The fires of war that have ravaged westeros for years have burned out, but danger yet remains. The King in the North Robb Stark could count on unity while his bannermen fought for freedom, but now that victory has been achieved, keeping his realm together will be harder than he thinks, and he will soon find that crowns may give you many dilemmas, but few choices.
The Lannisters barely hold onto power in the south, their position secured by an alliance with House Tyrell and the military success of their war leader, Lord Loren Lannister. But the former relies on wedding the cruel boy-king Joffrey to the beautiful maiden Margaery Tyrell and the latter now stands at the head of House Lannister, but away from the battlefield, he will have to confront the reality of the regime he has fought to defend.
House Baratheon stands on the brink of ruin. Shireen Baratheon is the last legitimate child of the royal house. Unprepared for the crown that should have fallen to her beloved brother, if she fails, the last allies of her house might forsake them and any hope they might have of reclaiming the throne fade with the tide.
The rider had tried three different gates before he found one that would let him into King's Landing. He had come down the Rosby Road heading up the coast to the north from the city, thinking that the Iron Gate, situated in a corner would be quiet and he might enter unremarked. But on his approach, he was slowed by a constant stream of people heading away from the city. They came as individuals, families, larger groups, all sorts. Some were pulling hand carts, some had nothing more than the clothes on their back. "Where are you going?" He had asked one group.
"Back," they said simply, before carrying on up the road, keeping a respectful distance from his horse.
When he finally came in sight of the Iron Gate he reined up. So many people were coming out of the gate that they blocked the entire width of the road. He couldn't see beyond the gate itself, but there seemed no end to the swarm of people. So he turned his horse from the road, riding out along the wall until he came upon the next gate into the city. He had planned out the entire route before he left Tyrosh and had always intended to enter by the Iron Gate. From there he would be in the nest of Flea Bottom and right where he needed to be. No matter, the next gate would probably be close enough, he could work his way in from there. King's Landing was a mess, he knew, but was smaller than Tyrosh, Lys, Myr or Volantis, and he had found them easy enough to navigate.
But the next gate was the same, an unending column of people exiting the city. He didn't even try turning his horse, simply riding across the tracks to the fields beyond and continuing to follow the line of the wall. Mercifully, the next road was nearly empty with only a few travellers heading towards the city itself. The rider paused before turning his horse to follow them. Why was this road clear? Letting the fingers of his hand drop to brush over the pommel of his sword, embossed with a gleaming emerald, reassured by its familiar feel, he nudged his horse towards the gate. He dismounted when he fell within the shadow of the gate and pulled his hood down, best not to make the guards want to search him.
And there were guards. A line of them in gold cloaks and black mail spanning the road, with spears in hand. He glanced up and noted the arrow slits in the gatehouse, wondering how many of them were manned by archers and crossbowmen. Some, certainly. He saw one crossbow bolt sticking out beyond the arrow slit, trained on him. No sudden movements then. He stopped before the line of guards which had opened to allow a wagon through, but snapped shut behind him. He cleared his throat. "I would like to enter the city."
The first gold cloak cocked his head. He knew it was his accent. He had grown up in Westeros, but many years in the east now had left his accent a mess. Not of Westeros, but not of Essos either. A bastard with a bastard accent. "Are you a resident?" The guard asked finally.
"No."
"You have regular business here?"
"No."
The guard grunted and gestured for him to approach a table to the side of the road, where two officials sat in the shade. He nodded to the guards and led his horse over to the table. "I need to enter King's Landing."
One of the officials tossed the core of an apple into the grass and held up a finger for him to wait as he chewed and swallowed. "Name?" He said finally.
"Edmyn."
The official nodded and made a note of it. "And what is your purpose in entering King's Landing, Edmyn?" He glanced at Edmyn's waist. "Is it to do with that?" He jabbed his quill at the sword on his belt.
"I hope not. I'm only here to meet an old friend, I hope to be gone soon."
The official grunted. "You and everyone else."
"Yes, I noticed that," Edmyn said, glancing in the directions of the first two gates he passed. "Why are so many people leaving?"
"War's over. Refugees want to go home. I just count my stars that today this gate is for arrivals only, it's a mad riot when they're leaving, I tell you. Now, where are you planning on staying while in King's Landing?"
"I don't have a place planned. Do you recommend any?"
The official sighed and scribbled down on the paper again. "Avoid the inns on the waterfront, a lot of out-of-work sailors like to prowl there, other than that, take your pick, all of them want custom these days."
