In King's Landing, Varys sat in his chair, turning a crossbow over in both hands. It was not dazzling, but it was deadly.
"Most people think a crossbow is a coward's weapon, and fat men and eunuchs are obvious cowards. But the crossbow is also a demon's weapon. Simple and useful," Varys thought. These days, the person in King's Landing most fond of the crossbow was King Joffrey Baratheon, who used it to hide his unremarkable skill in battle.
"Let others cheer for the Master of Whisperers' disguise. Fragrant and weak? Most of them think a fat man must be a coward, and that the Master of Whisperers speaks only sweet words. In truth, I was once a thief in the Free Cities, a nimble thief. But until the final moment, I cannot take up arms and expose myself." Varys set the crossbow down, then drew a map from his sleeve.
"Joffrey, our good, hot-tempered boy. The more violent his temper grows, the more hearts he loses." Varys thought, "But those hearts cannot all fall to the Storm. I need them scattered. I need people calling for a savior and a conqueror."
Varys looked at the map of Westeros, marked with colored routes showing the movements of the major powers. The black-and-red arrow representing Gendry had twisted its way forward and now stopped at The Twins. The white line representing Stark had reached Riverrun, while the red line representing Lannister was retreating. The Iron Islands, Arryn, Highgarden, and Dorne were all silent spectators for now.
"Fate is truly strange. A child I once saved on a whim has turned around to destroy my life's work." Varys sighed. He still remembered that little boy. At the time, he had not thought of him as some rare piece worth hoarding. It had merely been something done in passing. Varys had spent far more effort on Edric, yet he had never imagined this lucky blacksmith bastard would raise such a Storm.
When Varys had found Gendry and sent him to the smithy, he had only meant to prepare a potential problem for Cersei. Since his little birds had already learned of the Lannister siblings' incest, Varys had kept an eye on Robert's two older bastards. One was Gendry the Smith, and the other was Edric.
"I will set the lords against one another and let Cersei and Joffrey run wild. Let the Seven Kingdoms continue to weaken and fall apart. I will not let anyone taste the fruit of victory so easily. I want a scarred and battered realm. For now, the direwolf, the trout, and Gendry are marching south from the North and fighting the Lannisters. Meanwhile, the Baratheon brothers of the Stormlands, the Tyrells of Highgarden, and the Martells of Dorne all seem ready to become entangled in conflict."
Varys looked at the coiled red line. The Lannisters were concentrated in the east, near Harrenhal and King's Landing. Varys needed to do his utmost to help the Lannisters. That was why he had always kept close to the Imp. King's Landing had to consume as many Baratheon and Lannister soldiers as possible, the more, the better.
"No. I cannot allow the Storm to keep raging. I want Aegon to return. The Storm is not the king I want. Aegon began learning how to be a fine ruler before he could even walk," Varys thought.
"A better way, a more wonderful way. So long as the Storm dares come to King's Landing, I have ways to throw everything into disorder." Varys's eyes gleamed. Having Daenerys marry another had always been a way to borrow another man's strength, using him to gather an army before letting Aegon take over. If Daenerys's husband were assassinated, and Young Aegon then intercepted Daenerys and her forces, their goal would be perfectly achieved. Whether it was Drogo or Gendry, they were only sacrifices for the True King.
"But what exactly is the Storm doing?" Varys was puzzled and could not quite understand Gendry's actions. Most likely, Gendry was counting on his superior forces, hoping his two uncles would first fight each other to exhaustion so he could profit as the third party. The Spider's intelligence was divided into layers. His little birds hidden in the tunnels of the Red Keep formed the core, while the rest were paid spies. But information bought with coin could never compare with what the little birds brought him.
"My intelligence is not all-powerful after all. Once it leaves the Red Keep, my influence slowly weakens," Varys reflected. He preferred places with flourishing commerce and a more open atmosphere, where infiltration was easier. Closed and conservative places like The Eyrie were far harder to penetrate. At present, Varys could not clearly grasp the movements of The Eyrie, Dragonstone, or even The Twins.
