Bran's mind was still filled with the image of Drogon's eyes—
eyes that seed capable of seeing straight through him.
He had never experienced such a feeling before.
Not even when he had made mistakes and faced his father's stern gaze had he ever felt this exposed.
And it wasn't just the eyes.
Standing before that small black dragon, Bran had felt as though he were facing a true dragon—
as if he himself were unimaginably small and insignificant.
But how could that be?
The dragon was so tiny.
"Bran, why did that little dragon want to kill you?"
Now that Drogon had completely disappeared into the distance, Jojen finally relaxed.
"I don't know," Bran replied quietly.
"But I'm certain—just a mont ago, he truly intended to kill .
I just don't understand why he suddenly changed his mind."
Even recalling the sensation made Bran's heart pound.
"If he'd really wanted to kill us," Osha said firmly, staring in the direction Drogon had flown,
"none of us would have had the slightest chance—
not even the two direwolves."
After witnessing how Drogon had shot into the sky, no one argued with her.
"Then… was that roasted at left for us?"
With the tension gone, Rickon's attention imdiately snapped back to the venison on the roasting rack, his eyes shining with excitent.
Seeing Bran nod, Rickon rushed over without hesitation, tearing off two chunks—
one for Bran, the other straight into his own mouth.
The mont the at touched their tongues, everyone froze in surprise.
None of them had expected food roasted by a dragon to taste this good—
it was even better than the roasted at they used to eat at Winterfell.
Osha herself wasn't especially hungry, but at roasted by a dragon was sothing she would never pass up.
She stepped forward, tore off a piece, and chewed thoughtfully.
Not long after Drogon left the North, a group of wildlings appeared beyond the Wall.
Among them was a brown-haired wildling woman with delicate features—
and Jon Snow, no longer wearing the black cloak of the Night's Watch.
Led by a golden-bearded man, they were dressed in thick furs, ropes coiled at their waists, preparing to climb the Wall.
---
King's Landing — Flea Bottom
At the end of a filthy, foul-slling alley,
a large, powerfully built man limped into view.
His long hair hung loose and matted, but through the gaps one could still glimpse a scar that ran across his brow, cutting through his eyebrows.
He waded through the sewage-filled street, clearly exhausted.
Leaning against a low wall, he glanced down at his injured leg, then casually looked around.
With practiced ease, he removed a loose red brick from the wall.
Inside was a rolled parchnt.
He slipped it into his sleeve, replaced the brick, and waited a mont.
Once he felt rested enough, the man limped out of the alley and disappeared into the crowd.
Disguised as a limping, burly man, the person was none other than Varys.
After retrieving the ssage, he changed his appearance once more before finally returning ho. Only then did he unfold the parchnt. Although it did not contain the dramatic upheaval in King's Landing that Drogon had ntioned, it still left Varys deeply shaken.
The most unbelievable revelation concerned Walder Frey's impending Red Wedding. Even knowing the letter ca from a mysterious and well-inford source, Varys found it difficult to accept.
Had House Frey gone mad?
To openly violate the guest right that had governed Westeros for over ten thousand years—to massacre Northern and Riverlands nobles during a wedding feast—was nothing short of insanity.
The Twins sat between the North and the Riverlands. Though House Frey was not weak, it was far from strong enough to withstand the combined wrath of both regions.
Varys knew House Frey's rise all too well. Their wealth ca from tolls, not honor, and this alone earned them the disdain of many noble houses. Though rich, they had never truly entered the ranks of the great houses—a fact that had frustrated generations of Freys.
Walder Frey had long sought a marriage alliance with House Tully, only to be rejected by Lord Hoster Tully on the excuse that he had no plans to arrange Edmure's marriage. As a result, Edmure remained unmarried well into his mid-twenties.
At last, Walder seized the chance to ally with Robb Stark. Yet Robb broke the betrothal and married another woman instead. For a man as prideful as Walder Frey, this humiliation—combined with the incentives promised by Tywin Lannister—could very well drive him to such a reckless gamble.
The mystery, however, lay in the letter's intent.
The anonymous sender warned Varys of Walder Frey's plot, but offered no instructions. Was Varys ant to secretly warn Robb Stark?
Having failed to save Ned Stark due to Joffrey's tyranny, Varys would gladly seize the chance to save Ned's wife and son.
The letter's second warning concerned Shae, Tyrion's lover.
Ever since Tyrion's betrothal to Sansa Stark, Varys had planned to send Shae to Pentos. With Cersei and Tywin in King's Landing, her exposure could easily prove fatal—not only to herself, but to Tyrion as well.
Though Tyrion had served briefly as Hand of the King, Varys had already recognized his talent. The realm, he believed, needed a man like Tyrion.
Varys had even prepared gold and jewels, intending to give Shae a comfortable life as a lady in Pentos. Yet the mysterious letter urged him not to send her away—warning that she might betray Tyrion instead.
Varys doubted this. Given Shae's devotion, even Tyrion's engagent to Sansa and subsequent neglect should not push her to betrayal.
Reading hearts, especially those of won in love, was Littlefinger's specialty—not Varys's.
Then it struck him.
He had planned to send Shae away without informing Tyrion. Shae would inevitably believe the decision ca from Tyrion himself.
Already forced to serve as a maid to Tyrion's betrothed, would she not feel humiliated? If she believed Tyrion was discarding her, might love turn to hatred?
Very possibly.
It took Varys a long while to reach this conclusion—longer, he mused, than training his little birds.
Though he now understood how Shae might betray Tyrion, Varys still could not grasp the magnitude of such a betrayal. Nevertheless, he canceled his plan to send her away.
The third matter concerned Prince Oberyn Martell.
Oberyn had never let go of his sister Elia's death. He longed to kill Gregor Clegane—the man who murdered her and smashed her children against a wall—and harbored deep hatred for Tywin Lannister, who had given the order.
Oberyn's arrival in King's Landing was likely to end in confrontation. Varys did not understand why the mysterious sender cared so much about Oberyn's survival. Was he hoping to win Dorne's allegiance?
The warning—"Do not let Oberyn get too close to the Mountain. Carelessness will an death."—troubled him.
Did it an Oberyn should avoid seeking revenge?
Until he understood more, Varys resolved to assign additional little birds to monitor Oberyn closely.
Yet the letter said nothing about the upheaval in King's Landing that Varys had been anticipating. It left him restless.
He had mobilized his entire intelligence network and still uncovered nothing worthy of being called a "great upheaval." For the first ti, he wondered whether the mysterious figure's plans might be flawed.
After all, Varys found it hard to believe that, knowing such an event was coming, he—the Spider—could uncover nothing at all.
---
In a lavish residence, a man barely four feet tall approached the entrance.
His oversized head, tangled beard, and unruly blond hair frad a grotesque scar that ran from his left forehead to his right jaw, nearly splitting his face in two.
Behind him walked a lean warrior with slicked-back hair, a longsword slung diagonally across his back.
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