After the Fire

An excerpt from the journals of Tywin Lannister:

A great many stories surround the destruction of Kings Landing, told by Maester and smallfolk alike, so I will save the formal accounts for the histories and tell of my own experiences, such as they happened.

Having breached the city walls through the Mud Gate that morning, our forces faced scarce opposition from the Goldcloaks in pushing deeper into the city. By midday, we had reached the base of the Aegonfort, intent to secure final victory in this conflict. Expecting to face a final desperate defense, we instead found the gates being thrown open, and hundreds of panicked figures pouring out. Through rare good fortune, Grand Maester Pycelle was able to escape from the keep, reaching our armies in time to give warning of what Aerys planned. These ramblings were initially taken with some uncertainty and skepticisms by those he met, but eventually the threat was clear.

Soon anyone within eyeshot of the hills could see that all was not as it seemed as the Dragonpit began to glow with an eerie green light. From outside the city, it seemed as though some great glowing monstrosity rose from the city, with tendrils reaching out to consume all in its path. Men swore, screamed, and above all, one word was heard: wildfire. For Aerys had, in secret, built up vast quantities of that substance, and filled the Great Sept and Dragonpit with it, such that the entire structure burst into flames. What he hoped to achieve with such madness, men shall never know.

What horror must have faced those brave men who, even as they assaulted the capital, found themselves engulfed in green flames? What cruel fate could ordain death for brave and true men in such a fashion? Lord and common, great and small, all must have been united in terror and agony as the hungry flames consumed flesh, steel and bone. On and on the fire raged, flowing down the great hill on which dragons first made landfall in Westeros. Like some evil green river of death it spread across the city. None could stop it, or survive it; no mercy or partiality was shown. There was but one way to survive: flight. And so, the people of King's Landing fled in fear and terror.

I saw panicked mothers throw their children into the blackwater, in the vain hope of sparing them death by fire. Yet even across the water, that eldrich flame burned. I saw the best of men, and the worst of men in that hour. I saw grown men trample children to death to save themselves, and children pull grown men to safety. I saw a man in Septon's robes give his life to save a Fleabottom whore and her child, and I saw a belted knight cut down a septon in his panicked flight from the fire. I saw horror and death; the blessed and the beast within the hearts of all men, but above all, I saw fire.

For days the city burned without ceasing. Those in the poorest areas—those furthest from the Sept and Pit—survived in the greatest numbers, for they had little but their lives, and so abandoned all else to save those. Likewise, those soldiers outside the walls, once the progress of the fire became clear, were able to retreat in good order, and so a great number of forces investing King's Landing were saved. Yet the slaughter among the smallfolk of King's Landing was truly terrible, such that their numbers cannot be counted, and the stench of burned meat, alongside that of fire itself, lingers on even as I write these words. It grieves me beyond measure that I cannot give an accounting of those good folk, innocent of war and politics, who perished for the folly of the mad king. What care did they have of the game of thrones? Yet they died for it, by the thousands: blacksmiths and merchants, thieves and whores, septons and sailors, and so many children.

A great many noble knights and lords perished in the flames as well. They were good men all, and true, and with their loss, the future of the Seven Kingdoms is made much the bleaker.

Prince Doran had been outside the city when it went up in flames and as such had begun organizing things at once. What remained of his forces had been ordered to build camps for the refugees and prepare what medical triage they could. Not that there was much they could do for the critically injured. Milk of the Poppy was scarce as was food. The capital would take a long time to recover from this catastrophe if it ever did. Still his family had made it out, and that was the important part.

Now things were in the air. The rebels were defeated yes, but would they remain so passive with the capital having been dealt such a blow. What of the Essosi? What would they do when word crossed the narrow sea of this? How about Tyrell the man had withdrawn support from the cause before things had calmed down. And there was still the matter of Rheagar. Now the man was King, and that made Elia queen, but still Doran did not forget who had caused this mess and why it had been caused. He would do what he must to ensure his sisters place in the court.

As he turned he strolled into the tent Rheagar was currently in hardly waiting for the White clad guard to announce him. The White Cloaks would need more men added to their ranks as many had died in the fighting. Another item for the list. A small council would be needed as well. To much to do and the crown's supporters were so few.

Donnel Lefford

In the aftermath of the fire, Donnel was, like many knights and men-at-arms of the Westerlands army, set to work imposing some form of order onto the sprawling tent city that had sprung up in the fields outside the still-smoldering ruins of King's Landing. The fires had largely burnt themselves out by now, the blackened walls of the Red Keep (some had taken to called it the Black Keep as a form of dark humour) standing solitary above the wasted city.

Today, though, he was part of an altogether more interesting, if dangerous, expedition: assess what remained of the realm's coffers. Held in vaults deep beneath the surface, inside Aegon's Hill, accessed from the Red Keep's cellars, it was theorised it would've largely escaped intact: the Red Keep still stood, and though the damage to its outer layers was considerable, it had not collapsed, meaning it was probably structurally intact.

