The Spider's Web

The System had confirmed Varys as a provisional ally. Even so, Ronan did not mistake allegiance for innocence.

"I am curious," Ronan said. "Did you ever truly serve House Targaryen?"

Varys smiled as if the question weighed nothing. "Perhaps I did, once. For now, I wish to place my little birds at Lord Ronan's service."

"Why?"

"Because I trust my little birds, and the web they have spun. They tell me that the king rising beyond the narrow sea will be you. Lord Ronan, you will be the new conqueror of Westeros."

His tone carried certainty, as though he had accepted some fixed truth. Ronan asked several more questions. Varys answered each one, and in detail.

His little birds were indeed capable. Even distant events in the North were known to him.

With such a man in hand, Ronan had effectively seized half of Westeros before raising a banner.

That filled him with confidence for the next step.

...

The next day, Ronan came to the Hand's Tower.

"I thought you might not come," Ned said.

He received the helper he had deceived into service while sorting through a mountain of delayed work. Judging by the papers on his table, Ronan would not be treated like a guest anytime soon.

"Ten thousand gold dragons are tempting," Ronan said. "My only concern is whether Lord Eddard can pay them."

Ned stopped writing and looked at him carefully.

"You did your homework."

"Of course. I am never careless with gold."

"And if I said I could not pay?"

"I would turn around and leave."

"That suits your profession."

"Thank you."

Ned felt a headache coming, but he did not intend to surrender the matter.

"I can see you raised to knighthood and landed status. You could become a noble. The gold I promised will also be paid, but..."

"But much later."

Ned's brows lifted. "You are sharper than I expected."

"Do not try to hire me with promises written on air. My blade dislikes liars."

Ned looked at the weapon. He remembered the tourney and realized he had mistaken it for a sword.

That stirred his interest in Ronan's true origin.

"May I see your blade?"

Ronan refused without courtesy. "It is not a decoration. I think we should return to the original matter." Ned's displeasure sharpened. The man before him was too arrogant. Then Ronan went further.

"If Lord Eddard cannot afford me, the Lannisters may be a better choice."

"That is not a good place," Ned said coldly. "The Lannisters will not speak as gently as I do. And you are only a sellsword."

Ned's patience had reached its limit. If not for Ronan's ability, he would have had the man thrown out.

Hearing Ronan mention the Lannisters drained away what remained of his desire to keep him. So the meeting ended with both sides walking away.

Ronan left the Hand's Tower in a very good mood. The thought he had just voiced suddenly seemed useful.

The Lannisters were rich. Apart from Lord Tywin, most of the family members in King's Landing looked young, proud, or careless.

If Ronan could slip into their circle and encourage the Lannisters to muddy the waters, his path toward invading Westeros would become smoother.

"Warrior Ronan!"

The voice came abruptly from behind him. Ronan turned with curiosity.

A finely dressed young man stood there, handsome in a soft way, with sandy-brown hair and pale green eyes. Unlike the guards Ronan had passed near the Hand's Tower, this one looked easy to intimidate.

"What is it?"

Ronan's cold stare nearly made the youth fold in half.

"I... I came by the king's command. His Grace wishes to summon Warrior Ronan."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. Yes, of course."

The lie was clumsy enough for any sighted man to catch. A royal servant would not stammer through a summons like that.

"What is your name?"

The youth hesitated for several seconds. "Lancel Lannister."

"Lead the way."

"Ah. Good. Yes."

When Ronan agreed, Lancel visibly swallowed. Ronan smiled. He could be almost certain that the king was not the one looking for him.

It was more likely someone close to the king. Someone who shared this handsome servant's name. The queen, perhaps.

Ronan had seen the famous Queen Cersei from afar at the tourney. She deserved her reputation as the jewel of the west.

Even after bearing three children, time had not left a clear mark on her. She was cold, proud, and beautiful enough to make men forget caution.

On the surface, Queen Cersei seemed not to care about anything. In truth, she was lonelier than she wished anyone to know.

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