POV: Brynden Rivers, the hand of the king.
The courtyard near the Dragon Gate had been cleared, and a massive pyre stood at its center, built from wood and oil-soaked straw.
Bodies stacked upon it, six hundred and twenty so far. Men, women, children.
"Bring the rest," I ordered.
Guards moved through the quarantine zone, carrying more bodies on stretchers.
The living infected followed behind stumbling and coughing.
Around seventeen of them are still breathing but marked by death.
The guards placed the new bodies on the pyre.
I reached into my pouch on my side and pulled out the clay jar.
Wildfire.
It burned hot enough to reduce bone to ash. Hot enough to kill any trace of plague.
I poured it over the bodies in careful streams. The liquid spread across cloth and flesh, seeking every crack and crevice.
When the jar was empty, I stepped back and took a torch from a nearby guard.
"Clear the area,"
The guards moved back quickly. They knew what wildfire could do.
I stood there for a moment, looking at the pyre. At the faces of the dead.
There was no other way.
I'd sent ravens to the Citadel three days ago. Asked for their best knowledge. Their best maesters. Any treatment or cure for grey plague.
The response came yesterday.
'There is no cure for the black death. Quarantine the infected and burn the dead. Pray it doesn't spread further.'
That was it. The sum total of centuries of learning.
'Useless gray rats.'
After that, I had searched through every book in my tower. Every scroll. Every scrap of ancient knowledge I'd collected over the years.
Nothing helped.
If there was a way to stop this, even if it meant sacrificing myself, I would do it. Burn myself on this pyre if it would save King's Landing.
But there wasn't a way.
Only fire and death.
I threw the torch.
The wildfire caught instantly.
Green flames roared up, consuming the pyre in seconds. The heat was intense even from twenty feet away. The bodies blackened and shriveled and smoke rose into the sky.
I turned to the guards holding the living infected. "Put them in."
The guards hesitated.
"Now," I said.
They moved forward, pushing the infected toward the flames.
The sick stumbled because they were too weak to resist. Some cried out and screamed but all went silent under the green flames of wildfire.
I saw a boy around the age of Prince Aegon break from the crowd of onlookers and run toward the pyre, screaming. "My mother! My mother is in there! Please!"
Two guards caught him before he could reach the flames. Held him back as he struggled.
"Let me go! Let me save her! Please!"
"You idiot, look at his neck," I said to the guard holding him.
The guard glanced down and saw it. His face went pale, there were black spots on his neck, and he too was infected.
I met its eyes. "I'm sorry."
"No," te whispered. "No, please. I feel fine. I'm not sick. Please."
The guards threw him into the fire.
His screams lasted only a few seconds before the wildfire consumed him.
'I can't let anyone spread it.'
I turned away and walked back toward the Red Keep entrance.
However, more guards appeared, dragging a young woman in chains. She fought against them.
"Found her hiding behind barricades in Flea Bottom, my lord," one guard reported. "She's infected. Black spots on her arms."
"Put her in the pyre," I said.
"No! Please!" The woman sobbed, pulling against the chains.
The guards dragged her toward the flames.
But another guard stepped forward and grabbed the first guard's arm. "Stop. That's my daughter."
Everyone froze.
The second guard was older. Gray in his beard. Tears running down his face. "Please, Lord Hand. Please. There has to be another way."
I looked at him. Saw the desperation. The hope that maybe, somehow, I'd have mercy.
"Check him," I said to the other guards.
They pulled the older guard's collar aside. Checked his arms. His chest. His neck.
No spots.
"Take him to the black cells," I said. "Hold him for three days. If he shows no symptoms, release him."
"My lord, please!" The older guard reached toward his daughter. "Please don't do this!"
Two guards grabbed him and dragged him away. He fought them, screaming. "Elena! Elena, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"
The young woman, Elena, stopped struggling. She looked at me with empty eyes. "Just do it quickly."
The guards threw her into the fire.
Her father's screams echoed across the courtyard as they hauled him toward the black cells.
I stood there watching the pyre burn. Watching the smoke rise. Smelling flesh and bone turning to ash.
This was the third pyre today.
There would be more tomorrow.
And the day after.
I turned and walked back into the Red Keep.
….
After an hour, I walked through the Red Keep's corridors, still smelling smoke and burnt flesh on my clothes despite the bath I'd taken.
A Kingsguard appeared around the corner. Ser Lucamore Strong. Young. Arrogant and one of Aerion's creatures.
He stopped in front of me, blocking my path.
"Lord Hand," he said with a barely respectful bow, "I bear a message from Prince Aerion at Summerhall."
I waited.
He pulled out a sealed letter and held it out. "The prince wishes to express his displeasure with the ravens you keep in the Tower of the Hand. He finds them… disturbing. He requests that you remove them."
I took the letter, broke the seal, and read it quickly. The same complaint was written in Aerion's scratching hand. Ravens made him uncomfortable.
I tore the letter in half. Then in half again. Let the pieces fall to the floor.
"Tell Prince Aerion," I said calmly, "that I don't give a rrat'sarse what he thinks. I am Hand of the King. I outrank him and his father both. The will ravens stay."
Ser Lucamore's face reddened. "My lord, the prince—"
"The prince can write all the letters he wants. I won't read them." I stepped closer. "And if you come to me with this kind of rambling again, it won't be the ravens who will leave the red keep. Do you understand?"
He swallowed. "Aye, my lord."
"Good. Now get out of my way."
...