The fire was burning low and red; and bathing the room in a crimson glow. Aegon stared hard into the flames, whispering softly to himself that the flames were staring back, and as a soft pad pad pad of footsteps behind his chair announced Varys' arrival; Aegon felt tears forming in his eyes, and his skin trembling as it turned to ice.

'Is it done?' he asked.

'Her patriarch assures me that she has been severely punished, Your Grace,' Varys purred in reply.

Aegon closed his eyes; imprisoning the tears within them, and swallowing as relief invaded and ruined him. Relief.

'And why, when he was 'severely punishing' her, did he not devote a split second to heeding my royal command and cutting her throat?' Aegon demanded, turning slowly in his chair to face his Master of Whisperers.

Varys bowed deeply.

'He tells me that her services are too valuable to lose at this time, Your Grace.'

Noise, emotion, pandemonium, anger burst into Aegon's mind and ruptured it; burning and shrieking as he turned back to the fire and tried to collect his thoughts. But his thoughts were running away with him, bursting into flame and lighting up the corners of him, the worst corners; the ones that should never be lighted. But she wasn't dead and he had wanted her dead, he had feared that she was dead, he had cried that she was dead, WHY THE FUCK WASN'T SHE DEAD, and he was leaping to his feet and throwing his wine glass against the wall while Varys stood calm and tranquil as though the whole fucking world wasn't about to end.

'Her services are too valuable?' Aegon thundered,'I have Seven Kingdoms to rule! I have a peace to keep; loyalties that I must command absolutely if I am to keep Westeros from descending into total fucking chaos! So when one of my own Kingsguard knowingly assists my wife and queen in rebelling against the throne, incites two of her brothers to follow her, and shows a compulsive inability to keep her mouth off Jaime Lannister's cock, then the need to preserve the rule of law by slaughtering the bitch far outweighs any interest I might have in helping those Faceless shits preserve whatever services she performs!'

'An excellent speech, Your Grace,' Varys replied, 'if I might suggest that you spare it for court tomorrow.'

Varys squealed as the king seized him by the throat with one hand and drew his dagger with the other; pressing its tip to Varys' throat and toying with the idea of cutting him. And though Aegon knew full well that assigning blame to his bitch queen or to her little Northern cunt of a Queensguard in front of one of his own co-conspirators was preposterous; that Varys knew, as well as he did, that he would be the sole ruler in Westeros by now had the dagger simply hit Daenerys' throat instead of her thigh, he found the sound of the blade as it glided furiously and lazily across the eunuch's throat immensely enjoyable.

'Your Grace, please, I cannot draw breath,' Varys was gagging in a sweetly high-pitched voice.

The eunuch's tone made Aegon laugh, and release him; and he chuckled as Varys gasped for breath and flapped his arms like a bird in flight, as though doing so would help him to breathe faster. Aegon crossed the room to the table to pour himself more wine, and watched as the bird ceased to fly, and continued to speak as though nothing had happened.

'Lady Sansa, Your Grace, continues to assure me that the man charged with ending the queen's life was her best knifeman.'

Aegon snorted in derision, then paused.

'Was?'

'I heard a song detailing a particularly unpleasant private disembowelment in her chambers earlier this evening,' Varys tittered.

'Let Lady Sansa kill whom she likes if it prevents her from contemplating other mischief,' Aegon replied; swallowing the wine and almost retching it up again as he felt his anger claw back towards him, 'did the Faceless Men also see fit to disobey my command that they provide us with information as to the manner of Lady Stark's escape?'

'Yes, Your Grace,' Varys replied.

'So we have no idea where she is, with whom or in what condition,' Aegon ventured; suppressing the desire to scream, with difficulty.

'Dragonstone seems the logical destination,' Varys concluded, 'if Her Grace – that is, if Princess Daenerys does indeed stake her claim to the throne from there.'

'She is no good to me in Dragonstone,' Aegon growled.

'My little birds will find her,' Varys simpered, prudently omitting to ask if the 'she' he should seek was Arya or Daenerys, and paying no attention as Aegon breathed deeply through the nose and forced himself to be calm.

It was harder than it had ever been before.

The fits come quicker now. And worse. Soon, they will take me. They will not take me.

'Do you have anything else to report before I retire for the night?' Aegon asked, in a level voice.

'The acolytes should arrive from Oldtown tomorrow, to assist with the wounded,' Varys told him.

'Good,' Aegon nodded, 'that was one of my better ideas.'

'There has also been a large influx of maesters from most of the Crownlands, and even the Stormlands, for the same purpose,' Varys went on; 'the city is quite overcome with goodwill.'

'See that these bringers of goodwill are properly supplied and lodged, and put a guard on all medicinal supplies. I want no camping out in brothels or unscrupulous trade in milk of the poppy.'

'With what coin am I to do this, Your Grace?'

Aegon sighed aloud.

When I meet Cersei Lannister in hell, I'll kill her again.

'Obtain a list of this year's balls, feasts and tourneys from my steward,' Aegon commanded, 'eliminate as many as you need to.'

Varys bowed, and turned to leave.

'Stay,' Aegon called.

'Your Grace?' Varys replied.

'Don't cancel the tourneys. The people crave distractions; and if we don't provide them, they will create their own.'