Part X - Dale
"Patience, my boy, we have not won yet."
Dale did not share his father's fears - their massive army faced almost no resistance taking the city, just as Melisandre had foreseen. Faced with the might of Storm's End and the treachery of the Vale, the dwarf and the sellsword stood no chance. The boy-king's forces melted away so quickly, it was as if the rain itself had melted them, and Stannis's soldiers looted their way to the Red Keep.
"Nonsense, father," Dale said. "The city is ours, and the Red Keep cannot hold out for even half a fortnight. And once the boy king is dead and the dwarf's head on a spike, the Reach will surrender, Dorne will abandon their neutrality and accept our kingship, and Tywin Lannister will stand alone, sure to be defeated. Victory is a sure thing."
It was bittersweet, of course. Dale had lost his ship, the
Wraith, as well as half his crew, in the first night of fighting, burned by the dwarf's wildfire; Dale himself barely made it out alive, saved by a sailor from his father's ship. All around him, though, others weren't so lucky, spending their last moments engulfed in green flame that not even water could quench. A cruel way to go, he thought, even worse than he imagined the fire of dragons would be, and for that he wanted to see the dwarf dead; men had no business harnassing wildfire, it was just too dangerous.
"King's Landing is a three-hundred-year-old city, my boy, and a dangerous one," Davos cautioned. "The Targaryens were a careful folk, and filled this city with all traps and defenses of all kinds. And even then, Tywin Lannister is a powerful man; do not underestimate him. I will not rest easy until King Stannis has sat on the Iron Throne so long he gets bored with the décor of the room." He probably would have said more, but he saw Stannis climbing the stairs to the top of the gatehouse where they were standing.
"Your Grace," Davos and Dale bowed. "The vanguard has faced minimal resistance and has joined up with Lord Harrold. Preparations to lay siege to the Red Keep are under way."
"Very good. Make sure no more harm than necessary comes to the city, I would not prefer to give my enemies reason to incite the smallfolk against me after my victory."
Davos nodded. "A wise proposition, Your Grace." From there, they began to discuss the logistics of Stannis's first days on the Iron Throne - how to reinforce the position militarily, how to win the Tyrells over, how to deal with the wildling threat - so Dale wandered away, looking over the city. It was almost surely dawn, but the city was still black as midnight because of the storm. The swirling winds and driving rains made it difficult to see even by the lightning that lit up the sky almost constantly, but he was still able to make out a few figures - footsoldiers barging into stores and houses for loot, knights riding up and down the streets to herd their men towards the Red Keep...the typical scenes of an army let loose on a city. But the longer Dale looked, the more he became uneasy; something seemed wrong, although he could not determine exactly what it was.
Finally, he interrupted his father's conversation. "Father, Your Grace, pardon the interruption. But how large a city is King's Landing?"
His father looked at him strangely. "Five hundred thousand or so. Why?"
"Because," Dale said, "I don't see anybody from here. No men defending their homes, no children running and hiding, no women clutching their babies or getting raped. Only our soldiers running through the streets."
"It's raining, can you not tell?" Stannis retorted. "Perhaps they are doing these things, except indoors. Nobody likes this weather."
Dale nodded, but remained unconvinced; a man defending his home would not care about the weather, no matter the circumstances. His father seemed to share his concerns. "My boy is right, Your Grace. We best tread with caution, the Imp destroyed our fleet with one stroke; as long as he lives I..." His voice trailed off, his face deep in concentration. "Do you hear that?"
For a second, he thought his father was getting paranoid again, as Dale only heard the howls of the wind, the booming claps of thunder, the rapid tapping of rain, but then he heard something, too. A high-pitched hiss filled the night air, starting off soft, barely noticeable even, but quickly becoming louder and louder. The men below stopped and looked around for the source of the noise.
Then the hiss turned into a boom and the city exploded into flames.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
They rode southwards on the first horses they could find, followed by those men who had either not been yet entered the city or were tasked with defending the camp - around eight thousand in all, as best as Dale could guess. Just a shadow of the original army that had marched north from Storm's End. Beside him rode is father and Stannis, muttering to himself. The King had refused to accept what had happened, that his army had been lured into the city, which the Imp had turned into the largest funeral pyre in Westeros for the invading army; he and Davos had to literally drag him from the walls of King's Landing and put him on a horse.
Images of what just happened danced in Dale's head. One moment stood a grand city, the next moment, an explosion of flames. Flames of all colors - red and blue and orange and green, scattered throughout, then coming together - lit up the night, and it was at that moment Dale knew they had been tricked. How they had pulled it off, he was not sure, and it would lay waste to large parts of the city, but they would still hold it. The red priestess had been right - King's Landing did burn with the fire of the Lord, but not with his saving power, but literally.
Dale sighed; perhaps his father was right, that Melisandre's god was a god of the east, and had no true power here. Westeros was the land of the Seven; R'hllor had no place here But now was not a time for faith, but for action, and so he continued south, the flames of their defeat behind them.
[center______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/center]
Alright...so, status. Stannis's army is decimated by a part-wildfire-part-regular-fire explosion, the remnants of his army and part of Harrold's army are routed (in different directions, though). Tyrion has won the first battle for Joff, but the war is not over, and large parts of Kings Landing need rebuilding. And so far, we've only met six kings...there are still three more.
(I'll give you a hint - one line in an earlier part is seemingly a throwaway line, but it's not.)
Also, in case you didn't realize, this POV is Dale Seaworth, son of Davos. He is a recurring POV character, not a once-off; for further reference, I will be using GRRM's general style - real name for recurring, title/description for once-off, and title/description if there's a reason (i.e., Alayne for Sansa, Reek/The Prince of Winterfell for Theon, etc.)
As always, our summary:
The Six Kings:
1. Joffrey Baratheon, King on the Iron Throne
2. Stannis Baratheon, Lord of the Stormlands
3. Renly Baratheon, Lord of the Stormlands (deceased)
4. Robb Stark, King in the North and of the Trident (deceased). Succeeded by Eddard Stark, Son of Robb Stark (infant)...in-game, merely claimants
5. Balon Greyjoy, King of the Iron Isles (invading the North)
6. Mance Rayder, The Free Folk King in the North (holds the North and Beyond-the-Wall)
Other important lords:
1. Mace Tyrell, Lord of the Reach.
2. Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne
3. Harrold Hardying, Lord of the Vale
4. Oberyn Martell, Lord of Plankytown
5. Petyr Baelish, Master of Coin
