Chapter 46: Humiliation
Varys lived in a world steeped in deception and intrigue. Precisely because of that, he had always been deeply wary of the Mysterious One's unfathomable foresight and long-laid schemes.
Yet from this matter—rescuing Shireen—he sensed something unexpected.
Benevolence.
For the first time, Varys felt a trace of genuine goodwill behind the Mysterious One's actions. And with that came a sliver of recognition: if someone like this stood beside Queen Daenerys, then the Seven Kingdoms might finally take a step closer to the future he had long envisioned.
Drogon himself hadn't expected this outcome.
He had feared that Varys might misunderstand his decision to save Shireen, treating it as an unnecessary complication and therefore only half-heartedly carrying it out. That was why he had explained his reasoning in detail.
He never imagined that this explanation would earn Varys's approval.
An unexpected gain indeed.
---
Standing before the stone table, Varys pondered for a while before arriving at a solution for Shireen's placement. He returned to his room, wrote down his plan, placed it back on the stone table—and then went inside again.
Once Varys shut the door, Drogon swooped down from the tree, snatched up the parchment, and flew onto the roof.
Reading Varys's proposal, Drogon couldn't help but frown—more accurately, the ridged horned brow above his eyes twitched slightly.
The plan to extract Shireen from Dragonstone was workable.
But the part about sending her to Pentos… he could not agree with that.
Varys intended to arrange a merchant vessel after receiving Shireen, hiding her inside a wooden crate disguised as cargo. Once the ship reached Pentos, someone would escort her to her new place of concealment.
Drogon could easily imagine it.
Shireen, heartbroken at leaving Dragonstone, shut inside a dark, lonely crate, crossing the Narrow Sea, only to arrive in a place utterly foreign to her.
That was not something a ten-year-old girl should have to endure.
Varys understood this too. He knew it was cruel. But from his perspective, it was the safest option—Shireen's identity was simply too sensitive. Any exposure could be fatal.
Even so, Drogon rejected the plan.
He instructed Varys to handle only one thing: getting Shireen safely off Dragonstone.
Nothing more.
After deciding, Drogon wrote his reply and placed it back on the table.
---
Not long after, Varys pushed the door open and stepped outside—just as expected. Seeing the new message waiting for him, he felt even more certain that the Mysterious One was no ordinary man.
Perhaps some sort of shapeshifter.
Or perhaps a master manipulating an extraordinarily intelligent, agile little bird.
Otherwise, such seamless back-and-forth communication would have been impossible.
Reading the message, Varys hesitated for a moment before finally writing his reply.
---
With that response in hand, Drogon returned to Dragonstone and informed Shireen of the agreed time and location.
Knowing she would soon have to leave Dragonstone, Shireen felt a deep ache in her heart. This was the place where she had grown up, the only home she had ever known.
But she also understood that she had no choice.
A few days earlier, when her father had come to see her, she had already sensed it—
he was no longer the father she remembered.
After finishing the message, Drogon did not leave right away.
Tomorrow was the wedding day of that little monster, Joffrey.
He intended to personally witness that blood-soaked moment in history.
Seeing Drogon pull out a pile of snacks from his pack and sit down beside her, clearly with no intention of leaving, Shireen hesitated before asking:
"Drogon… you're not in a hurry to leave today?"
Drogon nodded, then wrote on the parchment beside him:
"Leaving tomorrow morning."
Shireen's gloom vanished instantly.
As they ate together, she couldn't help but ask—half curious, half anxious—where he planned to send her.
Hearing that she would be sent to Pentos, Shireen immediately recalled everything she had read about the city, her mind already drifting toward what her future life there might be like.
"After I go to Pentos… will you still come to see me?" she asked softly.
Drogon nodded.
"Is Pentos the largest city among the Free Cities?"
Drogon nodded again.
"I've heard that there—"
Shireen's small mouth kept chattering nonstop, jumping from question to question, occasionally telling Drogon interesting anecdotes about other Free Cities she had read about in books.
