When Tyrion arrived, he found a small paper figure sitting on the Red Viper's desk by the window. In the dim candlelight, from outside, it looked as though the Red Viper had been at the desk all night. The guards, tasked with keeping watch, had been fooled by the clever illusion and assumed he hadn't left. It wasn't until dawn that they realized something was wrong.
Tyrion sat at the desk now, holding the small paper cutout in his hands, staring at it in silence. His legs dangled from the chair, swaying slightly, like the lifeless legs of a hanged man. It was then that Bronn noticed Tyrion had lost weight since their time at the Eyrie. Normally, due to his short stature, the weight loss wasn't as obvious—but now, with his sunken eyes and hollowed cheeks, Tyrion looked almost like a demon child.
Suddenly, Tyrion let out a laugh, a bitter realization settling in. The cleverness he had once been so proud of seemed to have lost its edge. But I still have one last trick up my sleeve, he thought. And that trick was hidden deep beneath King's Landing. This was the Lannisters' last chance.
The Red Viper's escape was more than just a prisoner slipping through the cracks—it was a clear signal that Dorne was rebelling against the Iron Throne. No matter how hard Tyrion tried to suppress the news, word would inevitably spread.
Robert's reaction, however, was unexpectedly calm. When he was informed, he had been sparring with Jaime. But Robert was losing. Over the past few weeks, Jaime had realized that the legendary strength and ferocity Robert was known for had returned. Though Jaime's swordsmanship was more refined, he still struggled against Robert's raw power. Their relationship had become delicate, and Robert rarely held back during these sparring sessions. Several times, it seemed like he truly wanted to kill Jaime.
"Kingslayer," Robert growled, using the nickname with venom. "Where do you think Viserys will strike first?"
Jaime, accustomed to the insult, thought back to his recent conversation with Tyrion. His brother had speculated that Viserys might attack Storm's End first, connecting it quickly with Dorne and Highgarden, who supported him. But the real problem would come afterward. Any further attack would have to go through the Crownlands.
An attack on the Crownlands, however, was risky—it would mean a bloody landing, with heavy losses. Tyrion had suggested another option: using Crackclaw Point as a springboard. Viserys could lead his warships through the narrow Bay of Crabs and strike at Harrenhal. It was the heartland of Westeros, surrounded by the Riverlands and the Reach, vast open plains ripe for conquest. A perfect place for a dragon to show its power.
Jaime thought for a moment before responding, "Your Grace, it should be the Bay of Crabs and the Crackclaw Peninsula. The people there have always prided themselves on being loyal Targaryen's subjects."
Robert set down the heavy sword in his hand and looked at Jaime. "Well then, take some soldiers and set up defensive lines there. Let's strike at his troops when they try to land."
Jaime nodded, accepting the order. This is the role of the Kingsguard—guard, warrior, officer. But then he asked, "How many men should I take, Your Grace?"
Without turning back, Robert replied, "That depends on how many Tywin is willing to give you."
Jaime's eye twitched slightly. Of course, he thought, Robert intends to use the Lannisters as human shields.
Not long after Jaime left the training ground, Robert sent Littlefinger to inform Ned Stark about the news of Viserys's movements. Though Ned was technically under house arrest, Robert's long history of friendship with him made it difficult for the king to sever ties. Despite everything, Ned had stayed out of loyalty, determined to honor the bond they shared.
Littlefinger, however, was growing increasingly desperate. He had tried to frame Ned, hoping to gain political leverage and eventually defect to Viserys. But things hadn't gone his way. Recently, Robert had fully embraced Ned as one of his closest advisers, keeping him at his side constantly. Littlefinger's plans were unraveling, and there was no way for him to break through Robert's grip on Ned.
As long as Ned remains in Westeros, he's bound to Robert's "favor," Littlefinger thought bitterly.
At the moment, Ned, Catelyn, and Arya were all confined to a mansion under house arrest, while Sansa remained at the Red Keep. This separation weighed heavily on Catelyn, who spent her days worrying and weeping.
In the courtyard of the mansion, Ned stood by her side, trying to console her.
"It's my fault, it's all my fault! I shouldn't have trusted him!" Catelyn cried, her thoughts consumed by worry for her daughter.
"It's all right, my lady," Ned said, trying to soothe her. "Robert is not that kind of man. He's not the Mad King."
But even as he spoke, Ned felt unsure. He didn't know how to truly comfort Catelyn. When he had tried to dissuade Robert from waging all-out war against the Targaryens, Robert had been displeased. He hadn't openly objected, but Ned still remembered the smug look on Robert's face when Tywin had slaughtered Rhaegar's children. That had been the moment Ned had hated Robert the most.
Ned had already learned from Catelyn that Viserys had no intention of wiping out the northern lords. He thought of his ancestor, Torrhen Stark, the King who had knelt to Aegon the Conqueror to preserve the North. I have no crown to offer Viserys, Ned thought, but I've made up my mind.
No matter the outcome of this war, he was determined to take the black and join the Night's Watch. Amputation—sacrificing a limb to save the body. Preserving the North is the Stark's duty.
As the couple shared a moment of solace, a familiar figure approached them.
"Petyr! I trusted you!" Catelyn's face paled with fury as she saw Littlefinger. She pointed a trembling finger at him, struggling to form her words. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, breathless with anger.
Seeing her distress, even Littlefinger faltered, guilt flickering across his face. But what Ned said next hit him harder.
"My lady, drink some water. Don't get too worked up, or you'll endanger the baby."
'Pregnant!' Littlefinger's lips barely moved as his face turned pale with shock. You two already have five children—can't you just stop?
Still reeling, he quickly shifted his tone. "Lord Petyr, is Sansa doing well?" Ned asked, his voice tight with concern.
"She's... fine," Littlefinger replied, regaining his composure. "No one's bullying her, but she's lonely—she can't seem to find anyone to talk to."
That bit of reassurance seemed to calm Ned and Catelyn slightly, but then Littlefinger added, "Oh, and the King asked me to brief you on the situation with Viserys."
At the mention of Viserys, both Ned and Catelyn straightened, their attention sharpened.
Littlefinger spoke briefly, but the news was staggering. Viserys had sacked the great eastern cities, amassing a massive fleet, untold wealth, and 30,000 Unsullied. This meant he would raise an army of unprecedented size, and the Iron Throne would soon face immense pressure.
"His Grace said he intends to personally defend Harrenhal when the time comes. He will leave King's Landing in your hands," Littlefinger said.
"Robert... Your Grace is going to leave King's Landing in my hands?" Ned was at a loss for words, the weight of the responsibility sinking in. Silence fell over them.
But Catelyn realized something, her eyes welling with tears. She looked at her husband, understanding what this meant.
Now, Ned would have to live or die with King's Landing.