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Chapter 64: Kinglanding Interlude.
🕑 Added 2024-09-30 11:41:21 +0000 UTCAuthor's Note:
So yeah, people are plotting in the capital. We learned what made Aegon appear so fast, among other things, while also seeing who is trying to influence whom. I'm not a plotter, nor am I a mastermind, so I hope I did it justice—or at least made it make sense, lol. Hope you guys enjoy the chapter. Hopefully, I'll see you soon.
Varys
Kingslanding.
Even if I tried to ignore it, I could not hide the frown from my face. Things had veered off course, and I was making plans on the go. With the escape of the late hand, I had to push for Aegon to start his incursion before everything was ready. That came with some problems, but at least the Golden Company provided their martial force for him to defeat Stannis Baratheon.
Oh, I knew it wasn’t over. While Stannis was the contender with the least support, there was a reason why even Tywin Lannister held him in such high regard. He had a mind like no other for warfare, able to win a conflict even with his diminished numbers.
My little birds had been incapable of telling me what was going on in Dragonstone, where he was licking his wounds, but I was sure it wouldn’t be the last time we heard of him. What preoccupied me the most were the last messages they were able to send to the capital. Changing the religion a whole island followed was no easy feat, and what they had done for some of the people who refused to do it sent a chill down my spine.
Thinking about the red priest brought back a sneer to my face. Magic… I hated it with a passion like no other person in Westeros; it had been a sorcerer who bought me when I was a child, the one who did all those atrocities to me for the sake of enlightenment only to drop me like I was some trash when he didn’t need me anymore. And now we were surrounded by it.
Jaime Lannister had come wounded from the Battle of Mummers Ford, a nasty hole in his thigh that miraculously he was expected to heal with the help of Maester Pycelle. But what he told us provided some much-needed information that I hadn’t been able to procure in these chaotic times.
The scowl came back in full force; Robb Stark's bid for the throne was not something I expected. At most, I hoped that he would bid for independence, and while doing so, provide Aegon with much-needed time to prepare. But no, the lad had to try and take the throne by himself, and with his black magic, he rode to the top of my list of dangerous people in Westeros, almost to the top.
When I first heard about his victory against Lord Tywin’s host, I could barely believe it. Tywin was one of the most feared persons in Westeros, and to think a kid with no more than five and ten name days old had defeated him was a farce. While I was not a warfare specialist, I had been in the shadows of more conflicts than I could count, so I knew that there was always a possibility of flukes existing, but what I heard about how he won shocked me to the core.
The news of the fall of the Twins reached here long before that, but I didn’t pay it any mind. It was impossible; magic was gone from Westeros, and I knew for a fact that a Stark would not use blood or sacrifice magic until it was the last option. I firmly believed that even Eddard Stark would cut his heir's head off if he tried. They were just like that.
Because of that, I only believed it to be some rumors spread by the young wolf to make his name feared, nothing more.
When I heard about Tywin’s defeat, I paid more attention than I usually would, but even then, what was on the lips of most people now had to be an exaggeration. Oh, how stupid I was.
Him controlling millions upon millions of insects, or at least it appeared that way for the observers, to using wildfire were the most prominent rumors, but there were some about his prowess in battle and analytical mind. If, and it was a big if, the rumors were true, he was the one I had to pay more attention to.
The smallfolk were already comparing him to the warrior in the flesh, ignoring the fact that he followed a completely different religion, with the option being the supposed son of the late Robert and himself; the choice was as clear as day.
With all the changes the North had in the past five years and what he had done during the war that was dubbed before as the War of the Five Kings, now I supposed it was six kings, considering Balon Greyjoy in the Iron Islands. People hoped that he would defeat the bastardly Lannisters who were burning the lands and making this worse, to the point that they ignored the fact that he used magic.
The smallfolk did not care about that, at least for now. The only thing they wanted was to sleep with a full belly and have security, something that I understood and even approved of to some measure.
The North was safe from bandits for more than four years; they stopped buying from the other kingdoms before Jon Arryn forced their hands because they did have the food necessary to feed their people, the only reason they continued buying food from the reach was to keep the friendship going, something that helped them in the long run since I was sure they had enough food to feed the north during this war without outside intervention. Everyone wanted that, and under the Lannisters, they were suffering while the royal family feasted. It went to a point of no return that I did not even participate in those feasts because I felt guilty. My main motivation for everything I did was the betterment of the smallfolk, and after that, to have Aegon on the throne.
