King's Landing unfolded quietly outside his window, like an unfolded tapestry, on which weavers of all ages have added a few stitches.
He stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the silver-white sea in the distance.
King Ghidorah is still sleeping in Dragonpit, the dragons he raised with his own hands are still waiting for his instructions to return on Dragonstone, and the exploration teams he sent out are still sailing ship by ship to the sea shrouded in volcanic ash.
His eyes passed through the connection between the sea and the sky outside the window, through the distances he could see and cannot see, and landed on the distant land shrouded in gray smoke.
The ruins of Valyria, the source of Dragon, are one of the places with the strongest magical energy in the world. Sooner or later, he will return there with his dragons.
But not now, not when he has not yet gathered all the other chess games in his hands.
The candle on the desk was shorter again, and candle tears accumulated in a circle on the copper plate.
A very vague long cry came from the distant sea. I don't know if it was a seabird or a ship's number on the distant pier.
He withdrew his gaze, turned around, walked back to the desk, sat down, pulled the map out of the drawer again, unfolded it, laid it out, and pressed the edge with a paperweight.
At this time, Redd noticed a large number of letters stacked on the side of the desk, which he had not noticed before.
With curiosity, he opened several letters and checked them, and found that the recipients were all Rhaenyra, and the senders were all famous nobles on this continent, and they had a decisive say in Seven Kingdoms.
This discovery made him very interested in the contents of these letters.
Redd stood in front of the desk, holding the opened letters in his hand, scanning between the lines with his eyes, as if using an extremely fine sieve to filter out the gorgeous rhetoric and polite greetings one by one, leaving only the truly valuable things underneath.
The round and smooth handwriting on the letter paper has different styles - some are fancy and complicated, and each letter is like a carefully carved decoration; some are concise and powerful, with sharp strokes and no sloppiness; some are upright and regular, as if they were traced according to a template.
But no matter how the fonts change, the content of the letters is surprisingly similar.
They are all polite words.
Each letter uses the most appropriate tone to express respect for Princess Rhaenyra and blessings for House Targaryen's future. Each letter reveals between the lines the concern for Rhaenyra's health and appreciation for her recent handling of government affairs. Each letter leaves enough open space at the end so that the recipient can freely interpret the position and attitude of the writer.
But there is no substantive promise in each letter. There is no sentence "I will support your succession", no sentence "If necessary, my army is at your disposal at any time", and no sentence "If a certain lord dares to oppose you, he is an enemy of me."
Those letters are like carefully prepared honey water, which is sweet in the mouth, but retains nothing after drinking it, leaving only a vague aftertaste at the base of the tongue, which is memorable but cannot be grasped.
Redd placed the last letter on the table and tapped the edge of the envelope twice with his fingers.
His eyes swept over the names of the senders - each one was a person with great influence in Seven Kingdoms.
The Duke of Riverlands, the Duke of Vale, the lord of Westerlands, and several powerful figures from the Reach and Stormlands. Behind each title are thousands of fully armed soldiers, hundreds of miles of fertile land, and countless treasuries and granaries.
Redd knew in his heart that Rhaenyra must have been writing letters to these great nobles.
Her letter must be full of promises - fiefdoms, official positions, marriages, tax exemptions, legal privileges and honorary titles that only Iron Throne can bestow.
She tried to use these promises to draw the wavering nobles into her camp, so that they would side with her in the power competition between her and Aegon II.
Her approach seemed to him a bit redundant, a bit inefficient, and even revealed an eagerness hidden under the elegant etiquette, like trying desperately to sew patches on a torn net, hoping that one day it would be able to scoop up an entire river.
He threw the letter back on the table like a few weightless stones.
He stood in front of the window and looked at King's Landing outside the window.
The afternoon sun shines slantingly on the staggered roofs, dyeing the dark gray tiles into a warm dark golden color.
In the distance Blackwater Bay there are sparkling waves on the sea, and several merchant ships are slowly sailing out of the port. The sails are swollen in the breeze, like blown white bubbles.
Further away, the outline of the city wall appears particularly clear in the afternoon light, like a dark line drawn in the landscape, dividing the city from the outside world.
Redd looked at the city spread out beneath his feet, and what came to his mind was not the streets and towers of King's Landing, but the things hidden behind these stones and bricks - power.
That thing is invisible and intangible, but it is stronger than any city wall and sharper than any weapon.
It can turn a person from a destitute person with nothing to a king who rules Seven Kingdoms, or it can make an old king who has sat on the throne for decades be turned into a puppet wearing a crown without knowing it.
In Redd's view, Targaryen Dynasty's dominance over Westeros is actually not strong.
On the maps hung on the wall, Seven Kingdoms is painted in a uniform color and looks like a complete and indivisible whole.
But as long as you get a little closer and peel back the lines covered by paint, you will find that the border lines underneath are still as clear as if they were painted yesterday.
The land of the North still belongs to the the North people, the castle of Vale still belongs to the lord of Vale, the gold of Westerlands still lies in the vault of Westerlands, the flag of Prince of Dorne still flies in the desert of Dorne,
Their loyalty to Iron Throne almost never exceeds the importance they attach to their own territory and family interests. The contrast between the two is like thin ice and rocks. The former will crack when you step on it, while the latter grows from the foundation and never moves despite the wind and rain.
Dorne is the best example. When the prince is happy, he can express his surrender, bow his head to Iron Throne, send tributes, and express loyalty.
When you are unhappy, you can close the city gates, block the mountain passes, declare independence, and then wait for Iron Throne to send troops to fight.
After a battle, no matter whether they win or lose, the nobles of Dorne are still sitting peacefully in their castles, and they are still the aloof lords.
Their land has not been divided, their taxes have not been raised, their armies have not been disbanded, and their status and power have hardly undergone any essential changes because of a war.
The former king Jaehaerys was like this, and the current king Viserys is also like this.
They also sent troops on expeditions to Dorne, made dragons hover in the sky of Dorne, and tried to use force to make that stubborn land surrender.
But every war ended with a painless peace agreement. The great nobles of Dorne were never uprooted or really injured.