Varys knew Littlefinger had his own intelligence network as well. The customs officers, tax collectors, and other men in the financial system were all eager to please their old superior. Littlefinger was both enemy and friend. Fortunately, his ambitions did not lie in King's Landing, so the conflict between them had not intensified.
Suddenly, a child emerged from the shadows, pointed out Varys's window, and handed him a note.
It was a pale-faced boy in ragged robes, no more than nine or ten years old, with a white face, black eyes, and quick little bird hands and feet. He was deft with a dagger. All these little birds had had their tongues cut out to make sure they could not speak.
For the sake of the complicated future ahead, Varys had asked the fat Magister to send him another fifty little birds.
"The mob will continue petitioning at the Red Keep tonight. Rumors are spreading through Flea Bottom that Rosby has been plundered." Varys took the note and rewarded the little bird with a sweet.
Poor little birds. Though they looked eight or nine years old, some of them were not truly so young. They had been fed a special drug similar to the Unsullied's wine of courage, which kept the children from growing while greatly shortening their lives. Most of them would not live long. If there was any benefit, it was that it kept the little birds nimble and hidden.
"What is this? Another riot?" Varys looked out the window. The sound of footsteps was growing denser and denser. Then firelight rose into the sky, and voices surged like boiling water.
Even Varys was stunned. King's Landing truly lived up to its name. This time, he did not know whose spark had once again ignited the mob's anger. Aside from keeping a close grip on the Red Keep, Varys had not detected much in either of the two riots.
A sea of ragged, starving people appeared near the Red Keep once more. This time, their formation was even larger, the crowd far thicker than before, layer after layer of human walls made of flesh and blood.
Filthy, unkempt, and disheveled, the people glared with hatred at the soldiers and guards atop the Red Keep.
The pale red walls towered above the starving people, crowded with crossbowmen who watched them like predators.
"Bread! We want bread, King!" A pitiful mother rushed out of the crowd and shouted. Her arms were little more than skin and bone, and she looked as if she could not last much longer.
"Do I owe you bread?" King Joffrey shouted.
No one knew why, but those words drove the woman into a rage. She began hurling stones at King Joffrey on the walls, stones she had somehow scraped up from the ground.
The King's voice shattered the last bit of reason she had left. Her blank face twisted with hatred. "Bastard!" she screamed. "The Kingslayer's bastard! Incest!"
"Bastard!"
Countless voices rose like a wave, and stones began flying toward the battlements of the Red Keep. Along with them came dung and torn scraps of clothing.
Thud! One stone even struck the King's red armor, enraging him.
"Who threw that stone at me? Dog, my dog, I want you to kill them," the King commanded.
The Hound thought for a moment and looked down at the crowd below. He readied his longsword, prepared to descend the stairs and charge into the mob.
"Your Grace, the man may have fled already," a white cloak reminded him softly. "There are thousands of them down there. The Hound is only one man."
"No, I want..." Joffrey looked at the furious crowd. If the Hound went down there, he might truly die.
"Shoot them!" Joffrey cursed, then told the Hound, "Dog, wait."
"Fuck your mother, bastard!"
The crossbowmen coldly pulled their triggers, sending a merciless rain of bolts into the crowd below. Several foolish starving men fell at once.
The King's command was immediately swallowed by the uproar. Thunder made of rage, fear, and hatred rolled in from every direction and engulfed him.
"Bastard!"
"Bastard! Beast!" The insults grew louder and louder. It was the roar of the starving. If not for the strong walls and the crossbowmen's efforts, the Red Keep would have looked like a ship in the middle of a storm-tossed sea.
Arrows and slaughter did not drown the mob's courage. Their shouts rose straight into the sky. Among the curses came demands for justice and cries for other kings. "Justice!" "By the Seven!" "Long live Gendry! Long live King Gendry! Long live the Storm!" "Long live Stannis!" and even "Long live Renly!"
"Traitors! A pack of traitors! You fools, shoot them!" the King roared. The crossbowmen reaped lives like wheat in the wind.
The King's face flushed red as he shouted in excitement, "Cut off all their heads! I want..."
