Game of Thrones Iron Stark

The tunnels beneath the Dragonpit were quiet and cold. Varys and Illyrio of Pentos met where no one would overhear them.

Illyrio's heavy face was tight with frustration. "Varys, our plans are finished. We need new ones. Viserys is dead. We do not even know if Daenerys carries a son."

Varys smiled, soft and unreadable. "I find I have little interest in overthrowing House Baratheon these days, my friend. What do you think of that?"

Illyrio stared at him. Years of work, gold, and careful moves had gone into restoring the Targaryens. One sentence could not erase it all. Daenerys still lived. She had married a khal with forty thousand screamers.

"You cannot be serious," Illyrio said. "Do not tell me the white stag has turned your head. Robert is no chosen king. He has lost battles before."

Varys gave a light laugh. "If Robert were truly favored by the gods, he would never have been defeated. He is lucky, nothing more. I serve no single man. I serve the realm."

Illyrio studied him. "So you will abandon Daenerys?"

"Not yet," Varys said. "Robert will not live forever. When he is gone, the succession may crack. That is when things become interesting."

Illyrio frowned. "Robert has two brothers, two sons, and a daughter. What problems could there be?"

Varys's voice stayed gentle. "That is the problem. Good men have already died asking the same question. Jon Arryn was one of them."

He stepped closer. "Keep writing to Ser Jorah. He is still our eyes on Daenerys. We need fresh news from the Dothraki sea."

Illyrio nodded slowly. "As you say. You are rarely wrong."

---

In the Great Sept of Baelor the High Septon's voice echoed off stone.

"May the Father grant you justice. May the Mother grant you mercy. May the Warrior give you strength. May the Stranger take your enemies. May the Smith forge your arms and armor. May the Crone give you wisdom. May the Maiden keep you pure."

Robert stood on the lower steps in his crowned stag cloak and golden crown. Ned watched from the side, fighting a smile. Most men only prayed to the Father and the Warrior. Robert looked ready to bolt.

The High Septon raised the sacred book. "Divine right flows from the gods to the king, Your Grace. The sun gives light to the moon. So the gods give light to the crown."

Robert tilted his head. "That moon-and-sun line sounds like something the maesters cooked up at the Citadel. Since when do septons quote scholars?"

A few men in the back coughed to hide laughter. Ned bit the inside of his cheek.

The High Septon did not flinch. "The white stag proves it, Your Grace. No Targaryen in three hundred years ever caught one alive. Not even Rhaenyra. The white hart appears only for the true and rightful king. You are that king."

Robert stared at him for a long second, then turned without a word. His guards and the gold cloaks followed him out. The Small Council trailed behind.

Ned shook his head once and went with them.

---

Back in the tunnels Varys and Illyrio kept talking.

"You will not have Daenerys killed?" Illyrio asked.

"No," Varys said. "Not while Robert still breathes. Let time do its work. When the king dies, the question of heirs will rise again. That is when we decide."

Illyrio accepted it. "Then we wait."

"Write to Jorah," Varys reminded him. "We cannot lose our eyes on the girl."

---

On Dragonstone the sound of picks and hammers rang from the cliffs. Tony had good masons and smiths now. King's Landing men worked fast when the pay was right.

Shireen followed him everywhere. The girl had recovered well. She asked questions without stopping.

"Tony, are dragons really from the sky? Or did they come out of the ground?"

Tony wiped sweat from his face. "Dragons are not natural creatures. Ancient fire mages made them with magic. They are bound to magic the way a fish is bound to water."

Shireen tilted her head. "Then why can Melisandre do so little? She serves the Lord of Light."

"Because magic is weak right now," Tony said. "This island still holds old dragon magic in the stone and the eggs. That is why she stays. She is waiting for the spark to return."

"What spark?"

Tony looked up at the sky even though it was day. "When the stars weep blood. A red comet will cross the heavens. Dragons will wake. Magic will rise again. That is the moment every true sorcerer has waited for."

Shireen frowned. "But you are a maester. You are not supposed to believe in signs and comets."

Tony gave her a crooked smile. "The Citadel wrote it down. They call it observation, not faith. I read their books and I study the things they forbid. Potions. Old rites. Whatever works."

Shireen watched him for a moment, then nodded like she understood more than a ten-year-old should.

Tony turned back to the vein of dragonglass. "Keep asking questions, little princess. One day you might need the answers."