Varys, the master of whispers, had seamlessly integrated his vast network into Daenerys Targaryen's service, reclaiming his title as Director of Intelligence. Alongside him, a host of civilian officials from the Free Cities of Slaver's Bay managed the complex logistics of her massive military and government.
"Master Varys," Daenerys began, her voice calm despite the weight of the edict in her hands. "Tell me of this Jason East. What do you truly know of him?"
Varys withdrew his hands from the silken sleeves of his robes, his velvet slippers silent as he stepped forward. "Your Majesty," he began in his characteristic soft tone, "he was once merely the Count of Starfire City, known primarily for his immense wealth. In just two years, his trade goods flooded our markets, earning him a fortune in gold."
He paused, letting the scale of Jason's rise sink in. "More importantly, he secretly raised an army of tens of thousands. He crushed Roose Bolton in a single campaign and captured Jaime Lannister, using the Kingslayer as leverage to force Tywin Lannister into returning Sansa and Bran Stark. By marrying Lady Sansa, he solidified his grip on the North and the Riverlands, effectively becoming the Warden of the North."
Varys's eyes narrowed slightly. "My little birds report that he led his forces to annihilate hundreds of thousands of ghouls—monsters that do not die even when decapitated, susceptible only to fire or dragonglass." His expression became subtle, almost troubled. "Now, the Northmen call him the 'God-Blessed.' They claim he can travel to another world and has brought back terrifying weapons of thunder and fire."
Varys's informants had heard the roar of gunfire and seen the strange rifles slung across the backs of the Northern soldiers, yet even the Spider could not fully grasp the nature of such technology.
Ser Jorah Mormont scowled, his heavy brows knitting together. "What nonsense is this? Another world? Such a thing is impossible. Jason East is a liar spinning tall tales of gods and magic to keep the Northmen in line. We cannot be distracted by his fairy tales."
Beside him, Grey Worm remained silent, his face a mask of discipline. While the commander of the Unsullied struggled to believe such rumors, he was a soldier, not a scholar; he waited only for his Queen's command.
Daario Naharis, the flamboyant leader of the Second Sons, stroked his golden-dyed beard with a smirk. "For once, I find myself agreeing with the old bear," he said, glancing at Jorah. "The man is clearly a master of deception."
Jorah bristled at the mercenary's casual tone, especially noting the growing warmth between Daario and the Queen. "It takes only a shred of intellect to see this is a foreign noble's conspiracy," Jorah spat, glaring at Daario.
"Enough," Daenerys said, turning her attention to Quentyn Martell.
The Dornish heir cleared his throat, his eyes lingering on Daenerys's pale skin before he spoke. "Your Majesty, the North is a distant concern. They lack the population and the grain to challenge the South in a prolonged war. Our priority must be King's Landing. We must seize the Iron Throne and capture Joffrey and Tywin Lannister."
He stood a bit taller, pride coloring his voice. "My uncle, Prince Oberyn, has already positioned twenty thousand Dornishmen at the border of the Reach. They are ready to strike the moment you give the word. With Dorne threatening their flank, the Tyrells will be unable to send their full strength to defend the capital."
Quentyn leaned forward. "Between your three dragons and our army of over one hundred thousand, King's Landing will fall like overripe fruit."
Varys nodded, a smile spreading across his plump face. "Prince Quentyn's plan is sound, Your Majesty. With the dragons and our combined numbers, the city cannot hold. Once the pretender is removed and the sinners are judged, the North and the Riverlands will have no choice but to bend the knee. You will be a conqueror comparable to Aegon himself."
Ser Barristan and the others murmured their agreement. The advantage seemed insurmountable.
Daenerys did not rush her response. The trials of Slaver's Bay had tempered her, turning her from a frightened girl into a cautious monarch. She weighed the risks, considering the shadow of the Lannisters and the unknown variables of the North. Finally, she looked up, her decision made.
"Prince Quentyn," she commanded, "contact Prince Oberyn immediately. Tell him to prepare to invade the Reach so the Tyrells remain pinned."
Quentyn bowed deeply, his face flushed with excitement. "At once, Your Majesty!"
She then turned to her generals. "Ser Jorah, Grey Worm, Daario, and my Bloodriders—prepare the men. We board the fleet for King's Landing."
"Yes, Your Majesty!" they shouted in unison. Though they faced Tywin Lannister, the most formidable general in the Seven Kingdoms, the fire of the dragon was behind them, and the throne was finally within their reach.