Chapter 18: Red Priestess in Kings Landing

  —

  The Small cil chamber of the Red Keep felt like a tomb. Shadows g to the stone walls, flickering dles in wrought-iron holders doing little to chase them away. The long table gleamed beh the faint, muted light seeping through narrow windows that were shut tight against the city beyond. The air was thick with unspoken ambition and carefully veiled pt—a suffog atmosphere that mirrored the kingdom itself.

  At the head of the table, Varys folded a part with practiced calm. His soft, unhurried voice broke the tension as his gaze settled on Queen Cersei.

  “Your father, Yrace,” he said, his tone as ral as his expression, “has named Lord Tyrion to serve as Hand in his stead while he fights.”

  The room froze for a beat. Then came the crack.

  Cersei’s palm smmed against the table with enough force to rattle the wine goblets. The pale skin of her face flushed an angry red, and her lips curled into something vicious. “Out!” she barked, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. “All of you—out!”

  The members of the Small cil didn’t hesitate. Chairs scraped against stone as they rose, their movements brisk and deliberate. Eyes remained averted, bodies stiff with the instinct of prey. Varys glided out silently, while Pycelle shuffled after him, his robes dragging against the floor in a mournful whisper.

  The door thudded shut, leaving only two behind.

  Tyrion didn’t move. He leaned ba his chair, his fingers curled around the stem of his wine gss. He swirled the dark liquid, the smirk on his lips deepening as he watched his sister from across the table. The sileretched between them, heavy aric.

  Cersei’s heels clicked sharply against the stone as she strode toward him. Her golden hair framed her face like a halo of fury, and her eyes burned with venom. She leaned in close, her shadow falling across his face, sharpening her features into something dangerous.

  “How?” she hissed. Her voice trembled with barely restrained rage. “How did you trick Father into this?”

  Tyrion tilted his head, a chuckle rumbling low in his chest. “Dear sister,” he drawled, his tone ced with mockery, “if I were capable of trig Father, I’d already be emperor of the world.”

  For a heartbeat, he thought she might sp him. Her hand twitched, but instead, she straightened, her jaw tight as steel. “He must have lost his senses,” she spat, her words clipped and bitter. “To give you that chair… that title…”

  “Or,” Tyrion said, his voice light, “perhaps he’s grown tired of your particur... style of leadership.” He raised his gss, his smirk deepening as her jaw ched. “Let’s call it a fresh perspective.”

  Her fists tightened, and the fury in her eyes fred hotter. “You think this is a game, don’t you?” she snapped. “Sitting in that chair, pying Hand? You’re no Hand—you’re a joke. A little jester in a big chair.”

  Tyrion shrugged, his gaze growing sharper. “Maybe,” he said. “But this jester might just bring your darling Jaime back.”

  Her eyes widened—just a flicker of surprise, quickly masked. “...How?” she demanded, her voice quieter now, tinged with doubt.

  “The Starks love their children,” Tyrion said smoothly, leaning back as if sav his words. “And we have one of theirs.”

  “Only one,” Cersei corrected, her tone brittle.

  He frowned, his smirk faltering. “One?”

  “Arya is missing,” she said, the bitterness returning to her voice. “Gone. Vahat little wolf slipped through rasp.”

  Tyrion swirled his wine, his brow furrowing. “But Sansa remains.”

  “Eo Joffrey,” she snapped. Her lips curled into something cold, and for a moment, her gaze wavered with frustration.

  Tyrion chuckled softly, shaking his head as if pitying her. “It must be hard,” he murmured, his voice a low, mog drawl. “Being the disappointing child.”

  Her expression flickered—just for a moment. A shadow of something raw passed over her face, almost too quick to catch. Then her features hardened, and she turned away, her hands ched at her sides.

  “Since you’re the Hand of the King,” she said abruptly, her voice sharp with forced calm, “I have a task for you.”

  Tyrion raised an eyebrow. “I don’t take tasks from you.”

