Hopefully, this chapter will work a bit better. I was hoping to shorten the story a bit, being that I'm approaching 200,000 words and this is barely the halfway point, but oh well.
My own thoughts on the North: around 90 percent of its population live south of Winterfell, because any further than that, crops are nearly impossible to grow even in summertime. (GRRM gives no specifics on population density, so this is purely my own invention)
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Daenerys rode at the front of the procession, surrounded by her bloodriders, all of whom could barely move in the cold. Even with the warmest coat Wyman Manderly could offer her, she had not stopped shivering since arriving in the North, her body unused to such conditions.
In contrast to the Free Cities, which had few natural barriers outside streams, the North was covered in rock and forest, with only a few crude roads for them to travel on. Neither Daenerys nor those who followed her had any knowledge of the territory, so they were forced to rely on Northern scouts.
Perhaps he's leading me into a trap. She'd been betrayed too many times to put much stock into men's promises. It would be a perfect plan: promise to assist her against Joffrey, then lure her army into the cold and let them die. Nor did she have much recourse if they did.
Most of the Northerners traveling alongside them were older men or crippled individuals. When Daenerys questioned why old men were sent into the fighting, she'd been informed they intended to die fighting rather than being a burden to their families during what would be a severe winter. She didn't agree, but decided not to comment on Northern tradition.
Despite more than a week of traveling, she had not spotted a single village, not even when Daenerys decided to explore her surroundings. She'd seen the size of the North on a map of Westeros, but experiencing it was another matter entirely.
"We'll be eating well tonight!" A scout exclaimed, hauling a moose he'd succeeded in killing with the assistance of three others. Others explained to her forces which trees had tree bark safe for human consumption and which do not.
"How much longer do we have to travel?" Daenerys did her best to ignore her growling stomach. She'd insisted on living under the same conditions as everyone else, however difficult it was proving to be.
"It will be at least another week, likely more, Your Grace," Wendel galloped beside her. "Lord Bolton will have scouts of his own, so the element of surprise is unlikely."
"Then perhaps my dragons should end this fight now." Drogon and Viserion spent much of their time on the ground, with only the occasional forays into the air. After flying, especially for long periods of time, both required massive amounts of food they couldn't currently spare.
Any time a horse was too injured or cold to have any chance of recovery, Daenerys used them to feed her dragons, but even this left them weakened.
Rheagal had been too injured to travel anywhere, so Daenerys was forced to leave him behind in White Harbor. She made a mental promise to burn the city to the ground should anything happen to her child, though did not speak such threats out loud. She was dependent on them, at least for now.
"Dragons are not invincible, Your Grace," Wendel cautioned. "We did not see Bolton's betrayal coming and regardless of his evil, he is not a foolish man. Not only that, I do not wish to see the innocent suffer because they are forced to serve his whims."
"How do you survive up here every winter? I don't see anything to eat out here." Daenerys tightened her clothing as much as she could.
"There's plenty of food, provided you know where to look." Wendel pointed to trees. "Smallfolk often supplement their diets with those trees during the worst of the winters. You are correct that times are often difficult, but hard lands breed hard men. Any Northerner's worth five of the Lannisters."
Then why did you lose? Daenerys kept her skepticism private. They'd greeted her with little warmth. If this was what all of Westeros was like, taking the Iron Throne was even more difficult than she'd expected.
"Can we trust them not to play us false?" Daenerys asked Tyrion upon making sure they wouldn't be overheard.
"In some ways, the Northerners are simple creatures. They can be either your greatest ally or your most dangerous enemy. Few bother with long term plans or schemes against enemies, the way it is in King's Landing. If you're their enemy, they'll bash your head in face to face, not stab you in the back. Most of the time, at least."
"That doesn't reassure me." Daenerys despised how dependent she currently was on an uncertain ally.
"Something to keep in mind: The Starks are loved by their bannermen. The Lannisters are merely feared. Sounds foolish to anyone south of the Neck, but it's true. Removing Bolton and restoring Stark rule will do much to win them over. Their only barrier to marching South again is Catelyn and Sansa Stark, Joffrey's hostages."
Daenerys wished to rescue them but didn't have a clue how to do so. "And what do you recommend I do to work around that?"
"I've got a few ideas, but they aren't fully implemented. If it turns out we can't rescue them. . . there are other ways to convince the North." Tyrion's lip curled into a smirk.
