Tyrion pondered more deeply and said thoughtfully, "The information Rhaelyssa received before was blurred, as though covered with a veil.
But yours feels as if we are right there, vivid and lifelike. Do the two differ in bandwidth? Is the channel she occupies narrower?"
"Very perceptive!" Dany praised, then shook her head. "The information all comes from Marwyn's eyes and ears—no more, no less. It's just that Rhaelyssa's abilities are weaker, and she can only process a limited amount at one time."
"The images come from Archmaester Marwyn's eyes. Judging by the angle and position of the figures, he must be squeezed among the smallfolk in King's Landing.
Why didn't anyone notice the glass candle in his hand?" Tyrion pressed.
"Haha, Tyrion, that's a foolish question." Aegon, who had been unable to get a word in until now, suddenly burst into laughter.
"What do you mean?" The dwarf arched a brow at the young man.
"It's simple. Why can't you see what's on the magic mirror when you stand outside the door? Because the door blocks it. Likewise, Archmaester Marwyn must have hidden the glass candle under his robe." Aegon grinned as he spoke.
"Uh…" Tyrion was dumbfounded.
"Ahhhh!" Elia and Jiki suddenly shrieked. "So ugly! So small!"
The seven maesters and archmaesters had finished confessing their crimes, and under the monks' supervision began to shed their outer robes, revealing withered, jerky-like bodies underneath.
The two horse-maidens had no interest in the magical principles of the mirror. In their hearts, their Khaleesi could do anything. A live 3D broadcast was nothing—if she dragged them to King's Landing itself, they would simply sigh once and then continue watching the spectacle.
Keeping their eyes fixed on the image, they immediately spotted the shriveled "little meat" hanging on the old dried flesh.
They widened their eyes, screamed, and pulled disgusted faces.
Dany felt a trace of embarrassment and quickly applied a mosaic to blur that part of the image.
"Aw!" The horse-maidens let out regretful sighs.
"Heheheh…" Tyrion chuckled under his breath.
"What are you laughing at? The day your sister was marched like that, hundreds of thousands in King's Landing saw it all." Dany sneered coldly.
Tyrion instantly stopped laughing. His expression froze, and in his eyes flickered three parts anger, seven parts sorrow. He sighed, "The High Sparrow will not end well. He's gone too far."
"Shame, shame!" Three elder septons led the way, ringing bells as they chanted, "Come see the sinners steeped in shame! Sins far greater than the Rat Cook's! Shame! Shame!"
The seven old maesters and archmaesters, faces ashen as death, covered their groins with one hand and their faces with the other, heads bowed, enduring the spit of countless onlookers, along with rotten fruit, maggot-ridden carcasses, even dung hurled at them.
Farmers, merchants, tanners, stableboys and mummers, beggars, thieves, and whores—everyone poured out to gawk at the seven who bore such grievous sins.
Someone shouted at the maesters, "Degenerates! You shameful degenerates! Cruel Maegor was kinder than you! Foolish King Aegon was wiser than you! The Rat Cook and Walder Frey were truer to their word than you! The whore-queen Cersei was more honorable than you! Mad King Aerys was more rational than you!"
The accused maesters and archmaesters, already hollow with despair and regret, hung their heads. But even those watching the broadcast in Dany's chamber felt intensely awkward.
"Can we see my sister?" Tyrion asked, rubbing his nose.
"That depends on whether your sister steps out of the Red Keep."
The dwarf's question was as foolish as asking if one could see the emperor by simply entering the capital.
Still, once Marwyn left the crowd and entered a private room at an inn to draw out the glass candle again, Dany sent him instructions: when the maesters passed by Aegon's High Hill, use the spyglass to search the Red Keep, and above all, look for Cersei in Maegor's Holdfast.
By chance, from the top of the belfry, Marwyn did indeed spot Cersei doubled over in laughter.
"Euron—that's Euron, isn't it?" Ser Jorah exclaimed.
