Chapter 213: Return of the Dragon
[To Prince Doran of House Martell:
I trust you still remember me.
I am Jon Connington. I knew your sister for many years and was a loyal servant to your good-brother. Like you, I mourn them deeply.
I did not die, and neither did your sister's son. I have kept him hidden for his own safety. Now, the time for hiding has ended.
The Dragon has returned to Westeros, determined to reclaim his birthright and avenge his father, Prince Rhaegar, and his mother, Princess Elia.
Renly Baratheon is dead. We are marching on Storm's End. Its garrison has been drawn away, leaving it defenseless; we shall take it by surprise. By the time you receive this letter, the banner of the True Dragon will surely be flying over the battlements... To withstand the counterattack from the Usurper's brother, we require the support of Dorne. I pray the Prince does not forsake us!
Jon Connington
Count of Griffin's Roost
Hand of the True King]
Interesting, truly interesting.
A dragon had returned to Westeros, but not the one he was expecting—the one whose existence he actually knew of. Prince Doran set down the parchment and handed it to his brother, Oberyn Martell.
To expect Dorne, sitting safely at the southern tip of the continent waiting for the tides to turn, to plunge into blood and fire based on a single note was, under normal circumstances, a fantasy. But if this note was personally delivered by the Spider, Varys, the situation changed.
...
"Aegon is alive?" Oberyn finished the letter and tossed it onto the table with a snort. "So, the 'pirates' who harassed our coastlines, sacked our villages, and murdered our people while the six kingdoms besieged the West were actually my nephew's men?"
"No. Only the Golden Company mercenaries who landed near Cape Wrath are Prince Aegon's men. The rest... according to my intelligence, were hired by Tywin Lannister."
"No one wants the contents of this letter to be true more than I," Oberyn said. "But Gregor Clegane snatched Aegon from Elia's arms and dashed his head against the wall. Countless people saw my nephew's body. Perhaps I should bind you and send you to King Stannis to prove my loyalty? Lord Varys, I am curious—why aren't you in King's Landing performing your duties as Master of Whispers? What do you gain by coming out here to support rebels?"
"What can a poor, mutilated man gain?" Varys gave a sorrowful shrug. "Only an end to this long Usurper's Rebellion and the restoration of order and peace to the Seven Kingdoms. By law, Aegon is the true King; 'rebel' is not quite the accurate word, Lord Oberyn." Varys sighed. "King Stannis is convinced that the deaths of Lord Arryn and King Robert were entirely my fault... If I hadn't left quickly, I fear my poor head would be gracing a spike on the walls of the Red Keep." He paused. "The body of 'Little Aegon' that so many saw actually belonged to a poor tanner's son. I smuggled the real Prince out of the Red Keep beforehand. We originally intended to strike while the two stags fought, but who could have guessed the brotherly feud would end as fast as a gust of wind? It caught us off guard... If Dorne does not act now, we can only watch as Stannis leads his host into the Stormlands, crushes the Golden Company, and slays the last Targaryen male in the world."
"Touching loyalty, Lord Varys. Your words are quite impossible to refute... but enough with the pleasantries. Let us speak of what matters: How do you prove this Aegon is truly Elia's child?"
"How does the Prince wish for me to prove it, or rather, how can I?" Varys countered. "There are many folk methods for identification, but all require the presence of both parents, and the Maesters have long since proven that such experiments—including blood-dripping—are unreliable. Even King Robert never truly figured out if his three children were his own, did he? Aegon Targaryen was raised by his father Rhaegar's closest friend, Jon Connington. Does that not speak for itself? If the boy were a fraud, why would Lord Connington destroy his own honor, feign his death, and live in anonymity for over a decade?"
"And who's to prove this Connington is real? The Lord of Griffin's Roost I knew was a proud young man with a fiery temper. Why would he be willing to play nursemaid for years? I find it hard to believe."
"If Lord Oberyn does not believe it, he need only go to Griffin's Roost and see the Hand of the True King for himself," Varys said without hesitation. "Lord Connington has changed in ten years, but he isn't disfigured. Since you knew him, you should recognize him."
Oberyn frowned and glanced at his elder brother.
