The Reach's sudden declaration of war on the Stormlands sent shockwaves across Westeros, adding yet another layer of treacherous and unpredictability to an already complex political landscape. Still, it didn't come as a complete surprise; the ambitions of House Tyrell and the rising figure of Viscount Caesar were becoming evident to anyone paying attention.
For House Lannister, the Reach's decision, though troubling, could have been far worse. At least the Tyrells' forces weren't marching on King's Landing. Had the Reach chosen to attack the capital, the Lannisters would truly be caught between enemies on all sides with little hope of survival. But even without that immediate threat, the Reach's choice added significantly to the Lannisters' mounting troubles.
"Uncle Kevan, are you really planning to go to war with a force like this?"
From the city walls of King's Landing, Tyrion Lannister, the Hand of the King, looked down at the gathering troops, his brow furrowing deeply. This was, without a doubt, the worst-organized army he had ever laid eyes on—if it could even be called an army.
The soldiers were disheveled, many sprawled out on the ground or leaning against walls. Their "weapons" ranged from simple wooden spears and crude round shields to rusty pitchforks, with only a select few equipped with real steel. As for armor, it was virtually nonexistent; most wore tattered clothes barely fit to fend off the wind, let alone an enemy.
"We have no choice," Kevan Lannister replied with a sigh. "These men were conscripted hastily from King's Landing, so quality was bound to suffer."
"Then perhaps you should've conscripted fewer," Tyrion suggested. "Fifty thousand is far too many. If you reduced the number to eight thousand or even ten thousand and focused on outfitting only the most able, we'd have at least a half-decent force. As it stands, this army will probably scatter at the first sign of a fight."
"No matter. I intend to avoid open battle with the Reach. This rabble is better suited to garrison duty than to a field engagement."
"Are you sure they'll even make it to the Stormlands without deserting?"
Kevan sighed heavily and finally admitted his true intentions. "You still don't understand the real purpose here, Tyrion. King's Landing… has too many mouths to feed."
Tyrion froze for a moment, realization dawning as his tone grew somber. "And not enough grain to feed them…"
Kevan nodded, lowering his voice. "Yes. The population of this city has always relied on shipments of grain from the Riverlands and the Reach. But the Riverlands have joined Eddard Stark's rebellion, and the Reach… well, they've now cut off the Roseroad, barring food supplies from reaching King's Landing. The city will inevitably face a food shortage soon, and once the hunger sets in, we're looking at riots."
"Which is why you're taking so many young men to the front."
Kevan gave a grave nod. "Precisely. If unrest is inevitable, we must ensure it stays manageable. These fifty thousand young men need to be taken out of the city. They won't inflict much damage on the Reach, but at least they won't be causing chaos here."
Tyrion felt a chill seep into his bones. He knew these men were essentially being sent as cannon fodder to the Stormlands, and without them, King's Landing's population—now mostly the old, women, and children—would be far easier to control should riots break out. He wanted to protest, but he had no better solution; leaving them in the city would indeed be a liability.
"When I leave," Kevan continued, "all grain trade in the city must be brought under strict control. Rations should go to the army first, the people second. If anyone tries to incite unrest, stamp it out immediately."
"Understood…" Tyrion replied, his voice laden with reluctance.
Just then, an angry voice shrieked behind them: "Why did you take my daughter? Why did you take my daughter?!"
Tyrion turned to see his sister, Cersei, storming towards them in fury.
"Good morning, dearest sister," Tyrion greeted her lightly.
But Cersei ignored him, striding directly to Kevan. "Why did you send away Myrcella?"
Kevan's tone remained calm. "It was part of our agreement with Dorne. Myrcella must be wed to Trystane Martell."
"She's only ten! Ten years old! Who weds a ten-year-old?"
"The marriage won't happen immediately," Kevan explained. "But she must go to Sunspear to secure the alliance and prevent Doran Martell from changing his mind. Are you aware he just met with Samwell Caesar in Starfall? Right now, we cannot afford to lose Dorne's allegiance."
