The singers never sang of the monumental amount of letters and writs I had to go over and sign in a normal day as king. I could even see how a man like Robert Baratheon would become the fat whoremonger he was in his final days living a life like this. That man should’ve thrown that crown they put in his head as far away as he could and taken ship to the Free Cities to join one of the companies. A life of the sword suited him more than the king’s pen.

After putting away the High Septon’s diary, I sat down on my desk to go through stacks of paper, rubbing my temple at the incoming headache that would come with it. Sometimes a man just wants to swing a sword at another man and be done for the day. At least I was lucky enough I had an efficient Hand who sorted everything out in order of importance to me.

I started at the top. The Reach wasn’t the only Kingdom where castles and rewards had to be divvied up. We were carving the Riverlands up, handing this and that castle to the highest and noblest bidders. For the big ones, Darry would go to Lancel after he married Amerei Frey, the lady who’d been recently humiliated by Margaery. Lancel didn’t have the time to fully convert to sparrowhood this time, though I’d seen him roaming around the halls of the Keep wearing simpler clothes than his usual garish fare. Apparently, he became a pious man after Cersei’s death.

Harrenhal had been booned to Littlefinger for his services in bringing House Tyrell back into the fold, but with a flick of my pen, I stripped him of all his lands and titles and incomes, and then denounced and attained him, so he wouldn’t even be considered a noble anymore. Letters would be flying all over the kingdoms as early as tomorrow.

Next was Maidenpool, a town that had been burned thrice during the war, and Saltpans, which the Brave Companions had sacked and pillaged. We had Lord Mooton of Maidenpool a prisoner in his own castle, and the Knight of Saltpans, Ser Quincy Cox, had closed his gates while his smallfolk were butchered and violated like cattle.

I had been of a mind to strip them and their families of their lands just to save me the headache, but now I meant to have them for myself. The Crownlands were a puny stretch of land that suited me not, and I wanted to expand the houses sworn directly to the throne. That included Maidenpool and the Saltpans. All I needed was to have them swear me fealty, instead of their rivermen overlords, which would now be the Freys. I would cut the Riverlands in half, everything from the God’s Eye River, up to Harrenhal then Darry, would become part of the Crownlands.

However, I knew that my grab for more power would not go well with any of the lords, even Tywin, who would see this as a violation that could set a precedence to be used against House Lannister. And old Walder would froth in the mouth and stab me in the back if he even heard a whiff of my plan.

For now, I would wait until my power was at its zenith and none could contest me. Tywin and Walder would not live forever, after all. The Twins would come down to a small civil war when the old fart passed away, and Jaime was as easy to manipulate as a kitten.

I was interrupted when a knock sounded at the door; when I called back, Ser Lyle escorted Qyburn in.

“Your Grace,” the former maester said, bowing. The strongboar nodded to confirm I wanted to be left alone with my guest and stepped back outside.

“Qyburn.” I pushed the papers aside. “What can I do for you?”

He shuffled closer and produced a stack of tiny scrolls from the folds of his robes, together with a single sheet of white vellum paper. “I have this week’s report, my lord, and its sources.”

I took them from his hands, holding in a sigh. I didn’t want him to know how much I would dread reading through for a few minutes what must have been days of work for him. “Anything I should concentrate on?” I asked.

“Not particularly, Your Grace, no. Some court drama, whose wife is sleeping with whose knight, which lordling speaks against you in their cups.”

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He made to go on, but I waved him off. “I think I understand the picture. I’ll be sure to go over them and remember the names. But we have more important matters to speak of, my friend.” Gesturing to the chair opposite my own, I waited for Qyburn to settle down before I started again. “Though I fear dumping more and more work on you has become a habit of mine, what I have to ask of you is too important to dawdle upon. Before his death, Varys let slip something he must have thought I wouldn’t catch on, but smart men love to think they have the only brains in the room.

“I need you to start looking at the Golden Company, Qyburn. Last I heard, they were stationed near Volantis on contract, but I fear they will move at any time—and they will do so aiming at us.”

The lines on Qyburn’s face deepened. “Your Grace… do you mean to say someone has taken, or will take, a contract with the Golden Company against the Iron Throne?”

“Yes,” I answered flatly. “I know it for a fact. And we must be ready for it.”

“It will be hard, Your Grace, to infiltrate a company like this one. I believe they even have their own spymaster.”

“I don’t expect immediate results, but attempts must be made.” I looked him in the eyes. Omitting Aegon’s identity was a two-fold test for Qyburn, of his competence, and his trustworthiness. I wanted to see how long it would take for him to come to me with news of this new king, or if he wouldn’t come at all. “If you wish to start somewhere, then look to Pentos, and a Magister named Illyrio Mopatis. He was an old friend of Varys I have reason to believe has some connection with this Golden Company contract.”

He nodded. “As you will, Your Grace.”

“Don’t use Varys’ leftover birds for that. Illyrio was his supplier of mute children,” I told him. “And I’m afraid I’m not done troubling you. There’s two more persons of interest I need eyes upon. One person and one Kingdom, actually.”

Qyburn kept his silence and waited for me to go on. “Dorne,” I said. “Though I’ve tried planting certainties and friendships, now I’m afraid I’ll be sowing a field of doubts and treachery. I need eyes on them, as many and as fast as possible.”

The chainless maester graced me with a thin smile. “Our sources in Dorne are… well placed, my liege.”

“Ah. Of course,” I said. I’d forgotten about the girl, truth be told. “Still, I want to know about Doran’s position with his bannermen. Would Yronwood betray him for the title of Prince of Dorne? Will the lords of the Torrentine wage war against the throne if called upon, or can I hold them off in their valley with promises of gold and grain?”

“It shall be done.” Qyburn’s hands rubbed against each other. I think he didn’t like being out and about half as much as he liked lurking in his torch-lit dungeons. “And the person?”

I swallowed the dryness that came to my mouth. “Euron Greyjoy,” I whispered, as if the words were blasphemy given name and form. “I expected him to show up in the Iron Islands to make a bid for kingship soon enough, but now… I don’t know where he is, or what he’ll do, Qyburn, but he’s a dangerous man. See to it that whoever you send after him is expandable.”

His sunken eyes widened in their sockets. My uneasiness seemed to have taken him aback. “I… I will see what I can do, Your Grace.”

“Good, good,” I said. “And thank you, Qyburn. Let me know if there’s anything else you need for your work.”

He bowed low and scuttled away. I turned back to my desk, going straight for his summed up report in the sheet of paper. My eyes were swimming as I read through the contents. It wasn’t exhaustion or nausea, it was straight boredom. Until I stopped at one the last ones, which reported homesteads and farms burned in the kingswood, and several grain wagons and merchant trains lost to banditry.

A hot flush of energy spread through me. “Ser Lyle,” I called loudly.

The knight was inside in a second, hand to his sword. “Your Grace?” His eyes roamed the solar, looking for any threats. For all his booming and bluster, he was a competent man.

“We have a bandit problem in the kingsroad. In the kingswood, south of the roseroad.” I took to my feet. “Summon the white swords, ser, and prepare a proper escort. It seems you’ll be getting that action you so looked for, after all.”

His face broke into a wide grin. “Hah!” he laughed. “Just wait until Ser Jaime hears this. One hand or not, I know he’s been itching to get out there. He’ll love it.”

In the books, Dickon (Hah!) Tarly marries Eleanor Mooton, after his father Randyll occupies Maidenpool during the tailend of the War of the Five Kings. Here, that didn’t happen. Also, in the books, Petyr Baelish is made Lord Paramount of the Trident. I followed the show for this, and it’s Lord Walder Frey who became the Riverlands’ overlord.