Edmyn nodded. The man kept making notes. "Do you know how long you'll be staying?"
"Not long."
"Can you be a bit more specific?"
"No."
"Alright then, that just leaves the entrance fee."
"Entrance fee?" Edmyn asked, hackles raised.
"One man to enter the city, plus a horse, plus a sword-"
"What does my sword have to do with it?"
"Swords can be trouble, trouble costs. Not sure how long you'll be staying, not sure where," the official kept tallying. "That comes to… ten silver stags."
Edmyn nodded, entirely certain that the man had made up the prices, and that he had noted the jewels on his sword hilt and broach when he had decided how much to charge. But better to appear hapless and therefore no danger. He fished out a thin silver bar and placed it on the table. "That should cover it."
"You don't have coins?"
"I've come from the east, haven't found a money changer to turn these back into your currency yet." He had looked in the towns he had passed, but none of them had moneychangers or mints that could do so. After he had gone to the trouble in Tyrosh of turning his stipend of coins into silver bars for ease of use, planning to turn them into Westerosi currency when he arrived. He shook his head, hopefully he would find somewhere in King's Landing to get at least one of his bars changed over.
"You should stop by the mint," the man said, pulling out a scale and taking ten silver coins from the chest beside him placing them on one of the scales and his silver bar on the other. His bar pushed down and the coins rose. "It's too much unless you have something smaller-"
Edmyn took the bar back, placed it on the table and pulled out a small chisel and mallet. Before the official could speak, and with a single, practiced blow, he hacked off a portion of the bar and put what was left back on the scales. They matched.
"You've got a good eye for silver."
Edmyn nodded, taking the hunk of his bar back and putting the mallet and chisel away. "You learn to, when you travel as much as I do."
"Well, welcome to King's Landing, Edmyn."
"I have a couple of questions, if I may."
The official glanced at the road, saw no one else was coming up it, and shrugged. "Why not."
"Do you know where I could find the Sloppy Brew?"
"I don't even want to know what goes into that, but I've never heard of it."
"It's not a drink, it's a place, my friend used to go there a lot."
He looked a little relieved. "Like I said, never heard of it, you know roughly where it is?"
"It's in Flea Bottom."
The official laughed. "Then it's gone."
"Gone?"
"Fire tore Flea Bottom down in the war, there's nothing left. Took a chunk of the proper city with it as well."
"That must've been some fire."
"Oh it was. Some idiots decided to try and kidnap the queen to be, when the soldiers went in to get her back," he made a puffing noise with his lips and waved his fingers in the air to simulate rising flames. "But your Sloppy Brew place is gone if it was in Flea Bottom."
"I see. What about the Arbrois' Emporium?"
"Know where that roughly is?"
"On the Street of Sisters."
The official nodded. "Just go straight down the street through the gate. You'll reach the Street of Sisters eventually, just ask around there."
"My thanks. Is there anything else?"
"Don't cause any trouble in the city, we've faced enough these past years."
Edmyn nodded and led his horse past the goldcloaks into the city. He stuck to the main street, keeping to the centre where he had a better sense of his surroundings. Most people moved out of his way with the horse, he diverted out of the way of those who wouldn't. The only two interruptions were when he was forced to divert out of the way of a patrol of goldcloaks marching on the beat, and when an unfortunate pickpocket attempted to reach under his cloak. Edmyn grabbed the man's wrist and twisted, sending him sprawling to the ground. He was given a wide berth after that until he reached the Street of the Sisters.
Running across the city, straight as a spear, the street emerged from the entrance of the shining Great Sept of Baelor to his right, down the hill, along the ground, and up opposite hill to the opposite him on which the ruined Dragonpit still stood. He turned towards the Great Sept and started walking, glancing around for any sign of the emporium. He couldn't find one so stopped at the stall of a merchant selling pastries. "I'm looking for Ambrois' Emporium," he said.
"Head down to the Dragonpit, it's on the left," the baker said. Of course he walked the wrong way, this entire journey was going wrong.
Edmyn thanked him and used what was left of the silver bar to purchase a small bag of the pastries for himself.
When he saw the sign for the emporium he smiled, finally he'd made it. Except of course, that he hadn't. The emporium was, he had been told, a small market of spice traders and exotic goods salesmen for the nobles who walked the street. But through the iron archway that led into the emporium there were no merchant shops or stalls. Instead there were straw targets and quitains for the practice of archery and spearmanship. Men in green gambesons embroidered with gold roses were practicing at every stand. Several of the doors leading into the houses were open and he saw crates and barrels. Two men were carrying a sack across the threshold of one doorway when it split and a cascade of feathers scattered to the floor. An officer yelled at them to start picking up the feathers before they dirtied. If Edmyn were to guess, they were to be used for fletchings. "Who are you?" Another officer demanded from a doorway. He had come out to see what the commotion was and now strode over to Edmyn, standing at the entrance looking in. Unlike the men under his command, he wore mail and a tabard.
