The Birth of Dragons

Tyrion Lannister

The war was teetering, constantly changing and flowing. One moment they would learn about another victory for Robb Stark, the next they would learn about a victory for Jaime. How they were actually doing in the war, Tyrion was not really sure, all he knew was that there were some alliances that were beginning to fall through, and that was something that was going to keep him awake, long after this battle finished. That was if they even survived this battle. Tyrion knew they outnumbered Stannis, the forces of the crownlands as well as the city watch were theirs, whilst Stannis had only the forces of Dragonstone and some sellswords and sellsails. There was little standing in their way, but there were reports that the Stormlords had finally mobilised, under the leadership of one of the Estermonts, just as Renly said they would, who they would fight for Tyrion did not know. And as such, he was not liking the way things were looking right now either.

"Tell me the figures again." He barks at Ser Jacelyn Bywater as they stand on the main wall, watching Stannis's ships approaching.

"We have some twelve thousand men, ten thousand crownlords, one thousand members of the city watch, one thousand red cloaks. But the city watch are not as well trained as I would have liked. I do not know if they will hold together when the fighting gets tough." Ser Jacelyn replies.

Tyrion looks at his nephew, the King, who stands there in a suit of glittering armour with red rubies on it, Rhaegar had worn rubies on his armour when he'd ridden off to fight Robert Baratheon, Jaime had told him. Jaime, his brother was far away now, as was their father, it was left to the dwarf to try and hold King's Landing. "And where are the men positioned?" he asks, simply because he thinks it is the right thing to ask.

"They are spread out over four gates as you asked my lord hand." The captain of the city watch replies.

Tyrion nods. "Good." He replies, with luck the wildfire will do in for Stannis and his men before they can pose a significant enough threat for the city. At the last moment he asks. "Any word of where the Stormlords are?"

There is a brief moment of silence as a sound echoes from the bay, but eventually Ser Jacelyn replies. "Last reports had them marching toward the Kingswood. I am not sure where they are now my lord, I am sorry."

"That is quite alright." Tyrion replies, just as a horn sounds, signalling the beginning of the battle on the waves. He watches as the ships, loaded with wildfire are moved out onto the water, toward the ships of the Dragonstone fleet, toward Stannis, he finds himself praying that the man dies during the blaze. He counts down the seconds, they feel like agonising moments, and then the blaze begins, one ship, and then another, and another, all of them go up like matches, and he laughs slightly at the shocked expression on Bywater's face. But onward they go.

The ships continued to burn, painting a green light on the water, driving all but the basest of thoughts from his mind. Somewhere close by his nephew was cheering as were the men at his side, two knights of the Kingsguard at his side, including the Lord Commander, Ser Barristan. Still, Tyrion was not convinced that they had won yet, and when he sees ships moving through the fire, the eternal blaze, he begins swallowing nervously, the closer they get to being able to dismount their men, he begins barking orders, for archers to be ready, for the trebuchets to be prepared, for men at arms to have their swords and spears and whatever other weapons they hold ready. The first men who land on the ground, amazed at their own survival are quickly ended by the spree of arrows and rocks that Tyrion has unleashed on them, at least that is what happens to those who land near him. There are plenty more landing elsewhere, plenty of men who will test the defences of King's Landing, filled with a desire to prove themselves as they have survived hell.

Tyrion looks at his nephew and sees a blanket look of fear on the boy's face, he thinks he should say something, but what he could say, he does not know. For once words escape him, and just before he can think of anything at all, the ground shakes, and he curses. So it seems that they had brought battering rams with them. Very well. "Archers fire at will." He roars, and watches as arrows rain down from the sky, he listens with approval as men fall to the ground screaming in agony and pain, but still the ground continues to shake, he knows that they will break through the gate. "We need to get men there." He barks out to no one in particular, he draws his axe and moves down the stairs, hoping and praying men will follow him. Just as he gets to the bottom of the stairs, the gates burst open and men coming pouring in.

His axe meets steel soon enough, chafing through the constraints put upon it, he cuts and hacks at men's legs, watching and laughing as they scream and grunt in pain. More of his men, wearing Lannister crimson are at his side, fighting for him, he might not be the heir to Casterly Rock, but he is still a Lannister, and at least now he knows what that counts for. He swings his axe, cutting through the pain of his own shoulders, as he is knocked and jostled around. Through it all, he thinks of staying alive, of the whores he will fuck when this is all done. It brings a smile to his face, but he knows that unless something major happens they are doomed. Somewhere amongst the chaos, there is more created, when he looks he sees two white cloaks fleeing the scene his Kingly nephew amongst them, he curses his nephew, just when they needed him to hold ground the most. The men start breaking, and before he can rally them, he is knocked out by a fiery sword, a stag rearing its legs before him.