Game of Thrones White Wolf Chapter 160 162: The Return of the Wildfire

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Haa—!

Tywin bolted upright in his bed, gasping for air as he jolted awake from his slumber. His back was drenched in cold sweat. He touched the corner of his eye and was surprised to find it damp.

"Kevan..."

The mory of that day in King's Landing, the ambush that had claid his brother, the hellish green flas that seed to burn straight from the Seven Hells, lingered in his mind like a persistent demon, gnawing at his soul.

Sitting there in the gloom, Tywin could not shake the horror of that vision. Seeing that the sky outside was still dark, he intended to lie back down and try to sleep, but rest eluded him.

Hearing movent from within, the squire posted outside knocked gently. "My Lord?"

"Enter."

With soft footsteps, a maidservant dressed in plain whites entered, carrying a tray of warm tea.

As she poured the tea, the trickling sound made Tywin realize he needed to relieve himself, though he could hold it for now.

"Open the curtains."

"As you command, my Lord."

The maid walked to the window and pulled back the heavy drapes. Just as she reached for the tie-back to secure them, she froze, staring out into the night, dumbstruck.

"My... My Lord... outside... outside..."

Sensing sothing was wrong, Tywin was about to reprimand her for her stuttering when he noticed a faint green glow reflecting off her face. It was as if his nightmare had stepped into the waking world.

He strode quickly to the window. Through the wide pane of glass, he looked out past the rocky cliffs of Casterly Rock and saw, not far out at sea, a long, eerie line of green fire burning upon the water.

Tywin grabbed his Myrish lens and peered through it. It was no natural phenonon. It was a fleet—over a hundred warships—all ablaze with Wildfire.

Seeing the green flas, Tywin felt a chill run through his limbs. He knew the Redwyne fleet was passing through; Casterly Rock's imnse height served as a lighthouse for miles around.

But he could not fathom why they would ignite Wildfire on their own decks, a re few leagues from his walls.

A knock ca at the door. It was Ser Damon Lannister.

"My Lord, the Redwyne fleet..."

"I know." Tywin kept his voice as level as possible. "What does the Maester say?"

"The Maester is consulting his books, but he believes... it might be sorcery."

"Sorcery?"

If it were anyone else, Tywin would have dismissed it as mumrs' tricks. But he knew that the man eyeing Casterly Rock like a starving wolf was Jon Snow—the sa man who had taken King's Landing and ambushed Kevan. A heavy hand seed to squeeze Tywin's chest.

Only after returning to the Rock did Tywin have the ti to truly analyze the movents of his enemies.

Jon's mutiny at Harrenhal spoke for itself. Every ti Tywin thought of it, he had to begrudgingly admire the bastard's decisiveness and ruthless vision.

Then there were the other anomalies: Renly's assassination, Stannis seizing Storm's End, and the red woman, lisandre, who had appeared so suddenly by Stannis's side.

Stannis's rise had been too smooth, too fortunate. It forced Tywin to consider the possibility of dark arts.

And now, right under his nose, the Redwyne fleet was performing so bizarre ritual. It was hard not to let his mind wander toward thoughts of magic.

Tywin stared at that terrifying, almost nauseating ribbon of light, his teeth clenched. Yet, he was helpless. He simply didn't know what Jon was trying to achieve.

He suddenly rembered Ser Addam Marbrand, whom he had sent to Jon's camp to deliver an insult not long ago. He ordered him summoned.

Dawn was approaching. With the enemy at the gates, few could sleep soundly, especially as soldiers on night watch began to notice the strange phenonon at sea. Rumors were spreading like plague; one man told ten, ten told a hundred.

Addam was no exception. He had heard the n whispering.

"Why are they lighting fires on their own ships?"

"Is it so kind of spell? I heard Stannis forsook the Seven to worship the Lord of Light."

"I don't know..."

The soldiers didn't know, and neither did Addam, but he knew one thing for certain: he could not let panic take root in the ranks.

Soon, Addam stood before Tywin, recounting his eting with Jon once more.

"He truly said he knew how to intercept the rain from the sky? That... that is impossible!" the Maester of Casterly Rock muttered.

Damion and Damon also scoffed at the absurdity.

Addam looked at the others and spoke up. "My Lord, I believe Jon Snow is bluffing. If this were truly sorcery, why didn't his red witch simply extinguish the Wildfire when Stannis's fleet was burning on the Blackwater?"

Addam's words were like a light in the dark.

True, they thought. If lighting Wildfire allowed one to control magic, Stannis's fleet wouldn't have been burnt to ash and ruin.

The tension in the room eased significantly.

