"Three million?!"
The High Septon's flabby face tightened, his multiple chins quivering with indignation. He spat on the rush-covered floor, his eyes bulging behind his crystal crown. "This is not a tax; it is extortion! I will never agree to such blasphemous terms. The Faith is not a purse for Northern barbarians!"
Three million gold dragons. The High Septon hadn't counted the church's raw wealth in years, but he knew the vaults of the Great Sept were heavy. Between the vast agricultural estates, the donations from pious lords, and the pennies of the poor seeking a blessing for a sick child, the gold had gathered until the Sept was the wealthiest entity in the city. But to hand it over to an "infidel" who worshipped trees? It was a physical pain sharper than any gout.
"Extortion?" Eddard raised his eyelids, glancing at the fat man with a thin, predatory smile. "I remember a Maester once told me that when the Faith of the Seven spread through Westeros, your priests didn't ask for permission. They cut down every heart tree south of the Neck. They burned the history of my people to make room for your seven-faced idol."
Eddard leaned forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. "Now, the followers of those Old Gods are here. They have seen your crystal domes and your silken robes. Do you think they just want to gamble in your halls or bring their girls to revel at your altars? If Lord Royce and I weren't holding them back, the Great Sept would already be a smoking ruin and your priests would be dangling from the rafters."
The threat was naked and absolute. Pay the gold, and your faith survives. Refuse, and the giants will turn your Sept into a stable.
The High Septon began to pray silently, his lips moving in a frantic rhythm as he called for the Father's judgment and the Warrior's fury. But as the silence in the dining hall stretched, the gods remained remarkably quiet.
Eddard turned his gaze to Varys, who had been watching the exchange with a detached, clinical interest.
"Why didn't you flee, Varys?" Eddard asked, popping a piece of crab pie into his mouth. "I know you have secret passages that lead all the way to the Blackwater. You could have been on a ship to Essos before my men even cleared the Mud Gate."
"Why should I flee?" Varys's round face showed a mask of bewildered innocence. "The Red Keep is entirely under your control, My Lord. Where would a poor, fragile eunuch hide from the Winter Wizard?"
"I hate riddles," Eddard said, swallowing the crab meat. "You're a clever man. You know Stannis is coming. You know he won't allow a Lyseni spider who served the Targaryens to stay in his palace. So why stay? Why not go find Aegon in Lys, or Daenerys in Meereen?"
Varys's expression shifted. The false flattery evaporated, replaced by a sincere, almost desperate gravity. "Lord Eddard, you are exceptionally powerful. But more importantly, you are not blinded by the throne. I stayed because I wished to invite you to join the True Dragon. Aegon is the King Westeros needs, a boy who has lived among fishermen, who has cooked his own meals and seen the suffering of the smallfolk. He would be a King who understands responsibility, not just power."
Eddard shook his head, finishing his wine. "Varys, that is a fantasy. People change the moment they feel the weight of a crown. And the Targaryen blood is a coin flip between genius and madness. I will not support a return to the Dance of the Dragons. No more Targaryens."
A hint of melancholy touched Varys's eyes. "What a pity. I truly thought you would be a fine ally. I even hoped Aegon might marry into your house to secure the North."
"I'm not worthy," Eddard said, his eyes narrowing as he saw Varys's lips begin to purse.
A bad premonition seized Eddard's heart. He stood up abruptly, slamming his fist onto the table with such force that the heavy oak split in half, sending food and wine flying.
"Varys! I warn you! Send those children back! Now!"
A sharp whistle sounded. From the shadows of the cabinets and the corners of the kitchen, six small figures emerged. They were children, no more than ten, their faces pale and their tongues missing. They held heavy, cocked crossbows, the steel bolts aimed directly at Eddard's heart.
"Fire," Varys commanded, turning to walk away through a secret panel.
Eddard didn't move. He didn't reach for a shield. He simply focused his will.
[Intermediate Magic: Weakness (Area) cast.]
Varys had taken exactly two steps before his legs turned to jelly. He collapsed onto the floor, his face hitting the stone with a dull thud. The children followed, their crossbows clattering to the tiles as their strength was hollowed out. They lay in the mess of the feast, their eyes wide with a primal, supernatural terror.
Eddard stepped over the ruined table and knelt beside the paralyzed eunuch. "Why bother, Varys? I told you I was prepared. Your little birds can't peck through a storm."
"My Lord... I did not know... your magic reached this far," Varys wheezed, his voice barely audible.
"It reaches everywhere," Eddard said. He patted Varys's powdered face. "You want a King who puts the people first? That's an ideal that doesn't exist in Westeros. The lords are selfish. Catelyn, Joffrey, Walder... they all think they are the center of the world. Your Aegon will be no different once he tastes the wine."
Eddard clapped his hands. The doors were kicked open, and Karas Snow rushed in with a squad of Wolfguards.
"Karas, lock the children in the tower. Feed them well. Send the High Septon back to his Sept; he'll tell you when the three million is ready for collection. As for Varys?" Eddard pointed to the Iron Throne in the distance. "Build a cage next to that chair. He wanted a King so badly, let him watch the next one take the seat from behind bars."
Stormlands. The Walls of Storm's End.
The massive, drum-like towers were pitted and scarred from weeks of Lannister siege-engines. But the Lion's banners were finally disappearing.
Full twenty thousand Lannister and Tyrell soldiers were retreating in an orderly column along the mountain paths toward the Reach. Tywin Lannister was moving with a speed that suggested a house on fire.
"Your Grace, aren't we pursuing?" Monford Velaryon asked, his hand white-knuckled on his sword hilt. "We have them on the run!"
"Pursue what?" Stannis ground his teeth. "Tywin does not run without a reason. If I open these gates, he'll turn and crush us in the field."
"Your Grace! My Lords!"
Davos Seaworth, the newly minted Lord of Rainwood, scrambled up the steps to the battlements. He was out of breath, clutching a rain-stained parchment.
"Look at this! A raven from the capital!"
Stannis took the letter, his eyes scanning the lines. His expression didn't change, but his jaw stopped grinding, a sign of total shock.
"King's Landing has fallen," Stannis said, his voice echoing over the silent battlements. "Eddard Karstark has taken the city. He invites me to Blackwater Bay... to reclaim my throne."
The Stormlords erupted into a riot of cheers and disbelief. Stannis looked out at the retreating Lannister army, then at the sea. The crown he had bled for was finally waiting, held by a man he had never even met.
[Status: Varys captured (The Spider in a Cage).]
Plz Drop Some Power Stones.
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