Chapter 38: The King's Gambit: Shadows over the Red Keep
The taste of victory at Stokeworth was still fresh on the tongues of the Phoenix Company, but Viserys Targaryen allowed his forces little time for revelry. Aegis West, as he now styled his first Westerosi conquest, was a hive of disciplined activity, its port choked with Phoenix Company transports ferrying supplies from Dragon's Aerie, its newly reinforced walls bristling with obsidian-tipped ballistae, its streets patrolled by the silent, ominous warriors of the Shadow Legion. The Dragon's Shadow had fallen upon the Crownlands, and from the Red Keep in King's Landing, Viserys knew, the lions of Lannister were stirring, their roars of outrage undoubtedly echoing through the halls where his ancestors had once ruled. His King's Gambit, the audacious lunge for the Iron Throne itself, was entering its most critical phase.
News of Ser Addam Marbrand's annihilated reconnaissance force, and his subsequent coerced swearing of fealty to this new, dragon-wielding Targaryen, reached King's Landing with the speed of a terrified, fleeing raven. Kipp's agents within the capital, their messages now relayed with astonishing swiftness by dragon-back couriers (a role the smaller, incredibly agile Firewyrms, Tempest and Obsidian, had taken to with unsettling glee), painted a picture of a city teetering on the brink of hysteria.
King Joffrey, it was reported, had thrown a jewel-encrusted goblet at the hapless messenger, screaming for the heads of "this new pretender and his monstrous pets." Queen Regent Cersei Lannister had reportedly taken to her chambers with a flagon of Arbor gold, her legendary beauty marred by sleepless nights and encroaching paranoia. It was Lord Tywin Lannister, the true power behind the Iron Throne, who reacted with the cold, deadly pragmatism that had made him the most feared man in Westeros.
Tywin, Kipp's sources whispered, had flown into a rare, contained fury, not at the defeat itself (he understood the brutal calculus of war), but at the sheer audacity of the Targaryen landing so close to the capital, and the unbelievable, terrifying reappearance of dragons. He had immediately ordered a full mobilization of all remaining Crownlands levies, commanded his son, Ser Jaime, to redouble his efforts against Robb Stark in the Riverlands (hoping for a swift victory there to free up veteran troops), and sent urgent ravens to his allies, particularly the Tyrells of Highgarden, urging them to send aid to King's Landing. He also, significantly, ordered the Alchemists' Guild to begin mass production of wildfire, a weapon he had used to devastating effect against Stannis at the Blackwater, and one he clearly intended to employ against Viserys's aerial threat. The Red Keep itself was being turned into a fortress, its walls manned, its gates barred. Tywin Lannister was preparing for a siege.
Varys, the Master of Whispers, communicated through his envoy, Maelys of Lys, who now resided in Aegis West as a permanent, if closely watched, liaison. The Spider's messages were a masterclass in obsequious insinuation and veiled promises. "The Golden Lions pace their cage with growing agitation, Your Grace," one dispatch read. "Their roars are loud, but their claws are clipped by wars on other fronts. The city's heart is heavy with fear and resentment of their rule. Certain… lesser creatures… within the walls long for the warmth of a true dragon's fire, and might be persuaded to open pathways if the dawn breaks with sufficient… conviction." Varys hinted at specific gates that could be compromised, at key commanders in the Gold Cloaks who were secretly disaffected or open to "persuasion," at caches of wildfire whose locations he could reveal (or, Viserys suspected, misdirect). The offer was tantalizing: a swift, internal collapse of King's Landing's defenses. But Alistair Finch's mind screamed caution. Varys served only Varys; his aid would come at a price, and likely involve layers of deception.
The other Baratheon claimant, Stannis, Lord of Dragonstone, reacted with predictable, unyielding fury. His black stag banners, already proclaiming him the one true king, now bore an added, unspoken challenge to the Targaryen dragon that had nested so impudently in his claimed domain. A small squadron of Stannis's war galleys, dispatched from Dragonstone to probe Stokeworth's defenses, was met by the swift, obsidian-hulled Meraxes, captained by the newly blooded Tycho Neris, and two of Kiera Redfin's fastest corsair sloops. The engagement was brief and brutal. The Meraxes, one of Xaro Xhandar's new Phoenix-class frigates, outmaneuvered and outgunned Stannis's heavier, slower galleys. One was sunk by a well-aimed volley of obsidian-tipped ballista bolts that shattered its rowing banks, another captured after a fierce boarding action led by Kiera herself, her Corsairs reveling in the chance to fight "legitimate" warships. The third fled back to Dragonstone, carrying news of this new naval power.
