The Battle of King's Landing had ended, and Robb Stark saw the Lannisters' weakness clearly.
He demanded a ransom from Tywin Lannister equal to ten years of House Lannister's entire income. If Tywin refused, Jaime would rot in the North forever.
"Tell the Old Lion that Jaime returns home the day the gold dragons arrive. Otherwise, he can wait for Ser Tyrion to inherit Casterly Rock!"
"Hahahaha!"
The Northern lords burst into loud laughter inside the tent. Theon Greyjoy laughed the hardest of all.
Ignoring the Lannisters' stiff, bitter expressions, the Northmen turned and left without another word.
The Lannisters could do nothing. Roman Rivers's cavalry had shattered the only expeditionary force the Westerlands could field. The lions had lost their claws and teeth. They could only glare helplessly at the direwolves of the North.
Dragonstone
For Stannis, the campaign had been a complete failure, but his vassals did not see it that way.
After assessing the losses, they agreed that House Lannister and the Tyrells had suffered far more. Most of the men Stannis had lost were hired mercenaries and pirates. His own fleet and direct bannermen remained largely intact.
Stannis sat on the balcony overlooking Blackwater Bay, the ancient map of Westeros that once belonged to Aegon the Conqueror hanging behind him.
He kept replaying the battle in his mind, searching for where he had gone wrong. Deep down, however, he knew the truth: once the lions and the roses formed an alliance, he had never stood a real chance of winning. In terms of pure attrition, he had actually fought a brilliant campaign.
What he felt most keenly now was the crushing weight of having no true allies or loyal vassals. Renly—the weakest of the three Baratheon brothers in martial skill—had won the hearts of nearly all the Stormlands nobility through charm and clever politics.
If those soldiers had been under Stannis's command, he would have been confident of taking the Iron Throne. But there were no "ifs" in war.
His thoughts turned to Roman Rivers. Even here, Stannis could not bring himself to blame the Dragon Lord. Harrenhal had remained officially neutral, yet Roman had secretly provided critical intelligence and those devastating fire-oil weapons. Without them, Stannis's forces would never have broken through the Mud Gate.
There was no point dwelling on the past. What mattered now was the future.
"All fleet captains, listen," Stannis ordered. "From today onward, tighten the blockade on all merchant ships heading to King's Landing. Intercept any vessel attempting to trade with the capital immediately. Give them no opportunity to recover."
One captain hesitated. "Lord Stannis, Lord Roman of Harrenhal now controls Duskwood City. What if his merchant ships try to trade with King's Landing?"
"I will deal with Ser Roman. You simply await further orders. In addition to the blockade, reinforce Storm's End and begin recruiting proper soldiers. We need loyal troops, not these mercenaries and pirates."
"Yes, Lord Stannis!"
After issuing his commands, Stannis turned his gaze north.
Since the Young Wolf refused to support his claim, he would go directly to Eddard Stark. Once the Lord of Winterfell gave his word, even Robb would be unable to refuse. Stannis knew the character of the "Silent Wolf" well. The support of the North had become essential.
King's Landing
The ancient capital lay in ruins. Fire, explosions, death, plague, and chaos ruled the streets.
The only mercy was that the buried wildfire caches had remained untouched. Otherwise the entire city might have been blown sky-high.
Tyrion stared at the wreckage and drank himself into a stupor.
Suddenly Kevan came running. "Tywin has arrived. He took the long way around and has just entered the city."
Tyrion's hands began to shake. He had hoped to achieve something under his uncle's watch—something that might finally earn Tywin's praise. But looking at the devastated capital now, he would be lucky if his father didn't flay him alive.
When Tywin reached the Red Keep, he heard the sound of loud wailing.
He turned and saw Mace Tyrell—the Lord of Highgarden, mockingly called the Inflated Fish—clutching a heavily bandaged figure and sobbing uncontrollably.
From the scene, Tywin understood this was Garlan Tyrell, who had been caught in the explosion during the defense of the city.
Garlan and his guards had been ambushed by pirates. The fire-oil bombs had detonated with terrifying force. Though his men had died shielding him, Garlan had suffered horrific burns. When rescued, the lining of his armor had melted into his flesh. Only the painkillers and special disinfectants from Harrenhal had kept him alive.
He had survived, but his former handsome appearance was gone. The man once praised as the "Knight of Flowers" now looked like a piece of rotting meat on the hospital bed.
"Seven Gods, why punish my son like this?!" Mace howled. "He has done nothing evil! Why must he suffer so?!"
Watching the Lord of Highgarden weep with tears and snot running down his face, Tywin thought of his own son Jaime—captured and maimed by Roman Rivers.
The Old Lion recalled the battle reports he had read on the road and made a cold decision.
He stepped forward and placed a hand on Mace's shoulder. The weeping lord looked up in confusion.
"Lord Mace, your son's suffering is truly heartbreaking. My own son Jaime has also endured a cruel blow in this war. But this is not the time for tears. The man responsible for harming both our sons is still free."
"Who?" Mace demanded, eyes red. "Who did this?!"
"Roman Rivers, that beast from Harrenhal," Tywin said coldly. "He cut off my son's sword hand, supplied Stannis with those fire-oil bombs, and finally burned your son Garlan here in King's Landing. He is our common enemy."
Mace did not even question the claim. Rage twisted his face. "Roman? That monster from Harrenhal?! How dare he?! I will make him pay! I will make House Whent pay!"
In his fury he did not notice Garlan weakly grabbing his arm. Only the knight's eyes were visible through the bandages, filled with panic.
"Father… do not… do not make an enemy of the Riverlands," Garlan rasped. "We cannot afford to lose more strength…"
But Mace was beyond reason. He assumed his son was simply trying to comfort him. He clutched Garlan's hand and kept promising vengeance.
After a long tirade, he ordered the Reach maesters to care for Garlan and stormed out of the sickroom.
Garlan's heart sank. Powerless to stop his father, he could only stare at Tywin with eyes full of helpless fury.
The Old Lion, the true instigator, pretended to inspect the Lannister guards and calmly avoided Garlan's gaze.
Outside the city gates, Margaery Tyrell—the Rose of Highgarden—arrived with wagon trains of grain.
As Joffrey's future queen, she brought a rare glimmer of hope to the battered and starving city.
Now Get The FULL AVAILABLE NOVEL at Once!
At Lowest Price Ever!
@patreon.com/Authorizz/shop