Seeing Tywin nod in approval, Addam continued, "My Lord, on my way here, I noticed the n are unsettled by the bastard's actions. Perhaps we should focus on stabilizing morale. A steady heart is worth more than a sharp sword."

"Yes, you are right." Tywin turned to Damion. "Have the kitchens prepare extra at today, and distribute wine to the n. Let them think of it as a celebration for repelling Jon's earlier assault."

"At once, my Lord."

At tis like this, nothing was more effective than letting the soldiers see and feel the confidence of their commanders.

Tywin also strictly ordered Addam not to speak of Jon's claim about stopping the rain.

Most of the garrison were illiterate commoners; if they started believing the enemy could control the weather, disaster would follow.

Despite his arrangents, Tywin remained uneasy. A man's reputation casts a long shadow, and Tywin did not believe Jon would summon the largest fleet in the Seven Kingdoms just to put on a light show to scare him.

Regardless, the rain was coming. As long as Casterly Rock could collect the rainwater as usual, Jon's ploy would be exposed as nothing more than smoke and mirrors.

Soon, they noticed that as ti passed, the clouds on the horizon were growing thicker and darker, heavy like a shroud of lead.

It was the precursor to a storm. The thicker the clouds, the heavier the rain.

Inside Casterly Rock, servants had already placed wooden barrels in every open space, clustered together like honeycombs to catch the coming deluge.

The lids of the great cisterns had been opened. Currently, the castle's water reserves were down to two-thirds.

By their estimates, that was enough for another twenty days. But a single good storm would fill the cisterns to the brim.

Tywin stepped out onto the balcony, watching the encroaching gloom and the line of burning ships. His expression was graver than it had ever been.

Joanna, help . Do not let them take our ho.

Tywin prayed silently to his late wife, hoping that Joanna, now in the embrace of the Seven, could lend him strength.

But how can the dead help the living?

Even if Joanna could hear him, did the smallfolk of the Riverlands not pray to the Seven as well?

Did they not watch helplessly as Tywin's armies burned their hos, ravaged their fields, and butchered their families?

---

anwhile, Paxter Redwyne stood on his flagship, his eyes wide as he inspected the fleet.

The piercing green light made his eyes water, but he didn't seem to care. Wildfire was volatile stuff; one mistake could cost him an entire ship.

Before lighting them, they had padded the braziers with wet earth, yet accidents were bound to happen.

Paxter suddenly saw the fire on one ship spiral out of control. Green flas climbed the mast and scurried across the deck like living things. The ship quickly turned into a massive floating torch.

It was exactly what he had feared. Despite all precautions, a ship was lost.

"The Sapphire! My ship!" Paxter's face turned grim.

Paxter had loved ships since he was a boy. His fleet numbered nearly two hundred, yet he could na every single vessel and the captain who commanded it.

But the Wildfire consud with terrifying speed. In the blink of an eye, the entire vessel was engulfed. The blinding green light and the billowing smoke looked almost like a grotesque performance.

Paxter could well imagine the Lannister soldiers watching this, laughing until their sides split.

"That stupid bastard! Does he really think this will stop the clouds?" scoffed Ser Horas, Paxter's son.

"He's just a bastard, what does he know?" his twin brother, Ser Hobber, agreed.

The twins didn't truly despise Jon; rather, they were jealous because they too courted Margaery Tyrell.

They had thought that with Renly and Joffrey dead, they might have a chance as "replacents." Instead, a bastard from nowhere had swooped in and cut them off.

If it had been a trueborn Stark like Robb, they might have swallowed their pride. But Jon Snow? A baseborn stain on his father's honor?

Though Jon's existence was known across the Seven Kingdoms before his rise to fa, he was only ever ntioned as Ned Stark's "mistake" or "sha."

"My Lord, look!" Just as the twins were grumbling, a sailor called out to the heartbroken Paxter.

Paxter looked up and froze. The heavy clouds above were gathering with unnatural density, swirling like ink dropped into a clear pool. The speed at which they converged was startling; they were swelling directly overhead, looking heavy enough to fall out of the sky and crush them.

His son Horas was also stunned by the oppressive weight of the black clouds, reaching up foolishly as if he could touch them.

Where there are clouds, there will be rain. It was a simple truth even a child knew.

Could that boy... could Jon truly be stopping the rain? Staring at the massive formation above, Paxter began to believe that Jon might actually be performing a miracle.

Hundreds of ships continued to burn their Wildfire. The superheated air rising from the flas distorted the view, forming strange, shimring columns of heat.

These bizarre pillars, combined with the colossal amount of smoke, suddenly reminded Paxter of the Smoking Sea near the ruins of Valyria.

It rains constantly there, he recalled. Jon's plan... by the Seven, it might actually work!