"My name is Edmyn, I was looking for Ambrois' Emporium?"
"Have they still not changed the name yet?" The officer glanced up at the gate where the name was worked into the arch. "Merrill, get a message to the ironwelder, I've asked four bloody times to get this changed." He turned back to Edmyn. "This was Ambrois' Emporium," he said. "Now it's our barracks and storage facility inside the city."
"What happened?"
"Most of the emporium's merchants decided they would side with Stannis Baratheon in the recent war, thought they'd try to open one of the gates for him when he attacked the city. Now they're dead and Lord Tywin turned the emprium over to us instead."
"And who are you?"
"Where have you been?" He tapped the golden rose embroidered on his breast. "We're Lord Tyrell's men. But I'm afraid you've come too late."
"Too late for what?"
The officer cocked his head to one side. "You were hoping to join us weren't you?"
"I wasn't, I don't need work, I came looking for a friend."
"Ah, more's the pity. Those who came looking to work with us in the war were the dregs of King's Landing or refugees after revenge, we could've used proper soldiers like yourself." He glanced down at Edmyn's sword.
"Well there's no need for it now," Edmyn said.
"Good luck finding your friend," the officer's eyes narrowed suddenly. "Wait, why did you think you would find him here?"
Edmyn knew what the officer was thinking. The former residents of this emporium were traitors, why was this strange swordsman looking for friends in the homes of traitors. "He was always fond of exotic goods, we came here once, long ago, I thought he might have come here again, but clearly not."
"Well, best of luck looking for him. And if you ever are after work, you may want to stick around."
"Why?"
"All the great and the good of the realm will be here in King's Landing for the Royal Wedding, if there are any lords looking for soldiers for their retinues, you'll find them there."
"I'll keep that in mind, my thanks," Edmyn said, turning and leading his horse away, cursing his luck once again.
He led his horse back up the street of sisters, there was one last chance. If this didn't work he was going to have to try something more drastic. After stopping several people and asking for directions, he was eventually able to find directions to the Eel and Tankard.
The tavern was on Fishmonger's Square. He had been expecting to find the square filled with the stench of freshly caught seafood, but it wasn't. Most of the stalls were empty and clearly had been for some time. Some were serving as cover for vagrants to sleep under, others were selling other trinkets and goods rather than fish. Was the blockade kept so close to the city that they couldn't even sail out for fishing? He glanced in the direction of the docks. That was where most of the activity in the square was taking place. Ruffians prowled around that half of the square in twos and threes, big men, with a swaggering gait that he recognised from the sailors in Essos. It seemed the out of work sailors were not confined to the riverfront. He noted that a squadron of goldcloaks waited at one corner and a detachment of Lannister guardsmen in another. Presumably they were stationed there to rain in the sailors if they got out of hand.
Fortunately for him, the Eel and Tankard was on the safer side of the square, with a small stall that could fit four horses. Settling his mount onto one of the three empty stalls, he made sure there was water in the trough and headed into the tavern.
It was a smoky place, and here it did still smell of fish. He made his way through the disorganised mess of empty tables to the bar.
"Afternoon," the barkeep said, a sweaty man with his hair slicked to his scalp. "What can I get for you." The man was picking at his nails with a blunt knife, not paying much attention to Edmyn at all.
Edmyn leaned on the bar. "A friend of mine recommended this place to me."
"A wise friend, who was it?"
"Aruuk."
The man stood up, looking Edmyn up and down. Finally, he said "this way," and led Edmyn to the basement of the bar. He hefted a stack of crates out of one corner, revealing a small door, probably four, maybe four and a half feet tall. "Through here," he said, leading Edmyn in. Thankfully on the other side, was a carved stone passage that allowed him to stand back up to his full height. The barkeep lit a lantern and handed it to Edmyn, who took it, turning the light upon the man. "Follow this passage, straight on. When you get to junctions, take the passages marked with the skulls in cages above them. You'll eventually get to a crossroads, each of the passages with have the skull above them. Wait there, someone will get you."
"And when I want to come back?"
"You won't be coming back this way," He said.
"My horse is outside."
