He looked again at Varys, the Master of Whisperers standing aside.
Hearing his name, Varys stepped forward with light steps, a habitual submissive smile on his face. "Your Majesty, my 'little birds' are only of some use in King's Landing. The flow of golden dragons in the Westerlands is complex, and Lord Tywin's secrecy is as excellent as ever. Ser Kevan's itinerary was also extremely hidden; our people only tracked them into Slavers Bay before being neutralized. The Dragon King's blockade of information is far tighter than we anticipated. This is my failure, Your Majesty."
He bowed slightly, taking the "failure" upon himself, yet cleverly emphasizing the "secrecy" of the Lannister operation.
Petyr Baelish, Littlefinger, stood aside, lightly rubbing his chin with his fingertips as he spoke. "Whether it is a failure or not may not be the most critical issue right now, Your Majesty. The key is that the deal has been struck. The Lannisters got their sword back, and the Dragon King got the money and equipment he wanted. More importantly, this news has likely spread to every dock and tavern across Narrow Sea by now."
He paused and looked at Robert. "What does this mean in the eyes of the rulers of those Free Cities? It means a house of Westeros has begun to contact the Targaryens and completed a transaction of a massive amount. What will they think? They will believe that the Westerlands, and even the entire Westeros, has reached some kind of understanding with the Dragon King. This will only make those who were already hostile to the Dragon King even more determined to act quickly, lest we 'intervene' too deeply."
Robert's chest heaved violently as he glared at Petyr. "So? Littlefinger, you mean we should thank that old fellow Tywin for helping us speed up the war across Narrow Sea?"
"No, Your Majesty," Old Lord Arryn spoke. "Lord Petyr means the situation has become more complicated because of this. Those cities will accelerate their military actions, but when they act, they might view us as a potential threat. They might think we've reached some terms with the Dragon King for the iron throne. We might face more prying and pressure from the East."
"Then let them come," Robert roared. "I could smash Rhaegar back then, and I can smash any bastard who dares to provoke me now. Where is Stannis? Why isn't he at the meeting? Jon, remember to have him return to Dragonstone to strengthen the guard against those cities. And Dorne."
He looked at Grand Maester Pycelle. "Write a letter to Sunspear, use a softer tone, and tell that turtle Doran that I am sorry about Elia's matter. Reiterate our friendship with Dorne. Right now, we cannot let Dorne also fall to that silver-haired bastard."
Robert's anger seemed to subside a bit, leaving only deep exhaustion and suspicion. He looked at Littlefinger. "Baelish, how much more money can the treasury squeeze out to strengthen the navy?"
Littlefinger gave a helpless smile. "Your Majesty, the envoy from the Iron Bank has just left, and we haven't even secured the interest for next year. However, if we cut some unnecessary expenses, such as the scale of the upcoming Name Day celebration..."
"Cut it, cut it all," Robert shouted impatiently.
"Now, find out exactly what Tywin is trying to do. Also, keep an eye on the East. I don't want to wake up one morning and see dragons flying over my head." After Robert finished speaking, he got up and left the hall.
A habitual faint smile appeared on Petyr's face. "In that case, my lords, I shall also take my leave. I still need to see if I can conjure up some golden dragons from somewhere."
Jon Arryn watched Petyr's departing back and sighed softly. "This matter with Lord Tywin is indeed puzzling. But the situation is complex now; we need to plan carefully."
Grand Maester Pycelle's body trembled slightly. "As a priority, I should go and write the letter to Prince Doran first. Let the two of you handle the matter of Lord Tywin."
"Lord Hand, I will continue to have my 'little birds' investigate more, and I will make sure to find out Lord Tywin's true intentions as soon as possible."
The high officials of the Small Council each had their own thoughts. It was as if a storm was quietly brewing.
Inside Dragonstone, Kinvara found Viserys, who was handling government affairs. Her blue eyes were less ethereal than usual, replaced by a touch of gravity.
"The flames have brought a new warning, Your Majesty, carrying clear malice."
"Oh? What did you see?"
