A Gentle Breeze | Jon Snow | Game of Thrones

Chapter Twenty-Three

||The Old Gods and The New||

The trio had finally made it to the pyromancer who Joffrey pretty much ordered to make more and more wildfire for the war when Stannis would attack.

Zephyr stood close to Bronn since the old man gave her extremely weird vibes. Don't get her wrong, she knows it's rude to judge someone based of off only that, but she wasn't going to risk having her own flesh melt off by that substance either.

"Take care my lord." Said the Pyromancer as he handed Tyrion a jar of green liquid.

"I remember reading an old sailor's proverb, 'Piss on wildfire and your cock burns off.'" He recalled.

"Oh, I have not conducted this experiment. It could well be true." The elder explained, a little too eagerly. "The substance burns so hot it melts wood, stone, even steel. And, of course, flesh. The substance burns so hot it melts flesh like tallow."

Tyrion handed the jar back, feeling uneasy about it himself. For once, Lancel wasn't lying. He hates to admit it, but he wished he did. The old pyromancer went back to safely put the jar of hot substance back into its rightful place, going n another tangent.

"After the dragons died, wildfire was the key to the Targaryen power." He spoke.

Bronn scoffed as soon as he noticed that Zephyr immediately believed what the man was saying, even Tyrion who definitely wouldn't have the balls to test that bloody substance.

"Our companion takes issue." Zeph told the man.

"If I could tell you how many old crazy men I've seen pushing carts around army camps making grand claims about jars full of pig shit." Bronn told them, adding "No offense meant." after he saw the elder's look.

"Our order does not deal in pig shit." He said sourly. "The substance is fire given form. And we have been perfecting it since the days of Maegor."

"To do what?" Bronn challenged, cutting Zephyr off from saying anything to it, stepping in front of her like a brother protecting his baby sister from a perverted little boy.

"The jars are put in catapults and flung at the enemy." Explained the pyromancer to the skeptical man.

"How much do you have?" The princess spoke, curious as to how many Joffrey actually wanted to put in use.

The old man held up a finger as if to say 'one moment' before trotting off to his cellar to check.

"If you could get real soldiers to man the catapults, then maybe you's hit your target one time in ten," Bronn started as the elder came back with a large key, "but all the real soldiers are in the Riverlands with your father." He told Tyrion.

When he opened a door with that large key, leading them inside, he said "My princess, this man is insulting."

Zephyr smiled sheepishly at him, "Well that's Bronn, direct and cheeky as ever."

"I don't know if you've ever seen a battle, old man, but things can get a bit messy." Bronn told him, and even in the darkness, Zephyr just knew Bronn rolled his eyes so far back, he would get a migraine after.

"'cause when we're flinging things at Stannis, he's flinging them right back at us." He added as the were walking down some stairs, following the man. "Men die, men shit themselves, men run, which means pots falling, which means fire inside the walls, which means the poor cunts trying to defend the city end up burning it down."

He wasn't entirely wrong, though either. Zephyr definitely saw his perpective of things and how it could get chaotic and messy very quickly. But they also didn't exactly own a dragon nor did they have the ability to control them.