Ser Arys Oakheart was ordered to escort Sansa, dressed in her blue gown, back to her bedchamber in Maegor's Holdfast, a noble and pitiful prisoner.
Sansa was only twelve, but she was already a beautiful Maiden. She had House Tully's fine cheekbones, clear blue eyes, and thick auburn hair, unlike a Stark. When she was grown, her figure would be slender and graceful, full of womanly beauty.
"I am sorry, Lady Sansa," Ser Arys whispered once no one else was near. "I know this is not the way of a knight, but we serve the king. We do not judge him."
"I am very grateful to you," Sansa replied at once. If it had been any other white knight, she would have been beaten far harder. Kingsguards were supposed to put aside love and desire, but Sansa felt Ser Arys was more talkative than the others, and gentler as well.
Sansa thought of those fallen Kingsguard. Knights swore to aid the weak, protect women, and fight for justice, yet these men had done none of those things.
"I fear your days ahead will be even harder," Ser Arys said softly. "Stormhammer has already won three victories, while Lord Tywin seems to be moving slowly, sitting at Harrenhal without taking a step. The Queen Dowager is nearly beside herself with anger. Your brother serving the Storm may have been a desperate choice, but if this continues, Joff will only..."
"Stormhammer." Sansa took note of the name. The Storm was famous now. What sort of man was he? "The servants say the Smith is a rough, bloodthirsty giant, seven or eight feet tall, like The Mountain. They say he eats half a cow in one meal and drinks a whole barrel of wine."
"Him? They say he is even more savage than King Robert." Ser Arys shook his head and escorted her downstairs. "Storm is a dangerous man. A cold killer, certainly. But you must never mention his name. It will bring trouble."
Sansa nodded. She listened carefully and understood her situation. She was the prisoner of the Queen Dowager and the king. She missed her father and the rest of her family. Everyone believed her father was dead, and Sansa had to pretend the same. The Queen Dowager's kindness was only a mask, and Joff was a devil.
Will Storm come? Or will the wolf pack from the North arrive first? Sansa asked herself. Who would take her away from King's Landing, like a knight from the songs?
The maids came to meet her, offering small words of comfort before helping her wash. In a little while, a maester would come to examine her injuries.
In her spare moments, Sansa saw that red, bloodstained sword again, sweeping across the sky above King's Landing. This was the splendor she had once loved, but once she touched it, she found only thorns beneath, piercing her palm until blood dripped down.
I am a girl of House Stark. King's Landing is not my home, and Joff is no prince from the songs, Sansa told herself. Wolves were resilient creatures. Even in the cold, she had to do everything she could to survive, until the day she met the wolf pack again.
The Red Comet swept over King's Landing. Everyone saw that bloodstained sword, from the Red Keep to the Tower of the Hand and beyond.
...
"Did you see it with your own eyes?" Littlefinger asked his guard, Lothor Brune, in a room on the third floor of one of his brothels.
Littlefinger wore rose and plum colored clothes, his cloak embroidered all over with mockingbirds. Beside him, Lothor wore patched brown breeches, leather boots, and a weather beaten leather jerkin. Lothor was a square faced, powerfully built man with a flattened nose and graying hair. He rarely spoke, but he was very strong.
Lothor nodded. "Yes, Lord. Everyone saw it. Dontos was late for his match with me. Ser Dontos had nothing on at all except a breastplate and a plumed helm. That fool Dontos nearly lost his life. The king is always losing his temper, but Lady Sansa Stark pleaded for him."
"That girl has some courage. I know the king often orders her beaten." Littlefinger stroked his beard, a glint flashing through his eyes.
"Yes." Lothor nodded. The knights of King's Landing were hypocritical knights.
"Even so, there are still good people inside our Red Keep. A woman's face is her first weapon, and she does have something of Cat's grace." Littlefinger smiled.
Lothor looked at the strange man, Petyr the Master of Coin, and remained silent as iron.
"Lothor, prepare the information on ships bound for the Vale. Our task is not an easy one," Littlefinger ordered.
"Yes, Lord." Ships heading north, ships bound for Gulltown. Littlefinger had ordered Lothor to be prepared.
"Do you wonder why I keep choosing escape routes?" Littlefinger asked him.
Lothor hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
"King's Landing does not welcome us. A minister who counts copper coins may look lofty and powerful, but how much loyalty do these smiles I bought truly hold? It will not be long before my old friend Janos can no longer protect himself, and I have no soldiers." Littlefinger poured a cup of fine wine and handed it to Lothor.
Lothor accepted the wine. "It seems the new Hand of the King intends to make great changes."
