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Time in this world never stops. Not for anyone.
While Clay was busy dealing with that horde of restless, half-starved Northerners, a grand drama was unfolding a thousand miles to the south, right within the walls of King's Landing.
The news that House Lannister was on the verge of collapse spread like wildfire, reaching the ears of the two Baratheon brothers almost instantly.
To say they weren't tempted … well, that would be a blatant lie.
The current situation was simple. Whether Stannis and Renly Baratheon could take down the pretender Joffrey didn't really matter. What mattered most was who could plant their backside on that Iron Throne first.
And so, Stannis — who had been cooped up at sea, stubbornly refusing to budge — finally made his move. With ten thousand men under his banner, he landed near the shores by the Mud Gate.
It wasn't that Stannis didn't want to bring more men — he simply didn't have any more to bring. Dragonstone's population was sparse to begin with, and even after scraping together forces from Stormlands nobles loyal to him, a few minor lords of the Crownlands, and the remnants of the royal fleet, this was all Stannis could muster — ten thousand men.
Against Renly's army of eighty thousand, Stannis was, naturally, at a crushing disadvantage. But that didn't bother him.
Because the moment he claimed the Iron Throne, the Baratheon bannermen wouldn't lift a finger against him.
The facts were plain for all to see. Robert was dead. Joffrey was a bastard. No matter how you looked at it, the Baratheon crown was Stannis's by right. The laws of succession were clear — everyone knew it.
The only reason things had turned out this way was because Renly, before all this, had been granted the title of Lord of Storm's End by Robert himself, making him the liege lord of the entire Stormlands. Add to that the simple fact that Renly was a Baratheon too — and, more importantly, that he possessed undeniable charm — and naturally, the bannermen rallied to his side.
But now, the rightful heir had marched into the city and seated himself upon the Iron Throne. For those same bannermen, still bearing the stag sigil of House Baratheon, to go to war against another Baratheon already crowned king… well, wasn't there something treasonous in that?
"Your Grace, it seems the old lion, Tywin, really is losing his edge. Yesterday's assault lasted for hours at the Dragon Gate. We nearly broke through… but the old lion lost his mind toward the end, and we had to pull back."
The one speaking was a certain lord under King Renly Baratheon, one of the men commanding his forces. As soon as word of Lannister weakness reached Renly, his patience naturally wore thin, and he wasted no time ordering the siege to intensify.
And sure enough, House Lannister's defenses had grown weaker by the day. Even standing within his war camp, Renly could see it with his own eyes. But frustratingly, the Lannisters still held over twenty thousand elite soldiers — they weren't going to be crushed overnight.
And just then… Stannis arrived.
With no other choice, Renly was forced to call off the assault. He dispatched twenty thousand men to the south to block Stannis's advance and guard against any surprise attack on his camp.
Originally, Renly hadn't stationed any troops near the Mud Gate at all. After all, just beyond the Mud Gate lay the docks of King's Landing, and the entirety of Blackwater Bay was firmly under Stannis's control. If Renly had established camps there, his men would have found themselves caught between the Lannisters inside the city and Stannis's forces pressing in from the bay — a perfect recipe for disaster.
Renly might not have been a brilliant commander himself, but his men weren't fools. Lord Randyll Tarly had fiercely opposed the idea from the very start, laying out a map of King's Landing and calmly persuading everyone present to abandon it.
And so, the situation in King's Landing had become what it was now. The Lannisters still held the city, but their defensive lines were steadily crumbling. Worse yet, most of the siege engines and defensive weapons positioned along the city walls had already been battered to pieces. With those weapons in ruins, they were utterly useless now when it came to holding the city.
Without them, it was only a matter of time before Renly's forces breached the walls. And once that happened, brutal close-quarters fighting would erupt along the battlements. It would turn into a battle of sheer attrition. And House Lannister? They could not afford to fight that kind of battle against Renly. They would be bled dry long before the fighting came to an end.
Renly's forces had already encircled King's Landing from the west, the north, and the southwest. Of the city's seven gates, his army had sealed off six. The only exception was the Mud Gate, which remained under the control of Stannis's forces.
Throughout all this, Renly had made no move against Stannis. He knew perfectly well that his bannermen wouldn't agree to it. If they had already wiped out the Lannisters, that would be another matter entirely — but as things stood, there was no chance of that happening.
Stannis, on the other hand, had no such concerns. His only problem was the pitiful state of his army. With Renly's twenty thousand men blocking his path, there was no way he could lead his ragtag forces to break through Renly's camp.
And right when the three sides were locked in this tense standoff, the situation suddenly changed.
It seemed… the Lannister garrison at the Mud Gate had made contact with Stannis's forces outside the city.
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"So, what you are telling me is… Lord Tywin intends to strip that bastard Joffrey of his crown, open the Mud Gate, and let me march into the city to claim the throne? He will bend the knee and swear fealty to me, all in exchange for sparing his family and guaranteeing their position as Wardens of the West?"
