Chapter 78
VARYS—The Spider
Varys should have expected that the King on the Iron Throne would not just sit quietly and let their armies gather and land on his shores. The boy King had built himself an army and garrisons at all the major ports, so it was obvious that he would try to dismantle their army through other efforts.
But the Gold and the backing of nearly all of the Essos had made him careless, and now, as the Stark boy struck back, they found their armies halved, and their ships and sailors bought, leaving them in a rather precarious situation.
The once joyous and bustling manse was now empty except for him and Illyrio, as Strickland tried to keep what remained of their armies together. The man also planned on sitting down with a few magisters and merchants, trying to break faith with them and make them see the fault in their paths.
But the damage was done, and the number of ships at their command had been halved, and Varys suspected that more would continue to skitter away with every passing day, making it impossible for them to move their armies, whittled down as they were.
"We have no choice," Illyrio mentioned as his old friend and comrade sat on his chair with a troubled expression. The cheeses and the grapes were now all gone, and Varys could see the servants all trembling in fear of his rage.
"We need his ships," and by his, he spoke of a man who was perhaps just as dangerous as the boy King who sat on the Iron Throne, if not even more.
A man of mystery and power, and sheer ruthlessness. A man who had delved into secrets that no human should ever seek, and whose blue lips and black ship caused dread and horror everywhere they went.
Yet there was no one like him on the seas. No man, woman, or child.
"He is dangerous," Varys understood their situation better than most, yet he had no desire to join hands with a man such as him, even if he came with half a hundred ships.
"Euron Greyjoy is no man," and this was not the first time his name had come up, for they had spoken about him years ago as well and had even brought him to this manse to reach an accord with him, only for the negotiations to fall through.
"He is a monster, with no care for the laws of men and God," and while most men fought for gold, or greed, or perhaps God. Euron Greyjoy was a bottomless pit of depravity and anguish. He was a man who had slaughtered his own family just for joy.
"He would make for a fickle ally, and you have not forgotten about his demands," and Illyrio sat down once more, and rubbed his face in fury and frustration as he nodded.
"I have not," and a few years ago, that one-eyed man had sat just where Varys sat now, as he and Illyrio had offered the Greyjoy exile a chance to join them. They had offered him Gold and Power, along with the ancestral seat of his House, and while the man had accepted it all, he had asked for something they could not offer him.
The Princess—Daenerys. He had not asked to marry her or lie with her, but had simply demanded that they hand her over to him, and in the end, they had decided against joining hands with him, for that was too steep a price for some ships.
"But we have no choice, my friend," Illyrio added, and the weight of the failures had begun to whittle him down for every day, the manse would be full of magisters and merchants and their representatives, all seeking answers from him about the campaign which was seeming more and more impossible with every passing day.
"We need his ships, and I say that the girl has far outlived her usefulness," and that was not true, at least not entirely.
"We were going to wed her to the boy," for that would give his claim more legitimacy, and Illyrio rubbed his head.
"We can find him a new wife. A westerosi wife who would bring with her a castle and an army," and that was easier said than done in the current climate where the King held so much power.
"She will never agree to it," and Euron's cruelty was infamous throughout the lands, and the girl would never agree to the match.
"Do you think it matters at all if she agrees or not. She is nothing but a weak and helpless woman who only lives because of the blood that runs through her veins," and that was true.
"She lives because we let her, and she shall die when we let her." Illyrio's words were cold and filled with a fury that rarely, if ever, came out, but the troubles and the betrayals had made his old friend erratic.
"She is already suspicious of us," Varys added, and Illyrio waved his hand.
"Yet she still lives in the manse we gave her and eats the food we offer her," yet she was suspicious nonetheless.
"She is nothing more than cattle, my friend," Illyrio whispered.
"Ours to feed, ours to kill and eat if we so desire," and one did not rise to become as wealthy and powerful as Illyrio without slaughtering a few cows.
"And I believe it is time to kill that cow," and so the decision was made, and while Varys was not convinced, he agreed with Illyrio that there was no other option.
"I will reach out to him," and they could only hope that the God's Eye would not ask for more, given that they were about to sacrifice one of their most crucial pieces to his desires.
"What of our plans of landing our armies in the West?" and the gold that they had spent would soon show its might.
"I have men in Lannisport as we speak, taking a measure of all the defences and the routes of the guards," and they would strike as soon as an opening would present itself.
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CREGAN STARK
"He won't make it through the night," and Qyburn's words only soured his mood further as Cregan continued to pace in his solar as he, soon-to-be former Hand, sat there.
"This was their plan all along," Cregan realised, and he should have seen it sooner, but he was dealing with so much that he had missed the ploy from the Pretenders. And it was a good ploy, and the worst part was that he could see it working.
"To turn the West against me," and he was certain that it was not the Westerlands that they were trying to bribe onto their sides, and that they definitely must have approached a few other lords and ladies throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
"Indeed," Qyburn agreed with him, and the former Maester had spent the night caring for the sickly and dying Lord of the West, but all his efforts seemed to be for naught, for their enemy had struck well.
"I believe they intended to blame you for Lord Tywin's death and then incite rebellion in the West," and Kingslayer was the perfect pawn for that, and he should still be in the West.
