Chapter 13: King's Landing Aftermath
POV: Geralt
The celebration crowds in King's Landing moved like a living thing made of joy and terror in equal measure. Three days after Blackwater, the city still reeked of smoke and wildfire, but the people were determined to revel in their survival with the desperate enthusiasm of those who had stared death in the face and lived to drink about it.
Perfect cover for a man who needed to move through the capital without being noticed.
I'd traded my servant's rags for the rough-spun clothes of a common laborer, complete with the kind of soot stains and burn marks that half the city's population bore after the battle. My face was deliberately smudged with ash, my hair hung lank with grease, and I moved with the careful limp of someone who'd been caught too close to the fighting.
Just another survivor in a city full of survivors.
[Infiltration Status: Deep cover in civilian population]
[Identity: Blackwater Bay survivor, minor injuries]
[Cover Story: Dockworker caught in wildfire blast]
[Objective: Prank activation and intelligence gathering]
[Detection Risk: Minimal in current chaos]
The pranks I'd planted three nights ago were beginning to manifest throughout the Red Keep, and the results were everything I'd hoped for and more.
Street vendors were selling crude wooden crowns painted copper-red, openly mocking Joffrey's humiliation during the victory feast. Children ran through the crowds wearing fake crowns and pretending to throw tantrums, their high-pitched voices imitating the boy-king's infamous shrieks. Even the gold cloaks were smirking behind their hands.
"Nothing destroys authority like being laughed at by children," I thought, watching a particularly accurate impression that had a crowd of dock workers roaring with laughter.
But the real entertainment was happening inside the Red Keep itself.
I'd positioned myself among the crowd of common folk allowed into the castle's outer courtyards for the public celebration. From here, I had a perfect view of the great hall's windows, where the royal court was supposedly enjoying a feast to commemorate their great victory.
The word "enjoying" was definitely relative.
Through the tall windows, I could see courtiers clustered in small groups, their heads bent together in the kind of intense whispered conversations that marked serious political gossip. Servants scurried back and forth with unusual urgency, carrying messages and supplies with the frantic energy of people dealing with a crisis.
And at the center of it all, Queen Cersei Lannister was having what could only be described as a very public nervous breakdown.
[Target Assessment: Cersei Lannister]
[Prank Effectiveness: Exceeding all expectations]
[Political Impact: Reputation damage severe and ongoing]
[Secondary Effects: Court confidence significantly shaken]
Even from this distance, I could see that something was seriously wrong with the queen's appearance. Her elaborate gown—the one that should have been the pinnacle of royal fashion—was developing increasingly obvious stains and tears that spread across the fabric like a disease. Every time she moved, the damage got worse, creating patterns that looked suspiciously like bodily functions.
The itching powder was working perfectly too. Cersei kept scratching at her arms and neck with increasing desperation, her regal composure cracking as the chemical irritants made her skin crawl. She'd try to stop herself, maintain her dignity, but within minutes she'd be clawing at herself again.
"The binding agents are the real masterstroke," I mused, watching her attempt to gracefully adjust her dress only to have another section tear away entirely. "The more she tries to fix it, the worse it gets."
But the moon tea incident was the coup de grace.
Word was spreading through the castle like wildfire that the queen's chambers had been found reeking of contraceptive herbs, with purple stains covering her floor and a smell that would take days to eliminate. The implications were scandalous enough to fuel gossip for months, especially given Cersei's well-known... appetites.
Nobles who had spent years carefully maintaining their distance from royal politics were suddenly finding excuses to avoid being seen with her. Lords who had previously competed for her attention were developing sudden cases of urgent business elsewhere. Even her own guards looked uncomfortable in her presence.
[Social Isolation: Accelerating degradation of support network]
[Reputation Damage: Compounding across multiple vectors]
[Political Authority: Significantly undermined]
A commotion near the great hall's main entrance drew my attention. The crowd pressed forward, eager to see what new drama was unfolding, and I moved with them, using their enthusiasm as cover to get closer to the action.
What I saw made me grin with satisfaction.
A line of young women in elaborate court dress was entering the hall, led by a girl who could only be Margaery Tyrell. Even among the notorious beauties of the Reach, she stood out—graceful as a dancer, beautiful as a painted portrait, and radiating the kind of calculated charm that made men forget their own names.
But more importantly, she was accompanied by an entourage that included several older women who were examining the royal court with the focused intensity of predators evaluating new hunting territory.
The Tyrells had arrived to claim their prize.
[Political Development: Tyrell arrival confirmed]
[Strategic Opportunity: Alliance formation window open]
[Intervention Potential: Indirect influence on negotiations]
[Timeline Significance: Major political realignment commencing]
I'd prepared for this moment by planting carefully crafted information in the Tyrell quarters three days ago. Nothing obvious—just a few documents left where the right people would find them, containing intelligence about Joffrey's true nature and suggestions about how to handle him.
Handle being a very relative term.
The documents painted Joffrey as dangerously unstable but controllable through specific psychological manipulation techniques. They provided detailed information about his triggers, his fears, and most importantly, his desperate need for approval from beautiful women who seemed impressed by his power.
Information that would help Margaery survive her eventual marriage while positioning her to gradually gain influence over the boy-king.
But I'd also left warnings.
