Chapter 30: The Impending Choice

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  Sansa Stark’s lips quivered as she stared at her refle in the mirror. Her handmaiden, Shae, worked her hair and put some make-up over the wound in her face. The spot where Joffrey spped her earlier.

  “Don’t cry,” Shae said, “it’ll ruin the makeup.”

  Sansa let out a harrowing sigh but managed not to shed tears. She didn’t want to make this pirl’s work harder. She should be the only oo suffer. Shae was a nice girl, and she cared for Sansa.

  Her brother was leading a war to save her and Arya, except her little sister was o be seen. Sansa was caged in a castle in this fn nd, where everyone saw her as the treacherous daughter of a traitor. Shae was the only person o her, who lerength to hold on for another day. She appreciated this woman, even if her words were always blunt.

  There was… another person who lehe strength to hold on, to hope for a rescue even, but she hadn’t seen him in a while. That odd man who’d said, “Winter is ing,” with a charming smile. He didn’t sound like a northerner, but he definitely was someone her brother sent here as a spy. That had to be it! At least… Sansa hoped so.

  So, she’d been waiting to see him again. She roamed the hallways and gardens now and then, hoping to meet the person who’d uttered her family motto. However, she couldn’t find him anywhere.

  At this rate, this hope of hers would die out soon, too.

  The eldest daughter of the Stark, Sansa felt herself breaking from the inside.

  ****

  The streets of King’s Landing were as alive as ever, bustling with vendors shouting over one another, beggars pleading for scraps, and children darting through the chaos. The stench of sweat, salt, and filth g to the air.

  It was a city that thrived in disorder, its heartbeat erratic but unyielding. I hated that. As the prince of this nd, I hated the sight, and as a modern man, I wao fix it. I wao make everythier.

  I walked alongside Kinvara, making idle talks with her. She moved with a grace that seemed out of pce for this filthy road. Her crimson robes marked her as an outsider, ahe people, especially the poor, seemed drawn to her like moths to a fme.

  She suddenly paused at the edge of a crowded market. Her gaze swept over the throngs of people before she k beside an elderly woman sitting on the ground, clutg her chest.

  “Breathe deeply, Mother,” Kinvara instructed, her voice calm. She pressed her fingers lightly to the woman’s wrist, her expression thoughtful.

  “A-ah, Priestess…” the old dy reized her, making Kinvara smile.

  “You’ve suffered a tightening of the chest retly, haven’t you? A burniion here?” Her fingers brushed the area just below the woman’s colrbone.

  The woman nodded, her voice trembling. “Aye, I have. I thought… I thought it might be the Stranger ing for me.”

  Kinvara smiled faintly, but her eyes remained serious. “Not yet. Not ever. Don't take offense, but the only true God is the Red God, and he doesn't want your soul yet.”

  The old dy tried to say something, but Kinvara reached into the pouch at her side, pulling out a small vial. “Drink this now and before you sleep tonight. Remember, no matter how painful it gets, not at any other time. It will ease your pain, but you must avoid salted meats. They’re making your heart work harder than it should.”

  The woman’s gnarled hands shook as she accepted the vial. She looked relut and ope, p a bit of it into her mouth. Her eyes widened in pain and then rexed instantly as if the pain had vanished. Her eyes welled with tears. “Ah… it's gone… Bless you, my dy. Bless you.”

  Kinvara rose, brushing off her robes. “Bless R’hllor,” she corrected gently. “He sees all and wills that you endure.”

  I leaned against a nearby wall, arms crossed, watg the se unfold. The crowd’s murmurs carried a tone of reverence as an old man rushed to Kinvara, fell to his knees, and described his problem.

  Kinvara happily moved her attention to him and then the . From one person to the , she diagnosed ailments, handed out herbs, and even offered life advibsp;

  To them, she was more than a priestess; she was hope in human form.

  To me, she looked like a Doctor who'd cultivated a lot more knowledge thaypical ones of this worm. sidering her age, which I was sure numbered in the hundreds, that wasn't a surprise. Not that I was doubting her magical powers, but she wasn't as divine as these people thought they were.

  I did like what she was doing, though. Unlike Melisande, who kept tucked up beside Stannis all the time, this woman here helped the poor and needy. Uhe High Sparrow, she did actual good work rather than just feeding them bad food.

  I o make sure she never surrounds the city with her own Faith Militant, though. I noted.

  “You’re quite the spectacle,” I remarked when Kinvara finally turoward me, wiping her hands on a cloth. “You’d make a fine Maester or Healer if this priestess business ever loses its charm.”

  Her lips curved into a small smile. “And you would make a fine fool, Vis. But we both have our roles to py, don’t we?”

  I smirked, pushing off the wall to follow her as she moved deeper into the market. “Still, I ’t argue with the results. You’re building something here. These people look at you as if you’ve already saved them.”

  “Because I have,” she said simply, pausing to hand a pouch of herbs to a young boy. I couldn't deny that. “Perhaps not from their poverty or their hunger, but from the despair that eats away at their souls. That, too, is a kind of salvation.”

  I watched her for a moment longer, my gaze narrowing slightly. Her calm, her fidence was something that could not be feigned. I wondered how much of it was genuine belief and how much was strategy. Whatever the case, she was holy attractive. Either way, it worked.

  The murmurs of gratitude from the gathered crowd seemed to swell as Kinvara tinued her work. She looked less like a priestess of the Red God and more like a physi making her rounds. But this wasn’t mere charity.

  Every act of kindness, every life touched, was a seed pnted for the future. I could see it in the eople’s eyes lingered oheir trust growing with every word she spoke. This city was beginning to see her as a savior. They were starting to vert.

  And by extension, they would see me as their Hero, too.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of smooth footsteps. They were so natural that I hadn't even noticed they were approag me. Turning my head slightly, I caught sight of Daisy the Whore emerging from the shadows of a nearby alley.

  Her face was a mask, her movements smooth but cautious as she approached. When she reached me, she leaned in close, and I put a hand on her waist, squeezing it. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she spoke.

  “Renly Baratheon is dead, my king.”

  The words spread through my brain like ar, cutting through the noise of the market and leaving a ringing silen their wake. I failed to hold back a smile. Renly Baratheon was dead.

  “And,” she tinued, “Stannis Baratheon has taken Storm's End.” Daisy took a step back, her hands trembling slightly. She was masking her worry well, but since Renly was dead and Stannis took over his army, King's Landing was in threat of war. I liked how she was starting to see the intricate threads of politics better than the few other whores that Ros had taken under her wing so far.

  I could see the fear in her eyes and the weight of her message. She looked at me as if seeking assurance, but I offered he war would happen. I wa to happen. It would mark the end for both Stannis and Joffrey.

  But now, I had to decide on something big.

  It was a few months before the Battle of Bckwater, and I had the choice of staying here and allowing Tywin to e to save the day with the help of the Tyrell army…

  Or, I visit Highgarden now and take the Tyrells for myself.

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  Author he King’s Landing introductory arc has e to an end; it helped slow down the pad set things on a solid upath from here on. Viserion was raised, an informatiowork was made, a northern princess’s attention was gained, and sweet pns were beginning to unfold.

  What do you guys think Viserys should do now?

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