"So you sold her!" Cersei's voice cracked with anger. "You sold my daughter like you once sold me to Robert!"
"Come now, dear sister," Tyrion interjected, trying to lighten her mood. "I can't imagine a lovelier mare than you."
"Damned dwarf!" Cersei looked at her brother with gritted teeth, "If you dare to say another word with that mouth of yours, I'll cut it apart with a knife!"
Cersei shot him a venomous look, her eyes locked on his throat, as if that was where she truly wanted to strike.
Someday, when you are drowning in tears, your brother will seize your pale throat and take your life…
The witch's cruel prophecy echoed in Cersei's mind. She bitterly regretted not strangling her deformed brother in his cradle when she'd had the chance.
"No need to get worked up, Cersei," Kevan tried to reason. "Myrcella will be treated with respect in Sunspear. Prince Doran has assured us of that. And Trystane is a good boy; Myrcella will be happy with him."
"No, she won't!" Cersei screamed, her voice laced with terror. She will die!
… You shall have three children. Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds…
Cersei could almost see the witch's gnarled face laughing before her eyes.
Unable to understand his niece's outburst, Kevan assumed it was simply maternal grief. He had neither the patience nor the time to soothe her now. He signaled to two guards, who stepped forward to escort Cersei away as she shrieked, "You took Joff, and now you take Myrcella! I'll remember this! One day, I'll take what matters most to you! I swear it!"
Kevan shook his head with a weary sigh. "What's happened to Cersei?"
Tyrion shrugged. "Perhaps she misses our dear brother Jaime. I'd try comforting her, but I'm afraid I lack his charming face."
"Keep such remarks to yourself in public." Kevan shot Tyrion a stern look. "Your mouth will get you in trouble someday."
"Understood." Tyrion mimicked zipping his lips and nodded solemnly.
Kevan, knowing his nephew well, didn't press the matter. Instead, he said, "Speaking of Jaime, do we know where he is?"
"All we know is that the Tyrells took the sea route—a wise move. We have no fleet to intercept him. If Father truly wants his golden son back, he'll need to send someone to the Wall."
Kevan's brow furrowed, and after a moment, he shook his head. "Leave it for now. We already have enough to deal with."
"Indeed. By the way, how do you intend to send Myrcella to Dorne? land route is impossible with the Reach's forces, and as for the sea…"
"We'll send her by sea," Kevan replied, having already thought it through. "She'll travel to Braavos first, where the Martells will meet her. From there, it's out of our hands."
"Clever. Stannis won't expect us to divert to Braavos, so if he focuses on blocking southern routes, he'll likely miss her entirely."
"Exactly." With that, Kevan took his helmet from a squire, preparing to depart with his makeshift army.
Before leaving, he gave Tyrion a final set of instructions: "With Eddard Stark blocked in the North and the Reach focused on the Stormlands, our only real threat is Stannis's fleet in Blackwater Bay. Watch for any movement there, and hold this city at all costs."
"Imagine me, defending a city," Tyrion chuckled, then quickly composed himself. "Rest assured, Uncle. I won't let Stannis set foot in King's Landing while I draw breath."
Kevan placed a firm hand on his nephew's shoulder, his expression resolute. "Tyrion, many might look down on you, but to me, you are the finest of our family's younger generation. Hold the city well, and don't disappoint me."
Tyrion's eyes glistened for a moment, though he quickly masked his emotions with a steady breath. "Uncle, you really should share that sentiment with my father."
Kevan chuckled heartily. "He'll see your worth in time."
As Kevan turned to leave, Tyrion watched him go, a faint, bitter whisper slipping from his lips:
"No, he won't. Father would rather have a kingslaying, one-handed, incestuous son who's sworn off titles… than ever look twice at me."
(End of Chapter)