Listening to her talk endlessly, Drogon began to regret staying behind.
Had he known this would happen, he might as well have spent the night perched on a tree branch.
That said, he genuinely admired how knowledgeable Shireen was. For a girl so young, she truly knew an impressive amount.
After finishing everything in the backpack, Shireen finally seemed tired. She chatted with Drogon a little longer on the bed before drifting into a deep sleep. Curling up beside her, Drogon soon followed, snoring softly.
---
At dawn, Drogon woke first.
Shireen was curled up beside him like a little kitten, sleeping soundly. Careful not to wake her, he quietly opened the window and flew out.
On the way to King's Landing, he stopped by Blackwater Bay, caught a few large fish, roasted them, and filled his stomach before continuing his journey.
Circling above King's Landing, he soon noticed a seaside estate shaded by lush green trees, its grounds decorated with colorful banners and lanterns. Landing on a tall tree, he observed closely.
Long tables and chairs filled the courtyard. Luxurious carpets covered the ground. Servants moved swiftly among the guests, laying out fruits and exquisite dishes.
Drogon's gaze quickly fixed on one particular long table.
Men and women seated there were all richly dressed, their bearing unmistakably noble.
At the head sat a young, handsome man wearing a golden crown. To his right was a blonde noblewoman in her thirties, graceful and voluptuous, her eyes lively and sharp. To his left sat a man with hair streaked gold and white, his face showing little sign of age, posture rigid and upright.
Drogon immediately guessed their identities.
The crowned youth had to be Joffrey. Beside him were most likely Cersei and Tywin.
Shifting his gaze further down the table, he finally spotted Tyrion, whose upper body barely rose above the tabletop. In the entire Seven Kingdoms, only one dwarf could sit at such a table.
His golden hair was tousled, a faint reddish scar slashing diagonally across his face—an unmistakable mark left from the defense of King's Landing.
Beside him sat a tall young woman with chestnut-red hair cascading over her shoulders. Her pale skin and solemn expression stood in stark contrast to the festive atmosphere.
The guests were now presenting wedding gifts to Joffrey.
The father of the "Little Rose" gifted his son-in-law a golden goblet, symbolizing royal authority. Tywin, Hand of the King and Joffrey's grandfather—both maternal and paternal—presented a newly forged Valyrian steel sword.
Tyrion offered a book, expressing the hope that Joffrey might one day become a wise king.
As Tyrion spoke his congratulatory words, Joffrey's mouth twitched slightly—but he said nothing. On the surface, uncle and nephew appeared harmonious.
Once the gift-giving ended, the wedding feast officially began.
Five dwarfs dressed in colorful costumes took the stage, each wearing exaggerated props, reenacting the War of the Five Kings.
The moment they appeared, Tyrion's face darkened more than anyone else's.
The guests' reactions varied—some laughed loudly, others frowned, some glanced toward Tyrion, while others stared at Joffrey in disbelief.
Those who knew the truth never expected Joffrey to publicly humiliate his uncle during his own wedding. Those unaware of the family dynamics were equally stunned.
Joffrey laughed so hard he nearly doubled over.
Margaery, however, was visibly uncomfortable. After learning of Joffrey's monstrous nature from Sansa, she had been extremely cautious—yet she never imagined he would be even more twisted than expected.
Watching Tyrion humiliated before the entire court, Varys frowned deeply, already considering how he might persuade Tyrion to leave King's Landing.
Cersei laughed along with her son, occasionally glancing at Tyrion's darkened expression, her satisfaction only growing.
Tywin, on the other hand, remained expressionless as he watched his true grandson disgrace the Lannister shame in public.
When the dwarfs' performance ended, Joffrey still wasn't satisfied.
He raised his golden goblet and ordered Tyrion to kneel and pour him wine.
The feast fell into sudden silence.
Some faces hardened, others lit up with anticipation of spectacle. Cersei realized that what she had always wanted to do had now been carried out by her son—only far more cruelly—upon the brother she had never truly acknowledged.
Her heart surged with twisted delight.