From the captured crew, Viserys learned that Stannis, far from being cowed, was intensifying his own preparations for an assault on King's Landing, believing (perhaps rightly, Viserys conceded) that the Lannisters were now caught between two fires. Melisandre, Stannis's Red Priestess, was said to be performing nightly rituals, her fires burning ever brighter, her prophecies now filled with conflicting images of dragons, stags, lions, and a great darkness. Stannis, it seemed, was determined to claim his throne, even if it meant fighting both Lannisters and Targaryens simultaneously. This created a dangerous, unpredictable three-way dynamic that Viserys knew he had to exploit, or be consumed by.
The War Council convened daily in the captured solar of Lord Stokeworth, the Targaryen dragon banner now draped over the faded Stokeworth tapestries. The debate over their next move was fierce.
"King's Landing is ripe for the taking, Your Grace!" Kiera Redfin argued, her eyes glittering with avarice. "Varys offers us the keys to the city. Let the dragons burn a path, the Shadow Legion pour through the gates, and by nightfall, your arse will be on that spiky iron chair and ours will be overflowing with Lannister gold!"
Draq, Marshal of the Shadow Legion, his face an impassive obsidian mask, nodded his agreement. "My Legionnaires are ready. They fear nothing, not even wildfire. Give us the breach, and the Red Keep will be yours."
Valerion Qo, High Admiral, and Ser Addam Marbrand (now a reluctant but increasingly valuable advisor on Lannister tactics and Crownlands geography, his life spared and his family's safety in Stokeworth guaranteed in exchange for his… cooperation) urged caution. "Your Grace," Valerion said, his voice a low rumble, "King's Landing is the greatest fortress in Westeros. Even with dragons, a direct assault will be costly. Tywin Lannister will have prepared traps. Wildfire is a terror we have not yet faced. And Stannis's fleet, though diminished, still controls much of Blackwater Bay. To attack King's Landing now might be to walk into a pincer between Lannister walls and Stannis's warships."
Ser Addam added, his voice still tinged with the bitterness of defeat, "Lord Tywin will not be easily broken. He will sacrifice half the city to hold the Red Keep. And the Gold Cloaks, while often corrupt, are still numerous. Varys's promises of open gates… they reek of deception, Your Grace. He may be luring you into a trap of his own devising."
Ledger spoke of logistics, his face pale with the strain of supplying their army in a hostile land. "A siege of King's Landing would require immense resources, Your Grace. Food for our men, fodder for the dragons, siege engines… Stokeworth can provide some, but our supply lines from Dragon's Aerie are long and vulnerable." Xaro Xhandar, however, countered that he could construct formidable siege engines from local timber within weeks, and that his new "Dragon's Breath" projectors (enhanced fire-throwers) could neutralize wildfire caches if their locations were known.
It was Daenerys, her presence a quiet counterpoint to the martial clamor, who again offered a unique perspective. Her dragon dreams had become more intense, more focused on King's Landing since their arrival in Westeros. "Brother," she said, her voice carrying a strange, resonant calm that silenced the council, "the Red Keep… it weeps. I see shadows within shadows, betrayals coiled like serpents. But I also see a light, a hidden path… not through the main gates, but from the sea, beneath the cliffs… a forgotten way, where the dragons of our ancestors once nested." She described a series of sea caves and tunnels beneath the Red Keep, leading up into its lower levels, a vision so detailed, so specific, that Archivist frantically began searching his historical scrolls for any mention of such a passage.
Viserys listened to all, his mind a cold, calculating engine. Daenerys's vision, combined with Varys's offer (however treacherous), presented a tantalizing possibility: a swift, surgical strike, bypassing the city's main defenses, aiming directly for the Red Keep itself. It was a king's gambit, a high-risk, high-reward maneuver that could either win him the throne in a single, audacious stroke, or lead to catastrophic defeat.
He made his decision. "We will not engage in a prolonged siege," he announced, his voice cutting through the sudden silence. "Nor will we trust solely in Varys's promises. We will make our own breach. Daenerys, your vision… Archivist, find confirmation of these passages. Xaro, if such a route exists, can you devise a way to exploit it, to land a force directly beneath the Red Keep?"
Xaro's eyes gleamed. "If the passages are there, Lord Benefactor, my engineers and sappers can widen them, secure them. We can even construct specialized, submersible barges to deliver a strike team undetected by sea."
