The dungeons of the Red Keep lay buried deep beneath Aegon's High Hill.
Descending the spiral stone stairs, the light faded little by little, and the air grew heavy and damp.
The third level, known as the black cells, held the most dangerous prisoners.
It was a place of complete darkness, where only the torches of the guards could briefly tear open the eternal night.
Joffrey stepped down the final stair.
His boots struck the damp stone floor with dull echoes.
"Ah, this miserable place. An old man like me could have come to collect the prisoners myself," a hoarse voice said, breaking the silence of the dungeon. "How could we trouble Your Highness to come here personally?"
The firelight flickered across Joffrey's faint smile.
"The brothers in black are guests of House Stark," he replied calmly. "Which means they are also guests of House Baratheon."
"The Night's Watch guards the Wall for the realm. As a prince, it is only proper for me to show a little courtesy."
The ugly, hunchbacked ranger of the Night's Watch looked ready to refuse again.
But Joffrey waved a hand and cut him off.
"That's enough, Yoren."
"To be honest, I've always wanted to see what the dungeons looked like. I simply never had an excuse."
"Your arrival gave me the perfect opportunity."
Several Gold Cloaks accompanying him chuckled quietly.
Joffrey glanced toward the iron bars lining both sides of the corridor. Faint shapes of prisoners curled in the darkness.
Of course, he had another purpose for coming here.
A few days earlier, while discussing profit shares with Janos, he had deliberately drunk the man under the table.
During the conversation, he had casually asked whether any suspicious strangers had been arrested recently.
The answer had led him to this level of the dungeon.
"Bring them out according to the list."
Yoren unrolled a piece of parchment and squinted at the messy names in the torchlight.
A guard jingled a heavy ring of keys and opened the iron doors one by one. The prisoners dragged into the light looked horrifying.
One man had no nose at all. Only a bloody hole remained where it once had been.
Another was a fat bald man with sharp rat-like teeth. His face was covered with pus-filled sores that glistened under the torchlight.
They staggered forward and joined the line, shackles clattering across the stone floor.
But when the final cell door opened, even Yoren paused.
The prisoner inside looked completely out of place.
He was a slender young man, perhaps in his twenties, with delicate features. He sat quietly on a pile of straw in the corner.
Though iron shackles bound his hands and feet, his posture was relaxed, as if he were attending a banquet rather than sitting in a dungeon.
But the most striking thing about him was his hair.
Half of it was red.
The other half white.
The two colors were divided cleanly down the middle.
When the torchlight entered the cell, the young man raised his head. A faint smile rested on his lips.
"Boy," he said gently, his voice carrying a strange foreign rhythm. "Kind boy."
"Someone's wrists ache from these iron shackles, and someone is very thirsty... Would a generous boy grant someone a drink of water?"
Joffrey turned to the guard.
"What crime did he commit?"
The guard stared nervously at the prisoner and lowered his voice.
"Your Highness, this man sneaked into the inner courtyard of the Red Keep. The patrol caught him wandering around."
The red-and-white-haired man nodded slightly.
"Someone merely... lost his way."
"The streets of King's Landing are like a maze. Someone opened the wrong door and somehow found himself inside the castle."
"Don't believe his nonsense, Your Highness!" another guard shouted angrily, pointing to his slightly crippled leg. "This lunatic is dangerous!"
"When we tried to escort him here, he suddenly fought back and injured three of our men. Look at my leg. One kick nearly broke it!"
Joffrey stared at the young man who referred to himself as "someone."
Jaqen H'ghar.
A Faceless Man of the House of Black and White. A servant of the Many-Faced God.
In Joffrey's memories, the man was mysterious and unpredictable.
A single thought flashed through his mind.
He could simply kill him here.
Remove the threat entirely.
Perhaps the killing intent was too obvious. Jaqen's eyes shifted and finally settled on Joffrey.
"So the boy is a prince," he said calmly. "Someone apologizes for the offense."
"Someone is no danger to Your Highness. Someone has other matters to attend to and was merely passing through King's Landing."
He paused for a moment.
"If the noble prince would allow someone to leave, someone would be very grateful... and would owe Your Highness a favor."
"Absolutely not, Your Highness!" the guard protested urgently. "A dangerous man like this should be executed immediately. Even if he's sent to the Wall, he'll only cause trouble!"
Joffrey raised his hand, silencing him.
"From your accent, you're from Braavos?"
Jaqen hesitated for a brief moment.
Then he nodded.
"Are you certain?" Joffrey stepped forward slightly, the torchlight dancing in his green eyes. "Your destination was not King's Landing?"
"And you had no other task when you entered the Red Keep?"
"Someone is certain," Jaqen replied with unusual confidence.
Joffrey frowned slightly.
The fragments of memory in his mind did not match the reality before him.
If Jaqen was not here to assassinate Eddard... And not here to join the Night's Watch caravan heading north...
Then what was he doing here?
Silence spread through the dungeon.
Suddenly Joffrey remembered something about these assassins.
They were devout followers of the Many-Faced God. They believed deeply in fate and balance.
If beings like the Three-Eyed Crow truly existed...
Then perhaps—
An idea flashed through Joffrey's mind like lightning.
"Very well," he said suddenly, turning away from the guards' anxious faces. "I'll take you to meet someone."
Two hours later, a girl's scream echoed through a small courtyard.
"My father is a complete idiot!"
Arya jumped around angrily like an enraged wolf cub.
She had just been brought here by a servant and immediately rushed toward Joffrey the moment she saw him.
"Good! I was looking for you!" she said breathlessly. "Someone wants to kill my brother! I told my father, but he thought I was making it up!"
Joffrey's eyes sharpened instantly. "Where did you hear that? When?"
Arya grabbed his sleeve.
"Yesterday! I knew you would believe me!"
"I was chasing a cat, and I ended up in a very dark place. It was like a dungeon. I didn't dare turn around because there were monsters behind me!"
Her words poured out quickly.
"I kept running and suddenly heard two men talking below.
One was fat, and the other wore a helmet like a wizard. One had a yellow beard, and the other had rings on all his fingers."
"They said the bastards were all dead. Jon was dead too. The Hand had gone down the wrong path, and finding the book wouldn't help.
They also said something about wolves and lions being carried away by an eagle. And that a war was about to start."
To anyone else, it would sound like a child's wild dream. But Joffrey knew every word was true.
He also knew exactly who Arya had overheard.
Varys.
And Illyrio Mopatis.
Two men weaving their plans in the shadows, trying to place a Targaryen—or perhaps a Blackfyre—back on the Iron Throne.
"You won't let them succeed, right?" Arya asked, looking up at him with pleading eyes.
Joffrey placed his hands on her shoulders.
"Don't worry. Jon is safe at the Wall, protected by the Night's Watch. And I'll tell your father to be careful."
"...But right now, I need you to meet someone."
He led Arya across the courtyard.
The place had grown quieter after the tournament, but the kitchen apprentices he had borrowed were still here.
Cersei seemed to have forgotten about the place entirely, and Joffrey was happy to keep using the secluded courtyard.
At the moment, the apprentices were gathered in one corner, whispering and pointing.
The man in the corner was Jaqen.
His hands and feet were still shackled, and a thick chain secured him to a wooden pillar.
His red-and-white hair moved gently in the breeze as he sat there, looking as though he were taking a peaceful nap.
When footsteps approached, Jaqen slowly raised his head.
And when his gaze fell upon Arya—
For the first time, the calm, deep eyes widened in shock.
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