At the balcony's railing, a scarred man with a patch over his left eye spread his arms wide, leaning over Cersei, who wore a goose-yellow gown. Her short hair brushed against him as she pointed with her right hand toward the parade of maesters below, laughing so hard she nearly fell.
There was only image, no sound, and the picture was not very clear.
But it was plain to see: the Queen Mother felt no sympathy for the maesters' humiliation. On the contrary, she was reveling in it.
"Ah, long time no see, sister. Your flair hasn't changed a bit!"
That familiar face, that familiar smile, that all-too-familiar manner—Tyrion was filled with countless feelings.
Yet what shocked Dany was Euron's lips, which had turned blue like those of the Qarth warlocks.
Had he drunk the shade of the evening as well?
Where could he have gotten it?
If he had sipped it, had he too become a warlock?
At that thought, Dany remembered another old acquaintance—the warlock Pyat Pree.
According to Xaro, Pyat had led two fellow warlocks to pursue her by ship not long after she left Qarth.
But she never encountered him.
Had he chased her all the way to Pentos and never returned?
Nearly three years had passed.
"Ah! Euron's lips are blue! He must have drunk shade of the evening and become a warlock!" Ser Jorah cried.
He and Dany had thought the same thing.
Dany cast him a glance, frowning. "Strange. Cersei and Euron, like a turtle and a green bean, actually hit it off? But wasn't she said to love only the Kingslayer?"
"Your Grace, you're mistaken. My brother loves only my sister. But my sister… she loves other things too. She won't fall in love with Euron, but she'll certainly want something from him.
But my brother is wildly jealous. He couldn't even tolerate Robert touching her. When he returns to King's Landing, he'll likely kill Euron." Tyrion sighed, rubbing his forehead.
They didn't watch the entire parade; the repeating scenes grew tedious.
The next day, after the walk of shame was complete, the seven archmaesters and a group of prisoners were sent to Dragonstone.
Once it was confirmed that White Walkers existed beyond the Wall, the High Sparrow began zealously gathering criminals to man the defenses. Dragonstone became the staging ground.
But then came an unexpected twist. Among those prisoners, three stood out—bringing to Dragonstone a messenger from Littlefinger himself!
"His name is Oswell Kettleblack, a tall, white-haired warrior. He came as Petyr Baelish's envoy, declaring allegiance to the true dragon," Archmaester Marwyn reported through the magic mirror.
"Why would Littlefinger swear allegiance to me? Isn't he living quite comfortably in the Vale?" Dany asked in puzzlement.
"Perhaps he wishes to remain comfortable forever. After all, his title as Lord of Harrenhal comes from the Lannisters. Once you…" Marwyn trailed off, uncertain.
"Has anything unusual happened in the Vale recently?" Dany asked.
"Unusual? I've been so preoccupied with setting up magic nodes that I haven't paid attention to the Vale." Marwyn looked baffled.
Dany thought for a moment and said, "Then summon Maester Pycelle. He manages the rookery and often communicates with maesters elsewhere. He may be able to answer my question."
Pyros the maester had indeed been gathering information from all the great kingdoms—not only from the Vale of Arryn, but also from the North, the Westerlands, Dorne, and the Stormlands.
"Every duchy's maester regularly exchanges information about their territories with maesters from other duchies. This is part of our daily duties," the gray-haired youth said solemnly.
If a maester knew nothing about the news of the Seven Kingdoms, then what use would they be to their lords? Naturally, this also meant that maesters easily controlled the web of intelligence and public opinion that linked the great domains of Westeros.
"Your Grace, I believe there are three matters worthy of your attention: First, Duke Baelish suddenly presented a bastard daughter named Alayne Stone. He once tried to arrange a marriage between Alayne and Ser Harrold, heir to the Vale.
If Robert Arryn were to die young, Duke Baelish could continue wielding influence at the Eyrie.
But recently, it seems the duke has changed his mind. Lady Alayne and Ser Harrold rarely have contact anymore.
Second, Brienne of Tarth, the knight without a cloak, went to the Eyrie searching for Sansa Stark. Failing to find her, she refused to leave, and the Vale lords have not expelled her.
