The dragon Balerion hung from Gendry's shoulder, only a tiny bundle, like a scarf. Balerion lifted his head and let out a sharp cry, pale smoke streaming from his nostrils, his eyes a deep coal red.
"By the Old Gods, I never thought I'd live to see a true dragon again." The Handsome Man stared wide-eyed at the black dragon Balerion before him. "First the Red Comet appeared, and now a Dragon has been born."
A dragon was enough to shake anyone's faith. In the hundreds of years since the Last dragon, there had been no word of another Dragon hatching.
"Not just a Dragon, but a lively, healthy one," Qyburn said pointedly. "And Princess Daenerys has two more."
"This really is news that could shake the Known world." The Handsome Man thought for a moment. "The last hatchling was born during the reign of King Aegon, the one called 'Dragonbane', and it was nothing like this one. 'The Last dragon' was a green female. She was sickly, tiny, deformed, undergrown, with a pair of shriveled wings."
"It was dragons that shaped Westeros," the Handsome Man went on. "The dragons have acknowledged the Lord Commander. I don't think we need the king's approval. With the Lord Commander's army, Princess Daenerys's claim, and the added weight of the dragons, returning to Westeros will be much easier for us."
How much claim had Aegon the Conqueror possessed, really? He conquered and united the kingdoms through dragons and the force of his warriors' charisma. That was the Conqueror's achievement, the thing that made his name echo through history.
"Dragons are certainly a great help to our cause, but they also draw plenty of greed and hatred. And our Dragon is still too small. It needs careful protection," Qyburn said worriedly. "Even if we move against Westeros, we'll need to arrange everything properly."
"Keep the news secret for now, though I'm afraid we won't be able to hide it for long," Gendry said.
He understood Qyburn's concerns. He was not worried about ordinary people trying to seize the Dragon, but about stranger things, strange magics. The Shadowbinders of Asshai, the Warlocks of Qarth, and the like.
"Quite right." Qyburn looked up at the red comet hanging in the sky. It shone with startling brightness.
"The dragons bring us enormous advantages, but also no end of trouble. Setting them aside, what we can still rely on now are soldiers and swords," Gendry said. "Sooner or later, we'll have to strike at Westeros, but there's no need to rush. We should wait quietly for the right moment. We must avoid fighting on two fronts and avoid getting dragged into a long war."
"Prince, are you worried about Lys and Volantis?" the Handsome Man asked.
"Not just Lys and Volantis," Gendry said. "If the Braavosi learn that dragons have returned, their attitude may change as well. Our liberation of slaves aligns with Braavos's interests, but if a state were to arise stretching across Westeros, the Stepstones, the Three Daughters, and the Dothraki Sea, Braavos would go from silent friendliness to fear and hostility."
"That is my concern as well. Before we find ourselves surrounded by enemies, we need to secure another rear base," Qyburn said.
"Looking at the map, The North, the Vale, the Crownlands, the Stormlands, and Dorne all lie close to the sea, and our fleet is strong enough to land at any one of them," the Handsome Man said, studying the map. "Dorne and the Stormlands are the closest to the Twin Cities. King's Landing and Pentos lie roughly on the same line, and Gulltown is closest to Braavos. As for White Harbor in The North, it's simply too far north."
"The North is too cold, and Dorne is too hot, so we can rule both of them out first. Besides, Prince Oberyn of Dorne has already given us help, and Eddard has always been known for his rigidity. House Stark and House Martell are both houses we may be able to win over. As for the Vale, Gulltown is still rather far," Qyburn said.
After the two of them finished their analysis, the answer was already obvious. The fleet's main direction of attack would be either the Crownlands or the Stormlands. It was only a matter of choosing among a few key strongholds: Tarth, Storm's End, Dragonstone, or King's Landing.
"King's Landing isn't all that important," Gendry said. A city that large placed tremendous strain on its own defenses, especially when it came to feeding a restless and starving population.
"Then that leaves Dragonstone, Tarth, and Storm's End," the Handsome Man said. Aside from Tarth, the other two would be difficult to take.
"Dragonstone. Right now, Dragonstone is what I want most," Gendry said. "Dragonstone forms the outer ring of King's Landing's defenses. It is the old seat of House Targaryen, and its fortress is strong. If we take Dragonstone, we can quickly make contact with the old royalists in places like Crackclaw Point."
"Dragonstone. Dragons prefer volcanic terrain, and Dragonstone has the ancient Dragonmont and caves," Qyburn said, explaining the necessity of taking Dragonstone from a magical perspective.
"But the Royal Fleet is stationed at Dragonstone. This will be a bloody battle," the Handsome Man said.
"There will be a battle, but not necessarily a bloody one."
...
Late at night, in a great tent within the Kingswood outside King's Landing.
The king was furious that he had failed to bring down the White Hart. He had not seen the White Hart itself, only the mangled remains of a few wild wolves it had killed. The sight of those remains lodged in Eddard's throat like a bone. He could not shake the feeling that they were a bad omen.
"Damn it," the king complained to Eddard. "That White Hart is too cunning. It escaped the wolves, and it escaped the hunters too."
"Perhaps that is a good thing," Eddard said. "The stag is the sigil of House Baratheon, and the White Hart is an auspicious sign."
"All right, all right. I never thought you would try to comfort me like this, Eddard." The king burst out laughing. "Still, it does not matter if I did not get the White Hart. They say there is a bear somewhere in these woods. Killing that would do nicely too."
