Chapter 273

Jon Connington, one of the two "Hands of the King" currently presiding over Westeros, stood in the grand hall of Storm’s End, staring grimly at the battle map spread across the table. His mood was as dark as the storm that raged outside.

"You told me that if we didn’t counterattack, we’d lose our chance entirely—and I believed you. Even now, I don’t doubt the soundness of your earlier advice," he said without lifting his gaze, addressing the bald man seated across from him, whose presence exuded a faint scent of perfume. "But the truth is, a correct decision doesn’t always guarantee victory. We’re in a dire situation. I’d like to say the Golden Company has enough strength to hold its ground, but the reality is grim. One of our major allies has abandoned us, and the other is barely holding on. Even preserving what we’ve gained so far is becoming a challenge."

The silence in the hall was oppressive. Dorne’s forces had withdrawn from the battlefield without a word, while the Reach, after suffering repeated defeats, was unraveling from within. Voices calling for recognition of Stannis Baratheon’s claim to the throne were resurfacing, fracturing the Tyrells’ fragile coalition.

To make matters worse, the Iron Islands’ new master, Euron Greyjoy, had launched a fleet to raid the Reach’s western coastline, seizing the Shield Islands and Tumbleton.

Although the Reach had the strength to reclaim these territories, the constant string of troubles had entangled the Tyrells, leaving them unable to provide sufficient support to the Golden Company or Prince Aegon. If not for the respite granted by Stannis needing to regroup after the North’s withdrawal, Storm’s End might have already fallen back into his hands.

Varys, seated across from Jon, didn’t look much better. Still, he chose not to address Jon’s pessimism directly. Instead, he shifted the topic. "Did something go wrong during Prince Oberyn’s meeting with Prince Aegon?"

"If it did, I didn’t notice," Jon replied, shaking his head. "They met, got acquainted, then spoke privately for a while. I didn’t press Aegon on the details, but there didn’t seem to be any tension. After the meeting, Oberyn returned to his forces, and soon after, Dorne’s army crossed into the Stormlands and threatened Stannis’ flank, giving us much-needed relief."

Jon frowned, revisiting the memory. "Admittedly, since they didn’t know each other beforehand, Oberyn couldn’t truly determine if Aegon was his nephew. The reunion was neither touching nor dramatic. But if Dorne doubted Aegon’s identity, it would make sense for them to refuse aid altogether. Why, then, would they commit their forces only to withdraw at such a critical moment, upending our plans entirely?"

"It’s indeed a frustrating mystery, but perhaps this will shed some light on it," Varys said, folding his hands and speaking deliberately. "My little birds tell me that Prince Quentyn Martell of Dorne has been missing for quite some time."

Jon looked up, startled. "Missing? Last I heard, Quentyn was stationed along the Boneway..."

"Serving under Lord Yronwood’s command, officially, yes," Varys replied with a faint, humorless smile. "But how does a prince ‘in service’ vanish without a trace for months? Quentyn isn’t some delicate maiden confined to her chambers. And here’s something more intriguing—my birds in Volantis report that a group of Dornishmen recently landed there, searching for a ship to Slaver’s Bay. Specifically, to Meereen. Can you guess why?"

Jon’s expression darkened. "You’re suggesting that Quentyn Martell has gone to Meereen... to seek out our queen?"

"Do you remember the secret pact made fifteen years ago between Willem Darry and Oberyn Martell, witnessed by the Sealord of Braavos? Viserys Targaryen was to wed Arianne Martell. In exchange, Dorne pledged full support when he landed to reclaim the Iron Throne."

Jon’s breath caught. "Now that Viserys is gone, Dorne is shifting its focus to Daenerys, hoping to make our queen... their queen?"

The idea chilled him to the bone. With their plans for reconquest just beginning to take shape, the last thing they needed was infighting between the two surviving Targaryens. "Is Daenerys still playing her ruling games in Meereen? What are your people doing? Why haven’t you brought her back yet?"

"Our queen isn’t as easy to control as you might think," Varys replied with a weary smile. "It’s understandable, really. Growing up in such an environment, enduring so much hardship, only to gain three dragons—anyone in her position would develop strong ideas of their own. And let’s not forget, she has the blood of the dragon. Viserys used to boast about his ‘dragon’s wrath,’ but it seems his long-bullied sister is the one who truly inherited it."

Jon cut him off impatiently. "Spare me the talk of dragons. Use your methods. Isn’t manipulation your specialty? What about that Littlefinger you supposedly control? Have him convince our queen to return. We can’t hold out much longer!"

"I must correct you—I don’t control Littlefinger, nor have I ever," Varys replied. "Petyr Baelish is merely someone unfortunate enough to fall into my hands and be sent to Daenerys’ side. He’s the second smartest man in Westeros, and the moment you think you can control him, he’s already plotting your demise. The few times I’ve successfully utilized him were only through careful planning and aligning with his own interests."

Varys sighed. "Even if I could persuade Littlefinger to urge Daenerys to return, it wouldn’t matter. Not because she wouldn’t listen, but because... our queen isn’t in Meereen."

"Where is she, then?"

"The far east."

Jon frowned deeply. "What kind of nonsense is this? Did she suddenly believe some Watcher’s tales and decide this world is a damned sphere, planning to return to Westeros by heading east?"

"Not quite. The primary reason is that her dragons have grown wilder and more aggressive, attacking livestock—and people—around Meereen. At her advisors’ urging, she decided to search for a place to learn how to control them. Following whispers from some mysterious figure, she mounted a dragon and flew east. Her current whereabouts are unknown."

"And you did nothing to stop her? You let our queen and her dragons slip from your sight?"

"I’m not her bodyguard! By the time I received the news, she had already been gone for some time," Varys retorted sharply. "Besides, if she truly learns to master her dragons on this journey, it will only benefit us. Daenerys without control over her dragons is of limited value."

Jon exhaled slowly, regaining his composure. "Fine. I can’t blame you for Daenerys. Let’s focus on more practical matters. How do we withstand Stannis’ next offensive? And what do you plan to do about Dorne’s ambitions?"

"Our mysterious supporters in Pentos will soon send reinforcements. All you need to do is hold out until they arrive. As for Dorne, don’t concern yourself. Prince Doran thinks he can play us for fools, but he’ll find that I’m not so easily deceived. As for his precious son..." Varys’ voice grew colder. "...he’ll never marry anyone."

Jon’s expression changed. "What do you intend to do? You know Dorne is one of our key allies. If this is discovered..."

"It won’t be. I’ll ensure it looks like an accident. Unless, of course, your conscience is waking up again?" Varys’ tone grew sharper, shedding the pretense of harmlessness he maintained at court. "Do I need to remind you of the Battle of the Bells? If not for your foolish mercy back then, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation about ‘King Stannis.’"

...

Jon fell silent, the memory of the Battle of the Bells gnawing at him. His hesitation had cost them dearly, allowing Robert Baratheon to escape and ultimately turn the tide of the rebellion.

"Have you remembered?" Varys asked, his voice softening as he saw Jon’s defeated expression. "Leave this dirty work to me. Don’t concern yourself, and don’t let Aegon know. Rhaegar’s son must sit on the Iron Throne, and anyone who stands in the way... will face only one end."

Jon’s voice was strained but resigned. "Do what you must, as long as it doesn’t cause us more trouble."

Varys smiled faintly, his demeanor shifting back to the amiable spymaster. "We’re all working toward the same goal—to support the true king. Let’s set aside our differences for now and focus on our respective duties. Hold the line, and within weeks, the situation will shift in our favor."