Chapter 409

Even a place this far south… is starting to see snow?

Jon Connington lifted his head after completing his inspection of the camp, watching as the snowflakes began to drift down from the sky. He let out a long sigh.

He was old.

Years of exile, of fighting and marching with the Golden Company across foreign lands, had left his body broken beyond repair. Even a short ride on horseback was enough to make every joint in his body ache as if it were falling apart.

The long summer was over. Youth had faded.

Winter should have been the time for men to return home, stockpile food, and huddle together until spring returned. But how could he speak of home when the Usurper still sat on the Iron Throne? As long as the Baratheon traitor ruled, as long as Rhaegar’s son had not reclaimed the Seven Kingdoms, rest was not an option.

Daenerys’ invasion of Westeros had come just in time. Had she delayed by even ten more days, the Golden Company holding Storm’s End would have run out of supplies and been forced to surrender. Connington himself might have been left with no choice but to flee to Dorne with the prince, reduced to seeking refuge under another’s roof, powerless and at their mercy.

But fate had not been so cruel.

The disaster had been averted.

With news of Daenerys’ capture of Dragonstone and her march toward King’s Landing spreading across the realm, Stannis had quickly withdrawn his forces from Storm’s End to shore up his defenses. Under Jon Connington’s orders, the remaining forces of the Golden Company had regrouped and begun what would likely be their final march northward.

With barely half their forces left, it was impossible for them to take King’s Landing alone—but that was never their goal. Their true purpose was to arrive at the battlefield before Daenerys breached the city, before the fate of the Iron Throne was decided. If they could place the prince before his aunt, recognition alone would guarantee them a share of the spoils, even if they had no glory to claim.

---

The Golden Company’s morale had suffered after their repeated defeats against Stannis, and with time pressing, Connington had kept their forces moving, striking only when absolutely necessary. They had taken only the strongholds directly blocking their path, avoiding unnecessary skirmishes whenever possible.

But in the end, they had made it.

Before King’s Landing could fall, they had crossed the Stormlands and the Kingswood, arriving at last on the southern bank of the Blackwater, gazing across the river at the Red Keep and the great capital of the Seven Kingdoms.

With their arrival, the Golden Company had sealed the last opening in Daenerys’ encirclement.

To the east, west, north, and south—King’s Landing was now completely surrounded by armies bearing the red dragon banner of House Targaryen.

A city under siege.

Yet despite how dire the situation appeared, in truth, the arrival of the Golden Company had eased the immediate threat to King’s Landing.

Stannis had long since stockpiled enough provisions to endure a prolonged siege, and though the banners outside the city all bore the three-headed dragon, they were sworn to two different rulers. Until an agreement was reached between their two monarchs, neither army could afford to let the other claim the capital first, lest they be left at a disadvantage in the battle for legitimacy.

Young Aegon and the Golden Company did not have the strength to storm the city outright, but they could threaten the Unsullied’s flank and rear, forcing them to remain on guard rather than commit to a full-scale assault.

And soon enough, new players would join the fray—the armies of the Reach and Dorne were already on their way to join the conflict.

The political landscape of King’s Landing was about to become even more chaotic than a three-way war for power.

---

Daenerys’ hesitation had cost her the chance to seize the city for herself.

Until all factions reached a final agreement—or tore each other apart to settle the matter—Stannis was, in some ways, under less pressure than when he had only the Unsullied and dragons to worry about.

Jon Connington’s lips curled into a faint smile.

He was one of the few who knew the truth—that Varys’ true allegiance had always been to Aegon.

And now, the Spider had already woven himself into the queen’s inner circle, whispering in her ear and guiding her decisions.

With Varys already at work, there was a very real chance that Daenerys would agree to marry her nephew. A Targaryen marriage alliance. Aegon and Daenerys, united in blood and in rule.

If he could live long enough to see his beloved silver prince seated on the Iron Throne, ruling the Seven Kingdoms, Connington could die content.

