Redd rubbed his eyebrows and felt his temples were slightly swollen.
He wanted to go, but he would go even if he didn't go. If he went now, he would fall into a trap, and if he went later, he might not be able to avoid the trap. This feeling of being caught in a dilemma made him a little impatient.
He never liked being led by others. Even if the thread leading him was as thin as a spider silk and could be broken by the wind at any time, the feeling of being plotted still made him unhappy.
As for never going to Valyrian Peninsula, this option was not within his consideration range from the beginning.
Unless that road is a desperate situation, or he is sure that what is waiting for him ahead is a being that even with the entire dragon group cannot resist, he will not give up the expedition plan he has prepared for most of it just because of a prophecy.
There are things he wants in that land - dragons, magic, power, things that are becoming increasingly scarce in modern civilization and are buried under ashes and volcanic rocks by time.
He walked to the desk, opened the drawer again, and took out the Valyrian Peninsula map that he had repeatedly unfolded and rolled up.
The edges of the parchment curled slightly under his fingers, and the folds that had been folded repeatedly showed dark signs of wear and tear in the light.
His eyes wandered around the map, starting from the central island, passing through the known areas he had marked, and landing on the blank gray areas marked "unknown".
Just this little time. He said to himself in his heart.
When the fleet has fully mapped out the detailed terrain of the broken Valyrian Peninsula, when the size, number and location of the islands are clearly marked on the drawings, when he has paved the road to Jaehaerys, when things on Westeros have settled down and no one can threaten his rear - then, he will set off.
He has King Ghidorah, the large group of dragons, and his own strengthened body and will. No matter how big the hole dug by the gods is, he is sure to fill it up and step over it.
After making the decision, his thoughts stopped spinning.
Those tangled thoughts, like balls of yarn scratched by a cat, were finally sorted out into a clear thread.
He rerolled the map and put it back in the drawer. The moment he closed the drawer, it made a slight wooden scratching sound.
Then he opened the study door and walked towards the bedroom.
The corridor inside Red Keep seemed particularly empty at this time. The afternoon sunlight slanted in from the narrow window openings high up, casting long, sloping strips of light on the stone floor. Dust floated slowly in the beams of light, like tiny particles frozen in amber by time.
His boots stepped on those light strips, making an even and steady sound, which bounced back and forth several times from the walls in the empty corridor, gradually became lighter, and finally dissipated around the corner further away.
It's really quiet around here.
That kind of silence was different from the silence he felt in Godswood that morning. It was a silence that was carefully maintained and deliberately created, making people realize that "there should have been sound here but it was suppressed by some force."
Most of the doors on both sides of the corridor were closed tightly. Occasionally, a half-open window let in the wind, blowing the edges of the tapestries hanging on the walls, making a slight sound like the fabric being crumpled.
The shadow of a guard flashed from the end of the corridor in front of him, and then disappeared quickly, as if he knew in advance that he would pass that corridor.
Redd noticed one thing. From the time he walked out of the study to now, he did not meet any guard or maid who took the initiative to walk up to him.
Those people were avoiding him, choosing to go around before seeing him, turning into the side passage when they heard his footsteps, and hiding themselves in corners out of sight before he was seen.
Their movements were not hasty, nor did they seem to be escaping, but more like a natural habit that had been trained for a long time - just like the deer in the forest taking steps without thinking when they smell the hunter's scent.
He thought of what he had done in that eastern continent - those City-States who were overthrown by him, those nobles who were executed by him, those lords who knelt down in front of him and begged for mercy but were still dragged away to be hanged or beheaded.
Those messages had long been spread from Essos to Westeros by word of mouth among merchant ships and sailors. They were told repeatedly, added to, and condensed in taverns on the docks and street tea stalls, and finally turned into a name that could arouse fear and alertness anywhere.
In this continent, his reputation is as bad as in the nine Free Cities he has conquered.
In the eyes of ordinary people, his image is not that of Rhaenyra's husband, but a tyrant who came from overseas riding a three-headed dragon.
Those who live in palaces and castles naturally understand better that when dealing with such people, they must put away all actions that may be misunderstood as contempt or fluke, and even unnecessary glances must be avoided as much as possible.
No wonder those maids and guards avoided him.
They are afraid of being involved in anything related to him. They are afraid that a careless nonsense or a casual look will turn them from a living person to an extra line on the missing list.
Redd is not used to being shunned by others - it was the same when he was in the Eastern Continent. Wherever he went, the streets automatically became empty.
He felt that this would save him trouble. He didn't have to deal with those unnecessary politeness and wary looks, and he didn't have to look at those tight smiles that wanted to please him but were afraid of pleasing him in the wrong way.
He only needs to walk his way, and those who stand in the way will disappear on their own, just like a group of fallen leaves blown away by the wind, falling to the ground after a while.
He walked to the bedroom door, didn't stop, didn't knock, just opened the door and walked in.
The bedroom door opened silently inward under the push of his palm, and the afternoon light poured in from the high window, illuminating the furnishings in the room clearly and brightly.
The room is not big, but it is tidy and elegant. There are several copper candlesticks and a clay pot filled with dried flowers placed on the dark wooden furniture. There is a faint smell of lavender in the air, mixed with the sea breeze coming in from the window, which makes people feel slightly relaxed and comfortable.
The movements of the two people in the room froze at the same moment when the door was pushed open.
Rhaenyra was sitting on the dark chair next to the bed, with an upright posture and a straight back. One hand was resting on the armrest, and the other hand was holding the edge of a letter. His eyes were originally falling on Mesalia's face, as if he was listening to her report on something important.
Mesalia stood by the window, standing sideways, holding one hand on the window sill, and the other hand hanging by her side. Her posture was calm and focused, like a professional who was delivering important information to her superiors.