A Game

February 1st. The afternoon sun was glaring.

Queen Cersei's grand procession finally appeared outside the Lion Gate of King's Landing.

The Gold Cloaks guarding the gate eagerly dispersed the dense crowd at the entrance, clearing a path for the queen's party.

The queen's enormous Wheel Palace moved slowly in the middle of the procession.

Ser Jaime rode ahead to clear the way.

He wore an intricately crafted suit of Porcelain White Scale Armor and the long white cloak unique to the Kingsguard, making the Gilded Longsword at his waist stand out all the more.

The Kingslayer held his head high and chest proud, like a victor returning in triumph, stamping the sharp, arrogant smile on his face into the hearts of countless passersby.

Behind the Kingslayer was a carriage tightly covered in black cloth, with Joffrey following closely behind it.

Before even entering the Lion Gate, the heavy stench of humans and animals flooded his nostrils, once again letting Joffrey, who had grown accustomed to the fresh air of the wilds, experience the "flavor" of King's Landing.

He could only endure it and try to focus his attention on the sights along the way.

The moment they passed through the Lion Gate, vast stretches of densely packed, low-roofed homes came into view. Many children and youths were leaning curiously from their windows to watch.

Further into the city, there were more and more inns, taverns, warehouses, shops, and brothels. These places were far less interested in the queen's beauty; only Golden Dragons and Silver Stags could open their doors.

The streets were extremely crowded. From horseback, he could see nothing but countless heads and a dizzying array of clothes and faces.

Commoners, knights, peddlers, craftsmen, beggars, mercenaries, travelers, prostitutes, gang members...

Halfway along the route, his view suddenly widened. The enormous statue of Baelor I, its expression filled with compassion, occupied the center of his vision. He raised his head and finally saw the full splendor of the sacred, dazzling Great Sept of Baelor.

The center of the Faith of the Seven, a magnificent sept of white marble surrounded by seven crystal towers.

Religion. His thoughts churned.

Were the Seven real beings, or merely imaginary idols?

Was R'hllor, the Lord of Light's power some kind of magic, or another mysterious force?

The procession then arrived at the great square in the heart of the city. Continuing straight ahead, they passed Aegon's High Hill, returned to the Red Keep, and entered through those bronze gates.

With the queen returning to the palace, the servants had naturally come out early to welcome and attend her. The scene was quite lively.

He came back to himself.

Time to play the willful prince again.

The Crown Prince dismounted, his face full of anticipation as he waited for the soldiers to pull away the black cloth covering the carriage ahead.

Four soldiers tugged together, and the living creature beneath the cloth saw sunlight again.

The servants erupted in an uproar.

"Father above, what kind of miracle is this?!"

"Monster! Monster!!"

Joffrey planted his hands on his hips and laughed triumphantly.

"Scared, aren't you? This is my mount. Mine!"

The servants hurried over to flatter the Crown Prince.

Only after the carriage carrying the Giant Lion had reached the stables did Joffrey leave his "mount" in satisfaction and prepare to return to his chambers.

Somewhat surprised, yet somehow unsurprised, he ran into Littlefinger halfway there.

"Your Highness."

Littlefinger still acted like the most loyal of retainers.

"First, allow me to congratulate you on possessing such a majestic mount. It truly is a gift from the Gods. However, I have another piece of good news."

He raised his eyes and glanced at the Crown Prince. "Do you remember the Dragon Eggs from your Name Day? They have arrived."

Joffrey's face lit up. "Then why aren't you taking me to see them?"

Littlefinger bowed to accept the order.

"There is also a small matter I must ask Your Highness about. Your attendant Elin was unfortunately cursed by the storm and did not return with the ship. Instead, he remained alone in Pentos. What would you have me do?"

Joffrey frowned slightly. "What a disgrace to me! Ignore him. He can die over there!"

"Where are my Dragon Eggs?"

"Your Highness, there is no need to trouble yourself. They have already been delivered to your chambers."

Joffrey gave Littlefinger an approving look.

On the steps of Maegor's Holdfast, Tyrion was sitting outside Joffrey's chambers, intently reading an ancient book.

Noticing the figure before him, Tyrion gently closed the book.

"My dear nephew, you returned far too slowly. I was getting impatient waiting. Littlefinger is truly awful. He wouldn't even let me have a look at what the Dragon Eggs looked like first."