Daenerys' followers and the Northerners rarely interacted with each other, few capable of speaking the others' language. Viserys' lessons were the only reason she could speak the common tongue, though even Daenerys struggled at times.
Those stricken by disease were kept in carts, where it was hoped they would not spread it to healthy individuals. Why has Bolton not attempted to attack us? Traveling on the Kingsroad made a sneak attack impossible, doubly so with thousands of men. She'd anticipated enemy forces ambushing them from the forest, then retreating, but there was nothing.
"Oh, we've had a few night attempts," Wendel informed when Daenerys had the opportunity to raise her concerns. "Inflicted a few losses, but I have complete faith in my scouts."
"How could you possibly keep this from me?" Daenerys' opinion of the man lowered by the moment.
"I'd assumed you were already aware of them. None of us were attempting to keep it secret. That Bolton has only made a few scattered attempts indicates his weakness."
"You will not keep secrets from me again. Is that understood?" Daenerys' bloodriders caught her tone and readied themselves for a possible conflict. Wendel agreed, their exchange reminding her how much she didn't know about warfare.
Their forces traveled only when it was clear, not wanting to risk losing their way in a storm. Daenerys spent most of her time with Drogon and Viserion, both of whom were ill-adapted for the cold. Neither had taken flight of their own accord since arriving at White Harbor.
Maybe they still haven't recovered from the ambush, Daenerys stared at the still-healing wounds her children had suffered. Dragons healed quickly, but even they had their limitations. Unsullied surrounded Viserion but Drogon would permit no one but her in his presence.
"I need you to take me to Winterfell. Can you do that?" Drogon revealed a few of his teeth, angling his body to where Daenerys could not climb on him. "I know what I'm asking, but we could put an end to this right now, spare us a long battle."
Drogon turned his back, tail less than a foot from Daenerys' face. Each time she tried to approach, he used his tail to prevent her from doing so. Never with intent to harm, but enough to give Daenerys the intended message.
Why is he so uncooperative? Drogon hadn't suffered the same injuries as Viserion and especially Rheagal.
Beenero approached her and said, "Dragons act for their own reasons. We are their companions, not their masters." Unlike everyone else, he wore only thin robes, showing no visible sign of being affected by the cold.
"We need to end this fight immediately and Bolton can't be allowed to strengthen his defenses. Just when I need his help most, he refuses." Daenerys did her best not to pout. "Does he not know what I want?"
"Dragons are highly intelligent creatures. Some believe them to be more intelligent than man. If they do not wish to do something, it would be unwise to force the issue."
Daenerys spent her free time studying a map of the North, at least the ones she had access to. If they were correct, her forces would reach Winterfell in a few days.
The next day, a snowstorm surrounded the land, forcing everyone to huddle in place. Drogon and Viserion moved right next to one another, burning the air above them for warmth. Dothraki and Essosi sellswords fell ill. Those already ill perished from the cold, their bodies buried in the snow.
No one could so much as start a fire and only half possessed camping equipment of any sort. Northerners minded it far less, but even they suffered the effects. "This is going to be a winter unlike any we've seen," Wendel muttered. "I can feel it in my bones."
A few villages were nearby. Northmen gathered what supplies they could spare, which was little. Daenerys did her best not to move, her body pressed against Drogon's, who had since forgiven her for attempting to make him fly.
Cries went up that afternoon, Daenerys spotting faint flames in the corner of her eyes. Drogon curled up around her protectively as enemy arrows flew from the woods. She did not dare to lift her head, memories of the previous battle flooding into her mind.
Twenty Unsullied formed around her, shielding Daenerys with their own bodies. Northmen raised swords to combat their news enemies, but no sooner did they mobilize than their attackers disappeared.
After brief debate, everyone decided not to pursue the enemy in the middle of a snowstorm. Wendel screamed at his subordinates to post an increased guard. "What does Bolton hope to accomplish?" He stayed cheery in Daenerys' presence. "He must think all he needs to wipe out our supplies is twenty good men."
Once the immediate danger passed, Daenerys moved to survey the damage. A single baggage train had been set alight, but the snow ensured the flames would not spread far. Three men had been killed, with eight injured. Their food carts, most crucially, had gotten through unscathed.
It took another two days before they could move again. Daenerys stayed as far away from the sick as she could, refusing to be struck down by disease so close to reclaiming her rightful throne.
