Chapter 19

Two months had passed since rumors of possible conspiracies began to spread throughout King's Landing. King Aerys II Targaryen, who had already long been trapped in the shadows of his own fears, summoned the Master of Whisperers, Varys, to his side.

He sat on his throne in the Red Keep, wrapped in a crimson mantle. His eyes, mad and terrified, darted around the hall as if searching for danger. Aerys felt the castle walls closing in on him; conspirators were everywhere, and now even Varys's words, the very man he had summoned from Essos, seemed suspicious to him.

He trusted no one. After all, traitors constantly surrounded him, dreaming of taking the throne. They were just waiting for the moment to stab their king in the back.

"Varys," croaked the king. His voice was rough and quiet. "Tell me, what rumors are circulating in my kingdom? Which rebels dare to undermine the power of the dragon?"

The Master of Whisperers, bowing with reverent humility, raised his gaze to the king. His clothes shimmered in the torchlight, and his smile was soft and impassive.

"Your Grace, many voices in the city whisper of discontent, but only a few are bold enough to turn words into deeds. But rumors... yes, they indeed spread like wildfire."

"Who are these rebels? Who is behind this? Speak!"

Varys allowed himself to step back, though his face remained calm.

"Your Grace, only one name constantly resurfaces — Lord Denys Darklyn. He continues to grumble about the injustice and lost honor of his house. His loud declarations sow doubt among those who have already lost faith in the crown."

Aerys froze. The name "Darklyn," spoken by Varys, awakened a wave of rage and anxiety within him. He remembered how he had denied this young lord during the tournament in Highgarden. Back then, this fool had seemed like a mere nuisance to Aerys, but now... another enemy, another threat! The king's hands trembled, and his fingers clenched into fists.

"Darklyn... I will destroy him. I will burn them all!" his voice grew louder, breaking into a shout. "You... will you help me, Varys? Or do I have a traitor by my side as well?"

Varys bowed even lower, smiling subtly.

"I am but a loyal servant, Your Grace. I am ready to help you expose anyone who dares to stand against the true king."

Aerys began to breathe deeply, trying to regain his composure. His thoughts were like burning embers smoldering in his mind as he tried to think through his next steps. Varys, waiting for a new order, cautiously added:

"Your Grace, there are also talks that the Hand of the King, Lord Tywin Lannister, intends to go to Duskendale to restore order there. Moreover, they say he plans to take Prince Rhaegar with him, supposedly to show the heir the hardships and nuances of rule."

Aerys flinched at this, his face contorted with sudden horror, which was quickly replaced by anger. Tywin... that lucky bastard. Always so cunning, clever, and scheming behind his back.

"He wants to take Rhaegar!" the king yelled, jumping from the throne. His crimson mantle billowed like a blood-red banner. "So that my son and this... Lannister conspire against me! They want to dethrone me!"

A wild gleam appeared in his eyes. He remembered how he had once trusted Tywin, that they had been friends in their youth. But now Tywin seemed to Aerys the most dangerous enemy, capable of taking the throne from him. And Rhaegar... his gifted son, who could become a banner for rebels.

"No! This will not happen! I will go to Duskendale myself. I will show them all who the true king is! Varys, you will convey my order. I will find out who is plotting against the king and punish the traitors!"

Varys bowed even lower, his smile still soft and calm, though now there was something else visible in it.

"Of course, Your Grace. No one will dare to stand against the true king when he himself leads the campaign."

"Tell Hightower to gather the men. We march tomorrow."

"I fear, Your Grace, that Ser Gerold will be unable to fulfill the order. He has been struck with fever."

"Oh, yes, I forgot. Then let Gwayne handle it."

"As you command."

Soon, this news spread to another room in the Red Keep.

Tywin Lannister's POV

Sitting behind a massive oak table in the Tower of the Hand and reading yet another letter, I was distracted when Grand Maester Pycelle appeared in the doorway. It was hard to call this old man a loyal ally, but he served well enough as an informant. Entering with the air of someone bringing important news, he cautiously said:

"Lord Tywin, I have just received word that King Aerys II intends to depart for Duskendale soon."