In the deepest part of my mind, I accepted that if Robb Stark did not use magic, I would even choose to support him instead of Aegon, but since he did, he became my enemy. Magic was something that should have stayed dead, not something that came back. There was nothing more than suffering for the people who participated in it and even less for their victims.
The only saving grace was that from what I heard, he was not harming the smallfolk, and even the hostages were well treated. At least Eddard Stark raised him well, even if he should have drowned him at birth, in my opinion.
Walking at my normal sedated pace to the small council reunion, I wondered what it would be about. Lord Jaime had reached King’s Landing a day ago, so we would probably speak about how fucked the Lannisters were. They had not made any friends when they could, having conflicts with everyone since they had the power when Robert was alive. Now, it was even worse; Joffrey’s attitude was something that reminded me of Aerys, and that was something no one in the Seven Kingdoms wanted a repeat of. His mannerisms, his whines, and his sheer brutality were something I did not understand how a human being was capable of. There was something wrong with that child, and it lent credibility to the theory of the maesters that said that inbreeding was the cause of madness.
Thankfully, his brother and sister were not like that, and with my position, it would not be difficult to arrange a little accident for the second coming of the Mad King. But it was not the time for now, because I was sure if something happened to him, I would be the first suspect and I would need to run away.
The information I obtained in the Red Keep was something of importance, and for that reason, I could not move against Joffrey even if I wanted to.
Smiling my usual smile at Ser Oakheart, who was guarding the entrance to the throne room, I wondered when he would betray the Lannisters. He was a good man, and the things Joffrey and the queen had done did not sit well with him. Scratching my chin, I wondered if I should help him like I did Ser Barristan.
Thinking about him brought a small, honest smile to my face. My contacts in Astapor told me a little tidbit of information that I was sure would be worth it to the queen. How her wayward brother got in working order with Robb Stark was still a mystery to me, but it was easy to find that he had been sent there with the help of a Merman Galley.
It was weird since there was nothing of note on that side of the world, at least for the people of Westeros. The only thing of importance was Daenerys Targaryen, but as of my last message, she was still in Qarth doing God knows what.
“How do you find yourself today, Lord Varys?” the slimy voice of Littlefinger could be heard in the chambers. With all the chaos, he did not waste a single moment to increase his power, much to my amazement. If he were not so selfish and self-serving, I’m sure he could be a magnificent ally that you could count on in almost any situation, but you couldn’t be sure with him.
My little birds had found him murmuring to the king's ears, telling him what he wanted to hear, and a weird friendship was formed. Something that could be useful to diminish his hold on power in the future when Joffrey died.
“All is well, my lord,” I smiled genially at him, hiding my true thoughts. “How about you? Do you know what this meeting is about?” I asked, genuinely curious. I’d been so busy and distracted with the news about magic that I hadn’t paid attention, something that I needed to fix quickly. King’s Landing was not a safe place for careless people.
“Oh? You are slipping, my friend,” he smirked. “Jaime Lannister woke up today; I’m sure he will be present to give his point of view on his defeat. I’m sure we will hear some tall tales from him today.”
“Indeed,” I nodded. “Some of the things that the merchants and smallfolk are talking about are hard to believe, even after all these years in my line of work.”
I continued walking, and finally, I plopped down in my seat, with the most dangerous man in King’s Landing next to me. “Who can we expect in this meeting, my lord?”
“I think all of us will be present,” he murmured in my ear. “The king will want to be present, and I’m afraid of what he will do to the Kingslayer when he hears what he says. From my contacts, he is still apoplectic from yesterday.”
Dipping my head down to hide my face, my thoughts started running a mile a minute. It was true; the mad child would not doubt for a second that it was the incompetence of Jaime and his grandfather, and I’m afraid the queen would not be capable of curtailing his decision.
“Do you think the queen will be able to stop him?” I asked in a murmur while we waited for the rest to arrive. Right now, the small council was short-staffed, with no hand, no master of ships, and no master of laws—something that needed to change as soon as possible.
Littlefinger smirked. “It is a possibility,” he nodded, “but I’m not completely sure; his grace has been skittish since the news of Lord Stark reached the Crownlands,” he sneered.
