The godswood of the Red Keep was a secluded place, meant for peace. But there, Köinzell found only treachery.
As he wandered beneath the heart tree's red leaves, he felt it: a presence watching.
From behind the weirwood stepped Lord Varys, robed in silk, hands tucked together.
> "Strange to see an elf in a city so… lacking in magic," the Spider said calmly.
Köinzell said nothing.
Varys continued, "I've seen many strange things. Whispers tell me of your arrival. And they tell me you are not of this world."
> "Neither are your enemies," Köinzell replied quietly.
There was a long silence.
Then Varys leaned closer, lowering his voice.
> "Tell me, Elven Swordsman… do you serve the realm?"
Köinzell didn't answer. He turned instead, pausing only to whisper:
> "Tell your whispers this: The children on the throne wear lies like golden masks."
Varys paled, just a flicker. Köinzell vanished into the trees before another word could be spoken.
That night, as the city prepared for the tournament of the Hand, Köinzell stood atop the Sept of Baelor's roof, the Aetherbane Fang pulsing softly at his side.
> This realm is a pit of secrets… and I will carve the truth from its heart.