Maegor's Holdfast, the Queen's chambers.
Cersei sat upright in a high-backed chair draped with deep crimson velvet. A thin veil hid the scar marring her face, but it could not conceal the venom and madness blazing in her green eyes.
Before her stood a gaunt man in a gray robe, his body bent in subservience.
Hallyne, Grand Master of the Alchemists' Guild, leader of the pyromancers.
Now, the old man's clouded eyes gleamed with feverish devotion.
Cersei's tone was cold and precise. "Hallyne, I've heard your guild possesses a weapon of extraordinary power."
At once, his eyes brightened, and his frail frame bowed even lower, nearly collapsing to the floor. "Your Grace, the Queen! It is wildfire! The gods' gift of divine destruction to mortal hands—liquid hellfire, death that flows! Once it burns, it cannot be extinguished! It screams like ten thousand demons in chorus, its green flames devouring steel, melting stone, and turning flesh to vapor in an instant!"
The more he spoke, the more animated he became, spittle flying dangerously close to the Queen's gown.
Cersei listened in silence, but her eyes behind the veil shone ever brighter.
Green flames… devouring all… bodies dissolving into smoke…
The images Hallyne described took root and multiplied within her mind. She saw all of King's Landing—the vermin in Flea Bottom writhing like maggots, the wretches who mocked her, the brutes who defiled her with their filthy hands—all screaming as the green fire consumed them.
Burn them all.
Let them burn.
Let the whole city of betrayal and stench burn with them.
Reduce it all to ash.
Let them die for my humiliation.
The thought flared within her, fierce and intoxicating.
Cersei rose abruptly, the hem of her gown whispering across the cold stone floor. "Hallyne! I command you to mobilize the entire Alchemists' Guild. Pour all your strength into making wildfire—more than ever before! I want enough of that green purgatory to turn those filthy peasants to cinders, to cleanse this wretched city in fire!"
Hallyne trembled with exhilaration, as if struck by divine ecstasy. "Yes! Yes, Your Grace! I shall craft for you the fiercest flames of annihilation! The guilty shall wail and vanish in the embrace of wildfire!"
A twisted, almost blissful smile spread across his face, as if he already beheld the glorious inferno consuming the city.
But as Hallyne turned to leave and Cersei reveled in her visions of destruction—
"Stop!"
A sharp voice cut through the air outside the chamber.
The doors burst open, and a small figure stormed in like a gust of wind.
Tyrion Lannister.
His mismatched eyes—one green, one black—flashed with fury and alarm as they locked onto Cersei and the groveling pyromancer.
Cersei's rapture froze, her expression hardening into pure hatred. "Tyrion, you repulsive little dwarf! Who gave you permission to enter my chambers?! Get out!"
Tyrion ignored her entirely. His short stride carried the weight of authority as he advanced on Hallyne, his presence radiating raw command. "Tell me," he snapped, "what orders did the Queen just give you?"
The old alchemist faltered beneath the dwarf's glare. Those mismatched eyes bore into him with unnatural force. In confusion, he glanced toward Cersei for help.
"Don't tell him anything!" Cersei shrieked. "Hallyne, obey my command!"
Tyrion's head whipped toward her, his gaze sharp as a blade. His voice was like ice. "Obey your command? Which command? To make wildfire? And then what? My dear sister—have you already forgotten Father's orders when he left? He never told you to turn King's Landing into a funeral pyre! Do you have any idea how unstable wildfire is? Will you bury hundreds of thousands of innocents for your madness?"
The accusation struck home. Cersei's face contorted in rage. She leapt to her feet and pointed at him, spitting venom. "Silence! You twisted monster! What do you know?! I am the Queen! Those vermin deserve—"
"Enough!"
Tyrion's voice crashed over hers, silencing the chamber. He no longer looked at the woman driven to insanity by her humiliation at the hands of the mob.
Turning instead to Hallyne, who trembled visibly, Tyrion's tone shifted—quiet, commanding.
"Hallyne. Look at me."
Unwillingly, the pyromancer raised his eyes.
And there, in Tyrion's mismatched gaze, he saw something that seemed to pierce straight through his soul.
"Tell me," Tyrion said, his gaze steady, "in all your years studying alchemy, do you seek only to unleash chaos and destruction—or to master the power of destruction itself, to become the deciding force between victory and defeat?"
A flicker of confusion crossed Hallyne's cloudy eyes before giving way to fervent desire. "I seek the ultimate truth of alchemy—the power that burns all things to ash and gives birth to new life!"
"Good."
Tyrion's lips curved in a controlled, knowing smile. "Then tell me, are you satisfied being nothing more than a tool? A man who lights the fire at another's whim, who might, at any moment, be consumed by it and turned to ash by a mad command?"
He cast a pointed glance at Cersei, who trembled with rage beside him.
Hallyne shuddered violently. The fanatic gleam in his eyes dimmed, replaced by unmistakable fear. He thought of his fellow alchemists who had vanished in green fire, their bodies obliterated; of the guild's current, precarious position, where life and death hung by a spark.
Tyrion caught the fear and pressed his advantage, his voice calm but commanding. "Swear your loyalty to me, Hallyne. I, Tyrion Lannister, by the order of Great Lord Tywin, hold the authority of the Hand of the King. I will use wildfire—but not for reckless destruction. I will turn it into our sharpest spear, our strongest shield. With it, we will repel Renly's rebels and defend King's Landing. And when we succeed, the Alchemists' Guild will rise to heights it has never known. You will be praised as the savior of the capital, not a madman who brought it ruin. Wealth, honor, safety—a laboratory of your own. Everything you've ever wanted will be yours."
Hallyne's heart thudded wildly in his chest.
The vision Tyrion painted was infinitely more alluring—and far safer—than Cersei's unhinged order to burn the city to dust.
He looked once more at Cersei, her face twisted in fury and madness, then at the small man before him, whose presence radiated control and certainty. The choice was clear.
With a heavy thump, Hallyne dropped to his knees before Tyrion, his voice trembling with emotion. "My... my lord Tyrion! I will serve you!"
"Excellent."
Tyrion nodded, satisfaction flickering in his eyes as relief washed through him. He had intercepted his sister's madness—and turned her weapon into his own.
He turned to Cersei, whose face had gone pale with fury, her lips pressed tight with rage. His tone softened, carrying a trace of weary irony. "Sister, the defense of the city is now my charge. You'll remain here, in the Red Keep... and pray for Father's swift victory."
Without waiting for her reply, he faced Hallyne again.
"Come. We're going to inspect the walls of King's Landing."