99: Chapter 99 James's Vigil

Late at night. Dragonstone Castle. Daenerys's bedchamber.

Outside the window, waves lapped against the black sand beach in a slow rhythm. The red glow from the volcanic crater cast faint, flowing patterns on the ceiling.

Daenerys woke from a light sleep. The spouse mark on her chest was slightly warm—not a stinging sensation, not a warning, but a much milder "thought transmission" that had been ongoing for about ten minutes.

It was like someone speaking softly from very far away; she couldn't hear the specific words, but she could sense the tone.

In her daze, she sensed Drogon's current mood.

He had just been drinking with a short man. The two had struck a deal. The subject of the deal was related to "pipes"—a thought that caused her to frown slightly.

Then, he was calculating a trip to a place filled with golden lions to steal a dagger—and to retrieve an heirloom while he was at it. The thought of the dagger was mixed with a hint of impatience, but more so with a sense of "might as well take it since I'm already there."

She sat up. Her violet eyes shimmered in the darkness with a mixture of helplessness and amusement. Her silver hair cascaded over her shoulders, the ends fanning out on the pillow. She touched the mark on her chest with her finger and whispered.

"You haven't even been in King's Landing for two days, and you've already made friends with a Lannister. Are you going to drag a Stark into this next?"

She tapped the mark twice with her finger—a simple signal they had agreed upon before he left.

One tap meant "received." Two taps meant "don't do anything too dangerous." Three taps meant "return immediately." She only tapped twice.

The blood bond transmitted back: Far away in King's Landing, Drogon's chest grew slightly warm in his sleep. He turned over, the corners of his mouth curling into a very slight arc.

At the same moment. Late at night. Casterly Rock. Jaime's tower.

Casterly Rock stood tall on the cliffs of the Westerlands. Waves roared at the base of the cliff, polishing the reefs that had been beaten for twenty thousand years until they were smooth as mirrors.

In the highest tower of the castle, a blond man sat alone before the fireplace. The fire had been burning for half the night, accumulating a thick layer of white ash.

His right hand rested on the armrest of his chair—not a real hand, but the golden hand Qyburn had fitted for him.

The golden fingers gleamed dully in the firelight, each knuckle welded with great precision. His real hand held a letter. The letter was sent by Tyrion from King's Landing; the content was extremely brief, written in only four lines. The handwriting was sloppy, the ink uneven, and in several places, too much ink had been dipped, causing it to smudge into a blob.

Jaime read the words on the letter in a low voice. His voice was very soft, mostly drowned out by the crackling of the fireplace.

"Dear brother. I've met a new friend in King's Landing. He comes from the East, and his teeth are very white."

"He plans to visit you at Casterly Rock to ask a few questions about the final days of our family's late guest—The Mad King Aerys."

"He wants to know where the main cake for the 'surprise party' that the guest prepared in our basement is hidden. If you still remember, tell him. If you don't—given your memory, you should remember."

"He will find you without alerting Father. Do not kill him. He is my friend. P.S. He might take a dagger from you while he's at it. Let him take it. You owe me. —Tyrion."

Jaime finished reading. He threw the letter into the fireplace. The parchment curled, blackened, and turned to ash in the flames. The firelight illuminated his handsome yet gaunt profile.

His emerald-green eyes—the exact same Lannister green as Tyrion's—flickered with complex emotions in the firelight.

The last words The Mad King spoke. He hadn't told anyone in twenty years. He had tried. He had practiced in front of a mirror. Every time the words reached his lips, he swallowed them back. Not because of fear. But because no one would believe him if he said it.

He stood up and walked to the weapon rack. He picked up an old dagger with the letters "TL" engraved on the scabbard. The leather of the scabbard was cracked, but the blade remained sharp—it was a gift he had commissioned from Braavos for Tyrion's sixteenth birthday.

valyrian steel. Small size. Crafted specifically for his brother's hand. The hilt was an inch shorter than an ordinary dagger, just the right size for Tyrion's hand.