"Yes. The Imp has finally reached his stage, and now he is like a bull bursting with energy." Littlefinger nodded. "The Little Lion is still a lion. Lord Tywin has put him in charge of King's Landing. He does not trust us, but what of it? For now, he cannot do without us. Even so, a bird must think about its own road. Go and see to it, Lothor."
"As you command." Lothor drank the wine, then turned and left.
Once Lothor was gone, only Littlefinger remained in the study.
"The Imp, Ser Arys, the Hound, and the fool Dontos. Before a beautiful Maiden, all four of them seem to feel some strange emotion. Can even a beast like that wild dog be moved?" Littlefinger pondered. He had gold, so naturally he had his own sources. But Ser Arys and the Hound were too dangerous. Only Dontos would make a good piece for contacting Sansa.
"And the Old Wolf, but it is too late." Littlefinger muttered to himself. Varys would not let such a fat prize slip away. Stealing away Sansa alone was dangerous enough.
What he needed now was to wait, to lie low, and let the Imp leap up and down. And then there was Varys, that Eunuch Master of Whispers whom both sides guarded against.
At that thought, Littlefinger could not help picturing Lysa's foolish, ridiculous, plump face. Playing a role beside Lysa was always easier than dealing with so many players in King's Landing. The Vale was his home. If King's Landing could no longer serve him, then he would have to think of a way out.
"But how should I return?" Littlefinger murmured, raising a hand to his forehead. "I need a status that matches foolish Lysa."
...
In a small hall of the Tower of the Hand, the Imp invited Varys to a fine meal. Varys had once disguised himself at the inn to offer him goodwill, and the Imp could not fall behind in courtesy.
The Imp made certain it was a splendid meal: lamb and carrot soup, summer greens tossed with walnuts, grapes, red fennel, and crumbled cheese, steaming trout, spiced pumpkin, and buttered quail, each dish paired with a fitting wine. He had always enjoyed life's pleasures, so after moving into the Tower of the Hand, the first thing he had done was find the best cook in the city and take her into his service.
"Welcome, my good friend," the Imp said to Varys. The Eunuch's head was as smooth as a pickled egg, and he wore a pale purple robe that smelled of lavender.
"I am truly grateful for the great Hand of the King's generosity. Now I may enjoy a splendid meal. Lord Eddard was never so kind in his day," Varys said with a soft chuckle.
"And that is why my head is still on my shoulders," the Imp said with a grin. "You must make sure the Old Wolf's head stays where it is. We will use that move against the Storm in the future."
"Rest assured," Varys said. "I need to keep my own head as well."
"How many others know of this?"
"Myself, Littlefinger, your sister, and the old bearded maester. Joff and Janos know nothing."
The Imp nodded. "I see Joff is still having Lady Sansa beaten. If we want the Northerners to hate us less, we ought to be gentler."
"How helpless it all is. The king does not like listening to anyone," Varys cried. "That girl was once so besotted with the king, yet our good king prefers having her beaten."
"Once I have arranged everything in King's Landing, I will teach Joff a lesson. But do you know a good way to quiet down an irritable adolescent?"
"Women, Lord. The king is thirteen now. I think it is time he went to certain places and saw women's breasts and thighs. He would become much calmer."
"A good idea, but my sister watches him far too closely, and the Hound is always there. We will speak of it another day."
"The Hound?" Varys scoffed. "Ever since he heard The Mountain was dead, the whole man seems to have collapsed. Quite dispirited."
"My father grieved for a long time too. That may have been his favorite mad dog," the Imp said bluntly.
"You were the first minister to show me goodwill. For the sake of our friendship, stop looking so gloomy and have a drink," the Imp said, gesturing for Varys to begin.
"For such a fine meal, I really must show my appreciation." Varys sat down and first shared a cup of golden wine with the Imp.
Varys glanced around. Shae, the Imp's favorite whore, was not here. Varys knew the Imp had settled Shae in a spacious timber-and-stone mansion with its own stable, well, and garden. He had given her many servants to command and even bought her a white bird from the Summer Isles to keep her company. She had silks and brocades, gold and jewels, and guards dedicated to protecting her, yet she was still not satisfied.
Varys looked around again and confirmed that there were no other whores in sight. Inwardly, he sighed. Being too devoted to a whore is your greatest trouble, Tyrion.
Varys poured another cup of fine wine. "Oh my, sweet as summer." He took another sip. "The grapes are singing on my tongue."
"Then I won't stand on ceremony," the Imp said. "But do you truly know what concerns me most?"
Varys giggled. "I consider myself a passable Master of Whisperers, Lord. What concerns you most right now is swords and soldiers, is it not?"
