The Red Keep, the Queen Regent's Chambers
The air was thick with the cloying sweetness of wine and the heavy scent of incense.
Cersei Lannister reclined on a chaise longue draped in golden silk, toyed with a ruby-encrusted goblet, the deep purple liquid within swirling gently with her movements.
Varys stood three paces before her, bowing slightly. His face wore its habitual expression of fawning obsequiousness, but there was no warmth in the depths of his eyes.
"Your Grace, forgive my intrusion," his voice was soft, laced with just the right amount of concern. "News has arrived from the east that might... merit Your Grace's attention. It may concern the long-term peace of the realm."
Cersei looked up, a hint of lazy mockery in her golden eyes. "Oh? What interesting scent has our The Spider caught this time? Let's hear it."
Varys drew several sheets of densely written parchment from his sleeve and presented them with both hands.
He did not step forward, merely holding them up.
A member of the Kingsguard stepped forward to take them, and after an inspection, handed them to Cersei.
Cersei took them casually but did not look at them immediately, instead swirling her wine. "Read them. I can't be bothered with such tiny script."
Varys nodded slightly, his voice steady and clear, as if reading an inconsequential ledger:
"Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr, the three Free Cities, were completely brought under the control of a single power three months ago. The controller is named Aegon, claiming to be the son of Rhaegar and Elia, of the Targaryen bloodline."
"This power has currently integrated all warships from the three cities, with a Fleet estimated to be over one thousand two hundred in number, including more than three hundred large galleys. As for troop strength, it is suspected to be no less than fifty thousand."
"Furthermore, multiple reliable witnesses have seen him riding a pale gold, three-headed giant flying creature at different times and locations, its characteristics highly consistent with the dragons recorded in ancient texts."
"Based on this, the possibility that this person possesses a living dragon is... extremely high."
He paused, his tone growing slightly heavier. "Your Grace, this man is no longer an exiled orphan. He has established a firm foundation in Essos, commanding heavy troops and a Fleet, and likely has a dragon."
"His intentions are crystal clear... to return, to seek revenge, and to reclaim the iron throne. His threat level has already far surpassed that of Stannis or Renly."
Cersei listened, the sneer at the corner of her mouth growing more pronounced; when Varys mentioned 'dragons', she even chuckled.
"Lord Varys," she drawled, bringing the goblet to her lips for a sip, "have you been frightened out of your wits by the drunken ramblings of sailors and merchants?"
She set down her glass and stood, her long skirts trailing as she walked to the window, overlooking the The Blackwater Rush below.
"A Targaryen remnant from gods-know-where, with a few... perhaps gold-painted large lizards, buying a group of Mercenary with gold and lies in those profit-driven, dilapidated city-states, and he dares call himself a Dragon King?"
She turned back, her eyes filled with undisguised contempt. "I hear several versions of such stories at feasts every year, with plots even more exciting than the one you've told."
She walked back to the chaise longue but did not sit.
"My father, Lord Tywin, is gathering a great army in the Westerlands. Renly, that embroidered pillow, is hoarding troops and dares call himself king. Stannis, that dull stone, is cowering on Dragonstone chanting incantations. And the North... that pack of vengeful wolves; the alpha is dead, and the pups are baring their teeth as they head south."
She looked at Varys, every word falling like an ice pellet. "These are the battlefields I must focus on, Varys. Real, urgent, right before our eyes, within the Seven Kingdoms. These are the true thorns beneath my son's iron throne."
"But Your Grace, the dragons..." Varys tried to emphasize again.
"Dragons?" Cersei interrupted impatiently, her voice suddenly rising in sharp mockery. "Based on the sighting times you mentioned, even if those things truly exist, how big could they be now? As big as a horse? Or a dog? Just dragon hatchlings!"
She walked back to the window, her back to Varys, her voice returning to that lazy tone of total control:
"By the time it grows large enough to carry a living man across the Narrow Sea, my son Joffrey will have long since secured the iron throne, and all the Seven Kingdoms will bow before the Lion."
"Fleet? Let them come. The storms and reefs of the Narrow Sea will teach those Essos bumpkins a lesson."
She turned, her eyes cold, as she issued an unquestionable order to leave:
"Your task, Varys, is to watch every move of House Tyrell, keep a death grip on Stannis's secretive ships, and any fools in the Red Keep who might harbor foolish sympathy for House Stark."
"Use your precious Little Birds in the right places, and stop wasting my time with overseas fairy tales."
She waved her hand as if shooing a fly:
"Dismissed."
Varys bowed deeply, even lower than before.
"Yes, Your Grace. As you command."
He stepped back a few paces, then turned and exited the Queen Regent's luxurious yet oppressive chambers with silent steps.
The corridors of the Red Keep
The stone walls were cold, torches flickering within iron cages.
Varys walked through the empty corridor, the submissive expression on his face peeling away like a mask, leaving only a bottomless calm.
Arrogance.
Fatal arrogance.
She could only see the reflection of her own son on the iron throne, and the jackals fighting over carrion around her.
She took pride in Lannister gold hair and gold mines, and felt smug about her 'decisiveness' in recently beheading the Warden of the North.
She was immersed in the brief and illusory pleasure of the peak of power, blind to the pale gold, sky-blotting shadow of wings rising at the edge of the horizon.
Lions and wolves tore at each other in the The Riverlands, stags and roses faced off in the south, and krakens raided the Sunset Sea.
In their eyes, there was only each other, only the iron throne, only the immediate victory and gain.