Inside the war tent, Stannis Baratheon stared down at the letter in his hand, his eyes narrowing as he shook the parchment slightly, the expression on his face growing more and more perplexed. He truly couldn't understand what Tywin Lannister was playing at.
"Tyrion," Stannis's voice was low as his gaze fixed on the small, sharp-eyed dwarf before him, "tell me… why did your cunning father send you here? If the Lannisters truly intend to surrender, why not go to my dear brother Renly? His reputation is far better than mine."
In matters of reputation, Stannis Baratheon was painfully self-aware. He understood his own flaws all too well, which made it even harder for him to comprehend why Tywin Lannister would choose to surrender to him.
Tyrion Lannister, only slightly taller than the long table beside him, was clad in luxurious clothes embroidered with golden lions, though the messy stubble on his chin rather ruined the elegance of it all. He met Stannis's eyes with a look of easy confidence, completely at ease.
"That's two separate questions, Lord Stannis."
Tyrion wagged a finger lightly, deliberately addressing Stannis by his old title from Robert's reign — Lord. The men surrounding Stannis bristled with visible hostility, their glares sharp as knives, but Stannis himself remained utterly unmoved, his face like stone.
"As for your first question… well, perhaps my beloved father simply wants to use your hand to rid himself of me," Tyrion said with a smirk, shrugging carelessly. "After all, patricide is not exactly the sort of stain he wants tarnishing his good name."
"And your second question… hmm… those are my dear father's exact words, actually. Let me imitate him for you… ahem…"
Tyrion straightened his posture slightly, clasping his hands behind his back as he strolled toward the center of the tent. His steps were measured and deliberate, his expression cool and detached. With unsettling precision, he slipped into Tywin Lannister's deep, cold tone. His voice rolled out slowly, heavy with disdain:
"Stannis is like a foul, stubborn stone lodged at the bottom of a privy. It stinks to high heaven, but it's solid — it won't shift easily. Renly, on the other hand, is like the clouds in the sky… one moment they're fair and harmless, the next, dark storm clouds gather above the city."
Finishing his imitation, Tyrion spread his hands wide, as if there was nothing more to be said. Then, without waiting for permission, he reached over to the table, snatched up Stannis's wine cup, poured himself half a glass of the sour red, and drained it in a single breath.
Stannis understood exactly what Tyrion was getting at.
The meaning behind those words was simple enough. Stannis was stubborn, set in his ways, but precisely because of that, once he agreed to accept the Lannisters' surrender, he would not go back on his word. Renly, on the other hand, was fickle and unpredictable, as changeable as the clouds overhead. Even if the Lannisters opened the city gates for him, there was no telling whether they would escape the same fate that had befallen House Targaryen.
The very thing the Lannisters themselves had done to the Targaryens more than ten years ago… now, that same blade hung over their own heads. And to say they weren't afraid… well, that was impossible. Any commander with even a shred of experience knew that once a city was isolated, it was as good as lost.
Deep in thought, Stannis nodded faintly, then continued to press:
"Tyrion Lannister… it's not because your forces can't hold out any longer. You lot can't fool me with that little trick. With my brother and those delicate little roses of his, you'd never have forced Tywin to the point of surrender. There must be… some other reason."
Tyrion grinned but didn't say a single word. Though in his heart, he couldn't help but quietly admire Stannis's keen judgment. Indeed, the reason House Lannister could no longer hold King's Landing had nothing to do with military pressure.
It came down to one thing — how to feed the hundreds of thousands of mouths inside those city walls.
Yes, while Clay had been busy running around Slaver's Bay, Dorne, the North, and beyond the Wall, the Lannisters, who had clung stubbornly to King's Landing, had finally been pushed to the brink… or more precisely, the brink of starvation.
Every granary in the city was nearly empty. Even the smallest scrap of food could fetch an outrageous price, and already, people were beginning to starve to death.
In such a situation, the cost of maintaining order within King's Landing for the Lannisters had soared to the point of near impossibility.
Just imagine — with every patrol, there was the chance that a hand would reach out from the shadows. A hand that gripped a blade, stained with filth and grime, and whose owner… had eyes gleaming with the greenish hunger of the half-mad.
It didn't take long for order to collapse across most parts of the city. For a single mouthful of food, the people of King's Landing would do anything. The Gold Cloaks, who had been redeployed within the city, could only barely hold the districts where the wealthy and the nobles lived — those areas still had food reserves, so order, for now, remained… but only just.
Every night, standing atop the high platform of the Tower of the Hand, Tyrion could see the faint, scattered sparks of fire lighting up across King's Landing. From afar, they looked like tiny embers in the dark, but if you got closer… they were raging infernos, devouring whole streets.
It could be said that King Joffrey had already lost control of most of his capital. Aside from a few main thoroughfares and the districts of the wealthy, the Gold Cloaks didn't even dare take a single step anywhere else.
The only thing keeping the city from descending into complete chaos was the presence of over twenty thousand Lannister soldiers within its walls… cold-blooded killers, every one of them. The starving mobs, desperate as they were, still had enough sense not to openly clash with the army. Otherwise, this city would have fallen into utter anarchy long ago.