“Oh, yes. Robb Stark, it is magnificent how he managed to defeat the Westerlands while being so young, is it not?” I smiled at him, knowing about his hatred for all things Stark and the fear he had for his life since Ned Stark had survived and was sure to warn his son.
“Yes… him,” he spat, his disdain almost palpable. “I’m sure his grace will be ecstatic to hear about his victories.”
Coinciding with the point, the conversation came to a halt with the entrance of the royal family, followed by Grand Maester Pycelle. Jaime Lannister was almost dead on his feet, so much so that it was easy to notice his stress.
I tried to observe as closely as I could without seeming eager or attracting their attention; Jaime Lannister was a shadow of his former self.
His once bright eyes were dulled, with his gaze in different directions without focusing on anything in particular. Dark circles etched beneath his eyes told a story of suffering. If I was correct, the battle was almost three weeks ago, and he must have ridden without stopping when strictly necessary. I also noticed that he was skinnier than before; it truly was like looking at a different person.
The queen was distraught at seeing him like that. I guessed that she was in part mad because of his failure, afraid of how Joffrey would react, and stressed at not being able to smother him in her bosom like the lover he was.
“Your grace, my queen,” I nodded at them with a simpering expression as I stood up and bowed in their direction. “Ser Jaime, I am truly glad you find yourself better than when you arrived.”
I noticed that Ser Jaime barely paid me any attention, and I wondered what truly happened at Mummers Ford for him to be this way. Truly, war was so difficult, making men of his caliber break apart in a single moment.
“Lord Varys,” Joffrey sneered, and I squashed the thought of killing the bastard. His time would come; I just needed patience.
“My uncle was going to enlighten us about how he lost fifteen thousand of MY men,” he continued in a mild voice before screaming like the petulant child he was.
Spittle was flying through his mouth, almost reaching the queen, who was at his side.
“Dear, calm down,” Cersei murmured at him, moving a hand through his thigh in a soothing gesture.
She ordered a servant to serve some wine for both of them to calm him down. I could already see that she was nervous for her twin. She knew her son’s character and wanted to use anything she could do to avoid a harsh punishment.
The king took his cup and drank it in one mouthful. “Go on, uncle. Tell us how you and grandfather lost my army in the Riverlands,” he sneered.
Jaime was slow to begin, his tone almost flat of inflection. “I don’t know exactly what happened to Father’s army; there was no raven from his camp either before his battle nor after, so I can guess either everyone from the Westerlands died or is currently a hostage. Everyone in the Riverlands knew where my host was, but not a single member of Father’s host arrived, so I can guess Robb Stark was even more thorough than Edmure Tully.”
“But I do mostly know what happened at Mummers Ford,” he nodded, his eyes blank while he drank some wine offered to him by another servant. “We were waiting for a message from your grandfather to start moving again; since our scouts had seen Edmure and twenty thousand men leaving Riverrun, we were waiting for them in an advantageous position.” He continued gulping his wine. “We had the advantage, even if we were at a numerical disadvantage; Edmure Tully had not been able to do anything during the defense at Riverrun, so we expected to defeat him and take him hostage.”
“It appears the trout has some fangs,” smirked Lord Baelish at my side. For someone who didn’t know him as I did, he would appear just his usual self, but you could feel a small twinge of respect he had toward the heir of Riverrun. Maybe he felt something since he was the brother of the love of his life or something.
But I did not expect what happened next: Jaime punched the table with all his might, splintering it in the process, and gritted his teeth like he had spent a few moons learning the art under Stannis.
“It wasn’t him,” he snarled. “That pathetic trout would have no hope of defeating me in a thousand years.”
Ah… There it was, the patented petulance of the Lannister family whenever something went in a different direction than they expected. It was the first time I had seen Jaime act like this, but I guess it was expected; it is not an everyday occurrence when someone is defeated so completely without being capable of defending themselves.
“But he did defeat you, Ser Jaime,” I pointed out with my most innocent facade, knowing that it would not be enough insult for him to skewer me with his sword.
His gaze locked into mine, and he snarled before slumping his shoulders in defeat.
“Yes, he did defeat my host completely,” he admitted in shame. “Those damned masked men,” he murmured dejectedly.
