The Mountain of Ice and Fire

Chapter 342: A Conspiracy of Chaos – A Calculated Strategy

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Thwack!

A lump of excrement flew through the air, hitting the king squarely in the face.

Tyrion's attention was focused ahead; he realized that the only safe place for everyone was inside the Great Sept of Baelor with the doors shut. He didn't see who threw the dung, but he heard Sansa gasp. Joffrey roared, drawing his short sword. The king's face was covered in filth, his golden hair matted with it, and some had even splattered onto Sansa.

"Whore! Kingslayer's whore! Incestuous bastard!" someone shouted. "The incestuous bastard killed someone and must pay with his life!"

"Incest! Incest! Incest!" people chanted as if it were a slogan. "The incestuous bastard is a murderer!"

"He is not our king, kill him!" someone yelled, signaling for battle.

"Who threw that?" Joffrey shrieked. Still unaware of how precarious his situation was, he swept his hair back, flinging off a handful of dung, his face contorted with rage.

"Find him!" he screamed. "A hundred gold dragons to whoever brings him to me!"

"We want bread! Long live King Robert!" someone shouted, pushing forward.

"Long live Lord Robb! Long live Lord Stark!"

"Long live King Renly!"

"Long live King Stannis!"

The crowd surged forward, shouting a jumble of slogans. No one shouted 'Long live Joffrey' anymore.

Ahead, behind, and on both sides, gaps began to appear in the defensive lines of spearmen and mercenaries. Some guards were pushed over and trampled, but at the same time, spears pierced the chests, throats, and skulls of the refugees.

Stones and bricks flew through the air, aimed at the king and queen mother. The Kingsguard and red cloaks raised their shields. The stones slammed against the shields with a pinging sound, like rain.

Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen screamed!

"Please, Your Grace, forgive the person who threw the filth," Sansa pleaded. "Let's go inside the sept quickly."

The enraged king lost his reason, waving his short sword and shouting orders. "Find the person who threw that filth!" Joffrey commanded. "He will lick it clean, or I'll have his head! Hound, go get him!"

Sandor Clegane drew his longsword, but he couldn't penetrate the wall of flesh before him. The person who threw the dung wouldn't be standing still. Forget capturing him, he couldn't even get close without cutting down the layers of people in front of him. The Hound was helpless. "Sansa, stay close to me!" he said, realizing that the crowd wasn't afraid; they were surging towards them, and some were armed with clubs.

Tyrion smelled disaster. "Clegane! Stop! He's long gone."

Joffrey pointed at the crowd. "He's right there! Hound, cut a path and bring him to me—"

That sentence was another fatal mistake—cutting a path was like pouring gasoline on an already raging fire.

Joffrey's words were drowned out by a thunder of anger, fear, and hatred. The roar of the crowd rolled in from all directions, engulfing the king, queen mother, Hand, Kingsguard, red cloaks, and gold cloaks.

"Bastard!" someone screamed at Joffrey, throwing his slipper.

A rain of stones and rotten cabbages pelted down, the guards raising their shields to ward off the aerial assault.

"Bastard! Beast!" others shouted at the queen mother. "Bitch! Incest!" Stones and feces struck her head and body.

Tyrion was subjected to insults of "Freak!" and "Half-man!" as countless objects whizzed through the air.

The crowd surged on the plaza, everyone pressing toward the king and queen mother. The gold cloaks struggled to maintain the line as stones, feces, and various filth flew overhead.

"Give us food!" a woman cried.

"Bread!" a man behind her shouted.

"We want bread, bastard!"

In an instant, thousands of voices joined the cry. King Joffrey, Lord Robb, King Stannis, King Renly, and King Robert were all forgotten; only the Bread King ruled the world.

"Bread," they chanted, "Bread! Bread! Give us bread."

Petyr Baelish had arranged for the first person to shout for bread, but that was just the beginning. The rest of the chaos was thanks to Joffrey.

Tyrion spurred his horse, riding to his sister's side and shouting, "Into the sept! Now!" Cersei nodded slightly as Ser Lancel drew his sword.

At the front of the column, Jacelyn Bywater roared orders. "Wedge formation!"

The infantry parted as the cavalry formed a wedge, the best formation for breaking through enemy lines on the battlefield.

"Charge!" Jacelyn Bywater shouted, pointing his longsword forward.