"I'll take care of it, don't you worry."
Edmyn half drew his sword, letting the light of his lantern glint off the steel. "Be sure you do."
The barkeep licked his lips and nodded. "Tell him I did good, won't you." The barkeep didn't wait for an answer, and climbed back into the Eel and Tankard and closing the door. Edmyn heard him shove the crates back against it. He sighed, turned, and followed the passage.
He imagined that this part of the journey was meant to disorient him, leave him at the mercy of his contact or doomed to wander the tunnels aimless. But Edmyn had no difficulty remembering his path back to the small door. He followed the skulls leering down at him from the lintels that he passed. The ground in the tunnel was solid and damp, the air was wet and damp. Edmyn gave a sniff of the air and continued until he found the junction with four skulls glaring down at him. So this was where he was supposed to wait. He sat down and pulled out the small bag of pastries and ate one of them. "Would you mind not staring, I don't like people watching me while I'm eating?" He asked, looking up at one of the skulls. Shaking his head he kept eating. He was on the last pastry when he heard footsteps. In less than a heartbeat he was on his feet and his sword was out.
A figure stood in the hallway behind him, dressed in black from head to toe, hooded and slight. A woman, he could tell, even if he couldn't see her face. His contact was a man, but perhaps he had sent this woman to guide him. "Are you who I'm waiting for?"
She stayed frozen for several seconds. Her hand was wrapped around a dagger with an intricate hilt. "No," she said finally, slowly letting go of the dagger. She turned and walked down one of the paths. She turned just before she disappeared into the shadows. "The person you're waiting for will be here shortly." Then she was gone.
Edmyn waited until he could only hear his own breathing before sheathing his sword and sitting back down. He finished the pastries and dropped the bag on the ground beside him. He fished out his hip flash and took a draft. He waited patiently as the minutes dragged on, going over the route back to the hidden door. Finally he heard footsteps and a figure walked into the light of his lamp. He was also hooded, dressed in grubby greys and browns, hunched and with a heavy gait. "Edmyn Rivers," he said.
"Indeed," Edmyn said, getting to his feet and picking up his lantern.
"Come with me."
Edmyn nodded and followed, staying a safe distance behind him. The man led him down several more tunnels of twists and turns and junctions until finally they emerged into a drafty chamber of cold stone.
"That's better," a voice said and it took Edmyn a moment to realise it was the man who had spoken. Gone was the harsh voice, instead a flowery tone spoke out. The man straightened, his footsteps became lighter and when he pulled his hood down the light of Edmyn's lantern glinted off a soft bald head.
"Lord Varys, I thought you were another messenger." Edmyn had heard how effectively the Spider could operate, but was still surprised to be caught off guard.
"Another? Why whatever do you mean?"
"The person who told me you were coming?"
"The innkeep?"
"No the woman in black."
Varys nodded. "Ah yes, her. I wondered if you would meet her. Did she say anything else?"
"Was she supposed to?"
"No, I suppose not," Varys led Edmyn over to where a small table was set for two, with half a chicken and a pitcher of clean water on it. "Please, have a seat."
Edmyn did so and Lord Varys carved some chicken for the pair of them. "How was your journey from Lys?"
"Not Lys, Tyrosh," Edmyn replied. He cocked his head. "You are a spymaster and you don't even know where the Golden Company is?"
"How do you think I get messages from Essos?" Varys asked, as though he were asking a child. "I am Master of Whispers, but the wind whispering is only a figure of speech. Word comes from essos by sail and Stannis Baratheon's fleet has blockaded the city so effectively I am well out of date with happenings on Essos. I was hoping you might enlighten me."
"You don't need to tell me about the blockade," Edmyn said, ripping some chicken off a drumstick and chewing it.
"Experienced it yourself?"
Edmyn nodded. "We heard of the blockade and assumed it would mostly be around King's Landing. We hired smugglers to steer us through to Duskendale, but there were warships waiting for us on every path. We had to divert up and around. The hope was that we could land at Maidenpool, but the harbour was shut, so I disembarked at Saltpans instead. A whole other Kingdom, I'm told."
"For now," Varys replied, not touching the chicken himself, sticking to water instead.
"Well from there I bought a horse and rode south, had a few entanglements with ruffians who mistook me for easy prey, had to sleep out in the cold because most of the inns are burned-out wrecks, and then I get to King's Landing. But since I haven't been able to stop at a town, I haven't managed to change my silver bars into coins, so there was a holdup there. Then I find our first meeting point was burned down and the next turned into a garrison of Tyrell soldiers." It was a good thing they had sent him, more than one of the company detested House Tyrell and may not have played so nicely with the soldiers there.