"With Lord Tywin indisposed, Jamie Lannister becomes the Lord of the West," and it was no secret that the man bore him little love. The only saving grace was that Jamie Lannister was in chains as they spoke, but the person who held him was his wife, and the cells in which he lay were the ones he now ruled as a lord.
"Damn this!" he cursed as he sat down on his chair and looked at his father.
"Damn this all!" he wanted to scream and shout, yet in the end, he had to stop himself.
"Is there any chance that Lord Tywin's condition remains a secret?" and by Qyburn's estimates, the man was unlikely to live beyond tonight, and sadly, the man shook his head, dashing his hopes.
"The whole castle knows of the assassination, your grace," and so he had to make other plans.
"We cannot let the West fall into the Hands of Jamie Lannister," that was one thing he was sure of, and so he had to appoint a new ruler to those lands.
"I am thinking of sending Tyrion," he asked, as he looked up at his father, for if the decision of sending Tyrion to the West affected him as well.
"I am afraid you will have to delay your departure," for with Tyrion gone, he would need him to continue as his Hand, yet to his surprise, his father shook his head.
"I can't," the Warden of the North answered, and his words made Cregan's head snap towards him, for he had not expected this from him.
"What?" he asked, thinking that perhaps he had heard wrong, yet those grey eyes did not budge, as his father repeated his words.
"I can't stay, Cregan," and that was a surprise.
"I need you. If things deteriorate, the West could rise up in rebellion, and we could be fighting a war in half a moon's time," Cregan tried to make him see reason, for his presence would offer him a shoulder to lean on.
"That is rather unlikely," his father argued, but even if there was a slight chance that they could face a rebellion, it could give the Blackfyres the perfect opportunity to strike at them.
"I promised you five years, Cregan," his father began, as he looked him in the eye.
"I stayed a year beyond that, but now my time is over. I cannot stand the lies and the games of this place anymore," and with that, he reached for the pin on his breast pocket and removed it, and put it on the table as he offered his resignation.
"You are abandoning me," Cregan asked with gritted teeth, but the man shook his head.
"No. I am not abandoning you, Cregan. But you do not need me," and that was a lie.
"You think you do, but you don't. This little setback that you face now, you have faced steeper odds and have triumphed over them all on your own, and you will do so again without my presence." Perhaps that was true, but having him in the capital was reassuring, and it was not his mind or even his military prowess that he needed but that assurance that someone was there to watch his back.
"I am of no use to here," he finished strongly.
"Let me go to the North and parley with Mance Rayder, the King Beyond the Wall. Let me gather the strength of the North, while you take care of the pretenders," and Robb could do it all, but his father's aversion to the court and courtly politics was known to him.
He could force him to stay, but did he have a need of him? No. He did not.
"So be it," he gave in, and saw his father give him a brittle smile.
"Thank you," he whispered as Cregan leaned back in his chair, and thought of the best way to deal with his mess.
"Do you think that the Lords of the West will betray me?" and to his surprise, his father shook his head.
"No," he answered without any hesitation, and he wondered if it was his naivety that made him answer so quickly.
"And I do not say that because of any oaths of fealty or loyalty," he read him, as he continued.
"They will not betray you because you have been a good and fair King, Cregan," and it was the first time he had spoken to him about his Kingship and his politics, and Cregan had always thought that his father disapproved of his actions and politics, and so he was a bit surprised by his words.
"You seem surprised," his father asked, and Cregan nodded.
"I always thought that you disapproved of the way I did things," and his father chuckled at his words and shook his head.
"No, I don't. You are a good King, Cregan. You care for the poor. You inspire loyalty, offer mercy when needed, yet also have the heart and mind to be cruel when required. These are all the qualities of a good King," and he had tried his best, yet doubt and fear had always crept into the back of his mind, whispering and polluting his mind.
"Five years ago, when you sat on the Iron Throne, the realm was divided, and so weak that one single misstep could have split the realm. Yet with you as the King, the realm has prospered, and has given us a chance against an enemy that could destroy everything," and with that, he pushed himself up from the chair.
"So, take pride in what you have achieved," he offered a final advice.
"You are a better lord than I could ever hope to be...."
.
.
.
And with that, he left, leaving him alone with his Master of Whispers, as he found himself contemplating his words.
"Is he right?" he asked, and the man nodded.
"He is, my lord. You have steered the realm through an impasse and have equipped it with the strength needed to face off against two very dangerous enemies," and yet they still lived.
"No King before you has ever done more for the realm than you, your grace," and he sighed as he leaned back and let himself bask in the praise.
"Send a letter to Lady Lefford and the rest of the Lords of the West," and just like with the entire Blackfyre plot, Cregan was going to shed light on games that were being played in the shadows.
"Tell them of the assassination attempt on Lord Tywin and Jamie Lannister's betrayal," and Qyburn nodded.
"Do you still intend on sending Lord Tyrion to the West?" and he shook his head.
"Not yet. Though I believe Lord Tywin's brother would be a suitable replacement, he will serve as Tytos's reagent until he comes of age," and that was all regarding his domestic plans. Still, he had not forgotten about the enemies across the Sea and how they had struck at him.
"And contact our men in Essos, tell them that it is time that we strike at the Head of the Snake...."
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