The cavalry's iron hooves thundered forward, the crowd tumbling and rolling. Countless people fell as the cavalry cleaved through the mass like an arrow splitting waves. The stench of blood filled the air, and screams echoed across the plaza of the Great Sept of Baelor.

The slaughter had begun!

However, there were too many people. Soon, the cavalry's advance stalled. The frontmost riders were dragged from their horses, and the horses were killed. Countless swords hacked down, and the refugees fell in pools of blood. But more surged forward, grabbing the riders' legs and arms. They bit, kicked, and clawed. Once they seized a weapon, they plunged it into the bodies of the riders and their horses.

The king rode anxiously in circles, countless hands reaching for him over the gold cloaks' defense. His face was pale as he slashed wildly with his sword, severing fingers, but one hand still managed to grab his leg. It only lasted a moment before Ser Mandon Moore's sword came down, severing the hand at the wrist.

"Run!" Tyrion shouted to Joffrey, slapping the horse's rump hard. The horse reared up on its hind legs, neighing, then charged forward with the cavalry, the crowd parting before it.

Tyrion waved his short sword, killing several people, while Bronn protected him, fending off several deadly attacks.

"Joffrey, run!" Tyrion shouted to his nephew. He hated Joffrey, but Joffrey was his brother Jaime's son, and his affection for Jaime was unbreakable.

The Hound and Yaros Dim were caught up in the frenzy of killing. Looking back, they saw that the king and queen mother were gone. They had to carve their own path; the road ahead was chaos. Both cavalry and infantry had lost their formations and were mired in a desperate fight in the sea of people. The Kingsguard had also been scattered and were nowhere to be seen. In the chaos, no one noticed that Sansa was also gone.

A squad of red cloaks tightly protected Myrcella, Tommen, Joffrey, and Cersei, charging forward behind the wedge of cavalry.

The Imp quickly plunged into the gap, Bronn covering their rear with his sword. As they galloped, a jagged stone grazed his scalp, and a rotten cabbage smashed against Bronn's shield, scattering pieces everywhere.

To their left, three gold cloaks were knocked down by the surging crowd. The crowd then trampled over their bodies, surging forward like a wave in the ocean.

The Hound's horse was still clearing the way ahead, but he had once again strayed from the path. Lost in his bloodlust, he had become separated from his second-in-command and the spearmen. Alone, with only his horse and sword, he charged into the crowd, scattering people wherever he went. No one could stop the maddened Hound, especially since most of the refugees were unarmed and wore no armor.

Tyrion saw Aron Santagar dragged from his saddle, the Baratheon banner of black and gold ripped away.

Fortunately, Yaros Dim and his gold cloak officers hadn't lost their minds. They steadily advanced toward the Great Sept's gate, joining forces with the wedge of cavalry. The force protecting the king and queen mother had grown stronger.

Suddenly, a squad charged out from the front, the crowd scattering to avoid them. Ser Barristan Selmy led the way, hacking left and right, leading a squad to meet the king.

A Lannister banner that had fallen to the ground was torn apart by the crowd. Hundreds of ragged pieces spun and danced like red leaves in a storm, vanishing in an instant.

A figure stumbled out of the gap in the crowd, like a drunken man. He lunged toward Joffrey, but the king rode over him, and a scream was heard beneath the hooves.

The guards protected the king, shouting loudly, waving their longswords and raising their shields. Countless limbs and blood flew through the air, and earth-shattering screams filled the air. Suddenly, a white shadow flashed diagonally, and the Imp realized it was Ser Mandon Moore, covered in blood. He had lost his way in the battle and had only now cut a bloody path to the king.

Suddenly, that insane world was left behind as they trotted into a no-man's land defended by gold cloak infantry. Ahead was the sept's gate, guarded by a line of spearmen. Ser Jacelyn, who had first broken through the crowd, was reorganizing the lancers, preparing to charge out again to rescue more courtiers and nobles.

The line of spearmen parted to let the king and his party through. Two hundred crossbowmen guarded both sides of the gate, providing a small sense of security.

Tyrion didn't remember how he dismounted.

Ser Mandon was helping the trembling king down. Cersei, Tommen, and Myrcella were still in shock, their faces and hands splattered with blood.

Lancel also rode through the gate, and Ser Meryn and Ser Boros appeared.

Boros's sword was stained with blood, and the white cloak on Meryn's back had been torn off. Ser Barristan Selmy's helmet was gone, and his horse, covered in sweat, suddenly collapsed just inside the gate, foaming at the mouth and convulsing.

