Chapter 14

The aging lion surveyed the grounds of Casterly Rock, his silver-streaked mane glinting in the fading light of the afternoon, a testament to enduring power and authority. Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, watched his knights drill with a critical eye, their formations precise and deadly. He took pride in their discipline, a reflection of his own unyielding will.

A flicker of movement caught his attention. Stefan Lannister, his brother, was approaching with haste, a parchment clutched in his hand. Tywin's sharp eyes narrowed as he watched Stefan's face, the tension clear in his every step.

"Lord Tywin," Stefan began, his voice low and urgent, "there is grave news."

Tywin's gaze remained fixed on his knights. "Speak."

"Perhaps it would be best discussed in your solar, my lord."

Tywin nodded curtly and turned, leading the way to the solar. Stefan followed, the silence between them heavy with unspoken dread. Once inside, Tywin closed the door and gestured for Stefan to continue.

Stefan handed him the parchment. "This arrived from Oldtown. The Citadel... it is no more."

Tywin's eyes scanned the letter, his expression unreadable. "Explain."

"No one knows what happened," Stefan said, his voice trembling slightly. "Reports are confused, but it seems the entire city is in chaos. The Citadel has been destroyed, and with it, much of Oldtown. There are whispers of magic and demons, but nothing certain."

Tywin's mind raced. The Citadel was a cornerstone of knowledge and power. Its fall would send ripples throughout the realm. "What of the people?"

"Many are fleeing," Stefan replied. "There is fear that they will head north, to the Westerlands. We must prepare for an influx of refugees. It will strain our resources and could lead to unrest."

Tywin's jaw tightened. "We will not have our lands overrun by the desperate and destitute. Send riders to all the major towns and cities. They must bolster their defenses and prepare for an influx of people. We will need to increase food supplies and ensure order is maintained."

Stefan nodded. "Yes, my lord. But what of the cause? The destruction was sudden and complete. If it is magic—"

"We will deal with it as we have always dealt with threats," Tywin said coldly. "With fire and blood. Ensure the word spreads cautiously. Panic will serve no one."

Stefan bowed and left the room, leaving Tywin alone with his thoughts. The destruction of the Citadel was a blow to the realm's stability, but it could also be an opportunity. Knowledge was power, and with the Citadel in ruins, there would be a scramble to claim whatever fragments remained.

..........

In the Reach, the Queen of Thorns sat in her garden, the scent of roses heavy in the air. Lady Olenna Tyrell was watching her granddaughter, Margaery, playing with a doll. The young girl was beautiful and sharp, a true Tyrell. Olenna had high hopes for her future.

Her reverie was interrupted by the arrival of her eldest grandson, Willas, and Maester Gormon. The look on Willas's face was grim.

"Grandmother," Willas began, "we have received disturbing news from Oldtown."

Olenna raised an eyebrow. "Oldtown? What could possibly trouble us from there?"

Maester Gormon stepped forward. "The Citadel has fallen, my lady. Oldtown is in chaos. Thousands are dead or fleeing, and the High Tower itself is nearly ruined."

Olenna's eyes narrowed. "Margaery, go inside and play with your dolls," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. Margaery obeyed, casting a curious glance at the adults as she left.

"Tell me everything," Olenna commanded once her granddaughter was out of earshot.

Gormon nodded. "It appears the city was struck by some kind of cataclysmic event. There are reports of a massive explosion, followed by a sudden and unnatural freezing. The Citadel and much of Oldtown have been encased in ice. The river has frozen, causing flooding upstream. The surviving population is fleeing the city in droves."

"Do we know the cause?" Olenna asked, her mind already working through the implications.

"Not definitively," Gormon replied. "There are wild tales of demons and sorcery, but nothing concrete."

Willas spoke up. "The influx of refugees could strain our resources. Oldtown was a major trade hub. Its fall will disrupt supply lines and could lead to shortages, especially if we face an increased population."

Olenna nodded. "We must ensure the stability of Highgarden and the Reach. Send word to our bannermen to prepare for the possibility of taking in refugees. We will need to bolster our defenses and secure our food supplies. And keep a close watch on the ports. If there is any truth to these tales of magic, we must be prepared."

........................

In King's Landing, Varys moved with his usual silent grace through the labyrinthine corridors of the Red Keep. His steps were measured, his mind occupied with the latest disturbing reports from Oldtown. He entered a discreet chamber where Illyrio Mopatis, his old friend and co-conspirator, awaited him.

"Illyrio," Varys greeted, his voice as smooth as silk. "I trust your journey was uneventful?"

Illyrio's broad face split into a smile. "As always, my friend. But I sense you did not summon me here for pleasantries."

Varys nodded, his expression grave. "You are correct. There are matters of great importance that require our attention. News from Oldtown has reached my little birds. The Citadel has fallen, destroyed by some catastrophic event. There are whispers of a demon monkey and a mountain of ice replacing the great seat of knowledge."

Illyrio's smile faded. "This sounds like madness. A demon monkey? Ice in Oldtown? What do you make of it?"

Varys's eyes glittered with a rare intensity. "I detest magic, Illyrio. It is a force of chaos and destruction, wielded by those who seek power without understanding the consequences. The tales of this demon monkey have a ring of truth to them, echoing the fall of House Mormont. We must act swiftly."

Illyrio leaned forward, intrigued. "And what of Daenerys? Have your little birds heard anything of her?"

Varys's expression darkened further. "She is missing. She was last seen in the gardens, but no one has been able to find her since. Her disappearance is deeply troubling, especially given the timing with the events in Oldtown."

Illyrio stroked his beard thoughtfully. "This complicates our plans. The fall of Oldtown will send shockwaves through the realm. Refugees will flood the roads, destabilizing regions far and wide. And with Daenerys missing, we cannot afford to let chaos reign."

Varys nodded. "Indeed. We must maintain a delicate balance. My birds will continue to gather information, but we must be prepared for anything. This is a time of great peril and opportunity. The world is changing, and we must be ready to act."

...............................

Far to the north, in the free city of Braavos, Oberyn Martell walked the narrow streets, his keen eyes scanning the bustling crowd. He had come to Braavos on the orders of his brother, Prince Doran, to investigate the disappearance of Daenerys Targaryen and the recent events in Oldtown.

Oberyn's mind turned to the old tales of their ancestors, the Rhoynar, who had fled the Valyrian sorcerers. He remembered stories of resurrection and powerful magic, and his curiosity was piqued. If there was someone wielding such power, he wanted to meet them. He had long harbored a secret hope of finding a way to bring his beloved sister, Elia, back from the dead.

He entered a small tavern, taking a seat in a shadowy corner. As he sipped his wine, he overheard conversations about the chaos in Oldtown and the strange events surrounding it. His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a messenger.

"My lord," the messenger said, bowing low, "a letter from Prince Doran."

Oberyn took the letter and dismissed the messenger. Breaking the seal, he read the contents with growing interest. Doran detailed the destruction of Oldtown and expressed his suspicions that magic was involved. He urged Oberyn to investigate further and to be wary of the boy who is thought to be able to wield such power.

Oberyn's eyes narrowed. His brother's words echoed his own thoughts. If this boy had the power to destroy a city, he might also have the power to resurrect the dead. Oberyn's heart quickened at the thought. He finished his wine and rose, determined to find this boy and uncover the truth.

As he left the tavern, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was on the brink of something momentous. The fall of Oldtown was only the beginning. The world was changing, and Oberyn Martell intended to be at the heart of it, no matter the cost.