Hidden among the more practical advice were coded references to Joffrey's violent tendencies, his unpredictable rages, and the very real danger he posed to anyone who couldn't maintain their usefulness. The kind of information that might save lives when properly interpreted.
[Intelligence Package: Tyrell briefing materials deployed]
[Content: Joffrey psychological profile and handling techniques]
[Protective Warnings: Coded safety information included]
[Strategic Value: Enhanced Tyrell survival probability]
I was watching Margaery's graceful entry when another movement caught my attention. A figure in black and gold approaching the great hall with the careful gait of someone recovering from serious injuries.
Tyrion Lannister, the hero of Blackwater, making his first public appearance since the battle that had saved King's Landing.
The little lord looked exactly as bad as I'd expected. His face was a map of scars from the battle, with a particularly nasty cut across his nose that would mark him for life. He moved slowly, favoring his left side, and his usual wit seemed dulled by pain and exhaustion.
But he was alive, which was more than could be said for many of the men who'd stood with him on the walls.
[Key Figure Assessment: Tyrion Lannister]
[Physical Condition: Recovering from severe combat injuries]
[Political Status: Enhanced by heroic reputation]
[Strategic Value: Maximum ally potential]
[Intervention Opportunity: Anonymous support package]
Time for another gift.
I slipped away from the crowd and made my way toward the castle's service areas, where controlled chaos reigned as servants prepared for the ongoing festivities. The kitchens were perfect cover—too busy for anyone to pay attention to one more worker carrying supplies.
I'd prepared a special package for Tyrion, something that would demonstrate knowledge and capability without revealing my identity. The contents were carefully chosen to intrigue without threatening, to offer aid without demanding explanation.
[Prepared Gift: Casterly Rock architectural analysis]
[Content: Detailed defensive blueprints and structural vulnerabilities]
[Source Implication: Someone with access to Lannister family secrets]
[Message: "Height matters less than depth - A friend"]
The documents contained information that only someone with intimate knowledge of Casterly Rock could possess—detailed layouts of the ancient fortress, including passages and weaknesses that weren't marked on any public maps. Information that might prove crucial if Tyrion ever needed to defend his family's seat... or assault it.
But the real message was in the presentation. The papers were bound with expensive leather, written in multiple hands to suggest a network of sources, and sealed with wax that bore no identifiable marks. Professional work that implied resources and organization.
Someone was watching. Someone was helping. Someone wanted Tyrion to know he had allies he'd never suspected.
I left the package in Tyrion's private study, placed where he'd find it easily but where casual visitors wouldn't notice. The timing was perfect—he'd discover it within hours, when he was alone and had time to properly examine its contents.
[Anonymous Gift Delivery: Successful]
[Discovery Timeline: 2-4 hours estimated]
[Psychological Impact: Mystery ally confirmation]
[Strategic Value: Increased Tyrion paranoia about surveillance networks]
With that task complete, I made my way back toward the celebration crowds. But as I moved through the castle's corridors, I caught fragments of conversation that made my blood run cold.
"—Tywin arrived this morning—"
"—wants answers about the intelligence failures—"
"—someone's been feeding us false information—"
"—investigation expanding beyond military matters—"
"Fuck." My manipulations at Harrenhal had been discovered. Tywin was connecting the dots, realizing that someone had been systematically undermining his intelligence network, and he was bringing the full weight of his attention to bear on finding the culprit.
Time to disappear.
[Threat Assessment: Tywin investigation launched]
[Cover Status: Potentially compromised]
[Extraction Window: Immediate action required]
[Destination: Northern territories, resume Harrenhal surveillance]
I made my way through the castle's service areas one final time, collecting the last few items I'd need for the journey north. The celebrations would continue for days, but my work in King's Landing was done.
Behind me, Queen Cersei was discovering that royal dignity and chemical warfare made poor bedfellows. King Joffrey was learning that authority required more than a crown—especially when that crown looked like it belonged in a market stall. And Tyrion was about to find evidence that he had mysterious allies with very detailed knowledge of his family's secrets.
The Tyrells were positioning themselves for power, the Lannisters were dealing with humiliation and paranoia, and somewhere in the Red Keep's depths, servants were trying to figure out how to get the smell of moon tea out of royal chambers.
[Mission Status: King's Landing objectives complete]
[Chaos Deployment: Maximum effectiveness achieved]
[Political Disruption: Ongoing effects will persist for weeks]
[Strategic Position: Enhanced through multiple interventions]
As I slipped out of the castle through the same route I'd used to enter, I allowed myself a moment of satisfaction. The Battle of Blackwater had been won by the right people for the right reasons, and the aftermath was unfolding exactly as I'd hoped.
But in the distance, I could see the banners of Tywin's army settling into camps around the city. The Old Lion was here in force, and his investigation into intelligence failures would be thorough, methodical, and absolutely ruthless.
Time to return to Harrenhal and fade back into the shadows where I belonged.
The war was far from over, and winter was still coming for everyone.
But tonight, at least, I could sleep knowing that I'd made the world a little more chaotic, a little more just, and significantly more entertaining.
[Extraction Sequence: Initiated]
[Return Destination: Harrenhal]
[Mission Assessment: Overwhelming success]
[Next Objective: Resume covert operations]
The game continued, and I was winning.
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