The image froze upon the screen, capturing the moment after the slave's face had transformed once more.
Ignoring the chiming of his communication device, Joffrey pressed the Red Woman's head down further. Waves of warm pleasure mingled with serious contemplation, the two sensations colliding rapidly within his mind like storm-tossed ships upon the Narrow Sea.
The Crow's Eye? Euron Greyjoy?
He dared make his move this early? What conspiracy had he hatched, what hidden cards did he hold in his weathered hands? Had his notorious vessel, the Silence—with its blood-red hull and pitch-black sails—returned to the Seven Kingdoms from its murderous voyages across the waters of Essos? And if so, where did it lurk now?
And most troubling of all: had he acquired the Dragon Horn?
Perhaps due to his carnal pleasure, or perhaps from the shock of this unexpected development, Joffrey's face wore a wanton smile that belied the gravity of his thoughts.
Crow's Eye Euron Greyjoy.
The Security Council had forwarded this urgent message from Pyke. In truth, Joffrey had never anticipated this particular event would transpire so soon.
Balon Greyjoy was dead.
He had perished in his study and was now laid beneath the cold, indifferent waves of the sea, as was the ironborn way.
The deed had been done by a Faceless Man.
The ending mirrored the original course of events, yet the timing was unnervingly premature.
A Faceless Man hired by Crow's Eye Euron?
This conjecture, never explicitly confirmed in the histories Joffrey knew, seemed all but certain now. After all, Faceless Men did not kill without purpose or coin.
If they had not accepted a contract for death, the Faceless Men would never interfere in matters of life and death. That was their code, ancient and unyielding as the rocks of Braavos itself.
Joffrey believed he understood the Faceless Men well enough. They were religious assassins who served the Many-Faced God, operating from their temple known as the House of Black and White in Braavos, that free city-state that stood proudly across the Narrow Sea.
Religion makes men mad, he mused darkly.
The followers of the Many-Faced God were, in essence, reserve members of the Faceless Men. The House of Black and White selected individuals from among the faithful and subjected them to merciless training in the arts of assassination, disguise, poison craft, and stealth. Only when the acolyte successfully mastered the ability to change their appearance—to become "no one"—were they truly elevated to the rank of Faceless Man.
Though Faceless Men were scattered throughout the known world, they claimed their origins in the ancient Valyrian Freehold.
Valar morghulis. All men must die.
Valar dohaeris. All men must serve.
The Faceless Men accepted and completed their deadly contracts, serving their Many-Faced God by bestowing the gift of death.
But death was never freely given.
These shadowy assassins demanded exorbitant payment for their services; the more challenging or prestigious the target, the steeper the price. Yet the Faceless Men did not view this as mere commerce—they required petitioners to pay dearly as a test of resolve and sincerity.
By paying the price, one life in the world would be offered as sacrifice to their god.
What a convenient justification, Joffrey thought wryly.
In an ordinary realm, Joffrey would dismiss this as mere indoctrination. But in this world of ice and fire...
How did the assassin's power manifest? What mysteries lay behind the worship of the Many-Faced God?
These questions had long plagued Joffrey's mind. In his quest for answers, he had previously scoured the dungeons beneath the Red Keep, hoping to find the Faceless Man disguised as "Jaqen H'ghar" imprisoned there. Yet his search had yielded nothing but shadows and silence.
It seemed the Faceless Men would not come to him unbidden.
Fortunate, perhaps, Joffrey thought, releasing a measured breath.
Now the Crow's Eye Euron and the Faceless Men had simultaneously appeared within his field of vision. Like a hunting hawk sighting prey, he would not relinquish this opportunity.
"Osha, remain in Pyke. Observe all changes and await my command."
Through the arcane power of his magic, information traveled instantly from the eastern shores of Westeros to the Iron Islands in the west.
As commander of the Kingsguard assault squad, Osha had already donned her armor and readied her equipment. Her nineteen subordinates likewise stood prepared, weapons at hand, awaiting the word to move.
Joffrey next contacted his Security Minister, Alyn.
"Search every league of water within one or two days' sailing distance of the Iron Islands. Use all resources at your disposal to locate the Silence."
