Inside the secret passages of Red Keep, Varys was moving quickly. Soon, a small figure appeared before him—one of his little birds.
"My Lord," the small figure whispered, "Littlefinger just sent a letter out of the city. We don't know who it's for yet, but we have someone tailing them."
Varys nodded, and the boy quickly vanished into the shadows. Varys continued forward, his face expressionless, but his mind was racing with calculations.
Who would Littlefinger be sending a letter to at a time like this? Tywin? Renly? Stannis? Or perhaps the Targaryens?
He didn't ponder further, because as he stepped out of the secret passage, he saw someone at the end of the corridor. Petyr Baelish stood there, wearing his customary smile.
"Lord Varys." Littlefinger saw Varys as well and came forward to meet him. "What a coincidence, I was just looking for you."
"Lord Petyr, whatever for?" Varys smiled, his voice soft.
"Just to chat," Littlefinger said. "After all, the winds are changing in King's Landing. Old acquaintances like us should visit each other more often."
Varys looked at him, his eyes appearing bottomless.
"Indeed," he said. "We should visit more often."
"Lord Varys, what are your thoughts on the current situation?" he asked, a smile still on his face.
"Thoughts?" Varys repeated slowly, as if weighing the word, though an inscrutable look flickered in his eyes. "What thoughts could I have, Lord Petyr? I am but a eunuch, and a eunuch only wishes to live."
"Oh, come now." Littlefinger chuckled softly, not biting. Instead, he rephrased the question. "You know more than anyone, and you are clever—the person most capable of seeing the situation clearly. Tell me, do you think King's Landing can truly be held?"
Varys was silent for a moment before answering seriously, "It cannot."
Littlefinger raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.
"The Targaryens have ten dragons," Varys continued. "What is a dragon? A creature of legend, a powerful weapon capable of burning down entire cities. The walls of King's Landing cannot stop Dragonfire, and scorpion crossbows cannot hit their targets. Faced with such monsters, soldiers can only flee. Even if Lord Tywin returns with his army, it will change nothing."
Littlefinger listened to these words without his expression changing in the slightest, his smile remaining fixed.
"Then what does Lord Varys intend to do next?" Littlefinger's eyes darted as he asked.
Varys looked at him and suddenly laughed.
But there was something in that laugh, as if he had seen through everything, or perhaps it was self-deprecation.
"I only intend to try my best to survive; I have no other plans. And you? Lord Petyr, you are the master of coin. King's Landing will surely need you in the days to come."
Littlefinger also smiled as he gave his answer. "My view coincides with yours, my Lord; I also only wish to live." Having said that, he gave a casual greeting and walked straight away.
As they passed each other, Varys withdrew his hands into his sleeves. Those hands, more delicate than a woman's, were now folded together, hidden within the silk.
The smile on his face had vanished. He knew Littlefinger was playing his own game again. And this game had only just begun.
In the Westerlands, in a valley near Castamere, the Northern army was resting and reorganizing.
They had been deep in the Westerlands for two months, fighting over a dozen battles and winning them all. However, the Lannister main force was pinned down in the The Riverlands, unable to spare any troops to surround and suppress him.
This was his original plan: to use his highly mobile cavalry to lure Tywin back to the Westerlands. As soon as Tywin left Harrenhal, he would set an ambush midway to crush the Lannister main force in one fell swoop.
The plan was perfect, just as perfect as his previous relief of the Siege of Riverrun, but unfortunately, he encountered a foolish ally: Edmure.
Moreover, that old fox Tywin seemed to be intentionally letting Edmure pin him down. After all, he had previously routed the The Riverlands with only a small Westerland force; how could his current army of tens of thousands be stopped by Edmure?
However, he would rather watch his own lands be burned to ash than give up his position at Harrenhal. He was waiting—waiting for Robb to make a mistake, waiting for the Northerners to grow weary, waiting for the right moment to strike.
But Robb could no longer afford to think about these things.
He had just received news from the home of a captured Westerland noble—news brought by a raven from King's Landing: the Targaryens had returned.
Robb summoned his bannermen for an emergency council to discuss how to respond to this turn of events.
Before long, his tent was filled with people.
The Blackfish, Brynden Tully, leaned against the side of the tent with his arms crossed, a pensive expression on his face. He was Robb's great-uncle and one of the finest knights in the The Riverlands. Since escaping the Vale, he had traveled all the way to find Robb and became the vanguard scout for his army.
Ser Lyman Frey sat in a lower position, as his rank was relatively low. He was the eldest son of Stevron Frey and the current heir to House Frey. This was because Ser Stevron Frey had died a month ago at the Battle of Oxcross, unable to avoid his fate from the original story.
As for Theon Greyjoy, he had volunteered to go to the Iron Islands, hoping to convince his father, Balon Greyjoy, to swear fealty to Robb, the King in the North.
Differing from the original story, Jon was currently assigned as a squire under Roose Bolton, primarily to assist Maege Mormont in monitoring the Leech Lord.
Also in the tent were Greatjon Umber, Rickard Karstark, several other Northern lords, and Robb's mother, Catelyn.
Catelyn had arrived at the army a month ago. She had originally been in Winterfell caring for Bran and Rickon, but when she heard Robb had assigned Jon as Roose Bolton's squire, she couldn't help but come.
She deeply mistrusted the bastard, fearing Jon and Roose Bolton would conspire to harm Robb. Furthermore, she wanted to see her son lead in battle with her own eyes and seek news of her two daughters.
Of course, Stevron Frey's death was also related to her; it was to protect this woman who had suddenly appeared on the battlefield that he was surrounded and killed by several Westerland knights.
One must know that although Stevron Frey looked like a weasel, he was an heir carefully cultivated by Walder Frey according to House Stark's standards. He was a gentle, rational, and honorable knight, quite unlike the rest of House Frey.
"The news has been confirmed," Robb said once everyone had nearly arrived. His voice sounded very steady, already like that of a capable ruler.
"Viserys Targaryen has landed at the Crabs Claw Peninsula. He has already seized Dragonstone and Driftmark, and has blockaded Blackwater Bay. He has ten dragons, and his army is said to be fifty thousand strong and growing."
The people in the tent looked at each other in silence for a moment upon hearing this news.
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