King's Landing, the Red Keep, the Tower of the Hand.
King's Landing had become a hungry, restless, irritable city, its poor constantly stirring on the edge of unrest. Tyrion had done everything he could to suppress news unfavorable to the court, but with little success. Now that Rosby had been harried and plundered, King's Landing was about to sink into an even deeper panic.
To deal with this mess, Tyrion had racked his brains and exhausted every option.
Tyrion Lannister had been sleeping late night after night. He took his work to bed and kept at it until the small hours. By flickering lamplight, he reviewed Varys's secret reports and pored over Littlefinger's ledgers until his eyes ached and the letters blurred together.
Why does the situation grow worse by the day? Tyrion thought helplessly. At times, the crushing pressure made him dizzy enough to feel sick.
Letting that fool Littlefinger go had been Tyrion's mistake, but he had had no choice. Besides, that wretch would never have left the support of the Vale behind.
"Lord Varys has arrived," Tyrion's squire told him. Podrick. Good lad.
"Take him to the banquet hall. I'll be there shortly," Tyrion told Podrick.
Lord Varys, the Master of Whisperers, glided into the hall in his slippers. He wore a purple robe and smelled faintly of lavender.
"Lord Varys, these are years of calamity, and we cannot afford to be too extravagant. Forgive me," Tyrion said apologetically, gesturing to the food laid out on the table.
There was steaming roasted trout, quail in cream sauce, spiced pumpkin, vegetable salad, and a rich mushroom soup, along with many wines to accompany the meal. Food was precious now, though wine was still easy enough to come by. The dishes were not truly extravagant, but in the storm-tossed King's Landing, they were practically priceless.
"A fine meal, my good lord. You are truly generous," Varys said, raising a cup of Arbor wine, one of the finest reds. "And what a feast it is. There are poor folk who would sell their own children for a jug of wine or a single dish."
The two ate and talked, the atmosphere seeming perfectly cordial.
"My lord, what are you still worried about?" Varys asked. "The war?"
"The thought of the flames of war drawing closer keeps me awake," Tyrion admitted. "Are you not afraid, Lord Varys? Littlefinger took flight from The Eyrie and had his bones smashed to dust. I do not wish to share his fate."
"Who would?" Varys put on the face of a man about to weep. "To think of that kind, respectable smile reduced to bare bones. It chills the blood."
"Littlefinger and I were never friends, but thinking of him dying so miserably still leaves me rather melancholy," Tyrion said with a pang. Poor Littlefinger, flying high through the mountains with Lysa Tully.
"Why are you so loyal to me?" Tyrion asked suddenly, as if the words had slipped out on their own.
"You are the Hand of the King. I serve the realm, the King, and you."
"That is not the right answer. Did you serve Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark the same way?"
"Then I shall tell you the truth, my lord. I fear death as well, and beneath the Storm, there is no place for me to live." Varys looked down at the wine in his cup and drank it in one swallow. "King Robert was like the wind, furious but ever-changing. His bastard, however, was born a smith, and his nature is like stone: hard, strong, and steadfast. A spider may survive beneath a gale, but beneath stone, there is only death. Since the bastard has already deemed us men who bring chaos to the realm, he will naturally show no mercy."
Tyrion shrugged and poured Varys another cup. "Hearing you say that improves my opinion of you even further, Lord Varys. You are not only a capable Master of Whisperers, but also my good friend."
"My lord, I have seen how hard you labor," Varys said to Tyrion. "But fortune rises and falls. What you must do now is endure."
"I am enduring, Lord Varys. I have your support. Thanks to you and your intelligence, the City Watch is loyal to me. I control the Red Guard, and the guards around my sister understand that their loyalty belongs to Casterly Rock. I came here by the command of my father, Lord Tywin. Bronn has my wildlings and sellswords. Then there is the Alchemists' Guild. They have prepared a vast amount of wildfire."
"Perfect, my lord. Power belongs in the hands of the strong," Varys praised with a bow. "Why should we place our hopes in a little boy like Joffrey, a woman like the Queen Dowager, or a drunken brute like his father?"
"That is nowhere near enough." Tyrion looked at Varys. "You must have heard the reports. One piece of bad news after another. Alarms are coming from coastal castles and their outlying islands everywhere: Duskendale, Maidenpool, Rosby, and Stokeworth. The armies of the Vale and the Crackclaws are blockading the northern coast, carrying off grain, then withdrawing to ports and fortified castles. The latest reports even claim that the Storm is marching on Storm's End to kill Renly and Stannis, then advance on King's Landing."
"If it truly is the Storm," Varys said.
"Whether it is him or not," Tyrion said, watching Varys. "We are short on grain, and we have little in the way of a navy. Stannis controls nearly the entire Royal Fleet. I once hoped Stannis, Renly, and the others would attack slowly. Now I find myself hoping the war begins soon. I would rather die by war than at the hands of the rabble in the Flea-pit."
"My lord, I can hardly believe you would give in to such self-pity. That is not the you I remember. When we have won this war, you may cry as much as you like, but not now," Varys encouraged him.
"This is not self-pity, my lord." Tyrion sighed. "The Queen Dowager and the city of King's Landing are both demanding grain from me, while the lords of Rosby and Stokeworth come weeping, asking me to send troops and recover their heirs. The other nobles of the Crownlands are panicking as well. Where am I supposed to find soldiers to send? Those Gold Cloaks only have courage when they are standing under the city walls. If my father's soldiers press forward, we will have walked right into the enemy's trap."
