[Chapter Size: 1500 Words.]
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The following night, Varys hurried to Theon's residence and swore his loyalty to him.
Looking at the network of Little Birds now in his hands, Theon was somewhat shocked. No wonder Varys had been able to serve as master of whisperers, his skill in intelligence was formidable.
Yet Theon knew that Varys had certainly kept some secrets, especially concerning Essos. Varys had mentioned it only in passing, offering no real details.
"You will mobilize some of your birds for me later. I want to create an intelligence network," Theon declared. He intended to build an organization specializing in clandestine work, assassinations and espionage.
Varys, of course, was an expert in this field. By employing a few "instructors" to instill ideology during training, Theon could also greatly reduce the risk of rebellion.
At the same time, he would be able to monitor and balance Varys's birds, ensuring that his own ears always received differing accounts of events.
Varys clearly understood Theon's intentions, but the situation was complicated, and he was unsure how Theon had learned of his conspiracy with Illyrio.
"I don't know how much Theon really knows, but I dare not ask. I am like a fish displayed in a glass tank, entirely at the mercy of others."
But waiting for opportunities was what Varys did best. And if Theon were to die one day, then perhaps no one would ever uncover his secrets.
Theon might well have perished in his duel with the Mountain. Varys had known there was a small chance of such an outcome. Based on the current circumstances, however, Theon could withstand a direct strike from the city's great war engines.
By luck, no matter how powerful the Mountain might be, he could not shatter Theon's armor.
First, the Drowned God had granted Theon Greyjoy an indestructible suit of armor. Then Stannis Baratheon had slain Renly Baratheon through fire-born sorcery.
There were still countless sorcerers in Essos, and some reports even claimed they could now conjure fire from nothing.
Theon did not know that Varys was quietly lamenting the return of magic, though he could see that the spymaster was deeply troubled.
To reassure him, Theon steadied himself and said, "You will serve as head of the Iron Empire's intelligence service, and I will build the world you envision."
It was an empty promise, but one Theon had the power to make real.
"Of course. I believe in your strength," Varys replied.
Theon was not concerned about betrayal. His current power ensured that no one dared speak against him.
Besides, Theon believed Varys was not so foolish. He would not act rashly unless he saw the perfect chance to strike.
And so, with some reluctance, Varys joined Theon's ranks. They would never be close allies, but at least Varys would not serve Daenerys.
Without Varys and Tyrion, the Mother of Dragons would have faced far greater struggles in her early campaigns. Not that Theon cared much about Tyrion.
His original plan had been to let Tyrion kill Tywin and then flee to Daenerys. But after some thought, Theon chose to stop him.
For Theon, this was no television drama, it was real life.
Naturally, he would not gamble on the idea that Tyrion's brilliance would somehow be diminished once he reached Meereen. If Tyrion retained his sharp mind, then for Daenerys he would be an invaluable asset.
Such an outcome was utterly unacceptable to Theon.
…
Time passed swiftly, and the day of the trial by combat arrived.
A week later, ten thousand elite soldiers from the Riverlands reached the frontier.
Meanwhile, Yara Greyjoy marched five hundred men toward King's Landing. Theon had no fear of the Lannisters' desperation, for Tywin cared little whether the Imp survived or died.
What mattered most was whether Jaime was willing to surrender his white cloak. Tyrion's death would be preferable, but even if he lived, Tywin would not be greatly troubled.
The one who truly desired Tyrion's death was Cersei. Yet she lacked the strength to oppose Theon. Relying on the unstable High Sparrow, she could not overturn the situation.
The arena that day was filled with nobles, gathered to witness the duel.
As for Tyrion, they cared little about his fate. What they wished to see was whether the rumors of Theon's strength were true.
Oberyn Martell cast his gaze at Theon, who was idly toying with a bird nearby. He had intended to fight for Tyrion himself, but Theon had claimed the right before him, robbing Oberyn of his chance at vengeance.
"Kill him," Tyrion urged. "That man is a demon. Slaying him would be a blessing for Westeros."
The Mountain entered the arena. He stood well over two meters tall, a true giant by Westerosi standards.