"The world changes and we do what we can."
"Yes, and has changed a lot. I thought the plan was for us to invade while the continent was at war, not after the war is done."
"Like I said, I am only a Master of Whispers, I have no armies to keep the war going. But this regime is not as strong as it might appear in victory, there are many cracks for us to exploit, and our king will only need one, after all."
"What cracks?"
Lord Varys poured himself another glass of water. "I had hoped that war might resume between the north and the south. Lord Tywin was intent on it, but since his passing-"
"Tywin Lannister is dead?" Edmyn interrupted, sitting up straight. "How?"
"He choked at a feast with the lords of the west and the new Lord Lannister is your old comrade in arms."
"Loren," Edmyn breathed.
"Lord Loren now," Varys said. "And while he is not Hand of the King, it was his victories that secured the throne and eliminated Stannis Baratheon, his power is considerable, and he is far less inclined to restart the war with the Starks."
"But still not entirely without benefit to us," Edmyn murmured. The triumvirate that had deposed the Targaryens was dead, they were always going to be removed before the invasion. After that, the biggest obstacles to their plans were Stannis Baratheon and Tywin Lannister, two brilliant captains of men, both would be opposed them. Now both were dead. "What about Loren?"
"Are you asking after the health of your old battle brother? Or how he factors into our plans."
"Both, but let's start with the latter. The plan was to drive wedges between Loren and his father, so that when we invaded Loren would turn back to us."
Varys raised his hands. "And I did just that, but once again, circumstances beyond our control-"
"Your control."
"My control got in the way," Varys admitted. "Lord Tywin never accepted Jaime's appointment to the Kingsguard. The removal of Ser Barristan gave him recourse to do the same with Jaime, but then Jaime spent the entire war as a prisoner of the Starks, he was never able to do so. I tried to nudge him that way, saying it was a dishonour for the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard to be held in bondage, but Lord Tywin thought it better the Lord Commander of the Kignsguard be held than his own son and heir. So that never happened. I pushed Tywin to give Loren a subordinate position on the council, so that he would be held back by Lord Tywin. I was ready to push him similarly on the matter of war with the north, but I cannot control Tywin Lannister's airwaves."
"Was Tywin the only one pushing for renewed war with the North?"
"No. But without him, I see it as incredibly unlikely. We haven't discussed any plans for it at the council since his passing."
"And I've never seen a dead man declare war."
"I have once, it was most extraordinary, but it won't be happening here."
Edmyn shook his head, not wanting to know. "You said there were still cracks to exploit?"
Varys nodded. "There are, but let us exchange shall we. How goes the plan in Essos?"
Edmyn grunted. "Not nearly as well as we would like," he admitted.
"Have you taken the cities?"
"We… have command of them," Edmyn said.
Varys just stared at him, asking the obvious question. "Each of those cities have a population of over a million and there are only ten thousand of us. We can take any of them when they rise in rebellion, but controlling them is another matter."
"Are they rising in rebellion?"
"Tyrosh three times, Lys twice. Myr has been surprisingly tame, it hasn't risen once, in fact the King was intending to move his court there since it's so stable."
"Tame is not a word I would have used to describe Myr," Varys said.
"Many of the richest magisters in the city fled before we arrived, those that remained are subservient for now."
Varys nodded. "I'd heard rumours of that from Dorne and my contacts in White Harbour," Varys said. "But my understanding of the plan was to use the Three Daughters and the disputed lands to raise a full army. How are you still only ten thousand?"
"Surely even you, spymaster, have seen enough of war to know you can't just take a vagrant off the street shove a spear into their hands and call them a soldier. It takes time and resources. Soldiers have to be pulled from the front lines to train them. Even then, these cities are mercantile, we don't have a steady stream of recruits lining up to join us. Most of those who do are former slaves and they need to be made fit enough to serve before anything else happens. I mean for fuck's sake, in Lys we're resorting to training former bed-boys to be soldiers."
"Well, the plan looks like it's meeting hindrances on both sides of the Narrow Sea then," Varys said and Edmyn had no reply to it. "How bad is it in the Three Daughters?"
"Given enough time, we will be able to bring the three cities under our control, of that there is little doubt, but the king does not wish to remain masked forever."
"He hasn't revealed himself?"
Edmyn shook his head. "We have decided that he will unfurl his true banner only when we are ready to invade Westeros."
