Loren Lannister (299 A.C. Sixth Moon)
King's Landing – On route to the Alchemist Guild
Loren rode through the streets accompanied by five guardsmen, Vylarr, and the Lord Commander of the City Watch. The city pressed in around them, louder than usual, harsher. The cries of merchants rang sharper, the arguments lingered longer, and even the stench of the gutters seemed stronger, as if King's Landing itself knew war was coming.
"Tell me, Bywater, has housing been found for those who lost their houses near the river walls?"
"It is still a puzzle, my lord, as the city was already overcrowded as it was. Some have found housing with kin, others are housed in a tent camp on the road toward Duskendale. Those who refused those lodgings have scattered to the wind, into the city or into the countryside," Bywater replied.
Loren nodded, though his jaw tightened. It had been necessary. He knew that. Every lord worth his gold knew that. Yet knowing did little to quiet the unease. He would not have houses huddled against the wall for Stannis's soldiers to climb once they crossed the Blackwater. A single ladder was dangerous enough; a flat row of roofs was more than a soldier could climb on the wall, would give them an advantage he wasn't planning on giving them.
Still, it was the smallfolk who paid the price.
"Speaking of the tent camp, is that perhaps a possibility to house those fleeing the wars?" he questioned, glancing toward a narrow alley where a family huddled beneath a torn cloak.
"It could be done, my lord, yet we would need more cloth, hemp, and wool for the tents." Loren frowned at Bywater's reply. More needs that had to be met, yet no coin to see it done. Coin always seemed to vanish when most required.
"Hmm, see what you can procure. If we can give the homeless some relief, it is better. I do not wish for a riot in the city." His voice was calm, but the thought lingered. Hunger turned men desperate. Desperate men turned violent.
"I shall do what I can, my lord," Bywater stated, and Loren gave him a nod.
They rode on in silence for a time. A baker's stall passed them, the price board crudely scratched over and raised again. A line of people stretched before it, longer than it should have been. Loren took note of that. He took note of everything.
After a few more moments of riding, they arrived at the Alchemist Guild. It stood squat and old, its stones darker than those around it, as though they had drunk in centuries of smoke. Above the door hung the green flame sigil, painted upon a shield
above the door. "Bywater, Vylarr, you both can join me, the rest of you wait outside," he noted as he dismounted from his horse.
The door opened, and a pyromancer walked outside. "Ah, Lord Hand, welcome to our humble abode," the man muttered.
"I'm here to speak with your Head Pyromancer."
"Wisdom, Hallyne," the man stated.
"Wisdom?" he asked.
"Indeed, we call our heads by that name. The others of our order we call guardians."
Loren almost had to laugh. Guardians of the damn wildfire. Loren shook his head. "Very well, lead me to your Wisdom."
The air inside was warmer, thicker. It smelled of oil, ash, and something sharp beneath it all, something that prickled at the nose and lingered on the tongue. They were led into an entry hall with seven doorways, each marked with faint green symbols Loren did not recognize.
At the far end stood Wisdom Hallyne.
"Welcome, Lord Hand, that you have come to visit our humble order," the man stated. He was old, with white hair and deep-set wrinkles, his eyes bright despite his years. His robe was a deep green, the flame sigil upon his chest vivid and proud, and a green-gold pin caught the torchlight as he moved.
"I required a visit after it came to my attention you have been visiting the Queen, that you have made wildfire for her?" Loren asked.
"Indeed, we have. Ever since we were given the order and promised funds for our work, we have begun again in earnest. Our order has not received such favor in many years. Save for a few benefactors and the generous funding Aerys left us, we have endured. The Queen has changed that." There was pride in his voice, and something else. Hunger.
"She has plans of using it to fire from catapults onto Stannis's ships and men," Hallyne continued.
Loren groaned inwardly, and beside him Vylarr snorted. Loren cast him a sharp glance.
"Wildfire hasn't been used in the city since the days of Aerys," Loren said. "How could we be sure you can still make it, or that the substance is right? You could be selling the Queen jars of green water."
The insult hung in the air.