  Her smile widened, id brittle. “Oh, but you’ll want to.” She turo face him agaione ced with venomous sweetness. “Not long ago, a Red Priestess came to King’s Landing. The High Septon wants her dealt with before she spreads her poison. Especially siannis Baratheon is said to be receiving advice from a Red Priestess himself. So go, dear brother. Py the Hand.”

  Tyrion stared at her, his expression unreadable. Their silence was tight, stretched thin with unspoken hostility.

  Finally, he sighed, setting his goblet down with exaggerated weariness. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll deal with your little problem.” He rose from his chair, his movements deliberate, and gave her a curt nod before turning to leave.

  “Good luck, little brother,” she called after him, her voice a venomous purr.

  The heavy door shut behind him, cutting off the sound of her ughter like the lid of a coffin sealing shut.

  ****

  “Thank you, thank you, priestess! Praise to the Lord of Light, thank you!” A mother said, holding her child close. The boy, who just days ago had in pale and listless, now g to his mother with rosy cheeks and newfound strength. The door to the small mansion creaked as she stepped outside, her grateful smile disappearing behind it.

  I sighed. “I thought you weren't going to collect servants and followers?” I said, turning my gaze toward Kinvara, who was still gazing at the door as if she could still feel the gratitude of that mother.

  Kinvara smiled, a soft curve of her lips that held a glimmer of mischief. “I'm not colleg followers,” she replied, finally shifting her gaze to me. “I'm just helping the needy. It paio see them sick, Viserys. I 't help it.”

  I met her eyes for a moment, holding back the words that rose to my lips. Kinvara had that talent—turning any situation to her favor. The delicate liween genuine care and sly manipution blurred when it came to her. Just three days was all it had taken for her to find herself a pce among these desperate souls. And now, thanks to her ‘miracles,’ I ractically trapped ihis rented mansion. Since I couldn’t be sure of how to approach my pns without being sure how the rulers of this city will react to her as.

  “If you miraculously heal a child,” I muttered, settling ba the soft chair he window, “more mothers will e the day.”

  “Are you pnning to build a kingdom where mothers don't want their children to be healthy, my king?” Kinvara's eyebrow arched in that infuriating way of hers, her lips tugging upward.

  “Stop twisting my words,” I shot back, irritated. “Things like this will catch the attention of unwanted people for no reason.”

  She giggled, an almost melodic sound that rang with her usual fiderust me, whoever this will catch the attention of will not be unwanted. Plus, we got ourselves a mansion by saving people, didn't we?” She gestured around us with a flourish. “Be grateful we're sleeping under a roof, my prince.”

  I bit bah, letting my gaze drift to the other side of the room. There, the Sand Snakes were seated, sharpening their ons with casual expertise. Tyene Sand, with her short-cropped hair aively sweet smile, looked up from her dagger with an unimpressed scoff. “If you truly are serving him, you should listen to what he orders. No?”

  Kinvara’s smile never wavered. She turned, her red locks catg the dlelight, glimmering like fire. “The only one I serve is the Lord of Light, my dear. Although, yes—as Azor Ahai, I do serve him too. My job, however, as I see it, is to guide him. Not to follow his wishes blindly, like some… certain people.”

  It was clear who she meant. The room suddenly felt colder. The tension rippled betweehe air almost crag with Tyene's gre and Kinvara's ever-present smile. The scrape of metal against whetstone paused momentarily, then resumed, mgressive than before. Tyene's eyes remained on Kinvara, a glint of challenge flickering within them.

  I cpped my hands, the sound breaking through the strained silence. “Alright, girls, I’m not having any of this tensioween my own people,” I said. Especially because I valued the red-haired woman far more than these girls. “I was just pining for the sake of it. It's not as if this is disrupting any actual pns. We'll just figure out some other way to ehe castle.”

  The Sand Snakes exged gnces before shrugging and looking away, dismissing the tension as if it were nothing more than a fleeting annoyanbsp;

  Kinvara scoffed softly, standing up and making her way to the door. She reached for the handle, ready to close it against the world outside. “Mmh-?”

  But then the door swung open before her hand could touch the wood.