---

And just as he thought of Varys, the Spider arrived.

He had not even dismounted when a soldier ran up to him with a report.

“Hand of the Prince! A messenger claiming to be from the queen has arrived at camp. He calls himself Varys and is waiting for you in the command tent.”

“Oh?” Connington’s eyes brightened. News from the queen!  

“Help me down from my horse. And keep the tent guarded—no interruptions unless it’s an emergency.”

“Yes, my lord!”

With renewed vigor, the old Hand strode toward the command tent.

Inside, as expected, stood that familiar bald figure, waiting patiently.

Connington wasted no time. Once he had dismissed the attendants, he stepped forward, tense with expectation.

“How did it go? Did you convince her?”

Varys lowered his voice. “Hard to say.”

His expression was unreadable.

“While I did present her with a generous gift—the full military disposition of the Crownlands—I have not been at her side as long as Littlefinger has. He holds more influence over her than I do, and he vehemently opposes the marriage alliance.

“The queen has not given a direct answer, but… after being led astray by Petyr’s subtle prodding, she clearly leans toward ruling as queen in her own right, rather than wedding Aegon and becoming his consort.”

“Hmph. Ruling as queen. Sounds simple enough, but does she really think it’s that easy?” Connington scoffed. “She’s young—where does all this ambition come from? And you? What have you done about it?”

“Patience, my lord,” Varys sighed. “The queen has no wish to turn against her last remaining kin. I am considering an alternative—if she refuses to be Aegon’s wife, then perhaps she can be persuaded to name him as her heir.

“This is why I warned you before—do not let the prince fixate too much on being a king. If he meets everyone by declaring himself the rightful ruler, then when the day comes that he must temporarily stand beneath Daenerys, it will be all the more humiliating.”

---

“Heir?” Connington frowned. “That’s an option, certainly. But if I recall correctly, Daenerys is younger than Aegon. She’s still of childbearing age—she will need a husband eventually.

“And if she names Aegon heir but later bears a child of her own? Then what? The prince may never live to see the Iron Throne!”

“That will depend on the prince himself.” Varys’ voice was calm. “If Daenerys refuses to marry but insists on ruling alone, then it is unlikely she will ever wed anyone at all. She will rule as a single queen.

“But if Aegon can prove himself—if he can show her that he is not only competent but indispensable—then before she sets her sights on another, he may already hold a place by her side.

“Not as king, perhaps.

“But as the man she trusts most. As her Hand.

“And from there… the Iron Throne is never far away.”

....

All of that was just a convenient excuse.

The real plan, secretly arranged between Varys and Illyrio, was simple: If Daenerys refused to wed Aegon, they would settle for making him her heir. And once Aegon was officially named as the successor to the Iron Throne… they would find a way to ensure Daenerys’ untimely death.

One way or another, their ultimate goal would be achieved—Aegon would sit the Iron Throne, and the Seven Kingdoms would be his.

But this plan could never be revealed to Jon Connington or Aegon himself. Neither the old Hand nor the young prince could be allowed to know.

Both were utterly convinced that Aegon was the true son of Rhaegar Targaryen. And the carefully crafted environment that Varys and Illyrio had built around him had successfully molded Aegon Targaryen into the very image of an ideal king—loyal, just, brave, and wise.

A prince raised to be all those things could never be convinced to participate in a plot to murder his own queen—the last living member of his family.

No, such dirty work was best left to men like the Spider and the Merchant of Pentos—men who dealt in the shadows.

Aegon’s only task was to step into a throne that had been cleared for him, to become the pure and untarnished ruler history would remember as the greatest king since the first Aegon the Conqueror.

The ancestor of all future Targaryens.

---

“Sigh… If the queen’s ambitions have truly grown this vast, then I suppose there’s no choice but for Aegon to begrudgingly accept the role of heir,” Jon Connington muttered, frowning deeply.

Having watched Aegon grow from childhood, he had no doubt that his prince would become the most capable and ideal ruler Westeros had ever seen.