Horas Redwyne escorted Lady Tanda back, but her daughter Lollys had been knocked off her horse and hadn't escaped. She was nearly driven mad with grief.

"Where is the High Septon?" Cersei asked.

Count Gyles's face was ashen. "The High Septon was pushed to the ground by the crowd. People swarmed him while he prayed shrilly. Soon, they tore him apart, ripping off his limbs, and tearing out his heart and intestines. The mob hated fat men. Everyone is starving, and the High Septon was too fat… No one dared to go save him in that situation, really!"

The exiled Prince Jalabhar Xho, as black as charcoal, said he saw Ser Preston Greenfield of the Kingsguard rush back to save the High Septon, but he was quickly swallowed by the angry crowd.

Countless members of the Most Devout were also pushed over, trampled, beaten, and killed.

Tyrion went to Joffrey, whose crown was askew, smeared with excrement.

"Traitors!" Joffrey was shouting excitedly. "Cut off all their heads! I want—"

The Imp slapped Joffrey's flushed face hard, knocking the crown off. Then he pushed Joffrey to the ground and kicked him. "You big idiot with a head full of shit!"

"They're traitors!" Joffrey screamed on the ground. "They insulted me, they attacked me!"

"Because you knocked over an old woman first! What did you think they would do? Kneel down and let you slaughter them? You spoiled brat, you don't have a brain in your head. Gods know how many people you've killed this time, and you escaped without a scratch! You damned fool, fool, fool!"

The Imp kicked the king hard, and the king rolled on the ground, screaming shrilly. It felt so good that he wanted to keep kicking, but Ser Mandon Moore pulled Tyrion away, and then Bronn grabbed him.

Cersei rushed over, kneeling beside her son. Her angry eyes glared at the Imp. "Imp, he is your king!"

Tyrion shook off Bronn's hand. "How many people are still outside?" he roared, not knowing who he was yelling at.

"My daughter!" Lady Tanda sobbed. "Please! Someone has to save Lollys…"

"Ser Preston has not returned," Ser Boros Blount reported. "Neither has Aron Santagar."

"Little Tyrek Lannister also failed to return," Ser Horas Redwyne said.

Tyrion looked around the courtyard. "Where is the Stark girl? Sansa? Sansa? If anything happens to her, none of you will have a good time. Jaime's life is in her hands. If the Westerlands want to negotiate peace with the North, we can't do without her. Kingsguard, gold cloak guards, red cloaks, what are you doing? A bunch of fools!"

The whole place went silent.

Tyrion pressed his throbbing temples with numb fingers. If anything happened to Sansa Stark, his brother Jaime would surely die.

"Ser Mandon, you are her guard. I order you to go out and save her."

Ser Mandon Moore didn't move. "I swore to protect my king. When the king is in danger, no one else matters."

"That is right," Cersei interjected. "Boros, Meryn, go find the girl."

"And my daughter," Lady Tanda sobbed, "Please, sirs…"

Ser Boros was afraid. "Your Grace," he told the queen mother, "I fear our white cloaks would enrage the mob, making things worse."

Tyrion couldn't take it anymore. What kind of Kingsguard were these? Had the heavens sent them to humiliate the sacred title of Kingsguard? "The Others can take your fucking cloak! You damned idiot… but you must bring Sansa back, or I swear, I will have Shagga cut off your legs and arms, and then split your ugly head in half to see if there's anything besides black mush inside!"

Ser Boros turned purple with anger. "You call me ugly? Look at you!" He raised his bloody sword and pointed it at the Imp. Bronn swiftly pushed Tyrion aside, his sword aimed at Boros.

"Stop!" Cersei shrieked. "Boros, you will obey me, or we'll find someone else to wear that cloak. Remember your oath—"

"She's there!" Joffrey pointed and shouted.

Sandor Clegane rode Sansa's chestnut mare, vigorous, through the doors of the sept, his warhorse close behind. The girl sat behind the Hound, her arms tight about his waist.

Tyrion shouted to her, "Are you hurt, my lady Sansa?"

There was a deep gash in her scalp, and blood trickled down her forehead. The work of a sharp stone.

"They… they threw things… stones, garbage… I kept telling them, I had no bread. But one man tried to pull me down. The Hound killed him, I think… his arm…" Her eyes went wide, and she clapped a hand to her mouth. "He cut his arm off!"