The king was set on hunting down that monstrous bear, and no one could stop him.
By then, some people had already returned to King's Landing, Prince Joffrey, the Royces, Balon Swann, and the rest. Others were still meant to follow the king on the hunt.
Eddard watched the laughing king and wondered whether he ought to speak the truth. Here and now, House Lannister's power might have weakened, but his own strength was still far too thin. If he rashly revealed the truth, everything would be thrown into chaos.
And then there was the letter from far away. Lady Lysa had actually demanded that he release Littlefinger, or else she would keep Cat imprisoned indefinitely. Faced with all these ugly truths, Eddard found it impossible to feel any joy.
"If it is a great bear, so much the better," the king said to Eddard. "We can have a taste of bear meat, and the hide can be made into a cloak. Nothing could be more fitting."
"Yes. A cloak for the winter would be most useful." Eddard looked at the king, unsure whether to call him carefree or simply heartless.
"Winter, winter. There you go again." The king laughed loudly. "People say the gods celebrated my coronation by making high summer last forever."
"High summer will not last forever. Winter is coming, Your Grace." Eddard gave the king a sorrowful look.
"Damn it, I ought to have you killed. A man cannot even enjoy a hunt in peace with you around. First you tell me Gregor's head should come off, and now it is winter coming. It sours my mood just hearing it." Even the king's yawn reeked of wine so strongly that Eddard could barely keep his eyes open. Gods above, just how much wine had the king drunk?
"You should have a cup too," the king said to Eddard, then shouted toward the entrance of the tent, "Where is my squire? Bring wine."
A squire with a very Lannister look about him soon appeared and poured wine for the king and the Hand of the King. Eddard had already drunk quite a lot, but all he could tell was that the wine was exceptionally strong.
With the wine warming them, the king and Eddard went on talking about one thing after another.
"Come to think of it, I did not take good care of those children. Naturally, they do not love me," the king said suddenly, his voice heavy with gloom.
Eddard looked at him and suddenly understood a little. "Have you heard something?"
The king nodded, his expression troubled. "I have heard the sound of war. War has broken out across the Narrow Sea, between the Dothraki and the people of the Twin Cities. If that boy wins, I will have to face my fate. And if I fight him, I will become a laughingstock in history."
The king ran a hand through his black hair again. "Damn it all, I was a hero in my day. But when I think of a child like Joffrey becoming king, with Cersei chirping in his ear all day, my head starts to ache."
"Your Grace, you must not think like that. Everything will be all right," Eddard said.
His throat felt dry. He desperately wanted to speak the truth, but the matter was too grave. More than anything, Eddard feared that in a fit of rage the king might kill Cersei's innocent children, just as he had killed the children of House Targaryen.
"Oh, spare me, Eddard. Do not try to comfort me." The king waved him off. "People differ in talent and temperament. Joffrey is no match for that 'traitor', so I need to settle these matters as quickly as I can. Help me well. We cannot leave this mess behind for later."
"Yes." Eddard felt as though a lump of lead had lodged in his throat. Was it possible that only the king was still being kept in the dark?
"Take this as my advice, Eddard. A great war is coming. You cannot keep sulking at House Lannister any longer. What is past is past."
"Your Grace, I am not sulking. The Kingslayer killed my men, and Tywin has let his men burn, kill, and plunder through the Riverlands. Your Grace, by the grace of the old gods and the new, you ought to punish them. That is the justice and authority of a king."
"Enough, Eddard. Stop arguing with me." The king suddenly roared in fury. "Being king is no fine thing. This is the only way I can do it. We join forces first, and we win first."
Their argument grew so loud that the king's voice boomed like thunder.
Eddard drank with the king again, until at last the king saw that he truly could not drink anymore and let him go. For some reason, the wine hit Eddard especially hard that night.
"My lord, what happened?" Jon asked softly.
"Nothing. Just a small disagreement between the king and me," Eddard said. "I drank too much. I need to sleep well. Tomorrow I am to accompany the king in search of that bear."
The next morning, Eddard felt so muddled from the drink that he could barely rise. Only the uproar outside the tent, shrill and chaotic, roused him again and again from his stupor.
The voices shouting his name outside the tent grew louder with each cry. Eddard jolted awake from a dream. In it, he had seen the corpses of wolves strewn across the ground, blood flowing like a river. The image was ghastly. Forcing himself to recover a little clarity, heart pounding, Eddard dressed and stepped out of the tent.
"My lord, something terrible has happened." Jon was pacing outside the tent, and with him stood the old knight Barristan.
"What is it?" Seeing the panic on Jon's face and the old knight's as well, Eddard's head finally cleared a little.
"The king, the king was gored by a wild boar while hunting."
"What?" Eddard felt as though an icy wind had struck him awake, the cold cutting all the way to the bone.
"Is it serious?" Eddard asked anxiously.
Ser Barristan's face twitched. "That thing was a demon. Please come with me, Lord Eddard."
A deep sorrow settled over Eddard's heart as he hurried after Barristan and Jon toward the king's tent.
"What is that?" Eddard looked up and saw a blood red comet blazing across the sky. It was red from end to end, and its long tail was bright enough to light up nearly half the heavens.
"The Red Comet. Some say it is the King's Messenger. But look, my lord. This is an ill omen," Ser Barristan said with a sigh.
Eddard stared at the Red Comet. The first thing it brought him was terrible news.