Chapter 71: The Bay of Fla
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“You're really leaving behind, my King?” The Red Priestess lisandre asked, standing by the hearth. Her ruby choker seed to pulse with magic as she spoke.
The Painted Table took up most of the chamber, its surface smoothed by centuries of lords tracing borders and plotting wars. Pale light ca in through the drum tower’s narrow windows, casting long shadows on the stone walls.
Stannis Baratheon stared at the wooden markers on the map, his jaw tight. “That’s final. You’re staying here on Dragonstone.”
“But why?” she asked, stepping closer. “False King Joffrey’s forces weaken every day. According to your spies, even the Queen Regent hasn’t been seen in weeks. That is good and all, but you still need to help with this. The Lord of Light has shown visions in the flas. Your victory might depend on being by your side.”
“Cersei Lannister missing doesn’t change anything,” Stannis answered, drumming his fingers on the carved outline of King’s Landing as he looked at her. “It does hint at trouble among them, and that’s more than enough for . The decision is final.”
lisandre’s lips thinned. “Are you certain? What about the rumors of a Targaryen ghost flying over the city with dragon wings?”
“Superstitious nonsense,” Stannis snapped. “Dead n don’t fly, and dragons are gone from the world. I won’t have that kind of talk muddying our purpose.”
“My King, the flas don’t lie. As for superstitions, you know what happened to Ren—”
“Enough.” His voice cut through the air like steel on stone. “I need you to stay here, keeping the converts in line. The garrison must stay loyal while I’m gone.”
She stood taller, her eyes shining red. “So you ignore R’hllor’s power? After all you’ve witnessed?”
Stannis was starting to get annoyed now. “I’m ignoring nothing. But this battle will be won by steel and strategy, not magic.”
“You might regret this,” she warned softly. “When the darkness—”
Stannis moved fast. He grabbed her by the throat, and her eyes went wide as his grip tightened. She gasped, tears building as she clawed at his hand.
“Don’t ever threaten ,” he growled, then let go. She stumbled back, one hand on her neck while the other steadied her against the table.
Stannis fixed his doublet, his voice returning to its usual calm. “Once King’s Landing is taken, your Red Temple will have its place. We’ll rid the realm of false gods, and you’ll help save it from the darkness you showed . But first, I need my throne. You’re a woman, the battlefield is no place for you.”
lisandre rubbed her throat, the ruby glowing faster now. She gave him a tight nod, her eyes burning with frustration. Is he, she wondered, is he truly the Warrior of Light, my lord?
Unaware of the doubt creeping in her head, Stannis turned on his heel and left, his footsteps echoing until they faded into silence.
****
anwhile, in King’s Landing…
The Small Council chamber was a ss.
Tyrion sat at the head of the table, fingers steepled, while the lords around him argued like fishwives. Joffrey, of course, was loudest.
“Cowards! All of you!” the boy-king shouted, slamming his fist on the table. “Stannis marches on my city, and you’re here whining like frightened whores!”
Grand Maester Pycelle coughed into his sleeve. “Your Grace… we must—”
“We must do sothing,” Joffrey cut in, face reddening. “We should ride out and crush him before he even reaches the walls!”
If I hadn’t known already, this would have been proof enough that he’s not Robert Baratheon’s son. Tyrion sighed and rubbed his temples. “Nephew, if we had the manpower for that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Varys shifted, his face unreadable. “Lord Tyrion is correct. Our gold cloaks can barely keep order in the streets, let alone fight Stannis in open battle.” He looked at Tyrion, smiling softly with an odd glint in his eyes. Tyrion wondered what that was about.
Littlefinger raised an eyebrow, that mocking smile on his lips. “Maybe we should invite Lord Stannis into the city for so hospitality?” the bastard jested. “We could pour him so wine and watch him choke on it.”
Joffrey glared. “Not the ti for jokes, Lord Baelish.”
This place feels so suffocating, dammit. Tyrion sighed. With Tywin and Kevan away, Tyrion was stuck in charge. Its weight felt heavy on his shoulders.
“And what about the other threat?” Joffrey asked, cutting through the bickering. “The one with wings who took my mother.”
Silence. Nobody wanted to talk about the presud Viserys Targaryen.
Varys cleared his throat a mont later. “My little birds hear all sorts of songs about the realm, but he’s heard nothing about our winged friend. I apologize, Your Grace, but I don’t know where he’s hiding.”
“Hiding… that cowardly lizard!” Joffrey shot to his feet. “Keep your eyes open for those Tyrell bastards, those traitors! I’ll have their heads! Every single Tyrell will burn for this!”
“Your Grace,” Littlefinger said smoothly, “maybe we should focus on the imdiate threat. Stannis will be at our gates in a matter of days.”