Doran Martell, sitting in his wheelchair and having remained silent since reading the letter, finally spoke. "Lord Varys, no offense intended—but if I sent a brother to verify every letter that came my way, I would have no family left."
"Prince Doran's concern is valid." Varys remained composed. "As a show of sincerity, I am willing to stay in Dorne as a hostage."
...
You as a hostage? Ten eunuchs' lives aren't worth my only brother. Doran kept the thought to himself and shook his head. "Even if all this is true, what does my dear nephew want from me? 'Dorne's brave men are as numerous as the sands'... that is a phrase for bravado; not every Dornishman is the Red Viper. Dorne, plus a mercenary company that loses every time it sets foot in Westeros—that does not sound like a combination that wins the Iron Throne."
"What if we add the Reach?"
"The Reach?" Doran's expression shifted slightly. "Why would they help? Let me guess... this Aegon Targaryen you speak of is already betrothed to Margaery Tyrell?"
"No. Aegon's Queen will be Daenerys Targaryen." Varys shook his head. "To avoid future disputes over succession, the best path is to unite the last two Targaryens. King Aegon has promised the Roses something else—safety, the survival of their house, and a voice at court. Stannis is not Robert. Robert could show mercy to enemies who bent the knee; Stannis will not easily forgive House Tyrell for supporting his brother's rebellion. For the Reach, if they must face the fury of the Iron Throne regardless, why not bring an ally or two and fight a glorious war?"
"House Tyrell?" Oberyn scoffed. "After two defeats and heavy losses at King's Landing, they still won't give up? Their persistence is admirable!"
"The Reach is the Reach," Varys replied with a thin smile. "Even after two more defeats, it remains the fattest camel among the Seven Kingdoms."
The logic was hard to argue with, especially for Dorne, whose territory was mostly desert and whose population and resources ranked last among the kingdoms.
The meeting room facing the Water Gardens fell silent for a moment, save for the chirping of birds and the rustle of the breeze. Finally, Doran spoke again. "Dorne shed enough blood ten years ago. Now that my sister's killers are dead, we have no wish to join further conflicts."
"Great vengeance has been taken?" Varys's voice turned shrill with disbelief. "Does the Prince mean receiving the head of the 'Mountain'? If that counts as vengeance, then perhaps I overestimated the spirit of the Dornish!"
"A clumsy attempt at provocation, Lord Varys. We are not children." Oberyn laughed. "If the Reach has truly committed to the game, it does get interesting. But what of my nephew's Queen, the one who supposedly has three dragons? If Daenerys appears and confirms my nephew's identity, then even if my brother disagrees, I will go alone to join the banner of the Dragon."
"Princess Daenerys... is currently in Meereen in Slaver's Bay, entangled in many affairs. My people are doing everything in their power to bring her back to Westeros as quickly as possible."
"As quickly as possible—meaning she isn't here yet, Lord Varys." Oberyn made no attempt to hide his contempt for the wordplay. "To come here empty-handed and expect us to commit is a bit much—"
"Lord Varys," Prince Doran interrupted his brother. "Your mission was to deliver a message. You have done so. But joining a war is a grave matter. Will you allow my brother and me to deliberate before making a decision?"
"Of course. The survival of a house requires long-term planning." Varys nodded. Though he seemed to have lost a bit of ground in the exchange with Oberyn, he was the Spider, not a mere orator. His confidence in bringing Dorne into the war came from the reports of his little birds, not his silver tongue. He stood and bowed slightly. "Then, I shall take my leave."
"Areo, escort Lord Varys back to his quarters to rest!" Doran called out. He watched his captain of the guard lead the Spider away. Only when he was certain they were out of earshot did he sigh and look at Oberyn.
...
"That eunuch probably doesn't know you've already sent Quentyn to Meereen to wed Daenerys," Oberyn said, leaning back with a grin. "This 'Young Aegon'—heaven knows if those mercenaries just made him up as an excuse to return to Westeros now that the Blackfyre line is extinct. If you ask me, we should bind the Spider and send him to King's Landing as a gift of fealty to Stannis. Always stand with the winner; right now, Stannis has won."
"Have you finally realized the truth of what I've been telling you for years?" Doran looked at his brother with a faint smile.
