strange ships crewed by strange men speaking a strange tongue."

"The foreigners. The Beikango ."

"Yes. The ships that landed on Dragonstone were crewed by exiles seeking refuge. These new ships I think are from their kingdoms, their cities. They seek trade and soon will find a vast and willing market for their dragons."

Stannis looked over the map of Westeros that dominated the table. "The world is changing and we must change with it if we are to survive. A common man killed a would be king, a thousand men of ancient lineage lie buried below the walls of Storm's End, the time of the knight is over and the age of dragons has come again." He returned his focus to Davos. "Tomorrow you will ride with the van and journey with all haste to King's Landing there you will find and prepare the best positions to place the dragons when the siege begins."

"Yes Your Grace."

"Inform Ser Justin Massey that I am displeased, but that there will be no formal chastisement. You are dismissed."

"Yes Your Grace," Davos left his king alone in his pavilion.

Tyrion

From the walls of the Red Keep Tyrion watched Flea Bottom burn. The riot had started not long after Myrcella had been put on her ship sent to Dorne by way of Braavos. Wildfire or no Stannis wouldn't dare rise the wrath of the Bastard Daughter of Valyria. The plan had been for Cersei, Joffrey, and Tommen to slip away with during the night, that couldn't happen now. Not with the riots still consuming half the city.

What was supposed to have been a simple bit of riding from King's Landing to Goldengrove was turning out to be much more complicated. Rather than riding hard and fast Cersei insisted on bringing every person of any possible value with them. Sansa Stark, the Redwyne twins, and Balon Swann Tyrion could understand they had value as hostages. Particularly the Redwynes as if they fell into Stannis' hands his might at sea would be unquestionable. But Dontos Hollard or the Kettleblacks? Pure nonsense. What use could she have for the Stokeworths or her other handmaidens but to pad the court with her lickspittles.

Footsteps drew his attention away from the city, Bronn was sauntering over to him. "You sure you want me to go with the queen and the rest?"

"Could I trust you not to throw open the gates to Stannis?"

Bronn shrugged. "Likely not."

"Then you see why I'm sending you. Besides the king will have need of every sword he can get."

"Oh and why's that?"

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "You hadn't heard?"

"Heard about what?"

"Bitterbridge. According to Varys near half of Renly's foot went over to Stannis. Almost thirty thousand men."

Bronn leaned against a crenellation and tilted a wineskin back. He breathed through his teeth. "Well you're right fucked then. What'd your father have at the Green Fork twenty five thousand?"

"Closer to twenty thousand."

"That's even worse then. You're outnumbered about three to one and Stannis has wildfire."Bronn shook his head. "I don't like those odds."

"Neither do I. Which is why the Tyrell marriage is so important."

"How many men do they have?"

"Lord Mace Tyrell has near ten thousand men at Highgarden."

"So your only outnumbered two to one."

Tyrion closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He's just trying to annoy you , don't let him know it's working .

"And Lord Mathis Rowan is gathering survivors of Bitterbridge at Longtable. As of the last reports from Varys he's gathered near fifteen thousand men."

Bronn paused as his eyes crossed trying to juggle the numbers in his head and on his fingers. "You're still outnumbered."

"Which is why we must bleed Stannis here, and after that make Stannis come to us."

"To your family you mean."

"What?"

"If you're commanding the defence then you're either going to die, get captured, or cut and run like any sane person would do."

"Am I not sane?"

"You're a noble. The maesters take your sanity along with your birth cord."

Given the nobles Tyrion had gotten to know of the years he found himself hard pressed to defend against that statement.

Tyrion watched a thousand sparks rise into the sky as a building collapsed. He sighed and walked away from another of Joffrey's blunders. "Goodnight Bronn."

"Goodnight m'lord."

By the next morning the fires had died and the mobs were dispersed. The Small Council chamber was again filled as Littlefinger relayed the damages.

"Five butchers were butchered with their own knives. A goldsmith was murdered and his manse burned. The High Septon was ripped apart. Tyrek Lannister is still missing as is Lollys Stokeworth they are both presumed dead. A third of Flea Bottom is in ashes. And severe damage was done to many shops along River Row and Cobbler's Square." Baelish paused a moment. "Twelve dead gold cloaks and forty more wounded. And countless hundreds of smallfolk killed and maimed or left homeless." Baelish let the scroll roll up onto itself.

Cersei snorted. "The should count themselves lucky that Joffrey will be leaving soon else they'd have more to worry about than their burned houses."

Tyrion rolled his eyes at that. "Aside from King's Landing does the Master of Whispers have any other news of the war?"

Varys simpered. "No more than yesterday I'm afraid, Stannis' host continues to make it's way through the kingswood towards King's Landing, while some fighting continues between Stannis and the Tyrells in the eastern parts of the Reach. Robb Stark continues to ravage the Westerlands, though he has broken his siege of the Crag, perhaps he means to return east or else north to fight the Ironmen?"

"What of my father?" Asked Cersei.

"Lord Tywin remains Harrenhal as his men ravage the Riverlands. What his intentions are besides that I do not know."

Tyrion fixed his gaze on Cersei. "Cersei it is past time that you and your children leave King's Landing. My clansmen are already skirmishing with Stannis' outriders in the Kingswood. If you wait much longer Stannis' men will block the road to Goldengrove."