When Winterfell was within sight, a half-frozen raven flew to Daenerys, a letter attached to its feet. She hurriedly removed the parchment, recognizing it as originating from Essos. What could they possibly need now? She'd been sure to institute enough security and killed enough of the former slavers to ensure those who remained wouldn't attempt another uprising.
Her hopes shattered from the first line she read. Daenerys turned her head away, refusing to let anyone see her emotions. Each sentence described more atrocities committed throughout Slaver's Bay. Drops of blood stained the parchment, several lines almost impossible to make out.
"What is it, Your Grace?" Tyrion noted her mood immediately.
"I. . . Daario has reinstituted slavery in Meereen, as have Astapor and Yunkai. It is likely that few remain alive in the cities, slaves or masters." Daenerys berated her stupidity. She'd known Daario couldn't be trusted from the beginning, but hadn't expected him to betray her so openly, ensuring all the suffering in Slaver's Bay was for nothing.
"He was a sellsword and cared for nothing but himself. It doesn't matter now, though. You have a new destiny before you."
"You. . . leave my presence at once, dwarf!" Daenerys' face turned red with rage. Tyrion knew better than to pressure her any further. Everything she'd done was to give slaves a better life, something other than a lifetime of servitude. Instead, they'd been betrayed, butchered, and those who survived chose to become masters instead.
Everything I did was for nothing. She was in no position to reclaim Slaver's Bay, not during the beginning of winter. Each time she tried to improve things, she failed. Daenerys had dreamed of eradicating slavery throughout Essos, giving hope to those who had none. I should have killed all the Great Masters, and Daario alongside them! He'd beg for death by the time she was done with him.
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I don't think I'm ever going to get used to this. Matthew tasted vomit in the back of his throat. Trinity flew through the skies, screeching with joy.
Once he'd managed to obtain a dragon of his own, which could hardly believe worked, he intended to find out how to ride her. Matthew needed to know her capabilities and limitations.
The first time, he'd vomited within minutes. "Be nice if I was having as much fun as you," Matthew commented. He knew better than to treat her as a pet, but Trinity seemed to appreciate the sentiment. "Hope you're ready for Daenerys.
Matthew looked down, making sure his riding chains were secure. He moved from side to side, though Trinity seemed to sense how much he could take. Nothing but forest could be seen underneath him. From thousands of feet, even villages could hardly be seen.
It left him little time to do his normal duties. Matthew found riding a dragon to be terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. He turned his vision to Trinity's head, his dragon capable of swallowing a horse whole. The sight of him would turn enemy armies to jelly, and none of them had the knowledge of how to fight back. He could burn hosts, fields, cities. . .
Little wonder the Targaryens went mad with power, Matthew shook himself out of it. Trinity would not be used as a force for destruction.
He wondered if Daenerys had received the news of Trinity, forced to confront the fact both sides possessed dragons. Matthew remembered the Targaryen civil war, and the devastation it led to. At least now, he no longer had to gamble on cannons and ballista.
He wiped his eyes, shivering even with the warmest clothing that could be provided for him. Matthew made out the frost covering tree and field, a reminder that winter had arrived.
Trinity turned around, leading him back to King's Landing. Matthew had learned she needed no directions to know where her destination was. Whatever he needed, Trinity was attuned to it. Wind picked up, obstructing his vision.
In less than an hour, King's Landing was visible. The farthest he'd dared to fly was Rook's Rest and Trinity had been exhausted once they returned. All right, top speed appears to me around 120 miles an hour, effective range of their fire about a hundred meters. He hoped her scales would withstand enemy scorpions. Fully grown, the only sure kill was a shot in the eye, though Trinity was still much smaller than Aegon's dragons.
Trinity circled around King's Landing twice before descending near the still-ruined Dragonpit. Matthew had no intention of repairing it, remembering how the dragons stagnated in a cage. She laid down while he climbed without an issue, now familiar with the best way to do so. Food waited for her in the center, several butchered horses and goats.
She waited no time before consuming her meal. On days without flying, a couple horses were sufficient food. If they flew long distances, however, Matthew had seen her eat ten full-grown horses, a significant fraction of her body weight.
His Kingsguard waited for him, having recently returned from Dragonstone. Matthew had intended to have them ride Trinity, but she would not accept so many on her back.
Trinity ate her meal, bones and all, smoke coming from her nose. "It is good to see you have returned, Your Grace." Barristan nodded.