"It's not that I've 'realized' anything, it's just that, regardless of anything else, a stag is better than a lion. Stannis is harsh and rigid, but he won't come for Dorne without cause. Furthermore, we never have to worry about him favoring our rivals."
"True. According to the rule of 'always stand with the winner,' I should swear fealty to Stannis immediately. But this time, I fear I must do the opposite." Doran's tone shifted. "You must go to the Stormlands."
"What?" Oberyn doubted his own ears. "But the Stormlands are a mess right now—pirates, mercenaries, and lords' armies everywhere. Even with a few extra arms, I couldn't guarantee my safety."
"Correct. Which is why I am not asking you to go alone. You will take an army."
"An army?" Oberyn was even more confused. This was completely out of character for his cautious brother. "But... Dornish troops entering the Stormlands uninvited is an act of war against the Iron Throne. Didn't we agree to stay low until Quentyn returns with Daenerys?"
"We did. But that was when Renly was still alive."
Doran looked troubled. "My previous plan was to sit back and watch the two stags exhaust each other until Daenerys returned. But as Varys said, the Baratheon infighting ended too quickly. The Crownlands, the Stormlands, and the power of the three northern kingdoms are almost untouched. If we do nothing and watch Stannis quell the Reach and drive the Golden Company back across the Narrow Sea, then by the time Daenerys returns, she will face a unified six kingdoms."
"Daenerys has dragons."
"Dragons are not invincible. We Dornish have slain them before, have you forgotten?" Doran shook his head. "Stannis will not be a popular king, but he will keep the realm in perfect order. We cannot give him the chance to stabilize his rule. Otherwise, we will never have our chance for blood vengeance before we close our eyes."
Oberyn opened his mouth to speak but stopped. It was absurd—usually, it was Doran telling him to be calm. Now it was the other way around. If his brother was determined to go to war, he must have thought it through. "Fine. If you say go, I go. My spear has been thirsty for a long time."
"Don't be in such a hurry. I said take an army, but I didn't say when to move or whom to fight," Doran clarified. "We must wait for news. If this 'Young Aegon' cannot take Storm's End, then it's all for naught... the Golden Company can simply retreat across the sea, but Dorne cannot run. Only when the news comes that he has taken Storm's End and raised the Dragon banner will we march north—under the pretext of assisting King Stannis in quelling the rebellion."
"I see." Oberyn realized the play. "That way, even if things turn sour, we can pivot to Stannis and retreat safely. Tywin Lannister used that trick before."
"Despicable, but practical," Doran nodded. "What you do once you reach the Stormlands will depend on the circumstances. First, you must see Young Aegon for yourself. We cannot rule out the possibility that Varys is telling the truth. Targaryens look different from common men; if the boy looks so much like Rhaegar and Elia that it can be determined at a glance, then we support him with everything we have, regardless of the cost."
"It's not that Targaryens look 'special,' it's that all Valyrians look like that," Oberyn corrected his brother. "I've traveled across the Narrow Sea and seen plenty of people with silver hair and purple eyes. Judging my nephew by looks alone will be difficult."
"Use your own judgment on that. If you cannot be certain, it is no matter. Our goal is to prevent Stannis from sitting securely on the Iron Throne while preserving ourselves as much as possible." Doran grew solemn. "If you cannot determine the truth, treat him as a common ally. In that case, do not take the lead in confronting Stannis and the Northern coalition directly. The ones who fear Stannis most are the Tyrells, and the one Stannis is most eager to destroy is the 'Targaryen pretender.' We stay on the periphery of the fiercest conflict; there is no need to throw our lives away. As long as Stannis is denied a total victory, we preserve our strength and let the Golden Company and the Reach exhaust theirs—ensuring that the day Quentyn returns with Daenerys, Dorne still has the power to choose a side and dictate the course of history."
"Understood."
"You will begin gathering the army tomorrow. Hold them near Yronwood on the Boneway. Act once the news from Storm's End arrives."
"Good." Oberyn stood and headed for the door. "No need for tomorrow. I'll see to it now."
"Wait!" Doran turned his chair, calling his brother back. "I know you love adventure and war. But this time, I want your oath—you will not recklessly put yourself in danger!"
"Do you still take me for a child, brother?" Oberyn smiled. "Fine. I swear it."
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