"The little bird is bleeding. Someone! Get her back to the cage and see to her wounds," the Hound bellowed.

Maester Frenken hurried forward to tend Sansa's wounds and staunch the flow of blood.

"Santagar is dead," the Hound continued. "Four of them dragged him down and took turns smashing his head with cobblestones, till it was mush. I killed one, but I couldn't save him."

Countess Tanda came forward. "My daughter—"

"Never saw her," the Hound said brusquely, and turned away, scowling.

Hooves hammered on the paving stones, and Littlefinger appeared in the doorway with four of his red-cloaked guards, his finery torn, their cloaks gone, all of them splashed with blood. Whose, it was hard to say.

Littlefinger's expression was relatively calm: "This is terrible. We must find a way to get food, or the riot in King's Landing will not stop. We should also strengthen the defenses of King's Landing. These men are clearly not enough to deal with emergencies."

"Where do we get food?" the Imp asked, not without irony.

"The Mountain is at Harrenhal. I received news that he plundered hundreds of miles of crops near the Godseye Lake and looted several towns. We need the Mountain's food and his army, Your Grace," Littlefinger knelt and helped the Queen Mother up, supporting Joffrey.

He knew that the Imp was not easy to fool, so he spoke to Cersei and Joffrey.

This riot exceeded Littlefinger's expectations and almost killed him. He only organized a few people to shout for bread in the crowd and spread some truth, such as Cersei being a whore and the king being an incestuous bastard. He did not organize the riot; everything was caused by the brave actions of King Joffrey, triggering an unprecedented disaster.

"The Mountain won't give us food," said Meryn Trant. He was still terrified when the Mountain was mentioned, and he was firmly opposed to the Mountain entering King's Landing.

"No, as long as the king gives an order, who would dare to disobey?!" Littlefinger looked at King Joffrey with respectful eyes. He took out a handkerchief and carefully wiped away the dirt from the king.

The Imp looked at Littlefinger like an idiot: "Littlefinger, since you came up with the idea, then go and persuade the Mountain to send us the food he worked so hard to grab, otherwise… I will hold you accountable!"

The Imp always felt that Littlefinger's sudden shortage of food was suspicious. But now the top priority is food, otherwise everyone will be finished before Baratheon's 100,000 troops arrive.

"Lord Hand, although I have to listen to your orders, I would rather listen to the king's orders. The Queen Mother and the King are here," Littlefinger looked at the Queen Mother and His Majesty the King, respectfully, "Your Majesty, please give the order. Once the riot starts, it will spread throughout the city. As long as the Mountain, who is closest to us, enters the city and brings food, King's Landing can rest easy, and when Baratheon's army comes, the Mountain can lead the army to resist."

"Petyr Baelish, order the Mountain to bring his food and troops," King Joffrey regained his royal authority from Littlefinger's servility, and he gave the order in a loud voice.

"As you command, Your Majesty. The riot will spread throughout the city. Please approve my going to quell the riots throughout the city," Littlefinger said with loyalty and righteousness.

"What method do you have to quell the riots that are about to spread throughout the city?" the Imp asked.

Littlefinger and Cersei helped Joffrey up and looked back at the Imp, who was in a state of confusion: "Lord Hand, why are the rioters rioting?"

"Hunger!"

"Yes, I will go out and announce that bread will be distributed to them outside the gates of the Red Keep tomorrow, and they will surely disperse," Littlefinger said.

"But we don't have any extra food."

"Yes, we don't have any extra food, but the Mountain, who is closest to us, will soon bring the food from Harrenhal."

"What if the Mountain doesn't give us food?"

"The Mountain may not listen to me, but he will listen to a certain important person. I firmly believe this."

Cersei immediately understood, as if a lamp had been lit in her heart. She immediately said: "Okay, Petyr Baelish, you are much more useful than someone who only knows how to talk. Go and quell the rioters outside first. You are fully responsible for the Mountain. If he doesn't listen to orders, I will have my father issue the orders."

"As you command, Your Grace," Littlefinger said, "Your Majesty, please rest assured, the rioters outside will soon disperse and will not affect His Majesty's celebration of his name day today."

Littlefinger looked at the Imp and smiled: "Lord Hand, why don't we go out and announce it together?"

Thanks to [Honest and Brave Alazhuang] for the reward, thank you, handshake!