“Oh?” asked the Grand Maester. “What is this about masked men?”
Little by little, Jaime Lannister told the complete tale of his defeat to the small council, and all were silent, trying to understand the ramifications of this conflict going into the future. All but one.
King Joffrey, first of his name, was trembling in his seat, his face purple with rage.
“I’ll have their heads on a spike!” he shouted for all to hear. “Every single one of them will die, and their houses stripped of their honor!”
“With what army, your grace?” asked Lord Baelish, and I had to give him props for that; he had balls of Valyrian steel.
“We only have the Lannister men located in King’s Landing: the gold cloaks and the three thousand men your uncle Jaime managed to escape with,” he continued, laughing weakly, and I wondered how much of it was a farce.
“What do you recommend then, Littlefinger?” spat Joffrey.
“Let me leave for the Vale. I am completely sure I can convince Lysa Arryn to ally with the crown,” he smirked, sure of himself.
Before anyone could object like the last time, I realized that this was what he had been preparing for during his conversations with the king. He wanted Joffrey to trust him before offering his assistance with the Vale; that way, he would overrule everyone’s opinion.
The queen opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, the king interrupted her. “You are the only reason why I don’t execute my uncle. Be silent, woman,” Joffrey snarled. “I don’t want to hear a single word from your mouth, mother. You told me to trust Grandfather and Uncle Jaime, and look where that got us.”
The queen's mouth snapped shut, and I hid a snicker at that. It appeared that she wasn’t in control anymore, or at least she could not lie to herself thinking the contrary.
“But what can we do besides getting the Vale under our wing?” asked Pycelle, dropping his facade of the way-too-old maester, showing that his cunning hadn’t diminished with age.
“What about sellswords?” asked Ser Jaime. “There are no more options; all the kingdoms are either supporting someone or staying neutral, like Dorne or the Vale. But the Dornish would rather burn than ally with us.”
“What about a royal marriage?” piped up Lord Baelish. “If we promise them the crown, maybe they will forget about the past?”
Cersei purpled with rage. “Absolutely not! I will not have either Myrcella or Joffrey marry those barbarians. They should be good subjects and support us without that! Send a raven to the Water Gardens; it is time Doran Martell lives up to his vows.”
“I don’t think that will work out, sister,” Ser Jaime shook his head. “Remember who the Northerners have as hostages…”
“You don’t think…” she gasped in reply and paled so quickly that I was glad Pycelle was near her.
Ser Jaime just nodded. “They have Father, Gregor Clegane, and Ser Amory Lorch—the main transgressors of the sack of King’s Landing during the rebellion. I know for a fact that the Martells would drool at having the opportunity to exact their vengeance, and I suppose Robb Stark knows that too.”
“But what can we do?” asked Joffrey, pale as his mother.
“Maybe we can use the Faith against the North,” the queen replied questioningly. “We can bribe the High Septon so that he uses his speeches to sow discord with the smallfolk of all the kingdoms.”
“Good idea, my queen. I’m sure we can manage that with the amount of gold we still have in our coffers,” Lord Baelish smirked, as always, the smug bastard.
With that decision made, everyone got up from their seats to fulfill their orders, but I stayed back since I wanted to speak with someone in particular.
“Ser Jaime, a moment?” I asked respectfully.
He nodded in agreement, taking back his seat. Before the Maester could do the same, I stopped him. “I’m afraid I need to have this conversation alone, Grand Maester. I’ll send Ser Jaime to your solar when we are finished.”
The Maester went to argue, but Ser Jaime waved his hand dismissively. “Go ahead, Pycelle. I’m sure I will be fine.”
“Now, what do you want, Varys?” he asked seriously.
“Ser Jaime, I want you to be honest with me. I admit that I’m not well-versed in warfare. How fucked are we?” I asked seriously; I needed to know when was the best time to leave this wretched capital.
Ser Jaime uncharacteristically sighed. “We are completely fucked, Lord Varys. We have no allies, and the Westerlands were gutted in Riverrun. Even if the remaining lords wanted to keep supporting us, they could only send farmboys or smallfolk, not trained men.”
I nodded in acceptance. “That’s what I feared, my lord. We are surrounded by enemies, and while I did not want to say this in the hearing of the other members of the small council, we have less time than any of us hoped.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, tilting his head.