"I never said a word," Tyrion shrugged with that familiar sly grin. "You, Stannis, know far better than I do what kind of people live inside King's Landing."
"Enough," Stannis waved a hand. "Your intentions are clear. I can spare Tywin… and the rest of your Lannister lot. But the Lannisters will never again wear the crown. That little bastard boy must kneel at my feet. That… is non-negotiable."
"Fair enough," Tyrion nodded, as if this were all just a casual negotiation over wine. "Though my dear sister might not be too pleased… but my father still has his wits about him. If he has to pin her down and force her to agree, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised."
In truth, the situation now… was not much different from when Clay had dealt with Melisandre. Three sides locked in a stalemate, each holding a bargaining chip. The side with the initiative could choose to ally with whomever they pleased… and the others would not dare utter so much as a word of protest.
Because the moment you refused, it meant only one thing — you weren't willing to cooperate. And in that case… well, they would simply turn around and strike a deal with your enemies instead.
"We'll open the Mud Gate at sunset tomorrow and let your army into the city," Tyrion declared. "After that, our troops will attempt to break out. Since Joffrey is no longer king, House Lannister has no reason to remain here."
Stannis fell silent for a long moment. His advisors beside him exchanged uncertain glances, but no one spoke. To be frank, this offer put them in a difficult position. If the Lannisters left, how exactly was Stannis, with barely ten thousand men under his command, supposed to hold King's Landing?
But then again… could they refuse?
Of course not. If Stannis turned down the deal, it would be the same as sentencing the Lannisters to death. They would have no choice but to turn around and ally with Renly instead. In the end, it all came down to who offered them a way out — they'd kneel to whoever kept them alive.
"Fine. I agree," Stannis finally said, his voice like grinding stone. "But you must guarantee that my army takes full control of the city's defenses. After we secure all seven gates of King's Landing… only then can your troops retreat."
"No problem," Tyrion replied with an easy shrug. "We are all planning to leave anyway. No reason for us to linger here."
"Then I trust you will keep your word," Stannis warned, his expression dark and unreadable. "Otherwise… I will set aside my quarrel with Renly for now and drag every last Lannister out of the Red Keep and slaughter you all myself."
"Be my guest," Tyrion chuckled, utterly unfazed. "Kill whoever you like. Aside from my brother… the rest of them? Yours to deal with as you please."
"…Enough with the jokes, Tyrion Lannister," Stannis's patience finally thinned, his tone sharp as a blade. "Until my army enters through the Mud Gate, you will stay right here… with me."
"Just one condition," Tyrion lifted a finger with mock seriousness. "Plenty of good wine. And I mean real wine, not that Dornish horse piss! Oh, and while you're at it… find me a woman. Otherwise, I swear, I might just suffocate from boredom."
"You'll get your wine," Stannis replied without expression. "But as for women… I'm afraid there are none in my army.
Tyrion Lannister was escorted away by Stannis's soldiers, his muttered complaints and grumbling still lingering in the empty tent long after he was gone.
"Stubborn… rigid… inflexible Stannis," Tyrion muttered under his breath as he was led away. "Your complete inability to adapt… truly is the biggest flaw of your entire miserable life…"
Outside the tent, Stannis stood motionless, his black eyes fixed on the distant walls of King's Landing, crouched upon the horizon like some slumbering beast. Reflected in those dark, obsidian-like eyes… were the faint flickering embers of fire dancing in the night.
"Stubborn?" he whispered softly to the night, as though speaking to himself, or… perhaps to Tyrion, even though the dwarf was long gone. "If stubbornness is what it takes to claim the throne, then I am not stubborn… Tyrion Lannister, the fact you still draw breath to look upon me… that alone is the greatest mercy I will ever offer you. Everyone standing in the way of my crown… should they not all be swept aside and buried?"
His quiet murmur scattered into pieces, carried away by the chill wind rising from the banks of the Blackwater.
Stannis's gaze turned slightly to the right, toward the Red Keep perched atop Aegon's High Hill. Its windows shone brightly through the darkness, the glow so harsh, so glaring, it burned like an insult in the black sky.
A year ago, it was inside that castle — beautiful on the surface, filthy and rotten to the core — that his brother had died. And today… as his brother's rightful heir, Stannis Baratheon had never felt himself so close to Robert's throne.
But the thought of Renly crept in, unwelcome as it was. What gnawed at Stannis most… was not the Lannisters, nor the rebellion… but the crown resting on Renly's head.
He could not forgive his brother for that betrayal!
When Robert had died, Stannis had given his life over to one purpose alone — seizing the throne that was rightfully his. Yet his own younger brother now stood in his path.
Stannis Baratheon, King by right and by blood, poised to enter the greatest battle of his life… could not bring himself to face his younger brother.
If Renly raised his sword against him… would he give the order to kill him?
Stannis did not want to admit it, but deep within him, an irritating, persistent voice whispered the answer.
He must do this!
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[Chapter End's]
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