King's Landing, night. Firelight surged through the city, and human voices boiled over in every direction. Beyond the walls, patches of wildfire floated on the water, scorching green flames spiraling upward. Farther still, the sounds of horns and shouting faded from the sky, leaving only emptiness and desolation.
Varys, Master of Whisperers on the Small Council, the "Spider," stood at the highest point of a small brothel in King's Landing, carefully watching the situation within the city. The brothel's doors were locked tight, with a few Sellswords guarding outside, and the mob did not dare attack it for the time being. Even so, everyone inside had already hidden in the cellar, leaving the place empty.
That night, all of King's Landing had fallen into a frenzy. The mobs gave themselves over to every desire in their hearts. They were hungry, angry, and nearly broken by the Imp's curfew and the city's dwindling grain. Gold Cloaks rose up and killed their officers, while rioters looted the shops.
Autumn has come. Perhaps a long winter will follow. Only winter and summer are long. Spring is always brief, Varys thought. He was disguised as a plump woman, his body scented delicately with lavender, his feet in silk slippers, his soft hands still playing with a crossbow.
Modesty and sweet words are my disguise. But after King's Landing falls, where am I to go? Varys wondered. On the surface, he was only a small member of the Small Council, with no house, no heirs, and no lands. When they needed information, the nobles contacted him with distaste and treated him like a clown. Yet this, too, was how Varys survived.
Varys understood very well that once the wildfire trap across the river failed, once the Volantis army involved itself, and once the Rose attacked the Lion, the Lannisters' defeat could no longer be reversed. But in this endgame, how was he to preserve his pieces?
"It's the Northmen!"
Then came the golden banners and the black tide. The fur-clad Winter Wolves and the men of Crackclaw Point charged through the ruins of the Old Gate into King's Landing with high spirits, unleashing slaughter upon the city like a thunderstorm. The mob's rampage had lasted only a few hours before it began to die down.
"Long live King Robert!"
"Long live the Storm!"
The Northmen and the men of Crackclaw Point shouted at the top of their lungs. After the horns and drums sounded for curfew, they began clearing the street rioters one by one, opening the roads toward strongholds such as the Red Keep. The First Men's enforcement was bloody and clean. Ironleg Walton, one of Roose's captains, led men through the streets, and the veterans of House Crabb from Crackclaw Point joined them as well. In the past, punishment might have meant hanging, a hand cut off, or a nose sliced away, but today it was swift blades and quick deaths.
"Cave, take a squad and secure the Great Sept of Baelor."
"Tallhart, take a squad and open The King's Gate. Let the western army in."
"Galbart Glover, take a squad and open the eastern gate. Let Great Lord Stannis's transported soldiers come ashore," Lord Roose Bolton ordered. The First Men of The North revered the Old Gods above all. By comparison, controlling the Great Sept was better suited to the men of Crackclaw Point.
"The rest of you, come with us to the Red Keep," Crabb shouted.
Varys saw the banners passing through the hurried firelight: Gendry's quartered golden Storm banner, House Stark's direwolf of the icy plains, House Bolton's pink Skinner, House Crabb's riding bison, the Giant with the waving pine, and others.
Damn it. All that wildfire was used up at the Old Gate and on the Blackwater Rush, yet it failed to kill a single important man for me. It did not kill Gendry, nor even one or two great lords. All my hopes have gone to waste. The Imp is still useless. Or perhaps that boy Gendry is simply too cunning. Varys thought furiously, his eyes nearly bulging. He lowered his crossbow.
Varys had greatly admired the Imp's wildfire formation. It might not have reached Stannis, but it had held real hope of striking Gendry. For Gendry, like Robert, was filled with a hunger for battle. The Storm's way of war was to lead from the front, to value scouts and formations, to adapt to changing circumstances, and to dance on the edge of the blade with elite troops. It was completely different from Tywin Lannister and Stannis Baratheon, who sat in the rear and commanded their reserves.
"The lights of the Red Keep are about to go out, and the Lannisters within it are destined to lose their heads. So what should I do now? I never thought my own kindness would destroy my plans. Back then, I should have let Cersei discover that bastard," Varys murmured to himself. "No. I will not allow anyone to ruin my work. The Storm is a threat. He wants to reconcile the other lords and unite the Seven Kingdoms behind him. A glorious empire indeed. But it has one fatal flaw. As long as the Storm can be removed, the board can still be played. The Starks do not like Stannis. Highgarden hates Stannis. And then only one lonely Targaryen girl will remain. That will be when I raise Aegon's banner."