“Both threats are imdiate,” Varys countered. “My sources say the Northn are also on the move. Looks like Robb Stark joined forces with the Dragon Prince. Lord Tywin might clash against that army very soon.”
“That’s impossible!” Joffrey snarled. “The Starks would never join Targaryens. Father said—”
“Your father said a lot of things,” Tyrion cut in, ignoring the hateful look Joffrey gave him. “Tis change. The enemy of my enemy…”
“We should lock down the city,” Joffrey snapped. “No one leaves. If they try, we hang them. They could be spies for Stannis. Or that flying demon.”
Tyrion and Varys exchanged looks. The boy was getting more paranoid by the hour, and knowing history, that was a very bad thing.
Littlefinger cleared his throat. “Such a move might stir panic among the smallfolk, Your Grace. We need them on our side right now.”
“I don’t need them!” Joffrey yelled. “I’m their king, so they should listen. I ask again, where’s my mother?”
Varys spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “We search nonstop, Your Grace. But if our prior guesses are true about Viserys Targaryen taking the Queen Regent, we can’t find her as long as we can’t find him.”
Joffre’s lips twitched.
“Enough,” Tyrion cut in before he could speak more. “We need actual solutions, not ghost stories,” he said, eyes eting with Varys, who shook his head.
Varys sighed. “The ga is shifting, my lords. And it’s not going our way.”
Tyrion sipped his wine slowly, thinking. If I don’t make a move soon, we’ll all be done for. My dear nephew is lucky he still has a brain around.
****
A few weeks later, the fateful mont ca.
The evening sky lood dark over Blackwater Bay, with clouds gathering like onlookers for the big showdown. Ser Imry Florent stood at the front of his flagship, watching the water split before them as Stannis’s fleet sailed forward.
The air felt charged, as if the gods themselves were watching.
Behind him, about two hundred ships followed, sails billowing in the wind blowing across the bay. The water was strangely calm, almost glassy, reflecting the fading sunlight.
“My lord,” one captain called, pointing toward the harbor entrance. “Look at that.”
A single ship bobbed in the water ahead, its deck eerily empty. No crew on the rails, no flags, and no voices calling out.
“Abandoned,” Ser Imry noted, though his voice sounded unsure. “They probably ran off when they heard how many of us were coming.” Two hundred ships were a lot, full of people who previously supported Renly Baratheon. It wasn’t a surprise that Joffrey’s soldiers were scared.
However, so of his older sailors traded uneasy looks. Sothing about that lone ship felt off, the way it was parked right in their path. He could feel it, too.
“Maybe we should send a small boat over to check—” one captain began.
“Keep going,” Ser Imry cut him off. “It’s probably just a trick to spook us. King Stannis expects us to show more backbone than this.”
So the fleet pressed on, the strange ship getting bigger in their view.
…..
High above on the city walls, Tyrion Lannister raised his hand, his eyes narrowing at the incoming armada. Next to him, Bronn readied an arrow wrapped in oil-soaked cloth.
“Now?” Bronn asked quietly.
Tyrion kept his hand raised, counting the heartbeats. Waiting until more of Stannis’s ships moved into the trap. “Now.”
Bronn let the arrow fly. It streaked through the dark sky like a tiny orange cot. It slamd into the deserted ship’s hull.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then the night exploded in green fire.
A huge column of wildfire shot into the sky, devouring the empty ship in an instant. The green flas raced across the water’s surface, hitting the front of Stannis’s fleet before they even knew what was going on.
Screams echoed over the bay as the fire jumped from ship to ship. Wood cracked, masts toppled, and n dived into water that suddenly boiled under waves of green fire.
Behind the burning ships, giant chains rose from the depths with a heavy clank, gleaming in that eerie light. Stannis’s fleet was now trapped between the city walls and a flaming barrier they couldn’t break.
Panic tore through the ranks as captains realized they were stuck. So tried to turn around, crashing into ships behind them. Others tried to break the chain, only to splinter their hulls on its iron links.
The wildfire spread fast, ignoring the usual rules of nature as it crawled over the water’s surface. Ships that seed safe a mont ago burst into flas. Green fire licked up their sides like hungry serpents. n scread, their voices rising above the roar of the blaze.
From the walls, Tyrion watched it all. The green glow lit up his mismatched eyes, reflecting the destruction he’d set in motion. Even Bronn looked shaken by its sheer scale.
The bay turned into a floating graveyard of burning ships, casting a greenish glow across the water. Smoke rose in thick clouds, staining the sky. n's screams mixed with the crackling flas and creaking timbers.
What started as an orderly naval assault had beco a scene from the Seven Hells, with Stannis’s n fighting an enemy they couldn’t touch. The fire ate everything, turning Blackwater Bay into a green inferno.
The Battle of Blackwater had begun.
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