He tucked the dagger into his belt.

"The last words The Mad King spoke. I haven't told anyone in twenty years. If Tyrion wants to ask—then I'll give it to his man."

He walked to the window and pushed it open. The sea breeze of Casterly Rock rushed in, salty and cold. He looked toward the East—the direction of King's Landing. Moonlight paved a silver path on the sea, stretching from the foot of Casterly Rock to the invisible horizon.

"Come, black-haired dragon."

He turned and walked back to the fireplace. He sat down and picked up another sword—not lightbringer, not valyrian steel, just an ordinary castle guard's longsword. He laid the sword across his lap and began to wipe the blade slowly. The oilcloth slid over the blade, again and again. He was waiting. Waiting for that dragon to fly into his window in the middle of the night.

The fire in the fireplace gradually died down. Only a few dark red coals flickered in the ashes. His golden hand gleamed with a dull light in the dim glow of the coals. His real hand held the oilcloth, wiping the sword slowly. Very steadily.

Outside the window, the waves of Casterly Rock crashed against the cliff wall. One. Another. Like some ancient timer, counting down to the dragon's arrival.

Dawn. King's Landing. The roof of the Copper and Bed Brothel.

The first gray light appeared on the horizon. The roofs of Flea Bottom formed a crooked gray ocean, with thin smoke rising from the chimneys. In the distance, the pale red walls of the Red Keep appeared softer in the morning light, like an old brick polished by time.

Drogon sat on the roof. In his full human form, he couldn't feel the weight of his dragon wings, but he still subconsciously spread his shoulders back—the instinctive posture of a dragon before takeoff.

His shoulder blades tightened slightly, then relaxed. In his hand, he held the list of the second hideout he had gotten from Margaery's maid, as well as the half-bottle of The Arbor wine Tyrion had left over.

The wine bottle gleamed dark red in the morning light, with less than a finger's depth of wine left at the bottom.

He placed the wine bottle on the edge of the roof. He stood up and wrapped his cloak tight.

Today, he would check the remaining three hideouts and play another game of chess with Tyrion in the evening. Tomorrow—tomorrow night, he would briefly return to his dragon form and fly to Casterly Rock. He would ask Jaime for the location of the main canister of the Cremation Array, retrieve the Casterly Rock relic, and incidentally steal a dagger engraved with "TL."

"King's Landing wildfire, Red Keep secret passages, Cremation Array main canister, dragon Enforcement Squad—eighteen days left."

"Within eighteen days, I must turn this city from Cersei's chessboard into my own."

"The pieces are already set: Margaery, Tyrion, Jaime, the Queen of Thorns."

"Plus Varys hiding in the shadows—Tyrion said he would come to find me himself. The three women on Dragonstone are waiting for my news. The little translator in Meereen is waiting for a raven. Stannis is waiting for the war against the White Walkers. The Night King is waiting for winter. Everyone is waiting."

He leaped from the edge of the roof. He landed steadily on the gravel of the back alley. His cloak fluttered behind him, then fell. He merged into the flow of early morning vendors in Flea Bottom. A vegetable seller pushed a cart, the wheels grinding over the gravel. A fishmonger shouted loudly, fish tail-slapping in a wooden tub. A barefoot child ran past the alley entrance, clutching half a piece of bread.

Behind him, the crooked wooden door of the Copper and Bed Brothel was pushed ajar by the wind, and from inside, the hoarse coughing of the proprietress and the snoring of the still-asleep Tyrion could be heard faintly.

System pop-up.

"Main quest updated: Complete all preparatory requirements for the 'Plan of Mad Blood' within King's Landing."

"New side quest—'Travel to Casterly Rock': Obtain the location of the main canister of the Cremation Array from Jaime Lannister and retrieve the Casterly Rock relic. Time limit: Round trip within 48 hours. Suggested departure time: Tomorrow at midnight."

"Received."