Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen

Chapter 332: Shireen Baratheon

Outside the semi-basement room, a young girl with her hair covering half her face peered through the window. Inside, two women in their twenties sat. One had olive skin and red hair, while the other had milky skin and black hair. They were both the daughters of the Red Viper, captured on Dragonstone along with their father.

Obara, with her auburn hair, sensed Shireen's gaze. Expressionless, she turned her head to look at her. Shireen, terrified, immediately drew back as if someone had dropped an ice cube down the back of her neck.

"Don't be afraid, my lady, don't be afraid, they're all in the stone house! In the stone house—er—er—er—" Patchface's voice stammered in an endless loop, his colorful tattoos twisting on his face. A former slave from Volantis, Patchface had earned his name from the vivid tattoos covering his skin. His role as a jester was to make Shireen laugh every day.

“Patchface, I heard the Onion Knight say they are from Dorne, and that the people of Dorne have rebelled against the Iron Throne.”

"That's none of our business, my lady, none of our business," Patchface replied, shaking his head.

“But Father hasn’t visited me in a long time. He must be feeling very bad. Patchface, I’m worried about him.”

Patchface’s eyes flashed with an unusual compassion. "Then you should smile more. A smile can be passed on."

"But I don't look good when I smile." Shireen’s hand instinctively went to the scars on her face caused by grayscale. Her sky-blue eyes revealed a deep-seated inferiority. Ever since she was a child, no one had seen her without recoiling in fear. Even her uncle Renly had once said, "If that grew on my face, I’d rather die sooner."

As Shireen became lost in thought, an unfamiliar voice broke through the silence.

“No! I think you look very pretty when you smile, especially your eyes.”

“Who?” Shireen looked around, startled.

“Over here, over here!” The Red Viper, lying by the semi-underground window like a monkey trapped under the weight of fingers, caught her attention with an exaggerated wave.

Shireen hesitated, fear gripping her at the sight of the Red Viper’s manic invitation.

“You know, I really like your eyes. Have you ever seen purple eyes? Your blue eyes are as beautiful as the Targaryen’s purple ones!”

“Targaryen!” Shireen’s fingers brushed her face nervously. She had heard that all Targaryens were incredibly beautiful, a quality she felt she lacked.

“Beautiful Lady Shireen, would you do me a favor? It’s actually a message I need you to pass along, and it won’t be difficult for you,” the Red Viper said, his voice slipping into the unsettling tone of a stalker.

“What is it?” Shireen, already shy, found herself even more vulnerable in the face of his flattery.

“It’s simple. Could you please find that witch who always wears a red robe and tell her, ‘The savior was born in the land of smoke and salt, not the fiefdom of smoke and salt’?”

Viserys had already learned through his dreams that the Red Viper had been captured.

In fact, the only person Viserys had been slightly afraid of during his campaign to conquer Westeros was the Red Witch. From her actions in the original timeline, it was clear that her goals were somewhat aligned with his: first to unify the Seven Kingdoms, then to gather their combined strength to withstand the Long Night and the threat of the foreign emperor. The main difference was that Viserys needed to first unify the Nine Free Cities and neutralize the dangers posed by the Dothraki Sea and Slaver’s Bay. Once that was done, Westeros would be the final step.

Although their goals were similar, the Red Witch’s execution left much to be desired. Her interpretation of the visions in the fire was almost entirely wrong, and even her understanding of prophecy was flawed. Azor Ahai was supposed to be reborn in a land of smoke and salt, but she went straight to Dragonstone, missing key details.

Now that the Red Viper had been captured, Viserys saw an opportunity. He hoped to use the Viper as a 'mouthpiece' to sway Melisandre, warning her not to go astray. Despite her reputation as a 'diviner,' she often misread the signs. People who do good for the wrong reasons can be unpredictable, and Viserys was wary of her potential to disrupt his plans.

...

Meanwhile, Tyrion had arranged to send word to Doran about the unfortunate capture of the Red Viper. No matter what Doran decided, Viserys was determined not to let anything derail his quest to unite the Seven Kingdoms.

With less than a month remaining before Viserys’ invasion of Westeros, Margaery Tyrell, the young Rose, arrived in Tyrosh. House Tyrell had chosen the safest route for her journey. Little Rose had left Highgarden, traveled to the Shield Islands, and then to Arbor Island, where she stayed with her 'great grandfather,' Lord Redwyne. From there, she sailed around the coast of Westeros, across the Narrow Sea, and finally arrived in the Stepstones.

The month-long sea voyage had taken a toll on her. Little Rose had lost some weight, and her once-radiant complexion had faded. On the ship, she found herself gazing into the mirror, still worrying about her finely sculpted features.

"Don't worry, Margaery, you're still the most beautiful girl in all of Highgarden."

The girl speaking was around the same age as Margaery—Alla Tyrell. With a voice as lovely as her singing, Alla’s words always carried a natural rhythm. She was Margaery’s best friend and handmaiden, accompanying her on the journey to Tyrosh. Along with them was another Tyrell girl, Elinor, affectionately called "Ello." The three had traveled together, a close-knit group from Highgarden.

“Lady Margaery, we’ve arrived,” came a voice from outside the cabin. It belonged to a young man in his early twenties, with curly hair and a square face. His name was Horas, known less flatteringly as “Ser Horror.” He harbored affection for any of the three Tyrell girls and wasn’t shy about it, though he often found himself frustrated. Rumor had it that the Tyrell sisters might soon find themselves in the bed of Viserys, a thought that made Horas burn with jealousy.

In his eyes, House Tyrell was behaving far too weakly. There was no need to curry favor with the last remnants of House Targaryen, a family that had already lost its throne. Yet, here they were, arriving in Tyrosh to meet the man who claimed to be the rightful king.

As the ship docked in the harbor of Tyrosh, Margaery immediately recognized the imposing statue of Ser Willem. His likeness had become famous throughout Westeros, a clear message from Viserys. Those who had remained loyal to the crown during Robert’s Rebellion would be rewarded, while traitors would face harsh punishment. The Tyrells now found themselves in a delicate position, caught between loyalty and practicality.

Lord Mace Tyrell and the royalist forces had been forced to tie themselves down with Storm’s End after Stannis Baratheon’s siege, a standstill that left them with little to show for their efforts. Yet, the Tyrells had also ingratiated themselves with the Baratheons, hedging their bets. If they wanted to secure a place in Viserys’ future rule, they would need to demonstrate their strength—and their loyalty.

Suddenly, Margaery’s eyes landed on a silver-haired young man waiting at the shore. A flicker of surprise crossed her face. Is that Viserys? Did he come himself to greet me?