"The hour before dawn is often the darkest."
"I would like to hear your opinion, Lord Varys." Tyrion ate a piece of trout, then let Varys speak.
"Young men are rich in courage and always proud. What they lack is patience. King Robert was not a patient man. He was always quick as fire, and it was Eddard who tempered him," Varys said, folding his hands. "Our only chance lies in that young man's pride."
Tyrion nodded. "You may be right."
Tyrion considered it for a long while. "A young man's impatience, pride, and success will make him believe that destiny is on his side and that King's Landing is within reach. Even if the Storm does not lose himself in it, the young men around him who have never experienced war will stir up the mood and urge him to seize this unequaled honor. They will call him the second Conqueror. No, greater than the Conqueror. Lord Varys, it seems you have studied the human mind quite deeply."
Varys smiled. "I shall take that as the highest praise. Besides, their string of victories is not entirely bad for us. The more the Storm wins, the more Lys and Volantis will panic. Who knows whom Storm's razor will turn toward next? Your father, Lord Tywin, has been throwing coin around Across the Narrow Sea. It is bound to have some effect."
"I hope those cheese merchants and slave traders finally move, instead of clinging to their lives in fear," Tyrion said after a moment.
"Precisely. The Storm's great achievements are only a fortress built out of victories. Let the Storm suffer even one defeat, and his aura, along with his kingdom, will begin to crumble like sand slipping through his fingers. That will be our chance. But first, we must win the Battle of King's Landing."
I must seize this one chance, Tyrion thought. My wildfire and my courage are King's Landing's final line of defense. As long as Gendry or Stannis reached Blackwater Bay, his wildfire would have its chance to set the river ablaze.
Tyrion knew that defending King's Landing would be an arduous task, but he had to win the Defense of King's Landing. Fortunately, he still held a few cards: intelligence, soldiers, and wildfire. Grain, however, was now a lost cause. They could only tighten their belts and cut expenses, though the garrison's rations could not be reduced too drastically.
As for authority in King's Landing, Littlefinger was dead, Varys was secretly supporting him, and Joff was busy hunting rabbits. Since his pet Sansa had run away, Joff had no choice but to vent his anger on rabbits and kittens. Tyrion's next concerns were Queen Dowager Cersei and that old traitor, Grand Maester Pycelle.
No. I still have a trump card. A thought flashed through Tyrion's mind. He still had Cersei's other two children in his hands. Those children were Jaime's seed. He had no choice. I will send the young princess Myrcella to Braavos and Tommen to my father. As for me, I will live or die with King's Landing.
"My lord, we have worked well together so far. I hope our cooperation will continue," Varys said to Tyrion.
"I am grateful for the intelligence you have provided me. The defection of the captain of the White Hart, the defection of the Redwyne twins. We intercepted those traitors, and that was crucial." Tyrion poured Varys another cup of wine.
"My lord, that is the duty of a spider and his spies, to offer what little we can to the realm." Varys slowly finished the wine in his cup.
"For my next step, I have considered the recent changes in the situation," Varys said.
"You mean the religious peddlers in the city and the mob's inside collaborators?" Tyrion asked.
"Exactly. My lord, you truly are clever and wise," Varys said. "King's Landing is already packed with all sorts of religious figures. That red comet in the sky seems to have drawn every kind of strange monk, preacher, and false prophet into the city. They beg in taverns and shops, speaking to passersby of the end of the world and its destruction. With our recent setbacks in the war, worsening poverty, and the growing number of starving people, the possibility of collaborators among them has increased greatly. Wise as you are, you must know how much trouble such people can cause once they gather together."
"I will leave that to you, Lord Varys." Tyrion disliked those wavering nobles, but he did not particularly fear them. The nobles of the Crownlands had always been accustomed to wealth and comfort, and most lacked blood in their veins. But the religious fanatics and starving mobs of King's Landing were capable of astonishing destruction.
"I will devote myself body and soul to the realm. So long as my eyes still serve me, I will keep watch for you over those vassals of the Three Storms, as well as the unusually volatile starving people and prophets. In my view, the royal household should make some gestures of goodwill and stop constantly offending the hungry. At the same time, it should avoid too much contact with them. The more splendidly the royal household dresses, the more anger will grow in the hearts of the poor," Varys declared.
"I will heed your precious advice, Lord Varys," Tyrion said gratefully.
"We both have much to attend to, so I will not disturb you any longer." Varys quietly took his leave, and Tyrion escorted him out of the dining hall. After turning it over in his mind, Tyrion prepared to go see Cersei and Pycelle.
Varys left the small hall with a light step.
The Storm's battle reports came one after another, all of them ringing with triumph. No wonder even a man like Tyrion was at a loss, Varys thought. The Storm truly is a remarkable man, but I must not let him destroy my work. He is trying to erase the wounds left by the Drunkard King and the Tyrannical Queen Dowager, trying to destroy the Lannisters, trying to unite the Seven Kingdoms under his own command, and trying to win the support of the Church. I will not let him have his way. Once the Storm is gone, this entire game will come alive. The Dragon Princess will choose Aegon, and many houses will support Aegon. All that is needed is to remove the Storm. My gift will arrive soon. If the first gift fails, there will be more to follow. So long as the Storm dares come to King's Landing.
Everything I do is for my friendship with Illyrio, and for "Aegon," Varys reminded himself.
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