There were many things Varys could not control. Everything about a grand war, the hunger in King's Landing, the sudden fury of the mob, the vast and unstoppable tide of events. Yet the secret passages and spies of King's Landing also gave Varys one possible solution.
A direct assassination.
What a pity, Varys thought. A young man who conquered the world. He will greet his victory proudly. He will greet his coronation. The war won, a beauty at his side. That will be his most glorious moment, and also his most careless.
"Go on, then." Varys took another handful of candy-like sweets from his bosom, and a child appeared from the shadows. He was a pale-faced boy in torn robes, no older than nine or ten. Another boy appeared behind him. In all, six children surrounded Varys, boys and girls with pale faces and black eyes.
The little birds reached out and received their candy. Once they had eaten it, they vanished back into the attic.
At the attic door stood a thin maidservant in an oversized leather robe, silently watching the scene.
"Next, we must take good care of Lord Eddard. He is very valuable. The Black Cells are quiet now, and I have already prepared the transfer. For the moment, I am still the one guarding that level," Varys told the maid. Varys had another identity as well: a jailer of the Black Cells.
After the maid nodded to Varys, she left too. Only Varys remained in the attic, his lone shadow stretched long in the darkness.
"The Queen Dowager is now in Maegor's Holdfast, pretending to be calm. That pretty head of hers may fall today. I must prevent that. Queen Dowager Cersei should continue doing her good work, whether in King's Landing or Casterly Rock." Once Varys had made up his mind, he descended from the attic.
"Cersei Lannister and Eddard Stark must live. Gendry must be removed."
In the darkness, Varys appeared in an empty stable. There, he found the entrance to a secret passage and slipped sideways inside.
Varys was going to Maegor's Holdfast to see exactly how things stood with Cersei.
...
The northern sky reflected the raging fires below, shifting through vivid colors. An eerie green tide flowed through the clouds, while orange light spread along the horizon. Ordinary red and yellow flames competed with emerald wildfire, rising and falling in turn, giving birth to countless fleeting shadows.
Under cover of night, aside from the wrecked ships, the fleets of Volantis and the other slave states surrendered in great numbers. Great Lord Stannis Baratheon led his fleet in from the east of King's Landing, while Ser Garlan Tyrell brought a force from The Reach around from the west. The Lannisters' defeat was already inevitable.
The camp beside the Blackwater Rush had become a sea of steel, fire, and gleaming armor. Banners of every kind fluttered in the cold night: Gendry Storm's golden war banner, the ancestral banner of House Baratheon, and the many banners of the Stormlands, the Vale, Crackclaw Point, and The Reach. A charging stag on gold, a golden rose on green, a blue-and-white crescent and falcon, and many more.
Lords and knights gathered there, standing near the braziers amid the crowded press of men. There was no grand feast of celebration. They were still waiting for the three armies inside the city to bring back the heads of Cersei, Joffrey, and the Imp. Even so, victory was already certain.
Every lord and knight was in high spirits. The Westerlands were an extremely wealthy region. Crushing the Lannisters completely meant not only escaping repayment of debts, but also profiting handsomely from it. The Storm had already won the battle on the Blackwater Rush and dealt Volantis a crushing defeat. King's Landing was about to fall. Even if Tywin had not been captured, the larger outcome would not change.
Around a large, simple oak table sat great lords, famous knights, and men of proven merit. For now, they could only sit on folding camp chairs, yet each man felt it was a sign of status, proof that he stood close to the center of power.
Gendry sat above them all. He wore no jewels or crown, only simple black leather armor with a golden cloak over it. Beside him rested the Volantis greatsword, Tiger's Roar.
"I have already sent troops and driven off the Lannisters, Prince Gendry," Great Lord Mace Tyrell said. He was broad and solidly built, even somewhat stout, but still handsome. Great houses usually bred fine stock, and there was no shortage of handsome men and beautiful women among them.
