Tyrion

           Motionlessasagargoyle,TyrionLannisterhunchedononekneeatopamerlon.BeyondtheMudGateandthedesolationthathadoncebeenthefishmarketandwharves,theriveritselfseemedtohavetakenfire.HalfofStannis’sfleetwasablaze,alongwithmostofJoffrey’s.Thekissofwildfireturnedproudshipsintofuneralpyresandmenintolivingtorches.Theairwasfullofsmokeandarrowsandscreams.

           Downstream,commonersandhighborncaptainsalikecouldseethehotgreendeathswirlingtowardtheirraftsandcarracksandferries,borneonthecurrentoftheBlackwater.ThelongwhiteoarsoftheMyrishgalleysflashedlikethelegsofmaddenedcentipedesastheyfoughttocomeabout,butitwasnogood.Thecentipedeshadnoplacetorun.

           Adozengreatfiresragedunderthecitywalls,wherecasksofburningpitchhadexploded,butthewildfirereducedthemtonomorethancandlesinaburninghouse,theirorangeandscarletpennonsflutteringinsignificantlyagainstthejadeholocaust.Thelowcloudscaughtthecoloroftheburningriverandroofedtheskyinshadesofshiftinggreen,eerilybeautiful.Aterriblebeauty.Likedragonfire.TyrionwonderedifAegontheConquerorhadfeltlikethisasheflewabovehisFieldofFire.

           Thefurnacewindliftedhiscrimsoncloakandbeatathisbareface,yethecouldnotturnaway.Hewasdimlyawareofthegoldcloakscheeringfromthehoardings.Hehadnovoicetojointhem.Itwasahalfvictory.Itwillnotbeenough.

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