"A very wise decision."
"But on the matter of soldiers," Edmyn said. "The Captain-General asks that you try to push for exile for as many recalcitrants as possible, and direct them to us if you can."
"That will be difficult while the Baratheon fleet controls the bay, but I'll see what I can send your way."
Edmyn nodded. Harry would be pleased to hear that. "You said there were still cracks we could exploit here?"
"You know the truth of King Joffrey's parentage?"
"We have." Given Stannis' control of the sea, Edmyn was sure that most of the Free Cities had heard his version of events now. "It's true?"
"Of course, it's all but an open secret here in King's Landing. Except for one."
"Who?"
"Why, your old friend of course."
That surprised Edmyn. "Loren doesn't know?"
"Why would he. He was not at the capital, he was at Casterly Rock or with you in the east at first, and then the war began which absorbed all his energies. As far as Lord Loren knows, this is still just a foul rumour to give Stannis a cause to press his claim."
"And now?"
"Well now Lord Loren is based here. He has yet to return to the field following the death of his father. The more time he spends here, the more likely it is that the truth will out."
Edmyn finished the last of the chicken and pushed the plate aside. "You think that will help us?"
"He has fought for these past two years to preserve the regime of a cruel boy, at the command of regents who disrespected him, by his perspective. He has lost friends, watched thousands of soldiers under his command die and committed heinous acts in the necessity of war. To learn that it was all for a lie…" He left the rest unsaid.
"And you think he will be open to joining us?"
"He has often spoken fondly of his time with you. The truth will make him malleable to joining us, or he will be broken by it and no longer be a threat."
"Loren Lannister will not break so easily," Edmyn assured the Spider.
"Then he will be ours."
"Are you sure, he is the Lord of Casterly Rock now."
"And still wears your golden arm rings to every council meeting."
Edmyn's eyebrows shot up. The golden arm rings of the Golden Company were a method of long-term payment more than anything else. Being constantly on the march, they couldn't be hauling around crates of gold with their backed-up pay in them. Every year of service got you one golden arm ring. While still in the company, they did serve to promote seniority, but once a man left it the expectation was that they would be liquidated to fund the start of a new life, along with the jewels in your belt and around your neck. Loren keeping them was a surprise that touched Edmyn.
"You said that Loren has not been named Hand of the King in his father's place, so who has been named?"
"No one as yet. The Queen Regent has not named one."
"So who rules then?"
"Thankfully for us. She does."
Edmyn had to hold in a snort. He had heard a lot of Cersei, from Loren especially, the idea of the woman ruling effectively was for the birds. "Can you keep it that way?"
"I did it once before, I will again."
Edmyn nodded. "And what of the North?"
"There, I'm afraid there is little I can tell you. My networks were disrupted in the war and it will take time to re-establish as many as I can. Not to mention much of the news from the North came by sea."
"Of course it did," Edmyn muttered.
"What will you do now? Return to the east?"
"Not immediately. The Captain-General sent me to gather as much intelligence on Westeros as I could, if you don't know how things stand in the newly independent North, I must go myself."
"You have a plan?"
"I'll go up through the Riverlands, see what has changed there from when I left, then I'll go to the North itself and take a ship back to the east through White Harbour."
"Very good, I'll provide you a list of my contacts in the North, if any of them are alive, they can tell you what they know. I'll also provide you some westerosi currency so you don't have the same problem you did at the gate. Where will I send it."
"I know an old brother-in-arms has an establishment in the city, I thought I might try there."
"The Golden Rings? I wouldn't," Varys replied.
"Why not?"
"It's become a favourite haunt of Lord Loren, it wouldn't do for him to recognise you, or for Dalwyn to pass on that you were there."
Edmyn hadn't known Dalwyn, and part of him wanted to see Loren again, but he knew it was too much of a risk. "Very well, I'll stay at the Eel and Tankard tonight and be gone in the morning."
"Go via the King's Gate, that one is assigned to be an exit from the city tomorrow, and I would recommend getting there early to avoid being caught in the throngs of returning refugees."
"I will."
Varys nodded, raised his hands and clapped twice. A child appeared as if out of nowhere by Varys' side. "This little bird will take you back to the city, you'll be only two streets away from the Eel and Tankard when you emerge. Give this to the owner," he slid a small pouch across the table, "with my compliments."
Edmyn nodded and pocketed the pouch. "If you want me to return anything to King and Company, leave it with me."
"It will be with you by the time you leave tomorrow," Varys confirmed. "Do give my best to the king, won't you."