"Thank you, Ser Barristan." Matthew knew he disapproved of his actions but was too loyal to say anything. "All things considered, I think this is going well." Dragon-riding was a skill like anything else. None seemed inclined to go anywhere near Trinity, though.
"Many fear this creature, and she may not be under your control," Jacelyn Bywater warned, the newest addition to his Kingsguard. Matthew made the offer shortly after returning, which he accepted. "I have read many tales of dragons going mad, killing even those they bond with."
"Everything in war is a risk," Matthew had grown fond of Trinity. That didn't mean he wasn't still a little wary. "As the Targaryens did not see fit to write down their secrets, I'm forced to discover them the hard way. What have the people been saying?"
"They vary from admiring you to thinking you another Aerys," Balon informed. "Your men, however, worship you more than ever."
"I hope you know what you're doing," Jacelyn cautioned.
So do I. "Daenerys possessed three dragons not long ago. Now she has two, and I possess one larger than hers. Evening the odds seemed worth a little risk." He'd received contradictory reports from the battle. Some claimed one of Daenerys' dragons had perished, others stated he was still alive. Matthew wasn't sure who to believe.
"Your Grace, may I speak?" Barristan was the only one who asked permission. Once Matthew nodded, he said, "If you were hoping to ease religious tension, summoning a dragon with Melisandre's assistance is a poor approach."
"I've made my laws clear to everyone. If they wish to argue, Trinity will be happy to listen to them." Matthew had never fed her dead humans, for fear of her developing a taste for it. "On the bright side, at least the city didn't fall apart during my absence."
The Kingsguard escorted him to the Red Keep, where the Small Council awaited him. The most recent addition was Mace Tyrell, Master of Ships. Margaery had requested his presence in the Capitol, promising that he would be of great assistance in the coming war.
Another reminder of their power, no doubt. Mace had brought 1,500 men and knights with him. The oaf didn't know a thing about ships, but those forced to work under him did. Matthew intended to give him as little authority as possible.
"Never thought I'd see a dragon with my own eyes," Mace spoke as he did each day since his arrival. "Little wonder the Targaryens were so feared."
"It's said not a castle or town remained standing in Dorne," Matthew knew it was necessary to face greater threats but still felt uneasy about dragons.
"And yet Aegon never did manage to conquer them," Margaery pointed out. She'd attended council meetings more and more, bringing up information Matthew overlooked.
Most of the meeting involved how to feed the population during what everyone knew would be a severe winter. Even the most optimistic projections expected famine in the Riverlands, however much Matthew wanted to avert it. He argued for taxes to be raised on the nobles to buy food from Essos, which sparked consistent argument from everyone but Barristan and Stannis.
"Times are going to be hard on all of us," Stannis reminded. "And we have had enough rebellion. Need I remind you of the Storming of the Dragonpit when the smallfolk were too heavily burdened?"
"Your Grace, I fear you will lose support if you carry out this proposal," Pycelle rubbed his beard.
"It's a temporary measure, and will be lifted once winter is over," Matthew refused to allow argument. It'll make me more enemies, but it isn't like I'm not surrounded by them already. "Besides, we're going to be at war again soon."
"You believe Daenerys will come south, surrounded by snow?" Pycelle gave a disbelieving look.
"Let her," Mace shrugged. "Wars are not fought in winter years for a reason. If the Dragon Queen is foolish enough to do so, her men will die from the cold. Foreign savages are unaccustomed to Westerosi winters."
"She still has two dragons, possibly three," Stannis reminded, contempt oozing from every word. "And the Northerners bear us little love."
"We can execute the Starks if they throw their banners behind her," Margaery contemplated.
"I hope it won't come to that." Matthew would execute Catelyn and Sansa if given no other choice. "It's a delicate balancing act. If we kill them, the Northerners will butcher us all. Whatever else can be said about the Starks, they are formidable warriors." Matthew looked down at the latest reports from Slaver's Bay. "Yunkai, Astapor, and Meereen fell into anarchy almost from the moment Daenerys left, to my lack of surprise."
"Your Grace, they are slavers and it is only right to see them punished for such a crime," Pycelle stated. "Few in Westeros would argue otherwise."
"Daenerys promised them freedom but only made their circumstances worse," Stannis spoke up. "If the girl is incapable of governing a few small cities and towns, how can she possibly rule a continent she has no memory of? Had she been content with eradicating slavery in the region, Daenerys may have been successful. Instead, her ambition proves most important of all."
