"Three million?!"The High Septon's flabby face tightened in disbelief, a bead of sweat sliding down his temple. "This… this is extortion! I will never agree to such terms!"Three million gold dragons. The number reverberated in his mind like a tolling bell. The Faith of the Seven was rich, yes—they commanded monasteries and temples across the Seven Kingdoms, collected tithes from nobles and peasants alike, and received donations during births, deaths, poor harvests, and wartime hardships. Yet, to hand over such a sum at once—without negotiation—was a blow to the pride and power of the church.For perspective, the loan Robert Baratheon had taken was barely over a million gold dragons, and the Iron Throne had paid it off faithfully every year. This demand was unprecedented."Extortion?" Eddard Karstark's eyes flicked to the High Septon. A wry smile played at the corners of his lips. "A maester once told me that when the Faith of the Seven first spread across Westeros, they cut down nearly every weirwood tree south of the Neck. Do you think they did it to protect the gods? Or perhaps to punish followers of the Old Gods?"He leaned back slightly, letting the words sink in. "Now, followers of the Old Gods have come to King's Landing. They've seen the seat of your Faith, the grandeur of the Great Sept. Do you really think they came here to gamble before the Father or to bring prostitutes into the sacred hall?"The High Septon's face paled beneath his golden crown. Eddard's gaze hardened. "Lord Royce and I have controlled them. If it were not for our efforts, the sept itself would have been looted. I ask you, then, is demanding three million gold dragons too much to ensure the safety of your priests, septas, and your precious Sept?"The words were not a plea—they were a threat. Eddard's tone carried the weight of command, and the High Septon understood immediately: pay, and the sept and its clergy remain untouched; refuse, and chaos would descend upon Baelor's Great Sept like a storm of steel and fire.Memories of Northern soldiers, savage and fearless, flashed before him—their laughter ringing in the Great Hall, their axes and maces raised high, the destruction they could unleash if unleashed within the holy walls. The High Septon's hand flew to his forehead, wiping the cold sweat as the crimson gem of his gold ring caught the firelight, glimmering ominously."Father, please manifest and punish these sinners…" he whispered in fervent prayer. "Warrior, destroy these scoundrels with endless fury!"Yet nothing happened in the dining hall. Only silence lingered. Eddard observed the High Septon carefully. The man was thinking, hesitating. It was enough for Eddard to gesture subtly to Varys, standing silently at his side. The Master of Whisperers was calculating, as always.If the High Septon refused, if he resisted, could Eddard Karstark allow his soldiers to plunder the Great Sept? The answer was clear: yes. And the consequences of such an act would ripple through the Seven Kingdoms, rekindling religious wars that had lain dormant for centuries."Why didn't you flee?" Eddard asked calmly, taking a bite of the fresh crab pie before him.Varys blinked, bewildered. "Why should I flee? The Red Keep, inside and out, is under your control. Where could I possibly go?"Eddard shrugged, his expression unreadable. "I hate riddles. You are clever, Varys, yet you no longer have the chance to stir trouble. King's Landing is mine. Soon, Stannis may take control, and all of Westeros will stabilize—or fall. Survival is no guarantee, even for you."He sipped his oxtail soup casually. "Why not flee to Lys, to Aegon Targaryen? Or to Daenerys, who has conquered Meereen? You know the secret passages of the Red Keep as well as I do; escape would be easy."Varys wrung his hands nervously, voice trembling. "Lord Eddard, you are clever and powerful. Though young, your mind is unclouded by ambition. That is why I wished to invite you… to pledge allegiance to Drogon, to Westeros's only true king…"Eddard pointed lazily at the crab pie, a half-smile forming. "Then you didn't leave immediately because you wished to test me?"The Master of Whisperers leaned forward, sincerity etched across his powdered face. "Aegon is extraordinary—trained in martial arts since childhood, fluent in tongues, versed in the mysteries of faith. He once lived among fishermen, fending for himself, learning humility, understanding suffering…"Eddard shook his head, a wry glimmer in his eyes. "This is fantasy. People change. Kings are rarely what they seem. The Targaryens' blood is a curse; madness lurks in their veins. They have ruled for three centuries, and much of that time was consumed by civil wars—Maegor's tyranny, the Blackfyre Rebellions, the Dance of the Dragons. Blood and strife have always followed them. I will not aid a Targaryen return."Varys's expression fell. "I had hoped you might be an ally… even considered Aegon marrying into your house."Eddard set down his glass and slammed the table with one hand. Plates, cups, wine jugs, and food flew into the air. "I warn you! Send the children hiding in the shadows out immediately!"At that command, three boys emerged from the cabinet's shadow, crossbows at the ready, ragged robes barely hiding their youth. Three girls followed, weapons poised. Six arrows glinted in the firelight.Then a lean girl, at least sixteen, stepped from the kitchen corner, holding a blood-stained longsword. The chef, whose voice had introduced the dinner moments before, lay probably dead."Fire."Varys moved toward the cabinet without hesitation, guiding the children silently. If Eddard fell, the chaos would engulf King's Landing. Free Folk and Vale soldiers alike would blame one another, sparking a war across the Riverlands, North, and beyond. Aegon's return drew ever closer.Yet then, nothing happened. The weapons fell from the children's hands, and Varys collapsed, powerless. Eddard crouched beside him, voice calm. "I had considered letting you stay. The North, Riverlands, and Vale answer to me—sixty thousand soldiers. But your ideals have forced my hand."He flipped the eunuch onto his back. "Your tricks cannot harm me. Prepare, Varys. If I take King's Landing, I will be fully ready."The High Septon, watching all of this, nodded repeatedly in fear. He would provide the three million gold dragons, for if the Sept were plundered, he would bear the blame.Eddard patted Varys's face with the back of his hand. "Power can blind. You imagine kings like Aegon Targaryen will act in the people's interest. They will not. Westeros is full of short-sighted, selfish nobles. You think Aegon will be different?"A squad of soldiers, led by Karas Snow, entered. "Lock these children in the tower," Eddard ordered. "Send the High Septon back to the church—he will provide the money. As for Varys, the Iron Throne cage is fitting."Eddard exited the dining hall, gazing at the crescent moon above King's Landing. A faint, satisfied smile crossed his face.---StormlandsDark, towering walls were pitted with holes, battered and scarred. Tommen I's banners fluttered weakly as twenty thousand soldiers, led by the crowned stag and the roaring lion, retreated in neat order along the mountain paths toward the Reach.Monford Velaryon, Lord of the Tides, turned to Stannis, puzzled. "Your Grace, are we simply watching them leave? Shouldn't we pursue?"Earl Estermont of Greenstone added, "We do not know why they retreat. To chase them blindly might be folly."Stannis' grey-blue eyes stayed fixed on the enemy. His forces numbered fewer than thirty thousand—ten thousand were tied down in Coppergate and Haystack Hall, resisting Vale reinforcements, while others defended against Loras in Stonehelm and Crow's Nest. Dragonstone guarded Shipbreaker Bay. To pursue now would stretch his forces dangerously thin.Davos Seaworth climbed the outer wall, waving a parchment. "Look at this letter!"Stannis took it, calm as ever. "King's Landing has been taken by Eddard Karstark," he read aloud. "He invites me to parley on the banks of Blackwater Bay, offering to return the Iron Throne."Surprise rippled through the assembled lords. The game was shifting once again.The waning moon cast a pale light over the Stormlands, reflecting the uncertainty of Westeros itself—a land teetering on the edge of war, ambition, and upheaval.---
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