“Lord Renly and the Reach started moving some weeks ago. I received a raven from one of my informants. They don’t seem to be marching here, thank the Seven for that, but it is a problem for us.” I replied morosely. “From what my little birds have told me, it appears that Renly wishes to finish his brother first without any other contender intervening.”
Ser Jaime was silent, upon hearing the grave news, but he turned serious after thinking for a bit.
“Is there any way we can make sure both of them die?” he asked seriously.
I thought for a moment. “It is certainly possible, but there is one problem with that plan, Ser Jaime. I can surely manage to do something against Renly, but I’m afraid I am completely blind with Stannis Baratheon. According to the last message my little birds sent from Dragonstone, he has the support of a red priest who uses magic.”
“Magic again,” he spat to the ground, and I could see the telltale signs of stress after hearing that word. “But do not worry much about that. As great a general as he is, I know for a fact that he cannot defeat the Reach in battle. It does not matter how good he is; they have twenty times his numbers.”
I nodded at him with a smile. “In that case, I’m sure I can manage to deal with Renly if it is needed, Ser Jaime. But what good would that bring us?”
He smirked. “The Tyrells have always wanted a crown. I’m sure the bumbling fool of Mace Tyrell will drool at the idea.”
I sighed at him. I did not know if he was ignoring the problem or what, but it did not matter much to me since I could take advantage of it.
“What if they support this supposed Aegon?” I asked, tilting my head. “Are you not counting on that, Ser?”
The Kingslayer sighed. “That certainly is a possibility, but it does not matter. We just need to make the best offer. Westerosi houses will not support this Aegon for now; he needs to gain the respect of the houses, at least the ones that aren’t Targaryen loyalists. And while the Reach claims to be one of those, we both know that they are anything but that. They work for their best interest, and we can make sure we make that happen.”
“Do you have any spies with this Aegon?” Ser Jaime asked seriously.
Inwardly, my thoughts were going a mile per minute, but it would not be hard to weave a tale.
“Indeed, I do, Ser,” I smiled at him. “Nowhere close to a high-ranking official, but he can hear tidbits of information. He has not done anything as of right now because I wanted him to integrate into the group first, but if it’s needed, I can notify him immediately.”
Ensuring that Aegon had the best chance at winning was my job; nothing else mattered as of right now. With this plan, I would be able to continue staying in King’s Landing while helping Young Griff.
“What do you need my spy to do, Ser Jaime?” I asked with a normal smile while I strategized how to take advantage of our enemies.
“I want you to use him to send stories about how the Tyrells failed the Targaryens during the rebellion. I want him to do whatever he can so that this Aegon has some bias before meeting them,” he said with a surprising level of cunning I did not know he had before.
Little did he know that I did not need to do anything to color Young Griff’s perception of the Tyrells; having Jon Connington as his father figure did that for me. The man was a fantastic general and trusted by the last dragon, but I knew he had something wrong with his head. The zealotry he had for Rhaegar was something that made people question if he was a sword swallower, and as good as I was at finding out secrets, I was not sure of that answer.
Either way, this worked well for me. These kinds of tasks were the ones I loved—doing what people asked of me while obtaining all the benefits without losing my advantages.
“Consider it done, my lord. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have ravens to send. I will ask for a servant to take you to Maester Pycelle’s solar so that he can continue with your treatment.” I smiled genially at him. “I’m glad that your defeat did not kill your spirit, Ser Jaime.”
He waved his hand in dismissal. “Go on; I will wait here.”
Nodding at him, I stood up, leaving the chamber and telling Ser Oakheart, who hadn’t left his position, to help me with Ser Jaime. Such a good Kingsguard, that one.
Walking through the castle, I was surprised to see one of my little birds waiting for me, giving me a piece of paper with a location on it, and I hurried there to a secret spot.
Looking through the hole, I frowned, seeing Lord Baelish speaking with the king in hushed whispers, but even if I tried my best, they were far enough away that I couldn’t hear them.
Lord Baelish was dangerous, of that I was sure, and I didn’t like the idea of him and Joffrey working together. The little monster was chaotic enough without having a sycophant feeding his cruelty for his gain. If Petyr Baelish manages to become the hand, something that I think is what he is aiming for would mean the end of the seven kingdoms as we know of.