"You are correct, Lord Stannis." Matthew nodded. "Considering the devastation in the region, I don't wish Westeros to suffer the same fate." Many freed slaves were trying to sell themselves back, to where they could at least be fed.
The rest of the way was spent arguing over the best ways to defeat Daenerys. Everyone save Stannis questioned Matthew on his insistence building obsidian weapons, though none dared to defy him openly. Mace Tyrell pushed for an offensive north, ending Daenerys' attempt at the throne before it began.
In the end, they accomplished very little, since Matthew wasn't sure what to do himself. Trinity had limits to her capabilities and food was already at a premium. Snow began to fall on the ground again, something Pycelle took note of.
"I believe we are facing the worst winter in a long time, Your Grace," He worried. "Never in my life have I seen so much snow this far south, this early into the wintertime."
"We will endure as we always have, Grand Maester," Margaery smiled at him. At those words, the meeting ended, though the Queen and her father left the room together.
I wonder what they're plotting now. Matthew didn't intend to be a puppet, with the Tyrells pulling the strings. He doubted their plan was assassination, at least in the immediate future. Once she's pregnant, it'll solidify my reign.
He hadn't heard Joffrey's voice for weeks, though Matthew noted a more ruthless streak in his character. He had no time to dwell on it, however, not with all his other duties.
There are a couple more inventions that might make a difference, assuming I have the time and infrastructure to develop them. Matthew hoped to construct a few hwachas, one of which could do the work of a hundred archers. With sufficient gunpowder, he didn't think it an impossible design. I'll just have to keep people from blowing themselves up.
They would do nothing against dragons, but northern and Dothraki horsemen was another matter. Best not write down blueprints yet, not with so many spies in the city. It wouldn't stay secret long once it was developed. Cannons (though many would accurately be described as howitzers) for the dragons, hwachas for infantry. . . If I can build it, others will be able to as well.
Days and nights passed while he waited for news from the North. Bolton wouldn't be able to hold out for long and sending an army so far north would be suicidal. Matthew considered how best to develop his new design, intent on sending it to Kevan Lannister when the time was right.
Even Margaery could not occupy his mind for long. Matthew doubted her initiating sex almost every night had anything to do with lust, instead wanting a child to secure her position, no less than him.
The days grew colder and snow piled up. Even with everything Matthew attempted, hunger grew, threatening to undo what limited gains he'd made in reducing infant mortality.
While there was no further uprising after the High Sparrow's death, more smallfolk followed the Red God by the day, transfixed by Trinity's power. Matthew suspected religious warfare would break out in the future, no matter what he attempted to prevent it. Trinity's presence meant at least no nearby lords would attempt to rise against him.
Few are willing to even question me with a dragon at my command. Matthew made clear he accepted honest criticism, so long as they remained respectful. He'd made more than his share of mistakes, as recent events had proved. Trusting Tyrion was the worst of them.
One of the few bright points was the supply of dragonglass. With an ample supply of spearheads and arrowheads, Matthew moved on to obsidian bullets, which his technicians had promised would work. He had his doubts, but kept them to himself.
Next was his meeting with Pycelle. Matthew intended to make sure his orders were being followed. Improving Westeros would be the work of a lifetime, but he was committed to it. A young girl hastened to open the door for him. "Thank you," Matthew nodded to her. "Keep warm if you can. It's going to be a nasty winter, no doubt." She froze as if not believing he'd noticed her.
Barristan was the first to enter inside, hand on his sword. The others followed him, though Jaime kept Matthew close. "Grand Maester?" He spotted Pycelle slumped down between the pages of a book. "All right, old man, wake up and. . ." Matthew noticed the blood pooled around his head, bone and brain bits decorating the floor. Beside him was a heavy candlestick.
"Your Grace, I suggest we leave this room immediately," Jaime spoke up. There were no obvious places for an assassin to hide but it didn't mean they weren't out there.
This is a trap. Matthew had no intention of sticking around. Others would be able to handle the investigation. His hand grabbed the doorknob, only to find it sealed. He pressed his body against it, but it refused to budge.
A stone slab was pushed aside by a pair of hands. Matthew shouted a warning, but too late. Two gunshots rang out, the second impacting Jaime's shoulder, the plate armor providing no protection. He collapsed to the ground, screaming in pain. Taking advantage of the distraction, a single gunman climbed through an opening in the stone, a swordsman covering him while he reloaded.