"Then that is our primary vector of assault," Viserys declared. "The Shadow Legion, spearheaded by Shadowfoot's infiltrators, will make a silent landing through these passages, their objective to seize key strongpoints within the Red Keep itself, to capture Joffrey and Cersei, and to neutralize Tywin Lannister if he is present. Simultaneously, I, with Daenerys, and our dragons, will control the skies over the city. Balerion, Rhaegal, and Viserion will target the Red Keep's main defenses, creating diversions, shattering morale. The Firewyrms will support the Shadow Legion's breakout from below. Kiera, your Corsairs will create maximum chaos in the harbor, destroying what remains of the royal fleet, preventing any escape by sea. Valerion, your Phoenix warships will blockade Blackwater Bay, engaging Stannis if he attempts to intervene, or any Lannister relief force from the sea."
"As for Varys," Viserys's lips curved into a humorless smile, "we will accept his 'offer.' Maelys will relay our 'intention' to assault the Dragon Gate at dawn, three days hence. Let the Spider believe he is manipulating us. Let him open his gate. It will serve as a useful diversion for Tywin's forces, drawing them away from the true point of our attack."
The plan was breathtaking in its audacity, its complexity, its reliance on perfect timing and coordination. But it was a plan worthy of a Dragonlord, a plan that played to all their strengths: the dragons' aerial supremacy, the Shadow Legion's stealth and lethality, Xaro's ingenuity, and Viserys's own ruthless strategic mind.
The final preparations were made with a feverish intensity. Xaro Xhandar, working with Daenerys's dream-maps and Archivist's hastily unearthed (and tantalizingly vague) references to ancient tunnels beneath Aegon's High Hill, designed and constructed several heavily reinforced, semi-submersible landing craft, capable of carrying a hundred Shadow Legionnaires each. Shadowfoot and her best agents, disguised as Stokeworth fisherfolk, conducted daring nighttime reconnaissance missions along the cliffs beneath the Red Keep, confirming the existence of several promising sea caves, though their internal extent remained unknown. Draq and Morrec drilled the Shadow Legion in confined-space combat and vertical assault techniques.
The dragons, sensing the impending conflict, were restless, their roars echoing across Aegis West, their fiery breath painting the night sky. Viserys continued his blood-feeding, pushing his own formidable healing factor to its limits, feeling the immense power of his six draconic children surging in response, their bond with him becoming an almost tangible force. Daenerys, too, seemed to draw strength from the impending confrontation, her earlier horror at the brutality of war now subsumed by a fierce, Targaryen resolve to reclaim what was theirs.
Alistair Finch, the historian, watched these preparations with a sense of profound, almost terrifying, awe. He was witnessing history being unmade and remade, not by the slow grind of impersonal forces, but by the focused, terrible will of a single, reincarnated youth armed with knowledge, power, and dragons. The sack of Rome, the fall of Constantinople, the storming of the Bastille – all these historical cataclysms seemed to pale in comparison to the inferno Viserys was about to unleash upon King's Landing. The potential for catastrophic miscalculation, for unintended consequences, was immense. But Viserys Targaryen, the King, was beyond such academic reservations now. He was a creature of fire and blood, his gaze fixed on the ultimate prize.
On the eve of their departure from Aegis West, Viserys stood with Daenerys on the battlements, looking north towards the distant glow of King's Landing. The Phoenix Armada, nearly two hundred sail including transports, warships, and Kiera's Corsair Wing, lay at anchor in Stokeworth's bay, ready to sail with the morning tide.
"Tomorrow, sister," Viserys said, his voice quiet but resonant with an iron certainty, "we either reclaim our father's throne, or we die in the attempt. There is no middle ground, no retreat."
Daenerys squeezed his arm, her violet eyes reflecting the distant, baleful light of the city. "We will not die, brother," she said, her voice filled with a conviction that mirrored his own. "The dragons are with us. Our destiny is with us. Tomorrow, the shadows over the Red Keep will be our own."
Viserys nodded, a grim smile touching his lips. The King's Gambit was set. The pieces were in motion. As the first light of dawn touched the eastern sky, the Phoenix Armada, with six dragons soaring protectively overhead, slipped its moorings and sailed north, towards the heart of their enemies' power, towards the city that had witnessed both the zenith and the nadir of House Targaryen. The fate of Westeros, and the dawn of a new dragon age, hung precariously in the balance.