"But, Your Grace, rumors are spreading fast, and the people of King's Landing are in a total panic," the Assistant Maester reminded her cautiously. "Moreover, even among the Gold Cloaks, many have already deserted."
Cersei staggered, then as if suddenly grasping at a final straw, she asked urgently, "Where is my father, Lord Tywin? Where is his army? Why hasn't he come to save us yet?"
Hearing Cersei's words, the Assistant Maester's expression turned even grimmer. "We haven't received a raven from Lord Tywin for three days, Your Grace. The situation in the The Riverlands doesn't seem to be going well."
"No... that's impossible..." Cersei muttered to herself.
Her father was her last reliance, the pillar of House Lannister. If even her father couldn't be counted on, then King's Landing, herself, and her children—wouldn't they all be without hope?
Fear gripped her heart, tightening its hold. She could almost see Viserys riding a giant dragon, leading his great army to breach the gates of King's Landing, dragging her and her children out, and beheading them one by one.
She remembered Robert's wretched state before he died, Ned Stark's severed head, and all the enemies she had trampled underfoot.
Retribution. This must be retribution.
"No, I cannot just sit here and wait for death." Cersei suddenly looked up, a trace of ruthlessness reigniting in her emerald eyes.
She walked outside to find the guards, only to encounter The Hound, who had just returned from the Tower of the Hand. She hurriedly said, "Ser Clegane, pass on my orders: from now on, I will personally command the city's defenses. Furthermore, recall all Lannister guards; we will defend Red Keep to the death. Tell them there are no deserters in House Lannister; if anyone dares to flee, I will hang their entire family."
Her voice carried a desperate determination. Even if Tyrion had fled, and even if her father's reinforcements were delayed, she, Cersei Lannister, would never simply give up and wait for death.
She was a daughter of Casterly Rock, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The blood of the roaring lion of Lannister flowed in her veins. She would fight until the very last moment and let Viserys hear her roar.
However, Cersei's forceful orders had little effect; instead, they caused panic to spread even faster within King's Landing.
In Flea Bottom, a drunken blacksmith slammed his cup onto the ground and roared, "The Lannister Imp has run off! Why the hell should we keep defending? I'm done!"
His words immediately resonated with those around him, and the crowd began to stir.
"Have you heard? The Targaryen dragons breathe fire. The city walls can't stop Dragonfire at all."
"The Hand has fled. Staying here is just waiting to die."
"How about... we run too?"
"Run where? The city gates are all closed."
"There's always a way..."
Fear had already taken root in their hearts, and Cersei's 'orders' became the final straw that broke the camel's back, causing that fear to fully sprout.
Varys stood in a secret passage beneath the tower where Sansa was kept, listening quietly to the commotion above. His face remained expressionless, but his eyes appeared exceptionally deep at this moment.
"My Lord," a little bird emerged from the secret passage and said, "It is confirmed that Lord Tyrion is dead."
Varys nodded and waved his hand, dismissing the little bird.
Standing in the secret passage, he turned to look toward the Targaryen camp outside the city, thinking to himself that Viserys the Dragon King was even more ruthless and decisive than he had imagined.
"Lord Tyrion," he whispered to the empty air, "I hope you understand. In this game, only the dead are truly safe."
With that, he also left the secret passage, preparing to complete another task Viserys had given him: Sansa.
Sansa Stark had just been awakened by the noise in Red Keep. She and Jeyne were looking out the window, watching the guards below being constantly redeployed. She didn't know what was happening, but she could guess it all had something to do with Viserys.
Suddenly, there was a very faint sound from the fireplace. Sansa's heart leapt into her throat as she nervously squeezed Jeyne's hand. Both looked toward the sound warily.
Then, they saw an opening appear in the fireplace, and a figure wearing a grey hooded cloak slipped inside.
By the light of two lit candles and the faint moonlight from the window, Sansa recognized the face beneath the hood: Varys, the Master of Whisperers in King's Landing, the man known as "The Spider."
"Miss Stark, Miss Jeyne, there is no need to panic," Varys said in a low voice, seemingly not wanting to alert the guards outside. He spoke to the two girls, who were already huddling together, "I am here to take you away from this place."
Sansa's heart beat even faster. She instinctively took a step back and asked, "Leave? Where are you taking us? Who sent you?"
Seeing their nervous state, Varys shook his head and spoke with a smile, "His Majesty Viserys sent me. He asked me to take you to a safe place first, to ensure you aren't caught in the crossfire of tomorrow's battle. Once the war is over, it will be time for you to return to where you belong. The letter Jeyne received earlier was sent by me on his behalf."
"Arya's letter?" Hearing Varys's words, Sansa's eyes widened. So Varys was one of Viserys's men. She asked excitedly, "Lord Varys, do you know if Arya has come this time? Will I be able to see her soon?" She knew from the letter that Arya was in Valyria, but she didn't know if she had come along this time.
"Miss Arya did not accompany the army this time; she is still in Valyria. But I promise that His Majesty Viserys will have you reunited very soon."
Varys's tone remained steady as he answered Sansa's question, then continued, "Miss Sansa, King's Landing will change hands tomorrow. It is too dangerous for you to stay here. Please come with me quickly; we must hurry."
Jeyne stood by, dumbfounded. She looked at Sansa, then at Varys, her face full of bewilderment and a hint of fear. She was just an ordinary minor noble girl from the North; being swept into such a whirlpool of power made her feel overwhelmed. She gripped Sansa's arm, squeezing slightly.
Watching Jeyne, Sansa's emotions steadied slightly, but her reason prevented her from fully trusting him. She had experienced too much deception and betrayal—from Joffrey's hypocrisy to Cersei's malice. She had learned not to trust others easily, especially a notorious schemer like the man before her.
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