"Kill them before more come through!" Matthew didn't know how they obtained guns, but would only worry about it if he survived. Balon cut down the swordsman within moments, the man wielding the gun dropping it in his haste to flee.
Barristan killed him before he got more than two steps, but it was still enough for more assassins to crawl out, armored and wielding rapiers. While fragile, the blades could move faster than any longsword.
"A pity it's had to come to this, Your Grace," Matthew turned his head toward Varys' voice. It was faint, behind the walls, but unmistakable.
"Guards!" Bywater screamed. "The King requires your assistance!" He kept close to Matthew, Jaime still rolling around in pain. No matter what either of them died, the door would not budge even an inch.
Two more shots were fired, this time over Barristan's head, the sound disorienting friend and foe alike. He retreated to his King's side just as three more assassins managed to crawl through.
Balon shielded Matthew with his own body while Bywater struggled to open the door. "You aren't going anywhere, Your Grace," Varys' voice called out. "I've ensured the door locks from the outside. You didn't notice?"
"That all you got, Varys?" Matthew taunted in hopes he would show his face. "Going to have to do better than that if you want to kill me!"
Barristan dueled three swordsman at one, each of them quick enough to avoid thrusts in the gaps of their armor. Bywater and Balon each dueled a lone man, Matthew kneeling to see what he could do for Jaime.
Nothing I can do for that shoulder. Jaime's arm would have to be amputated for any chance of survival. Seems he can't win either way. Hardly believing he could find humor in the situation, Matthew turned his attention to the assassin crowding Pycelle's chambers.
"For the Young Griff!" the assassins proclaimed. "For the true King!" Matthew did not dare get too close, for their skill outclassed his. Even Barristan could not bring the fight to a swift end.
The room allowed minimal movement, with both groups of combatants punched together. Jaime screamed louder than ever but he still attempted to get back on his feet. Matthew thrusted and slashed where he could, never staying in one place for long. All they needed to do was hold on until more guards came.
More than a minute passed and still no one had arrived. The first of the assassins fell when Bywater locked his sword in place, plunging a dagger into his eye. Dozens of blows impacted them all, though none succeeded in causing more than a bruise through their armor.
Matthew looked over at the opening and spotted yet another man, this one wielding a gun. His eyes searched the Kingsguard but none had noticed their new enemy. Matthew charged forward, drowning out the frantic cries before him, and thrusted his sword into the man's throat before the gun could be fired.
The assassins were forced back toward the window. Finding themselves cornered, they resolved to fight to the death. Balon slammed the hilt of his sword into one's helmet, stunning him long enough to gain the advantage.
One by one, the attackers fell, bunched up in a corner and unable to get away. Apart from Jaime, none of them had any life threatening injuries.
"He's going to need immediate treatment," Balon moved to Jaime's side.
"I'll be fine!" Jaime insisted, finally getting to his feet. He chewed on his lip, trembling. "Look after my s. . . nephew!"
He tried to kill Sansa, tried to kill me, wants to plunge the realm into more war for his precious Daenerys. Varys had already retreated into the cavern, and dead men did not speak. "Damned eunuch is going to doom us all." Matthew could see nothing but red.
"Your Grace, we need to get you to safety," the door had been opened at last, twenty members of Matthew's personal guard ready for action.
"There won't be any safety for me, not as long as Varys' alive." Matthew moved to the opening. "You can follow me or not, but I intend to hunt him down." Heedless of his Kingsguards' protests, Matthew charged down after him. He ignored the voice telling him how dangerous this was. No matter what, Varys' threat would be at an end.
Bywater and Balon were the first to follow. While unscathed, Barristan was nonetheless exhausted and unable to move at their speed. Matthew's other guards muttered among themselves before lining up to do the same.
You're a dead man, Varys. Matthew didn't know the passageways as well as the eunuch, but was knowledgeable enough to find his way around. He kept his ears ready for the slightest noise, knowing Varys could not have gotten far.
Pebbles falling on the ground sparked his attention. Matthew trusted his guards to watch the places he couldn't while moving forward, concealing his position from the enemy. Little light existed in the corridors, but that hampered Varys as much as him.
A slight pant was all he needed to deduce Varys' location. Matthew dived, his fingernails digging into human flesh, preventing the eunuch from using his escape route. He threw Varys hard against the stone, stunning the man enough long enough to ensure he couldn't get away.