"Shadows are spreading from the land of spices and dust in the East, carrying a hunger for life and magic. 'Invisible fangs' slither in the shadows, aiming for the 'newborn fire.' I saw more than one pair of eyes peering here from the shadows. Their target is not only you but also those new lives."
"Can you be more specific? What can they do? How will they come?"
"Prophecy is not omnipotent, Your Majesty; it only gives us a reminder." Kinvara shook her head slowly. "'Invisible fangs' could be curses, magic, poisoning, or sending powerful assassins. They know of the existence of the Young Dragons; this in itself is unusual. Valyria is not airtight; there are always some eyes that can spy on this place in ways we cannot understand."
Viserys thought of those "false gods" and the forces hidden in the shadows. "If they dare to come, they must be prepared to stay." His voice was calm but carried a chill.
Just then, there was a knock on the study door. A messenger sent by Lord Arthur brought urgent military intelligence from Free Bay. Three large Dothraki Khalasars were abnormally gathering, and their target was likely Free Bay, with the shadows of New Ghis and Qarth seemingly behind it.
Viserys sneered after reading the intelligence. "They want to use the horsemen on the Great Grass Sea to pin me down? They've miscalculated." He stood up and said to Kinvara, "Watch the castle; I have to go out for a while."
Kinvara bowed slightly. "May the flames light your path, Your Majesty. Beware of the fangs in the shadows."
Ghidorah carried Viserys, streaking across the sky at an incredible speed toward the Dothraki Great Grass Sea. The gale howled in his ears, but Viserys's heart was exceptionally calm. He chose not to bring an army because, based on his previous experience, he believed that for dealing with highly mobile nomadic tribes, a decapitation strike with a dragon was most effective.
Jhamo Kao's camp was filled with the aroma of roasted meat and clamor.
In the large tent, he was drinking from large bowls and eating large mouthfuls of meat with several Kos and Blood Riders, dreaming about how to divide the wealth and women of Free Bay after defeating the "Dragon King," as well as annexing those dothraki under Viserys's command who had lost their braids.
"That silver-haired, purple-eyed boy is just showing off with monsters." Jhamo Kao was a burly man with blue war paint on his face. He fiercely tore off a piece of mutton. "When our three Khalasars join forces, it will be like a flood on the Great Grass Sea; we can drown him. When the time comes, I will use the skull of that three-headed monster to make my new chair."
A burst of crude, echoing laughter rang out in the tent.
However, the laughter stopped abruptly.
A majestic, high-pitched roar came from far to near, instantly drowning out all the clamor in the camp.
The commotion outside the tent turned into terrified screams, and the neighing of warhorses was in total chaos. Immediately after, there was another majestic roar.
Jamo rushed to the entrance of the large tent. The moment he pulled back the curtain, his pupils shrank to pinpoints.
He only had time to let out a short cry before a Golden Ray, symbolizing annihilation, descended.
Jhamo Kao, his large tent, several of his Blood Riders, and the ground beneath their feet vanished without a trace in an instant. Only a terrifying crater with a glazed luster at the bottom remained.
The entire camp fell into a deathly silence, followed by being submerged in fear.
Ghidorah did not stay, flapping his wings and flying toward Khal Pono's direction.
Pono's camp was already on alert; they had seen the distant golden light and chaos. But when Ghidorah's sky-blotting figure truly appeared overhead, any preparation was futile.
Khal Pono organized his proudest archers for a volley. A rain of arrows rose into the air, but as they approached Ghidorah, they were blown into disarray by the airflow kicked up by the dragon's wings, and the few that hit the scales were powerlessly deflected.
"Scatter!" Pono shouted at the top of his lungs.
But it was too late. Ghidorah's left head breathed out an icy frost breath. The white cold current swept through the camp, instantly freezing the men and horses attempting to gather into ice sculptures, maintaining their poses of charging or fleeing before death. The fire from the right head followed closely, igniting a circle of tents nearby.
Khal Pono rode his fastest horse, sprinting toward the Great Grass Sea under the cover of his Blood Riders. He looked back and saw the golden dragon slightly adjust its direction, the middle head aiming at him.
"No!" Pono's scream and the Golden Ray were emitted simultaneously. He and his warhorse, along with the Blood Riders behind him, were completely evaporated.
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