The Dragon of Duskendale -- A Song of Ice and Fire Fanfic

Chapter 28

The harbor burned.

Tywin Lannister stood atop the walls of Lannisport, watching the chaos beneath. The sun was rising behind him, but the first tendrils of dawn were no match for the blinding light of the burning ships at anchor.

Their answer is no, then.

He hated having his offers thrown back in his face. He hated even more how often that happened lately. King Aerys the Mad had done it to him twice, when the Lion of the West offered his maiden daughter Cersei first to Rhaegar and then to Aelor, with the intention that his grandchildren sitting the Iron Throne one way or another. Now, as the burning ships signified, Quellon Greyjoy had done the same.

Over thirty galleys and several smaller craft had been put to flame by the sleek longships of the Ironborn, along with dozens of merchant traders and fishercraft. Though soldiers scurried around the docks below, fighting to keep the blaze from encroaching further on the city's walls and saving anything they could, Tywin could already tell no ships would be salvageable.

There is no helping it now. The Ironborn have chosen their side, and now we must adjust.

Lord Quenton Banefort approached, face grimy. The Lord of the Banefort was short and thick of shoulder and neck, and a good commander of men. He was also loyal to House Lannister above all else, having additional reasoning for joining Tywin in his rebellion; both of Lord Quenton's younger brothers had joined the attack on King's Landing, one dying in the fighting in the streets and the other in the slaughter at the sept. "It is as you guessed, Lord Tywin. They put the crews to the sword and stole what they could, then set it all alight and slipped back out into the sea."

"They knew they had no chance of taking the city, not with our armies growing within and without." Tywin clenched his jaw in irritation. "Doubtful they lost so much as a single man." And will now set their course for the keeps and towns of the Westerlands, while our strength is all centered here and cannot be spared to oppose them.

Tywin had not put much stock in the Seven in years-not since Joanna had died-but he wondered if he were facing divine punishment for actions he had taken in the past. Too much had gone too wrong in too many ways for it to only be the maneuvers of men.

His breakneck advance on King's Landing had not only been detected-Varys' work no doubt-but also correctly guessed to be hostile, despite only the inner council knowing their true intent until right outside the gates. Aelor Targaryen had abandoned the chase for Robert Baratheon and force marched his entire force back to the capitol on that hunch, catching and slaughtering Tywin's own force when his men had been distracted with looting and pillaging. The siege in the sept had been ended before Tywin could properly negotiate terms, according to his sources having been upended by sinful septons and a drunk. Tywin and Jaime's escape, which could have been a devastating blow to House Targaryen had it been accomplished a fortnight earlier, had come too late; Robert had died the day before, and his rebellion with him. His assassination of the Martell queen had proven to be nothing but trouble considering the survival of her children, only serving to antagonize Dorne.

Logic would have him surrender, to throw himself and his children on the mercy of Aelor Targaryen. But that was a course Tywin Lannister would not plot, a possibility for the future but not for now. He would not ask for mercy for actions he took in the interest of House Lannister, however they had played out. His pride would not let him, and even if it would, Tywin knew mercy would not be found in the second son of Aerys. Not yet, at least.

He still had thirty thousand men in the Westerlands, and he had Casterly Rock and Lannisport. His men would serve him for fear of a second Castamere, and Tywin had not neglected his family's seat and city during his years as head of House Lannister; both were well provisioned, capable of keeping large armies fed for far longer than the Targaryens would want to lay siege. Even now, he had forces spreading throughout the Westerlands, further stockpiling food and drink, much as he had in the Sept when the Sack turned sour. He could withstand Aelor and his armies for a time, wear them down until they were thoroughly sick of sleeping in tents and shitting in ditches, and then negotiate a more favorable surrender, saving face and saving lives. Tywin had no doubt he personally would still suffer, perhaps even still die, but he could put his house in a stronger position to absorb the blow and carry on.