Third, Duke Baelish has shown friendliness toward you. He once had the ships of Gulltown help Ser Rega Celtigar transport grain to relieve the Riverlands.
At the same time, Duke Baelish rejected the Iron Throne's invitation to serve as Master of Coin in King's Landing."
"Alayne Stone?" Dany's expression was odd. "Maester, do you think Baelish truly intended to marry her to that… Harrold?"
"How could such a thing be fabricated? Harrold is the heir of Lord Robert Arryn. How could he be deceived so easily? Of course, it was only a proposal, not a formal betrothal. Breaking it off now does not count as a breach."
Could Littlefinger really stoop to the trick of "sending his woman a thousand miles away to another man"?
Alayne was almost certainly Sansa, and Littlefinger seemed to be entangled in a forbidden romance with her.
To give his own woman to another man—what kind of twisted mindset was that?
"Brienne was alone?" Dany asked again.
"From the Riverlands onward, she has always traveled alone," Maester Pyros replied.
But that might not be true this time. Brienne surely carried Lady Stoneheart's shadow behind her.
Dany's guess was not wrong. Without Littlefinger's knowledge, Lady Stoneheart had already begun extending her influence into the Eyrie.
The bard "Seven-String Tom," who once sang the ballad of the "Violet Knight" about Sansa, was in fact a spy of the Brotherhood Without Banners.
He often disguised himself as a singer to gather intelligence for them—and he had already met Sansa.
"Tell me about this envoy. What exactly did Littlefinger promise, and what does he want from me?" Dany asked.
"Like other lords, Duke Baelish declared he was willing to bring the Vale's allegiance to the true dragon, but he gave no concrete promises.
Then, he requested that Dragonstone quietly hand over three prisoners to him," said Marwyn.
"Which three prisoners?" Dany asked curiously.
"The Cattlblack brothers—sons of the envoy Oswell Kettleblack. He hopes you will spare his only three sons," Marwyn said, his expression twisted.
Clearly, he understood what that implied.
"I see," Dany sighed, her mind racing further.
If Littlefinger had managed to plant three spies close to Cersei, it was highly possible that he also had agents hidden on Dragonstone.
"Refuse him!" she declared.
Littlefinger's oaths of fealty, Cersei's vows, Walder Frey's feasts.
She would be a fool to believe in Littlefinger's loyalty.
"Refuse who?" Marwyn asked, startled.
"Refuse Littlefinger. I will keep my own oaths; I do not need his allegiance. Refuse old Kettleblack as well. I sympathize with his plight, but Dragonstone is only a waystation. We cannot break sworn rules between lords and the Night's Watch, and we will certainly not release prisoners of the Faith," Dany said firmly.
"As you command, Your Grace!" Marwyn bowed.
"What news from the North?" Dany turned to Pyros.
"From Maester Theomore at White Harbor: Duke Stannis has taken Deepwood Motte and secured the allegiance of Lady Alysane of Bear Island. He now marches toward Winterfell.
Roose Bolton has demanded that Duke Euron surrender Moat Cailin so his forces may return north."
"Are the Mormonts mad?" Dany's mouth twitched.
Bear Island was nothing but a pitiful, barren land. They could not even muster a hundred men.
Without strength, they should have stayed quietly on their island for the winter instead of rushing into danger.
Even if they wanted to play the game of thrones, they should have chosen a better liege lord.
When the communication ended, Dany summoned the Great Bear, told him of the North's situation, and asked, "Do you wish to return home?"
The Great Bear hesitated. "It would make no difference if I did. Alysane swore to Stannis for the Starks' sake. She wants Bolton dead, to avenge those who perished in the Red Wedding. I have no standing—"
At that moment, Missandei's alarmed voice rang from outside the study: "Your Grace, Your Grace, something terrible has happened! Prince Aegon and General Wildfire have been assassinated—"
(Author's note: Interested readers may revisit Chapter 482, where Seven-String Tom rewrote the tale of the Dragon Queen into a kind of 'fanfiction'.)
(End of Chapter)
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