"Not this time, you bastard," Matthew swore. "I should have killed you the moment I took the Iron Throne. Couldn't resist coming with them to witness my last moments, could you?" He placed the dagger against his throat. "Answer my questions and you'll get a quick death. What have you been doing on Daenerys' behalf?"
"There's nothing you can do to intimidate me, my otherworldly visitor." Varys only smiled. Matthew opened his mouth in shock. "Yes, I know who and what you truly are. I figured it out before even Tyrion."
"Enough of your lies!" Matthew snapped for Barristan's sake. He drew the dagger across his throat hard enough to draw blood. "What have you done for her?"
Varys ignored his question. "Oh, few would have come to such a conclusion, but they have not encountered magic, as I have. I have seen all too clearly the destruction it causes. And you would make common cause with a priestess." His eyes hardened at that.
"I've wiped out your little birds. I've killed your assassins. I know you're working with Illyrio, so don't think of lying to me." Matthew pressed his dagger hard enough to squeeze out a trickle of blood.
"You don't know who you serve, do you?" Varys addressed the Kingsguard. "This is not the true Joffrey. That boy died years ago and who holds the Iron Throne is little but a mummer.
Matthew broke two of his fingers but Varys did not so much as scream. "I promised to flay you alive when I caught you. If you give me information about her, I might be persuaded to do it to your corpse instead."
"You know little, Matthew." He jumped at hearing his real name. "I heard you muttering in your sleep, arguing with someone. That is who you really are, isn't it?"
Matthew placed the dagger an inch inside his stomach, giving the wound a slight twist. "Daenerys couldn't have gotten so far without help. There's no one coming to help you."
Varys laughed, giggles audible from every nearby room on the other side of the stone. "Torture me all you like. It will do you no good."
"Even if I can't get information out of you, I know who can. Melisandre is a woman of many talents. I'll have her rip it out of your mind, piece by piece, until you're nothing but a shell. Death will be a mercy compared to her ministrations." Matthew had no idea whether she could do so but made the threat anyway.
That made Varys tremble where pain could not. "I am not assisting Daenerys to the Iron Throne. I serve the one true King, a man of the realm."
"I want a name!" Matthew dragged him down the corridor. "That or I can leave you to her! She's always begging me for human sacrifices." If he thinks me such a monster, I'll play the role.
"Aegon. . . Aegon Targaryen." Varys stammered out.
"Who the hell are you talking about?" Of all his potential threats, Matthew couldn't remember an Aegon on that list. "The Targaryens were killed."
Varys smirked. "You'll see him soon enough." He bit down on a vial of poison, glass slicing his mouth to ribbons, but the liquid still traveled down his esophagus. Matthew kicked the man as he collapsed against the wall, knowing there was nothing to be done.
"Eunuch must have gone mad, thinking someone could simply take over another man's body," Bywater looked down at his corpse.
Least none of them believed the story. Having someone transported to another world would be something impossible for most. "Always knew he was up to no good. Should have been removed the instant my father took the throne." Matthew stabbed him in the heart numerous times to ensure Varys was not faking his death. He wouldn't put it past the eunuch.
"Well, you heard him. There's someone calling himself Aegon Targaryen around."
"With the immediate danger over, we must see to Ser Jaime," Barristan insisted.
"I'll ensure my Uncle gets the best of care and send a raven to Oldtown requesting a new Maester. Hopefully one who isn't a lech." Matthew didn't care if their vows of celibacy were broken, so long as they weren't a pig about it. Lucky Varys decided to show up himself, else I'd never know where the next attack was going to be. Too arrogant to think his plans could go wrong. Truthful or not, Aegon or whoever this is has one less ally.
Matthew stayed silent on the journey back, ready for more possible traps Varys had set up. He couldn't remember who Aegon was, but he had yet another enemy to contend with. Daenerys coming from the North, Aegon preparing his own invasion of Westeros if he's not already here. If he'd landed, Matthew wouldn't receive news of it for days, maybe weeks, unless it was directly in King's landing. Plus, whatever's beyond the Wall, gathering its strength. If the Gods of Westeros are real, they hate me.
But there was nothing to be done about it except defeat them and pray there was a civilization left at the end of winter.
XXXXXXXXXX
Thought of resembling the scene with Kevan Lannister, but Matthew would never travel without bodyguards after all the assassination attempts. Trying to change things for the better makes him a lot of enemies and in Westeros, there are no quick solutions.