Euron's vessel was unmistakable in its dreadful aspect.
"It bears a dark red hull and black sails upon a single mast. At its bow stands a black iron maiden with eyes of mother-of-pearl... and no mouth."
He paused, letting the significance of those words sink in. "All who crew her are mutes. Every last one, save for her captain—Crow's Eye Euron Greyjoy."
"Yes, Your Grace. I shall see it done," Alyn replied with immediate deference, not only assigning this critical task to every agent in the Security Council but also taking an "eye" himself to oversee the mission personally.
Joffrey severed the communication.
The Red Woman had risen by now, delicately licking the corner of her mouth as she reverently caressed her visibly swollen belly. She appeared to be four or five moons into her term.
"Your Grace, behold—this is the crystallization the great Lord of Light has bestowed upon us," Melisandre's voice was soft yet unwavering, filled with fervent certainty. "Within grows vast and magnificent power: warmth, tranquility, vitality, and light."
Her crimson eyes gleamed with inner fire. "It shall soon be ready—in two or three days' time."
The Red Woman's expression mingled the joy of a mother anticipating her child's birth with the devotion of a servant awaiting the manifestation of divine will. "When that moment comes, the shadow assassin born of our union shall deliver victory to Your Grace and fulfill the Lord of Light's sacred purpose."
Joffrey nodded with a countenance of sincere piety. "Praise be to the Lord of Light."
He knew that Stannis had somehow sensed the shadow assassin's actions through his dreams. What of himself? Joffrey had witnessed the entire gestation process of this unnatural progeny, observing the singular pattern that had appeared from nothingness, resembling an advanced form of spiritual rune.
An optimistic theory formed in his mind: perhaps, with his immense mental prowess and magical abilities, he might control this shadow assassin—even gain new knowledge or insights from the experience.
"Melly," Joffrey said, retrieving her scarlet robe from where it lay upon the ground and draping it gently across her shoulders. "The divine power of the Lord of Light shall be its own testament. The lords and smallfolk of the Seven Kingdoms will not long resist the true god. Our aspirations shall be realized."
Joffrey smiled with calculated tenderness. "Go now and rest well. Return on the morrow to strengthen the crystal."
"Come," he commanded.
Two handmaidens immediately entered the tent and assisted Melisandre as she departed, leaving Joffrey alone with his thoughts.
He paced the length of the tent, considering his next move. Balon Greyjoy was dead—what course of action should he pursue regarding the Iron Islands?
Support Theon's claim to the Seastone Chair?
How best to manage Asha, Victarion, Euron, and the other contenders?
And Euron himself...
Joffrey retrieved his communication device once more, studying the image of the driftwood crown. The crown that Balon had carefully commissioned was not fashioned from driftwood at all, but forged of black iron. It had been completed but days ago, according to the Security Council's report.
The reasoning was not difficult to discern. Balon would have been mad to restore the ancient tradition of choosing a king through kingsmoot.
As for this driftwood crown that now appeared in the intelligence from Pyke, it must have been brought into the city by the Faceless Man.
In other words, this was Euron's design.
Did he intend to claim the throne through kingsmoot, as in the original history Joffrey knew? Did he already possess the Dragon Horn, though the dragons themselves had not yet returned to the world?
Likewise, were the plans issued in Balon's name by the Faceless Man all orchestrated by Euron?
The sneak attack on the Shield Islands, the plundering of the Reach...
Luring the Arbor fleet into position for a decisive naval battle, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal his treachery and strike...
How much did Euron know about the Royal Fleet?
Had he returned so far in advance because of the early commencement of war? Or was it due to some prophecy, some whispered guidance from dark and mysterious powers?
At that moment, the Security Council reported that a warship matching the description of the Silence had been sighted in the distant waters west of the Iron Islands.
The image transferred to him confirmed it beyond doubt: an ominous vessel of black and red, its captain wearing a distinctive eye patch, its crew moving in eerie silence. The ship cut through the waves with unnatural speed, the wind filling its sails so perfectly it seemed almost... enchanted.
Joffrey's mind turned to darker thoughts.
The Drowned God.
The Storm God.
What ancient powers stirred beneath the waves?
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