"War.
From Crackclaw Point in the Crownlands, from King's Landing to Storm's End in the Stormlands, to Dorne, to Oldtown in the Reach, to Lannisport and Casterly Rock in the Westerlands, an iron curtain has been drawn for House Lannister's destruction.
I, the Storm, the Breaker, challenge the rebel House Lannister and their lackeys to decisive battle. I have gathered warships by the thousands and a hundred thousand armored riders. I will surely recover King's Landing, take Lannisport and Casterly Rock in the Westerlands, and carry out judgment. If Tywin is a true warrior, let him come out and fight me to the death, man against man.
The days of shadow are over. I will obey the will of the late king, reclaim the throne that should have been mine, and avenge the late King Robert Baratheon, former Hand of the King Jon Arryn, Eddard Stark, and all the good men and women murdered by the Lannisters.
In my own name, I call upon the lords and people of the realm. Do not stand apart from us. Join this righteous war.
Gendry, lawful heir to the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms, First Lord Governor of Tyrosh, Myr, the Stepstones, and the Disputed Lands."
Tyrion read the parchment three times. The four different sigils in its corners stung his eyes: the fire-breathing three-headed dragon, the leaping crowned hammer-stag, the running wolf pack, and the freed slave breaking his shackles. They also represented the Storm's armies, the coast they marched along, and the great mass of his supporters.
"What an arrogant young man. I thought Jaime was arrogant enough, but it seems there are younger ones still." Then Tyrion had Bronn pass the letter to Grand Maester Pycelle and Varys the Spider.
The Storm is coming, Tyrion thought. This time, it was real. What a grand tone. Still, Tyrion did feel somewhat disheartened. One pillar alone could not hold up a collapsing hall. But an arrogant, detestable young man ought to have some flaws.
The old maester and Varys finished reading the whole letter. The hardest moment was about to arrive. Even if they could somehow drag House Stark out of the war, the Stormlands, the Vale cavalry, the Crackclaws, and the soldiers of the Twin Cities would still come bearing thunderous fury.
The old man's face is truly ugly, Tyrion thought as he watched the maester.
Pycelle looked as though he were mourning. He, too, now felt his position was precarious. His political fate was bound to the Lannisters. Ever since he had seen Tywin govern the realm, Pycelle had existed as Tywin's vassal and staunch supporter. Yet by persuading the Mad King to open the gates, he had offended the Dragon King's loyalists. His unclear involvement in the deaths of King Robert and Jon, with all its suspicions of secret murder, had also offended the stag loyalists and the lords of the Vale.
Tyrion made a gesture, and the herald loudly announced the end of petitions. People slowly began to leave. Trouble was coming. He had to focus his energy on military matters and speak with the two ministers. There was also the matter of the two children, his two bargaining chips.
Ser Alliser remained a glaring obstruction, almost blocking Tyrion's path of retreat. After Tyrion descended from the throne, he found the man waiting at the foot of the steps.
"Court is over. Why did you not make sure they were properly dead sooner?" Tyrion tried to squeeze past him. Ser Alliser reached for his sleeve, but Ser Preston Greenfield of the Kingsguard shoved him back. "Keep your distance, ser."
Ser Alliser was filled with bitter frustration. He had come to ask for reinforcements, yet not a single person, not one, was willing to believe him. Dead men rising again? Everyone else would only think it the dream of a fool.
Ser Alliser did not dare provoke a knight of the Kingsguard. "Imp, you are a great fool!" he shouted at Tyrion's back.
Tyrion turned to face him. "What? I am the fool? Have you not noticed whom everyone is laughing at?" It was not truly Tyrion's stupidity. After thousands of years, who could imagine the dark Long Night returning? Men could not imagine things that overturned everything they knew, and in that, the Citadel had indeed done its work well.
Tyrion gave a weary smile. He was exhausted and had no heart to continue. House Lannister could barely save itself. How could it save the whole realm as well, especially the distant Wall in the far north, a place with no profit to offer, only demands for men and coin? "Enough. You came asking for men, yes?"
"The cold winds have already risen. The Wall must be held!" Ser Alliser shouted in despair. Bad-tempered as he was, and with no shortage of faults, he had at least done his utmost in his role as envoy.
"The Wall needs men, and I have given you some. You may dig for more in King's Landing... Ser, my situation is far worse than you imagine. Think carefully. Are your ears only fit to hear insults and mockery? Take them, and thank me... Remember to give my regards to Commander Mormont, and to Sam the Slayer," Tyrion said earnestly.
"Imp, you are a fool."
"Imp, you will regret this!" Ser Alliser shouted again and again, until the mood turned colder still and he was nothing more than a knight venting his rage.
Bronn seized Ser Alliser by the arm and dragged him bodily out of the hall.
The old maester left in a daze. Only the Spider remained, watching the spectacle from beginning to end.
"I admire you more and more," Varys said, looking at Tyrion. Those smooth, seamless maneuvers had impressed him, and he meant it. "You used the bones of the North to soothe Robb, while casually stripping away no small number of your sister's guards. You gave the black brothers the men they so urgently need, while also removing many hungry mouths from the city, and you did it all through mockery, so no one would whisper that the dwarf believes in old tales and strange creatures. Oh, truly flawless."
"That is not what matters now," Tyrion said, somewhat embarrassed. Those things did nothing to change the urgent situation before them. "Did you find anything meaningful in the letter?"
"If I had to say, I did notice one thing," Varys said with a smile, looking steady and reliable. Like the old maester, he seemed to have endured until the very end.
"If the Storm means to divide his forces, then that is our best chance. That little thing of yours on the Blackwater Rush, might it come in useful now?" Varys asked.
"It is almost ready." Tyrion nodded. The chain, the Blackwater Rush, wildfire, all moving together.
A smile slid across Varys's full lips. "I trust you, my lord."
"We prepared for this long ago. Now we have too many men and too little food, with King's Landing at our back. That is our advantage." Varys grew serious. "Rather than starve to death, we might as well stake everything on one throw."
"One more thing. The ships bound for Braavos. I need a clever vessel," Tyrion said. He had to send Myrcella away. That was the most urgent matter.
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