But men did not live in a world of ideals.

Some concessions to reality had to be made.

---

“Enough sighing,” Varys interjected. “Things could be far worse, you know. Do you realize?

“Littlefinger almost succeeded in persuading the queen to seize King’s Landing before the other armies could arrive. If not for Stannis himself holding strong, forcing Daenerys to hesitate with his ranks of dragon-killing scorpions… and if not for that red priest, Macoro, insisting she travel north to participate in that absurd ‘Final Battle’… then by the time you arrived, you’d be looking at a city already flying the red dragon banner.”

Had Daenerys truly taken the city by force, then Aegon and the Golden Company would have had nothing left to bargain with.

There would be no negotiating his legitimacy—only bending the knee.

And whether or not she even acknowledged his Targaryen blood would be entirely at her whim.

Things have already turned out better than they could have.  

With that thought, Connington felt somewhat more at ease. But soon enough, another matter weighed on his mind.

---

"After news of Daenerys' invasion spread, the Reach and Dorne have both grown ambiguous in their stance toward Aegon," Connington grumbled. "I invited both House Tyrell and House Martell to march with us. I expected the Martells to refuse—but even the Tyrells have remained silent!"

“Hmph.”

Varys narrowed his eyes, a cold glint flashing in them.

"Both houses have unwed male heirs," he said. "With the queen still unmarried, they’ve clearly begun scheming for themselves. They think a young woman will be easier to control than your well-trained prince…

"But they will find Daenerys Targaryen far less pliable than they imagine."

The Spider’s lip curled.

"But enough of this nonsense. There are more productive matters to attend to."

"Here—this is a full set of schematics for the dragon-killing scorpions. One of my little birds stole them from inside King’s Landing. You have craftsmen among your men, yes? Have them produce some—and train soldiers to use them."

---

“Hm?”

Connington instinctively took the scroll that Varys pulled from his robe, his eyes widening.

“Didn’t we agree that Aegon would never wage war against Daenerys? Why do we need this?”

“The fact that we have no intent to harm her does not mean we should not prepare for all possibilities,” Varys said smoothly. “And besides, scorpions can kill more than just dragons."

"They can kill men. They can breach walls."

"Preparation never hurts. Just ensure it is done in secret—no word of this must escape."

The eunuch’s logic was sound. Connington nodded and tucked the schematics away.

“Fine. I’ll see it done.”

Of course, Aegon would never move against Daenerys.

But when the time came for the queen’s tragic and unexpected death…

Three dragons who understood no human tongue would still need to be dealt with.

Better to prepare now than be caught off guard later.

---

"The queen has traveled north to visit the Wall," Varys continued. "She will return in a few days. Have the prince make ready—once she arrives, you must go to her immediately."

"If she takes a liking to Aegon and agrees to marry him, all the better."

"But if she refuses, don’t waste time arguing. Acknowledge her claim as the rightful monarch, and join forces to take King’s Landing from Stannis."

"Everything else can wait—securing the city comes first."

His tone left no room for negotiation.

---

“Understood. I’ll relay this to the prince.”

“Good. I won’t linger—I must head west to speak with the Tyrells. Farewell.”

Varys stepped out of the tent and took a long breath of the crisp, dry winter air.

Deep within his chest, emotions roiled.

Twenty years.

For two decades, he had woven his web, maneuvering and eliminating every obstacle, watching as House Targaryen crumbled into ruin.

And now, there was only one left.

The final heir.

Once he had squeezed the last drop of usefulness from this final Targaryen…

Then this grand game—this masterpiece of deception—would at last reach its end.

---

Littlefinger.

That fool still thought his sudden appearance at Daenerys’ side was a gambit to win the queen’s favor—to compete for her ear, to steal his influence.

How pathetic.

Did he truly believe that Daenerys Targaryen was anything more than a pawn on this board?

The queen had refused to play the role of the wife.

So she would be removed.

One way or another.