"What is going on?" The Imp hurried up onto the battlements of the Red Keep as well. Because of the earlier riot, he no longer dared stay at the brothel for the time being. The Imp looked down at the wall of people below, at the endless sea of them. Cersei also arrived in a panic.
But the mob's curses only grew louder.
"Whore! The Kingslayer's whore!"
"Freak! Half-man!"
"The Hand of the King who will starve King's Landing!"
The Imp looked down at the tide of people, and his head throbbed.
"Who spread this rumor?" Anger flared in the Imp's heart. Rosby plundered clean. That was too vicious.
Stones, dung, and every kind of filth were hurled viciously at the walls. Pebbles, rotten eggs, ragged clothing. "Give us food!" a woman cried. "Bread!" shouted a man behind her. "We want bread, bastard!" In an instant, thousands of voices roared together.
"Fuck, how did King's Landing come to this?" The Imp's head ached.
"Kill them! I want them all killed. Saddle my dog's horse. Send the cavalry in to crush them." The King kept cursing without end.
"Shut up." Exhausted, the Imp dragged the King to a place where the starving mob could not see them, then slapped him across the face. "Every time, you answer them with crossbows. Do you expect them to behave?"
"They are traitors!" the King shrieked. "They insulted me. They attacked me!"
"That is because your dog wants to kill people, and your crossbows are killing people too. Do not provoke a mob of angry, starving people. Do you think you can kill them one by one?" Tyrion looked at his nephew, furious at his stupidity. Below, thousands of starving arms were waving, and perhaps more people were out there burning, killing, and looting.
Ser Mandon Moore quickly looked at the King, while Cersei began comforting her son.
"Call the herald, quickly. Then sound the horns. After the order is announced, after the third horn blast, anyone still in front of the Red Keep who has not gone home is to be killed on sight. Go!" the Imp roared.
"You, you, and you." The Imp looked at the three idiotic Kingsguard: Boros, Meryn, and the Hound. "If they do not obey our order, you will lead the men out and kill them."
There were still some spearmen and lancers inside the Red Keep, armed men prepared to move at any moment, though their numbers were somewhat lacking.
Ser Boros clearly did not want to leave the safety of the castle. "Queen Dowager," he told her, "I fear our white cloaks will only provoke the mob, and there are rather a lot of them."
"Are you a white cloak or not?" Tyrion could not hold back anymore. What was this nonsense? Only two of the white knights were any good, and none of them were in King's Landing. "Coward. Ugly brute. A white knight who doesn't dare kill. Do you want to take off your cloak?"
"You called me ugly?" Ser Boros looked displeased, only to meet Bronn's vicious stare.
"Our duty is to guard the King," Ser Meryn stammered as well.
"Obey my brother's order. Hurry," Cersei snapped. "Do you mean to commit treason?"
"But our white cloaks?"
"What, do you want to put down the mob naked?" Cersei asked. "So everyone can see whether you are a coward?"
The horns wailed, echoing over the castle.
"Joffrey the First of House Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, is your King. As Hand of the King, I command you to withdraw, or King's Landing will meet blood and fire. Believe me, I will do all I can to secure food for you. No one longs to feed King's Landing more than I do."
"Liar!"
"Bastard!"
"Half-man!"
Unfortunately, Tyrion's speech had no effect. All he received were more curses.
"The Crownlands are about to be plundered clean, and you still talk of feeding us?"
"That bastard's news." Tyrion gritted his teeth and ordered the horns to sound across the sky once more. It seemed he would have to become King's Landing's butcher too.
"Fire, my lords!"
"Someone is setting fires!" Screams rang out along the walls, making the Imp's head ache even worse.
Wildfire. King's Landing had wildfire. Gods preserve them, wildfire. If even the tiniest spark landed on those...
On the other side of the Red Keep, Sansa listened to the clamor and fury. Opportunity. Was the opportunity right in front of her?
The entire castle was in chaos. All the white cloaks had gone to protect the King and the Queen Dowager. Today, the drawbridge had not been raised either. This was the best chance.
Sansa touched the wound on her hand. Because her brother Robb was causing more and more trouble for the Lannister supply lines, the beatings she suffered had grown worse and worse. This was no life for a person.