Cersei frowned and continued to frown until Tyrion was began to fear she had fallen asleep with her eyes open. Just as he was about to speak she sighed. "Alright we will leave tonight now if you will excuse me I want to rest. I have a long night ahead of me." Cersei stood and left the chamber with Ser Meryn Trant in tow.

Tyrion turned to his other lords of the Small Council. "Was there anything else to discuss?" Varys, Pycelle, and Littlefinger both shook their heads. "Then I bid you all a good day." Tyrion stood and returned to his chambers

That night Tyrion waited at the gates of the Red Keep with Chella, Timett, and their respective clansmen. A dozen wagons were being loaded with the various necessities for a party that would be moving quickly and heavily armed. Nearly a hundred mounted red cloaks and twice that number of gold cloaks were already massed around the party. He saw the Stark girl being escorted into a wagon along with Cersei and the remaining Stokeworth ladies. The Redwyne twins were mounted and guarded by a quartet of red cloaks. Tyrion saw Bronn and his sellswords near the back of the party laughing and joking. Varys was entering a wagon near the center of the party while Littlefinger had mounted a horse near the rear.

As Tyrion watched the gates opened and the wagons began to move out. He looked up at the two mountain chieftains. "This is where we part ways I'm afraid. Good fortune to you both."

Timett nodded in silence but Chella waited a moment. "Good fortune to you as well halfman."

As Tyrion watched his sister, his guards, his nephews, and all the rest of the great and bad of the court depart in the night he felt an odd sense of melancholy. That might have been the last time I'll ever see any of my siblings .

Tyrion heard footsteps behind him. He turned and saw a dishevelled looking Lancel watching as well. "Are you ready to be a king?"

Lancel turned slightly green but straightened his back raised his chin and in a passable imitation of Joffrey said. "I don't want your opinion you little monster."

"I'll take that as a yes. Go hide in the royal chambers for a few days. We can tell the people that you're indisposed and heartbroken over the departure of your beloved mother and siblings. Now if you'll excuse me I have to get some sleep," Tyrion took a few steps away but stopped, turned and bowed low. "Your Grace."

In the comfort of his chambers Tyrion poured himself a goblet of wine and rested back in his most comfortable chair. He eyed a small bell on the nearby table. With a sigh he rang the bell and a servant opened the door. Tyrion smiled as he eyed her. The woman swayed over to him and kneeled down by the chair. "Does my lion need his sheets laundered?" Shae asked with a little pout.

Tyrion reached under her shift. "I had something else in mind."

Tyrion rose the next morning with a strange energy about him the melancholy of the previous night banished by wine and by Shae. He had never seen the Red Keep so empty, but it didn't matter King's Landing was his to command. No more politicking and none of Cersei's stupidity to stop him. For the next few weeks at least I might as well be a king .

For his first bit of business Tyrion, with a guard of clansmen and gold cloaks, made a visit to the Street of Steel where hammers were banging away. Tyrion entered the shop of Tobho Mott a number of apprentices and journeymen were hard at work but stopped at the sight of a dozen armed men entering the shop. Master Mott himself was beside a young apprentice, likely giving the las some pointers. "Get back to work," he snapped at his workers. The master armourer jerked his head towards the stairs and proceeded to lead Tyrion into the, relatively, quieter upstairs. "What can I do for you my lord?"

"How goes work on the chain?"

"It proceeds as well as could be expected. Another month maybe a month and a half and it'll be done."

Tyrion grimaced. "I'm afraid we don't have a month let alone a month and a half. The rebel scouts are already nearing the Blackwater and their van might be less than a week away. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you and your fellow smiths to work harder if the chain is to be finished."

Mott's eyes hardened. "We're already working as hard as we can for the chain we only stop to eat and sleep."

"Then I'm afraid you'll have to go without food and sleep for a few days unless you want to have your shop burned and your apprentices killed by Stannis' men after his ships sail unopposed up the Blackwater. Now if you'll excuse me I have other business to attend today."

Mott didn't seem impressed by the threat Stannis posed in fact he seemed angered.

I've done naught but state a few honest truths .

As he entered his carriage Tyrion motioned for the gold cloak sergeant. "Put some men at each smithy, keep them working as much as is possible."

The man nodded. "Yes my lord."

"Good," Tyrion turned to his driver. "Take me to the Carpenters Guild I have work for them."

The next few days passed in a blur as Tyrion all but ran from one end of the city to the other dealing with dozens of minor crises that would have been handled by the underlings of the underlings of Littlefinger. He had to smooth over the ruffled feathers of a dozen guilds who demanded payment for things Tyrion didn't even know existed. The Alchemist's in particular were displeased that all production of wildfire was to cease and that much of the existing stores were to be locked up under their guildhouse. Tyrion kept only enough of the substance to fill a single ship with wildfire.

He placed as much pressure as he could on the smiths of the Street of Steel to finish the chain with the guards in place the smiths worked even harder to finish the great chain. But it was not enough. Only a week after Cersei had left Stannis' van of near five thousand men arrived on the southern bank of the Blackwater. The chain was over fifty links short.