His grandfather, Lord Harmund Lefford, newly-created Master of Coin, had put together the effort to assess what he had to work with.

The party carefully picked their way through the city, moving entirely on foot as wreckage still littered many roads. Work parties were already at work attempting to clear at least the main roads through the city, to enable reconstruction efforts in due time. The group reached the Red Keep, the outer gatehouse partly-melted and the great doors into the keep itself nothing more than shards of burned wood and piles of ash. As they ventured inside, the Red Keep was, structurally at least, surprisingly intact: doors, tapestries, carpets, rugs, all these and more had been burned away or left so damaged as to be useless, but passage through the keep itself was relatively easy, with only small sections of collapse or heavy damage.

Down they went, lead by a guide who had worked in the Red Keep, plucked from the tent city, a former scribe in the Royal bureaucracy who had aided in bookkeeping for the treasury. Eventually they reached the great steel-reinforced doors that secured the vaults. With all keys lost and likely melted somewhere in the Red Keep, the hard work began.

A working party of blacksmiths, locksmiths, stonemasons, and woodworkers, the bulk of the manpower of this particular expedition, set about their hours-long task. Speed and silence weren't a concern: no one would be raising the alarm and summoning the keep's garrison if they heard the effort to breach the doors, so work commenced uninterrupted.

The steel supports were broken apart first, their great pins pried out and the metal wedged out of place, all the while the stonemasons were busy at work chiseling around the massive hinges, weakening the stonework around them and the locksmiths dismantled the great padlocks and advised the blacksmiths on the more intricate bars and pins embedded within the doors themselves. Lastly, the woodworkers assessed the enormous thick planks forming the bulk of the door, picking and choosing where to set about them with great axes to begin the work of breaking the door into moveable chunks.

While this went on, with a few knights left as guards should any suicidally-bold thieves come lurking, Donnel and much of the group set about checking the rest of the Red Keep, escorting a few additional stonemasons around to assess the worst of the damage. This would compile into a report going to the King himself.

Eventually, the great doors would fall one by one, unable to stand forever against the combined attentions of many expert craftsmen unburdened by time or noise constraints. A small group of bookkeepers, metalsmiths, and jewellers were then deployed to begin assessing the extent of the treasury.

[OOC: Need mod/admin decision on 1. How badly the treasury is damaged, what can be said to be recoverable. I'd expect it to be mostly ok as it would be shielded by earth and stone, two things wildfire doesn't destroy readily, and 2. How badly the Red Keep is damaged. It isn't said to have been destroyed (the bloodless siege thread said both 'heavily damaged' but only described damage to the outer walls) so I assumed Harmund could send such a party into it, especially the cellar levels which would've been shielded from the fires. They've brought everyone they need to assess both the Keep and the treasury.]

Raymar Lefford

Raymar had taken up a tent office in his tent garrison, a hastily-put-together compound amidst the refugee city that served as the headquarters and primary garrison of what remained of the Goldcloaks. A fence had been thrown up around the compound, making it nominally secure from people simply wandering in, but the main 'gate' (really more of a gap in the fence with a moveable barricade) was constantly beset by smallfolk with many complaints, valid and otherwise.

The Goldcloaks stood at 431 effectives at this very moment. The rest were dead in the siege, including some by Raymar's own hand, or had abandoned their posts, renouncing their cloak and becoming refugees themselves.

"How many volunteers?" he asked Ser Patreck Ollar, the ageing brother of a minor landed Knight from the Vale, and his current second-in-command. Patreck had served some time in the Gulltown watch in his youth and had been the commander of the small contingent his brother (himself a cripple from the Stepstones) had sent to fight in Robert's Rebellion and, later, for Rhaegar.

"Three hundred and ninety-five, of which we turned away one hundred and seventeen as unsuitable. One of the lads must've been no more than two and ten." the Valeman chuckled, before his face darkened somewhat, "Many of them just want a guaranteed meal and a safe place to sleep."

"Indeed," Raymar sighed, "we've got the various Kingdoms responsible for policing this place for now, each taking a segment of the tent city, but those armies will go home before long. We have little time."

"How do we press forwards, then, Commander?" Patreck leaned back in his chair.

"Train them for a week, dawn 'till dusk, in the basics: how to use a spear, how to use a club, how to form a line in one or two ranks, the basics of the law they're to enforce, emphasise theft, rape, murder, banditry. If you get so much as a passing scent that any of them are here to be bandits in a gold cloak, kick them out. Find someone to do it to early, to make your point."

Patreck nodded as Raymar spoke. Patreck was tasked with training the first new intake, ironing out the creases in what would be an expedited training course.

"The first goldcloak who rapes, the first who murders, and the first you catch colluding with gangs, we will hang in the drill square in their uniform, and leave them up for 24 hours. Every single Goldcloak will see it. We make sure they know why."