I raised an eyebrow in surprise. Various scenarios immediately began to flicker in my mind. Of course, I had heard rumors from Duskendale, but I did not put much faith in them. To oppose the crown so openly and brazenly without enough power behind it — utter foolishness. Darklyn turned out to be an even bigger fool than Roger and Walder.

"I hear you, Pycelle. Is there anything else?"

"Aerys wishes to take only a small royal escort with him, to demonstrate the strength and inviolability of the crown."

"I see..." I muttered, suppressing a smirk.

What a fool. As always, Aerys has no sense of restraint. He cares little that such a trip could mark the beginning of his end. A small royal escort — a mere invitation for any rebel or enemy. Given more time, I might have arranged an assassination myself — the perfect way to eliminate a threat and place Rhaegar on the throne, pinning the blame on Darklyn.

But it's useless to lament now. Yes, I lost an opportunity, but that doesn't mean I'll sit idly by. While the king is busy with his foolish antics, I'll strengthen my position and prepare for any possible outcomes.

"You are dismissed, Pycelle. If anything deserving of my attention arises, inform me immediately."

"Of course, my lord."

The maester bowed and left the chamber, leaving me alone with my thoughts. The time for patience has passed; now is the time to act.

End of POV

The next day, the streets of King's Landing were filled with residents who came out to see their king off. However, the expressions on the faces of the townspeople were far from the usual joyful cheer that often greeted the young Prince Rhaegar. Their eyes were filled with mixed emotions — fatigue and wariness in some, fanatical fervor in others.

The sunlight lit up the streets as the royal procession began its movement. The common folk lined the main road. King Aerys II himself preferred to travel in comfort, in a carriage, occasionally peeking out to look at the crowd with arrogance and disdain.

His eyes shone dangerously, as if he saw more enemies than subjects in these people. Unlike his sons, whose charisma and charm inspired admiration and loyalty, Aerys had long lost his connection with the people. But despite this, he remained their king, and as his procession slowly moved forward, the townsfolk bowed their heads respectfully.

Among the crowd, a few more fervent voices stood out, but even they could not conceal skepticism and fear. "May he reign long," some muttered, but their voices sounded uncertain. Once the procession passed through the gates of King's Landing, the atmosphere began to change. At first, the main road continued, but it soon turned into a narrower, winding path.

Gwayne Gaunt, the only Kingsguard accompanying Aerys, rode slightly ahead, carefully scanning the surrounding woods. His face remained calm, but his eyes showed vigilance. With each passing hour, the king grew more impatient.

His irritation manifested in short shouts and orders that he gave to his men. On one stretch of the road, when the procession was moving through a narrow forest corridor, an unexpected attack occurred. Suddenly, the whistling of arrows rang out, and several of the king's guards fell to the ground, screaming in pain. Rocks and makeshift spears followed, flying at the knights. The attackers were emaciated men with dirty faces and torn clothing.

Initially hidden behind trees, they now boldly jumped from their hiding spots and quickly approached the royal entourage. There were no more than a dozen of them, and they all looked hungry and desperate. Gwayne Gaunt, assessing the situation, drew his sword and charged at the nearest attackers. His movements were swift and precise. Deflecting the enemy's blows, he masterfully dealt with three bandits, cutting them down mercilessly. The sword of the Kingsguard, gleaming under the sun, left a bloody trail in its wake.

The king's guards, though not as skilled as the White Cloak, fought bravely. Several guards dismounted to protect Aerys's carriage, and soon, after a short skirmish, the bandits lay dead on the ground, sprawled like dolls.

The king, having overcome his initial fright, began to laugh loudly, mocking the fallen. His laughter echoed through the forest, reverberating off the tree trunks and trembling in the air like a sinister melody.

Fortunately, no further unforeseen dangers arose on the road, and by the end of the day, Aerys reached his destination — Duskendale.