They wallowed in the mire, fighting for an iron chair destined to be melted by even hotter flames, yet remained oblivious to the fire of destruction gathering in the sky, about to pour down with thunderous force.
No, perhaps not oblivious. Merely unwilling to believe, dismissive.
Varys thought of the decades of painstaking effort he and Illyrio had put in, of the carefully selected and secretly nurtured pawns, and of the true dragon who was supposed to land at the right time to harvest the chaotic Seven Kingdoms with a 'legitimate' status...
All of it was disrupted and ruined by that Aegon Targaryen, who had appeared out of nowhere and was completely unplanned for.
Now, settling for the next best thing, he wanted to use the hands of these 'great figures' still fighting in the mire to create trouble for that overly powerful and prematurely exposed true dragon, to stall for time and create variables.
But they...
Not one of them was worthy of being his opponent.
Not one was qualified to be a pawn on that true chessboard.
At the end of the corridor was a dim staircase, extending downward toward the deeper parts of the Red Keep, toward his Little Birds and secrets.
Varys stopped at the head of the stairs and took one last look at the brightly lit upper corridor behind him, where Cersei's faint laughter and the soft clinking of wine glasses echoed.
Then, he turned and stepped into the darkness.
Dragonstone, the Chamber of the Painted Table
A detailed map of Westeros was carved into the massive tabletop, with wax blocks of different colors marking the various factions.
The candlelight illuminated the contours of the table as if they were real mountains and valleys.
Stannis Baratheon stood by the table, his back straight as a poker, like a gray stone statue clad in armor.
His gaunt face appeared even harder and colder in the shadows, his thin lips pressed tight, his gaze fixed intently on the blue wax blocks marking the regions of Highgarden and Storms End... his brother Renly's power base.
Davos Seaworth stood slightly behind him; this former smuggler had wrinkles carved by sea winds and an unshakable look of worry on his face.
In his hand, he held several secret letters just brought in by a merchant ship.
"Your Grace," Davos's voice was low, "besides the latest movements of Renly and the Lannisters, there is some news from across the Narrow Sea that you need to know."
Stannis did not turn his head, merely grunting an "Mm," his gaze still locked onto Renly's territory.
Davos unfurled the secret letter and reported concisely: "Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr—the three cities have fallen into the hands of one man."
"The man is named Aegon, claiming to be Rhaegar's son. He has a full Fleet under his command, the Golden Company and other Mercenary are loyal to him, and his military strength is considerable."
"More crucially... multiple sources confirm he has a dragon. Pale gold, three-headed, and already quite large."
Stannis finally moved.
He slowly turned his head, his gray eyes like two pieces of quenched cold iron, looking at Davos.
"Aegon Targaryen." He spoke the name, his voice devoid of emotion, only cold confirmation. "The grandson of the Mad King Aerys, the son of Rhaegar?"
He paused, his fingers unconsciously tapping the edge of the table—the rugged rocky coastline of Dragonstone.
"I have noted his threat," Stannis said, every word like a stone falling. "But there is a priority to all things, Davos."
"Renly, my own brother, dares to usurp the title of king and split the realm. This is the most direct and intolerable insult and challenge to me, to the law, and to the order of succession."
"I must, and I will, deal with him first. This is my duty, and I cannot shirk it."
The worry on Davos's face deepened. "Your Grace, I understand. But the speed at which this man is integrating resources on the eastern shore is beyond imagination. He has cleared the pirates from the Stepstones; once he completely controls those waters, he will be just across the sea from Dorne."
"Dorne's anger has never subsided. If they conspire with Aegon..."
"I understand your meaning, Davos," Stannis interrupted with a wave of his hand, his tone brook no argument. "I will deal with him. Every traitor and opportunist who threatens the unity and stability of the realm, I will deal with. But in order. One by one."
His gaze returned to the map, to Renly's glaring blue marker, as if he intended to burn through it with his eyes.
"First, deal with the traitor. Then, crush the usurper. And then..." He stopped, his gaze seemingly crossing the Narrow Sea toward the darkness of the east, "...the threat from overseas."
In the shadows, red robes fluttered slightly.
Melisandre stood there silently, as if she had always belonged to that darkness.
Her red robes were like flowing blood in the candlelight, and the ruby at her throat emitted a faint, constant glow.
Her deep gaze seemed to pierce through the stone walls, seeing a more distant and grander picture.
"The true enemy is the Long Night, the cold and death that sweep across the world, Your Grace." Her voice rang out with a strange rhythm and a hollow echo, as if coming from the depths of a fire.
"The lord of light gives us our mission and also our trials."
She turned slightly toward Stannis and Davos, and in the depths of those eyes that could reflect flames, other visions seemed to dance.
"But if that dragon from the east truly comes bearing fire..." she said slowly, each word carrying a mysterious weight. "The lord of light will guide us, and he will also judge him. If his fire does not serve the True Lord, if it does not dispel the Long Night, then..."
She paused, her red lips curling into an inscrutable arc.
"...it is destined to be extinguished before a greater light."
Silence returned to the Chamber of the Painted Table.
Only the wail of the sea wind through the stone windows and the uneasy flickering of the candles remained.
Stannis frowned, staring at the map as if weighing two different dimensions of threats that were equally imminent.
Davos was filled with worry. Melisandre stood silently in the shadows, like a statue that knew fate but remained mute.
And beyond their sight, across the Narrow Sea, gold was being forged into blades, dragons were sharpening their talons, and a storm whose full scope no one could foresee was gathering speed.
Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn luffy1898