Hallyne's eyes sharpened, his lips thinning. "Our order does not deal in bad faith. The substance is fire given form in its purest state, and it is as deadly as dragonfire. It is why we received such patronage when the dragons died. We have made it since the days of Maegor."
"Here. Our proud creation."
Loren took the jar, turning it slowly in his hands. The light within it danced unnaturally, like a living thing trapped behind glass.
Wildfire.
He wished he had never seen it.
Jaime's voice echoed in his mind, unbidden. Stories of the Mad King, of laughter in the Throne Room as men and women burned, their screams swallowed by green flame. Of smoke thick enough to choke a man where he stood.
"I remember my brother telling me once about an old sailor's proverb," Loren said quietly. "Piss on wildfire and your cock burns off."
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then Hallyne's eyes lit with curiosity. "We have not conducted that experiment, though we have conducted others. To test its properties, you understand. In specialist rooms, contained. As with our storage chambers."
"Special rooms?" Loren questioned, handing the jar back.
"Indeed, my lord. In case of failure, a mechanism brings down tons of sand upon the fire to prevent it from spreading. It is, to our knowledge, the only way to put the fire out. Save for dying out after it has consumed its fuel source.
"Very well, show me those storage rooms. I wish to see your stocks," he noted as he gave the man the jar back.
The Wisdom smiled as he led them to a door and down a staircase. "Lord Hand, I do see the upsides of having wildfire. Yet as we know, once wildfire is set loose, it is hard to control. Even with regular stones or firepots, you hit your target maybe one out of ten. That is with trained men, and thanks to the Hand's men we have some, but not enough with all the other jobs they are required to do during the siege," Bywater stated, as he paused before adding, "Then there is the fact that battles are messy; plans fall apart after battle begins. Which means people make mistakes, get wounded, or die. Which means pots and jars failing, which means fire inside of the walls, and the city we are trying to defend may be burned down by us."
The Wisdom snorted in irritation, yet this man only saw the power of wildfire, not how to handle it in battle. They then ended at the bottom of the stairs, and the man opened a quite intricate door.
Hallyne snorted softly, though whether in disagreement or irritation, Loren could not tell.
At the bottom of the stairs, they came to a heavy door bound in iron. Hallyne opened it with a flourish.
The chamber beyond was lined wall to wall with clay pots and glass jars. Hundreds. No, more than that.
A thousand, at least.
The faint green glow filled the room like ghostlight.
"We have eight more chambers," Hallyne said eagerly. "Not all filled, but we labor day and night. Ever since the Queen's command."
He spread his arms as if presenting a treasure hoard. "Our present count stands at seven thousand, eight hundred and eleven pots and jars. More than enough to burn Stannis's army and fleet."
Loren drew in a slow breath. Seven thousand, eight hundred and eleven. Knowing what the Mad King had wanted to do with such pots, he noted, "I fear the Lord Commander has a point, Wisdom Hallyne. The contents of these chambers and the others can bring King's Landing low."
Yet he knew his sister's plans could not work. Yet with the chain, perhaps he could use the wildfire in a safer way. "Wisdom Hallyne, you won't be making wildfire for my sister any longer."
The man's face faltered.
"You will be making it for me," Loren noted with a smile.
The Tower of Hand - Dining chamber
Loren sat at the head of the table, together with Sansa, Jeyne Poole, Tyrek, Tion, and Sansa's handmaiden, Shae.
The table before them was well set, yet noticeably less lavish than it might once have been. Gone were the endless courses and excess. Instead, there were platters of brown bread, still warm but coarser than usual, a modest trench of roasted chicken carved into smaller portions than a lord's table might once allow, a thick vegetable stew of onions, turnips, and barley, and a small wheel of cheese already half-cut. A jug of watered wine stood near Loren's hand.
Enough for a noble table, but not indulgent.
As it should be.
Much of what would once have been served here had been sent into the city instead. Loren had given the order himself. Better the smallfolk eat than starve. A full city was easier to rule than a hungry one.
Someone he knew, and didn't like, was Sansa's handmaiden. Shae was a whore, someone Tyrion had taken from the army camp. He didn't mind his brother enjoying whores, yet when one was his wife-to-be's handmaiden, hmm, it was a step too far. He would have to deal with that after the siege battle.