"You are clever. I want to know who among the Gold Cloaks can be used." The Imp nodded. With a great enemy before them, the army was what mattered most. Everything else, grain, finances, heirs, and the High Septon, could be pushed back for now. The Imp's overall concern was to seize control of the army and restrain the Queen Dowager and Joff from acting recklessly.
At present, the largest force in the city was the toad's Gold Cloaks, but the man was notorious, as well as a loyal dog of Cersei and the king.
"Janos is useless. Compared to fighting, he much prefers taking bribes, drawing false pay, and promoting officers just as corrupt as himself. A man who loves money likely loves his life even more. Greedy men fear death," Varys advised.
"That is why I want you to arrange someone suitable for me." The Imp looked at Varys.
"Ser Jacelyn Bywater, captain of the Mud Gate. Though he has lost one hand, his heart is proud and honorable. A man like that naturally does not fit in with Janos and his ilk."
"Excellent." The Imp drained the wine in his cup and thought of his brother Jaime, whose hand had been cut off. "That is exactly the sort of man I need. A one-handed warrior is still a warrior."
If Ser Jacelyn were promoted by him, he would serve him with all his strength. Besides, the man was brave, and hard battles needed men like that, not useless sacks of wine like the toad.
"It seems I should thank you." The Imp looked at Varys. He had never trusted Varys, but he could not deny the man's usefulness. If nothing else, Varys truly knew a great many things.
"Then you will need to arrange a good place for him."
"The Wall, perhaps." The Imp pondered. The Wall needed men most of all, and Janos at least had some strength. But before that, the Imp wanted to have a meal with Janos first and see what other interesting morsels could be pried from his mouth.
"A good idea. There are quite a few sinners among the Gold Cloaks who bully the common people, and such men cannot be forgiven. The one you should know about most is a crude villain named Allar Dim. The people of King's Landing fear him. He is one of Janos Slynt's men. After the king ascended the throne, he even went to kill a babe still at the breast. The child's mother fought desperately, so she was butchered as well."
"A babe? That bastard truly is crude. Poor child." The Imp tasted the lamb and carrot soup, then sampled another wine, which now seemed as red as blood. "Those men really do deserve to die."
"Who could say otherwise? But our old king was a drunkard, and he let them run wild," Varys said.
"But Robert did not let the realm fall into this state of chaos. At least he left behind many years of summer." The Imp sighed. The pride of lions had only worsened the disorder.
"As long as you win, summer will remain."
The Imp clicked his tongue. "Victory. That victory will be very difficult. My father worries about the two boys, while I have to worry about Renly and Stannis."
"Is there any news from across the Narrow Sea? My father said he gave the Lyseni and the Volantenes a great deal of gold. Where are those bastards' fleets?" the Imp asked.
"Not for the moment." Varys shook his head. "You know how slow the Free Cities can be. They are like a dozen horses each running its own way."
"I cannot simply watch the Storm rage through the North. This is a difficult situation."
"Patience, Lord. I doubt Lys and Volantis are entirely made up of fools. For now, however, what you need is to secure King's Landing."
The Imp nodded. "To control King's Landing, I cannot do without you. I need your intelligence and your kind heart."
"Nothing would please me more." Varys laughed. "Tides come and go, yet I am still alive. I do fear falling into Stannis's hands. They say he is cold and merciless."
The Imp ate a piece of rich, tender fish. With Varys, the troubles inside the city would be much easier to handle.
Soldiers, manpower, the Imp had confidence in that part. As long as he had the most men in King's Landing, he would have the strongest voice. Thinking of this, the Imp felt much more at ease.
With Varys's intelligence, the Imp would soon seize command of the Gold Cloaks in King's Landing and gain control of that army. At the same time, he had two hundred and fifty wildlings and Sellswords under him. As for Cersei's personal guard, they numbered no more than a hundred in all. Vylarr was a clever man. He knew his loyalty belonged to Casterly Rock, and that the Imp had come here by Great Lord Tywin's will. Cersei could not use those men to threaten him.
"Varys, how do you think I should make more friends?" the Imp asked Varys.
"So long as you have that kind heart, it will be enough," Varys said. "Friends will naturally grow more numerous. You are the just Hand of the King."
"No. I have to give people gifts. Then they will like me," the Imp replied.
"Gold and gold dragons? The Sellswords love those most of all." Varys did not know what the Imp meant by gifts.
"Something worth far more than gold or gold dragons," the Imp said with a mysterious smile. Those children were among his greatest pieces, and he had to consider them carefully.
The Imp thought of Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella. Those children themselves were gifts of great value, valuable for marriage alliances, and valuable for binding allies.
Joff already had a betrothal, but that flatterer of a High Septon could easily erase it. The Imp cursed himself as a bastard in his heart, but this was war. He had no choice. If House Lannister lost, those children would not come to a good end either.