King's Landing, the thirtieth day of the siege.
The wind cut like a knife, carrying the Blackwater Rush's distinctive salty tang as it swept over King's Landing's towering walls.
The sky was leaden gray, so oppressive it was hard to breathe.
Outside the city, Renly Baratheon's hundred-thousand-strong army covered the fields and hills as far as the eye could see.
Campfires dotted the landscape, cooking smoke curling upward in a jarring contrast to the lifeless scene within the city.
Tyrion Lannister stood behind the battlements, his misshapen face even darker than the bricks of the wall as he stared fixedly outside.
For days, Renly's catapults had hurled not boulders, but bulging linen sacks into the city.
The sacks burst in midair, scattering golden grains of wheat, coarse chunks of black bread, and even dried salted fish like rain bestowed by the Gods.
Every volley was accompanied by a deafening frenzy within the city.
The starving populace poured out of filthy alleys like hyenas scenting blood, rolling through mud and filth as they fought over the food.
For a few grains of wheat, they would fight until their heads bled, even sinking their teeth into one another's flesh.
Tyrion had seen with his own eyes a stick-thin old woman trampled to death by several burly men over a piece of black bread the size of a palm.
But what was mixed into the food was even more deadly.
Every sack contained parchment scrolls bearing crude but inflammatory words: "The Lannisters would rather watch you starve than open their granaries!"
"Queen Cersei uses King's Landing's granaries to feed her dogs while your children gnaw on mud!"
"King Joffrey feasts on roast peacock and mead in the Red Keep every day!"
"His Grace Renly is the merciful ruler! He sends food to save