  Two meered the mansion. One of them was short and stout—a dwarf with a distinct halo of wild blonde curls surrounding his head, while the other carried a sword at his hip, his gait zy and fident. Tyrion Lannister, a face even an exile like me could reize, followed by a sellsword I reized from the TV show. Bronn, the lucky.

  I stood up from my chair, walked over to Kinvara, and positioned myself beside her, my haing lightly on the hilt of my bde. I gave Tyrion a thin smile. “Wele, guests. Unfortunately, our priestess here doesn't have a cure for dwarfism,” I said dryly.

  Tyrion blinked, staring at me for a heartbeat before snapping a fi me. “That was actually funny,” he admitted, smirking, his eyes kling with amusement. “sidering you clearly realize I'm not here for that. Were you seeing patients?” He turo Kinvara.

  “Yes,” Kinvara replied, her expression softening into her usual practiced warmth. “And five my bodyguard's rash words. Growing up with the Sed Sons molded him this way.” She shot me a quick, irritated look—a look that was as much for show as her soft tone.

  Tyrion shifted his weight, studying her for a moment. “So, what I help you with, Lord Tyrion Lannister?” Kinvara asked.

  “Ah, so you do know me.” Tyrion smiled, though the smile was tinged with something sharper—curiosity, perhaps, or skepticism. “Hmm, how do I say this? I’ve retly been appointed as the Hand of the King, a hefty job, and I've been asking around about a Red Priestess who seemed to have made herself at home in King’s Landing. Naturally, I had to e to see for myself.” He gave a sweeping bow, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now that I have, I’d ask you to leave.”

  Kinvara tilted her head, a glimmer of sadness in her gaze. “Because of my religion? I thought Westeros, under King Robert Baratheon’s rule, allowed all kinds ions to coexist. Is King Joffrey restrig that right now? Pity.”

  Tyrioated, his mouth opening and closing for a sed before he hummed. “Uh, well, no... but… hmm.”

  Kinvara shook her head. “The High Priestess Kinvara sent me here. She’d be immensely disappoio hear the Church of Light has been banished from Westeros.”

  “Kinvara?” Bronn piped up, his eyes narrowing. “Of Vontis?”

  The mention of the name seemed to settle between them like a ro a calm pond, ripples of uanding spreading in their expressions. “Yes,” she said, “My name is Nyra, one of her close fidants.”

  Kinvara had takeions—her hair dyed red with a speck of her magic, her identity hiddeh yers of deception. She pyed her part well, pretending to be someone else, presenting herself as one of the many priestesses under Kinvara’s guidance. Using her owy would draw too much attention.

  I turned away, my hand lifting in a dismissive gesture. “Looks like we have to pack,” I said with an exaggerated sigh.

  “Wait,” Tyrion called, his voice halting my steps. “I’ve heard about the High Priestess before. Quite an enigma, isn’t she? Since she, the First Priestess of the Lord of Light, has sent you here, let’s see... What crimes have you itted again?”

  Kinvara’s smile deepened, her eyes almost twinkling. “None,” she said softly. “Unless cheg on sick children is sidered a crime?”

  Tyrion Lannister regarded her for a long moment before he smiled—a smile ced with resignation. “No. It’s not.” He gave a curt nod. “Have a good day, then.” And with that, he turned, Bronn following closely behind, and they were gone—just like that.

  I looked at their reg back, and smirked. My gaze swept over Kinvara, her posed expression a mask of victory. “So this is what you meant.”

  “Did I? Could be a ce.” She said, and I crossed my arms.

  “Right. Well, now my identity is ‘clear’ to the higher-ups in King’s Landing. A simple bodyguard of the Sed Sons, serving a Red Priestess. Not a bad cover. I should be able to visit the brothel at least now freely.”

  Kinvara tilted her head, the mischief returning to her eyes. “Heh. Step by step, my prirust in the Lord of Light.”

  I ignored her bbbering and gnced out of the window, the skyline of King’s Landing stretg in the distance, a sight that called out to me.

  **

  **

  **

  Author Note: Need us some good ol 5-star ratings guys, we looking low.