For now, there were more pressing matters.
At least Sansa had a friend back. Although when he found out what had happened to the girl, he had been quite wroth. It was similar to what had happened to Tysha, and what Littlefinger had done was close to slavery. Yet he knew the girl had been given to him by his sister, and she was still the daughter of the man who had served the Starks. All he could do was get the girl out and give her some comfort.
He noticed Sansa had been happy, yet also angry, especially at Littlefinger, and Loren thought Sansa needed to stay away from that creep as much as possible.
He then turned to his two squires. "Tion and Tyrek, how was your training today?"
"It was a good one. Aron Santagar is a vain man, but honest, and he does know how to instruct and fight. Yet the lessons aren't as good as yours," Tyrek noted as he tore a piece of bread and dipped it into the stew.
"Nor is he as good a fighter," Tion added with a smile, though he handled his spoon more carefully, as if afraid to spill even a drop.
Loren smiled faintly. "Good, and your lessons?" he asked them, taking a measured bite of the chicken. Even the meat was leaner than he would have preferred, though he did not show it.
Both boys looked down. "Not as good, I take it?"
"I struggle with the sums. I find them difficult," Tion admitted, his voice quieter now.
"Well, why not come to me an hour after dinner in my solar, and then we can practice together." Tion's face brightened at once, and he nodded gratefully.
Loren then looked toward Tyrek.
"I still have difficulty with remembering the houses, especially those outside the Westerlands," Tyrek confessed, frowning slightly as if the names themselves weighed upon him.
"Well, it can be difficult, I know from experience. After I became my father's heir, I knew most houses of the Westerlands, yet those outside, save for the more renowned houses, I knew little of. Work on them, perhaps make a game out of it. It's what my brother and I did," he stated.
"What kind of game?" Tyrek asked, curiosity cutting through his earlier frustration.
"We would name a house, then the other had to say their words, lands, and allies, or we would do it the other way around, and name the house and sigil. If you failed, you drank a small cup of salty water and laughed as the other coughed." Loren said lightly, with a small laugh. He wouldn't tell them that Tyrion did that one, still, although now it was with a drink.
Tyrek gave a small grin. "That sounds like a game I could lose often."
"And learn from just as often," Loren replied.
Then he turned to Sansa, who had been listening quietly, her hands folded neatly before her plate, though she had eaten little.
"Tell me, Lady Sansa, how have you taken to the lessons? Has the scribe been a good instructor?"
"It has been new, yet I knew some history thanks to my septa, though it wasn't as in-depth as these lessons. Yet I am learning. The same as Tion, I have some difficulty with sums. Yet I'm learning. My mother used to teach me as it was part of managing a household, but ever since coming to King's Landing I have neglected it. A shame, really, as it is part of managing a household, and a castle."
Her gaze lingered briefly on the table, on the simpler fare, as if she too had noticed the change.
Loren nodded. "Indeed, it is the same as with Tion. I could teach you some. Although about the household part, I know little myself. Perhaps once in the West, I could ask my aunt Genna or my aunt Darlessa to teach you. Both have been managing a household for quite some time."
Sansa looked at him for a moment before answering. "I would like that."
There was something softer in her tone now. Hope, perhaps, though cautious.
Loren inclined his head slightly, then looked toward Jeyne. "Jeyne, how has the adjustment been?"
The girl stiffened at once, her spoon pausing halfway to her lips. Her eyes were wide, still carrying that lingering fear that did not fade easily. He knew enough of what she had been forced to endure to understand that it would not.
"I'm grateful to be under your care, and to be allowed to serve as Sansa's handmaiden," Jeyne replied. The words were proper, practiced, yet they lacked warmth. They sounded learned, rather than felt.
"Good. If you need something, feel free to tell me, or my steward," Loren said, his voice gentler than before.
Jeyne nodded quickly and returned to her food, though she ate little.
Not much else was set before they all retired to their chambers. As Loren went to his solar and looked out the window, he thought of the weeks ahead, the departure of Myrcella, the hope of food relief for the city, and Tyrion talking with the Tyrells.
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