Renowned for his cruelty, torture, murder, and rape, the Mountain inspired terror wherever he went. During the War of the Five Kings, he had committed countless atrocities across the Riverlands.
Theon turned and leapt from the fence, which stood several meters high.
Bang!
When he landed, a gleaming suit of silver-white armor appeared before everyone's eyes.
"How did that armor appear?" the crowd exclaimed. They had seen clearly that Theon was unarmored when he entered.
"A gift from the Drowned God," Tywin muttered under his breath, his sharp gaze fixed on Theon.
Sensing eyes upon him, Theon turned, and found himself staring back at the Old Lion, Tywin Lannister.
The moment he turned, the Mountain charged forward, swinging his massive sword toward Theon's neck.
Clang!
Sparks burst into the air. Theon twisted back to face his foe.
"So now you've learned sneak attacks? Seems Cersei has been teaching you new tricks."
Tyrion collapsed onto the ground, shaken to the core by the Mountain's sudden strike. After all, Theon's armor seemed weakest at the neck.
Indeed, that was true. The armor was strong, but its weakest point lay at the throat.
Theon suddenly lashed out, driving his foot into the Mountain's waist. The immense force hurled the giant knight backwards across the arena.
Seven times the strength of an ordinary man, no one, not even the Mountain, could withstand such a blow.
No matter how formidable he was, he remained only a man.
Cersei shot to her feet. "That's impossible!" Her voice rang sharp, betraying her shock.
She had thought Theon dead the instant the Mountain's blade struck, yet against all reason… he endured.
Theon strode slowly toward the Mountain, seized him by the nape, and dragged him toward Oberyn's seat.
But the Mountain, desperate, thrust out his arm and clamped his massive hand around Theon's throat, straining with all his might. If he could not pierce the armor, he would snap the man's neck.
The attempt was futile. With horror, the Mountain realized that no matter how he strained, his arms would not bend.
Theon gripped his wrist and, with a sudden burst of strength, crushed the bones to splinters.
Releasing the bloody hand, he said coldly, "I never thought I would see fear in your eyes. A man as cruel as you, I thought you incapable of fear. Is it because I am stronger than you? Stronger than you can ever hope to be?"
With those words, Theon seized the Mountain's greatsword. Then, stamping down with savage force, he shattered both of the knight's legs, forcing him to kneel before Tywin.
Tywin's face darkened, but Oberyn, seated nearby, could no longer hide his grin. Though it was a pity he had not struck the killing blow himself, to see his greatest enemy broken so utterly, was there any greater joy?
Theon raised the sword with both hands, his commanding voice echoing through the hushed arena:
"Gregor Clegane! You butchered eight hundred and sixty-seven innocents in the Riverlands, one hundred sixty-seven children, three hundred forty-two men, one hundred twenty-nine women, and two hundred twenty-nine elders and sick!"
"I am Theon Greyjoy, First of His Name, King of the Iron Islands, Protector of the Riverlands, mortal vessel of the Sun God Apollo, born of fire and light, the light that judges evil in this world. I sentence you to death!"
With a single decisive swing, Theon ended the Mountain's screams forever.
He lifted the severed head and hurled it onto the table before Oberyn.
"The Seven Hells will not accept him. Let him go to the place he deserves, to atone for his sins."
Oberyn stared at Theon in astonishment, then broke into a smile. He immediately ordered his retainers to secure the Mountain's head, before bowing slightly toward Theon.
"Dorne will never forget this gift, Lord Theon," he declared. "This is the greatest gift I have received since my sister's death, the happiest day of my life. I take my leave, Lord Hand Tywin."
He added with a mocking laugh, "Ah yes, keep the Mountain's body. At least you'll have something to remember him by."
With loud laughter, Oberyn prepared to depart for Dorne at once, eager to bring the Mountain's head to Prince Doran and share the joyous news.
The people of Dorne had never forgotten Elia Martell's murder. United in their hatred, they had long thirsted for vengeance. In truth, had Oberyn not sought to expose the Mountain in the original tale, it would have been Gregor Clegane who died, not Oberyn Martell.
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