Patreck's eyes widened a little at that, but he chuckled and nodded.

"Aye, the shock method." said the Valeman, "scare them into obedience, and the smallfolk will know we'll broach no thuggery in our ranks."

"We've got more or less a clean slate to build from, here," said Raymar, "90% of the Goldcloaks are dead or deserted. It'll be a rough start, with plenty learning on the job to be done for our new boys, and we'll lose more men to our own hangman's noose than to violence from the smallfolk to start with, but we'll enforce our authority on this city, such as it is. Let's set to it."

Patreck rose and left the command tent to set about his training task. Raymar continued to read reports from the many men-at-arms and knights loaned by various Lords into criminal activity observed in the refugee city. Much of it was petty theft, deaths in fights over food or shelter, and raping. Whatever organised crime existed in King's Landing before the fire had either perished in it or was still reorganising, just as the Goldcloaks themselves were.

After arranging matters at Harrenhal, and thus leaving the immense possession in the hands of his eldest, Lucas, temporarily, Walter Whent answers the summons of the newly made King to join the Small Council as Master of Laws. With him came his second son, Lyonel, as Humfrey was due to head to Riverrun to be squired at the court of Lord Tully. A party of knights and attendants, numbering over two hundred, rode down the Kingsroad from the haunted and twisted Harrenhal to come across the ghastly ruins of King’s Landing. At first glance, Walter almost felt the capital was burned by a second Balerion the Black Dread.

Going down the Kingsroad was a bit of an issue since it was choked with people coming and going. Supplies and manpower being brought in to help fix the physical scars of the capital while others sought to flee to somewhere else. It certainly would have been faster to take to Maidenpool and then boat to the Blackwater Bay, yet he chose the road.

Nearly a week since the announcement, Walter arrived at the ruins of King’s Landing and the makeshift town that had been formed off in its still green fields. What a mess, thought Lord Whent before their party made its approach, finding proper direction to wherever the court and officers had established. Walter gave thanks to a passing Priest given that his son, Damon, was safe and not been harmed by the terrible wildfire incident.

Aerys was rather focused on the wildfire and alchemists, which meant that not a lot of projects occurred during his reign in comparison to previous Targaryen rulers. The Master of Coin, during much of his later reign, was Lord Qarlton Chelsted, a Crownlander. Although remarked as a 'craven', it seemed he did a good enough job with being the one who managed the taxes and coin of the Royal vaults. Donnel Lefford, and his men, would find the treasury in a stable state, a surplus considering the lack of its usage. In fact, there was a little dust on the further chests in the rear, indicating how little traffic had come in and out.

Once the Master of Coin, Donnel's father, measured and calculated, the treasury, left by the Mad King, would certainly be enough to repair the walls and aid in the process of re-arming the Goldcloaks to a 'flexible' state. Money leftover could be used to pay for other minor necessities, such as ensuring food was brought in and royal knights were paid for. However, it was clearly not enough to remotely scratch the surface of rebuilding the entirety of the capital. If anything, they'd need an immense loan from the Iron Bank to probably restore one quarter, if not close to half, of the city's restoration. Everyone knew the Iron Bank had enough coin to fund a claimant to the Iron Throne and ensure a handful of Free Cities would bite at each other at the same time. But would the Iron Throne truly want to borrow from such a powerful entity?

Nonetheless, Aerys left a treasury, a sufficient surplus, to ensure that Rhaegar would not start off as a 'Beggar King'.

[OOC: seeing as we threw out money as an economic standard, Gandy suggested I state that the surplus of the money would be equal to something physical, such as repairing the walls. And Gandy also found that Aerys left a surplus after his death, so thankfully, we had a note of what the royal funds were like in canon.]

Walter had barely begun to get settled when a retainer of House Targaryen came to bring an invitation from the King. Lord Whent was a little surprised by this, but since he was a member of the Small Council now, surely this message meant that the King wished to speak with him on official matters. Leaving the unpacking to his knights and his son, Lyonel, Old Walter departed, following the retainer to where the King was awaiting him.

Once in his presence, Lord Walter bowed his best for the now King Rhaegar.

Your Grace.

He speaks before raising his head.

Your house has honored me and my family five times now. The House of Whent will always remember the favor shown by House Targaryen.

A presence at his tournament, the elevation of his brother, Oswell, the Great Council last year, Damon created a squire to the King, and now, himself a member of the Small Council.

Bloody mess to be sorted... Sevens above... looked like a dragon tore through King's Landing. The Kingsroad is a mess going North, Your Grace. Caravans having trouble coming in and plenty of crowds fleeing North... I worry about the security of the roads more than ever. For surely the ill-intents of hearts have surely sprouted and begun to plot against the weak and vulnerable.

But, at least, those of importance to the King; his wife, his brothers, and children were safe. A city could be rebuilt, a family would be harder.

How is Your Grace though, Sire? How is your family?