Joffrey understood what he meant.

"Hmph. He did well. I am their owner, so naturally I can't let just anyone see them."

The two entered Joffrey's chambers together.

An ancient, heavy Cedar Chest sat atop the most conspicuous stone table in the center of the hall.

My Dragon Eggs!

Joffrey undid the clasp and slowly lifted the lid, while Tyrion stood on tiptoe, trying to make out every detail.

Resting upon the finest velvet and brocade from the Free Cities were the three enormous eggs the pair had long been thinking about.

The shells of the Dragon Eggs were covered in tiny scales, gleaming with a metallic luster beneath the sunlight.

One was dark green, covered all over in bronze spots of various shapes;

one was pale creamy white, streaked with gold;

the last was black, like the ocean at midnight, yet alive with dark-red waves and whirlpools.

Their colors were as splendid as glazed enamel, their surfaces as smooth as porcelain, and as translucent as glass.

"So beautiful."

Tyrion sighed in fascination.

He thought of the Dragonbone beneath the Red Keep. Black as agate, smooth and bright, it had seemed to sparkle beneath torchlight.

Yet the Dragon Eggs were so much more beautiful that they left one dumbfounded.

"Joffrey, black, green, white—which one do you like least?" That one will be mine.

Of course, Joffrey wanted the green one least.

"Mm, they all look quite nice. They would make more than adequate decorations. Uncle, do you want one?"

He held out a hand to Tyrion. "Trade me something for it."

Tyrion shook his head.

"Ah, what a stingy little brat."

He sized up Hannah, who stood beside Joffrey, then pulled a roll of parchment from his robes.

"I have come up with a rather interesting new game. If Your Highness is satisfied, please do not forget to grant me a reward."

Joffrey unrolled the parchment.

Death of the Hand:

Investigation time insufficient. Littlefinger, Varys, and Pycelle are suspected of involvement.

Intelligence:

475 secret agents recruited. 194 of Varys's men identified, 289 of Littlefinger's men identified, and over sixty thousand records of personnel information in King's Landing collected.

Hidden Pieces:

Dick, Stannis's personal cook; Morrie, a Free Rider under Renly; 26 King's Landing City Watch soldiers awaiting orders.

"Can this game guarantee that I win?"

Tyrion spread his hands. "What game has a one-hundred-percent chance of victory? I can only say that Your Highness has a greater chance of winning."

Joffrey could not help frowning.

The chance of a successful assassination isn't high? It seems I need to make more preparations.

"Hannah." Joffrey also handed Tyrion a written instruction. "Help my uncle carry this Verdigris Dragon Egg back, so he doesn't collapse from exhaustion halfway there."

Hannah lifted the face-sized Dragon Egg in both hands and smiled as she nodded to Tyrion.

"Lord Tyrion, please guide me well from now on."

"Certainly, certainly."

Tyrion felt that things were not so simple.

As Tyrion reached the doorway, Joffrey suddenly slapped his forehead as if he had remembered something.

"Oh, right. Tomorrow, let's go into the city and enjoy ourselves for the day."

"After all, we're heading to The North the day after tomorrow. That place is cold as hell, poor and run-down. There probably won't be anything interesting there."

Tyrion smoothly turned around, offered a bow, and vanished around the corner beyond the doorway.

Joffrey returned to his Dragon Eggs.

There was no one else around now.

He gently stroked the two treasures he had just acquired, excitement and anticipation shining in his eyes.

The future black dragon Drogon, white dragon Viserion, and the green dragon Rhaegal he had just given away—he could see what they had in common: three kinds of faintly glowing Patterns.

One represented the Fire Rune. The other two, still unknown, were great rewards within reach.

Even if I cannot hatch the Dragon Eggs, as long as I possess these Runes, sooner or later I will create a dragon of my own!

Elsewhere, Tyrion returned to his little quarters.

After carefully inspecting every arrangement in the room, he read the information Joffrey had given him.

All of it is being handed over to Hannah?!

He immediately understood Hannah's greeting just now.

Heh. The dwarf does the work while the woman enjoys the rewards. This is the fate I can never escape.

As he continued reading, his expression grew increasingly grave. Then he set the parchment alight and burned it to ashes, staring silently at the candle flame.

The first one.

He chose Stannis...