"It was not you. Lord Mathis and I sent out troops first. You were waiting, Great Lord Mace. We moved first, and only then did you act. That is why Tywin escaped," Lord Alester Florent of Brightwater Keep protested. Alester Florent was a tall, thin elder with silver-gray hair and a long, pointed beard framing his slender, noble face. One of his sons-in-law was the Old Man of Oldtown, another was Randyll Tarly, and his niece Selyse Florent had married Great Lord Stannis.
House Florent firmly believed it had a stronger claim to Highgarden than the other houses, and was therefore forever complaining about and questioning House Tyrell's authority.
"Nonsense, Lord Florent," Great Lord Mace said, his face flushing red. "I was preparing the main army for an attack at the time. Tywin and I are sworn enemies. The Lannisters are all traitors."
"But I know you only moved after you saw the catapults and saw us charge," Lord Florent said to his face. "Lord Mathis knows it too."
Mathis Rowan remained silent. He wore a snow-white tunic with a great tree embroidered in gold thread across the chest. He and Florent had attacked Tywin together, but now Mathis said nothing. Mathis was wise, cautious, and widely loved.
Gendry looked at the two of them. Florent was Stannis's relative and had always resented the Tyrells, so it made sense that he had launched a fierce attack. As for Rowan, Gendry had only come to understand his hatred through their dealings. Mathis had always been dissatisfied over Tywin's killing of Rhaegar's children years ago.
"Enough. There is no need to discuss this further. Great Lord Mace remains a loyal and capable commander," Gendry said. "Are we certain Tywin has fled?"
Mace sat there fuming. The lords of The Reach might be powerful, but each still had his own thoughts.
Gendry was not especially surprised by the news. Tywin had commanded the main reserves, and once the situation became unstable, he would have a chance to escape. Besides, The Reach had been slow to act from the start, giving the Westerlands some time to prepare.
"Yes, Prince," Randyll Tarly said with a slight bow. "It took us some time to rout the Westerlands army. But after nightfall, Tywin still managed to flee with the reserves and several important men." He was tall, thin, and balding, with a greatsword slung diagonally across his back in a jeweled scabbard: Heartsbane, the ancestral blade of his house.
Tywin's formations had remained fairly orderly. When night fell and The Reach's heavy assault fell into confusion, he seized the chance to lead his reserves onto a narrow path of escape. Even so, the Westerlands army had still been badly mauled.
"Let him go. Perhaps he will die at the Red Fork. Better yet, I will kill him myself. I had meant to add one more trophy to the Battle of the Blackwater Rush. Among all these heads, only Tywin's head and the spoils of Volantis would truly please me," Gendry said. "The list of traitors includes not only Tywin's house, but also the Small Council ministers in King's Landing."
Aside from the Lannisters, the ones Gendry guarded against most were Varys, and the red priest who had been with Malaquo and seemed to have vanished into thin air. The Spider's web might stretch everywhere, but Gendry had plans and methods of his own.
Randyll Tarly said no more. He understood that the spoils of Volantis meant Malaquo's head.
Mace felt somewhat ashamed as well. It had all been battle, yet The Reach, with its overwhelming numbers, had simply swarmed forward. Though he had taken his share from the Westerlands, his achievements could not compare to Gendry's, much less the honor of claiming a head in battle. If not for that, Garlan would not have had to take Loras with him and launch a night assault on King's Landing.
"Where are the people of House Hightower?" Gendry asked Great Lord Mace. He looked around, but saw no important figures from House Hightower, none of Leyton's children.
"House Hightower sent troops, but not their main line," Great Lord Mace said quietly after glancing around. House Hightower had contributed some manpower, but none of its key figures had come. Mace could not control the Hightowers either.
Gendry nodded. House Hightower was an ancient, wealthy, and powerful house of The Reach, and it was stubborn as well, with deep foundations. But as for the Hightowers, how could he possibly overlook them?
"After tonight, King's Landing will be ours," Gendry told them. "The war may have been brief, but the glory will last."
The lords nodded together. The fruit of victory was sweet indeed. The glory of victory was not something one man could enjoy alone.
"But King's Landing is also a starving city," Gendry said, turning the conversation.
"I am willing to provide grain for King's Landing," Mace promised through gritted teeth. His direct clash with Tywin had been far too sloppy. Now he could only prove his loyalty by paying out of his own pocket.