c16 — Varys
The man who came to meet Illyrio was a stout figure clad in a hard leather jerkin reinforced with rings of steel, a battered leather half-cloak hanging from one shoulder. Though heavy boots encased his feet, he moved with an eerie silence across the worn stone steps. Beneath the steel cap perched on his head, his face was broad and rough, marked with old scars, and his chin bristled with a short, ragged beard. At his waist hung a dagger and a short sword, the hilts well-worn from use.
Illyrio's breathing eased at the sight of him. He smiled, raising a hand in greeting. "I had thought that a man as capable as a sorcerer would leave no flaw in the web," he quipped, "but it seems even the Beggar King's affairs hold surprises."
"I am no sorcerer," the stocky man answered, his voice low and even, devoid of any emotion. "The king and I are separated by an ocean. I can only speak to the truths my little birds bring. Facts, not illusions. Both you and the king of the Seven Kingdoms have received the same reports in truth, you know even more."
Despite the rugged appearance, Illyrio recognized the man immediately. Even hidden beneath armor and a false beard, there was no mistaking him: Varys, the Master of Whisperers, the Spider of King's Landing, the master of secrets.
Illyrio chuckled. "It seems this is the first time I've seen you admit a mistake."
"All men make mistakes," Varys said with a shrug. "Old friend, surely you know by now I have never claimed to be omnipotent."
Illyrio spread his arms wide. "Then tell me, what are we to do now? Must we revise our plans?"
Varys tilted his head slightly. "First, I would know how certain are you of your suspicions, my old friend?"
Having caught his breath, Illyrio began climbing the spiraling stone steps once more. Though both were men of considerable girth, they ascended lightly, the sound of their footsteps muffled against the ancient, worn stones.
"Who else could it be?" Illyrio asked over his shoulder. "Shouldn't your vaunted network confirm my guess?"
Varys replied, "The records from the Free Cities show no sign of them consorting with the Dornish these past years. Their movements, such as they are, have been quiet. No meetings, no alliances forged."
He paused before continuing, "However, going back further, when Ser Willem Darry was still alive, Oberyn Martell did travel to Braavos. There, under the gaze of the Sealord himself, he reached some secret accord with Ser Willem. I know not the full terms even my little birds could not pierce the Sealord's court but it surely touched on raising forces to reclaim the Iron Throne. That much fits our plans."
Varys's voice grew more cautious. "But after Ser Willem's death, and with Robert Baratheon's reign firmly entrenched, the Dornish let matters drift. They abandoned the exiled prince and princess to fate. And Ser Willem had been careful: he deliberately kept the children ignorant of the accord, fearing that early knowledge might provoke a disaster, bringing the Iron Throne's wrath down upon Dorne. When he died, the secret died with him."
Illyrio narrowed his eyes. "And yet... you think the king has now reestablished contact? Made new arrangements?"
"Possibly," Varys admitted. "But Dorne is a viper's nest. My little birds struggle there the sands are harsh, and the courtiers harsher."
In truth, even Varys, with all his cunning, could not easily penetrate the courts of Sunspear or the Water Gardens. The Martells were a suspicious and secretive house, and Dorne had long been resistant to the rest of Westeros.
They reached the top of the deep well and emerged into the heart of a narrow stone tunnel.
Illyrio, flushed and panting, muttered, "It seems your little birds grow blind when they fly too far from King's Landing."
He paused to lean against the wall and catch his breath.
Without replying, Varys reached forward and pressed a hidden catch. A low grinding echoed through the stone passage. Slowly, a massive stone slab rumbled across the well mouth, sealing it completely. The firelight played across the smooth, featureless surface no seam or crack betrayed that a passage had ever existed.
Varys spoke softly, "You were in close contact with the king himself. Was there nothing more you could glean, beyond your suspicions?"
Turning, Varys led them down a corridor that curved gently to the left, deeper into the bowels of the Red Keep.
Illyrio followed, shaking his head. "That is why I came here
to ask you. To be frank, if they are indeed moving, then we must consider an alliance. At the very least, we should not stand in each other's way."
He lowered his voice further. "I suspect the king's refusal to bind himself to Khal Drogo was made after receiving assurances of Dornish support. Otherwise, surely he would have wanted every sword he could muster."
Illyrio had accepted the speculation as fact. "I would say they should not be in a hurry to contact the king because they do not know what the king will decide on his own."
It was almost absurd: without Viserys's knowledge the so-called Beggar King two separate factions had independently devised plans to restore him to the Iron Throne.
One group was Ser Willem Darry, the loyal retainer, and Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne. They had secretly arranged, years ago, for Viserys to marry Princess Arianne Martell of Dorne. Their plan was for Dorne to raise an army in his name and support a Targaryen restoration. However, as Robert Baratheon's reign solidified, and Viserys remained an exile with no progress in Essos, the Dornish court had grown silent, and no action was taken for years.
The second group was the alliance between Varys, Illyrio, and the former commander of the Golden Company, Myles Toyne. They had planned to support Viserys's cause by trading Daenerys's hand in marriage to Khal Drogo in exchange for a Dothraki horde to reconquer Westeros.
Viserys, the beggar king, was to serve as the figurehead, with the Golden Company as his real strength.
Yet, after the death of Myles Toyne, leadership passed to Harry Strickland, a more cautious man. Now, Varys and Illyrio steered the course. Their real goal was not to restore Viserys, but to use him as a cover while secretly preparing to place the boy called "Young Griff" "Little Aegon" on the Iron Throne.
(When Viserys, desperate and naive, once hosted a feast for the captains of the Golden Company, hoping to persuade them to join his cause, they feasted well but laughed at his plea. Few among the Golden Company were aware of the true plan; most believed in the ideal of returning to Westeros, but not necessarily under Viserys.)
Thus, two groups, both ostensibly supporting Viserys, moved independently, each ignorant of the other's full intentions. Yet even if they suspected each other's existence, they operated separately, weaving Viserys into their plans as a variable to be manipulated.
The Dornish would have welcomed a Targaryen-led invasion — knowing they would inevitably face the combined forces of the other six kingdoms. The more troops Viserys could gather, the better it would serve Dorne's ambitions.
Meanwhile, Varys and Illyrio were content to facilitate any cooperation between Viserys and Dorne, for they knew Viserys was a pawn. His political legacy would eventually be claimed by Young Griff their true king-in-waiting.
"Perhaps we should pay closer attention to what is stirring in Dorne," Varys said mildly. "The sands are rising, yet we feel no breeze." He did not fully endorse Illyrio's proposal to coordinate with Dorne, nor did he reject it. Instead, he added, "At least twenty new little birds will be needed."
They came into a vast, vaulted chamber deep within the Red Keep. All around them loomed the skeletal remains of dragons.
The bones were blackened by time, gleaming darkly in the torchlight, each skull a relic of power long lost.
Some were vast, the size of hills; others smaller but still larger than fishing boats. Rows of jagged teeth stood like a forest of spears. Empty eye sockets stared down at Varys and Illyrio like silent sentinels from a dead age.
"You ask for too much," Illyrio complained, his voice echoing faintly. "You want them young, clever, able to read and write. Such ones are harder to find."
Varys shook his head. "No, old friend. The young ones are safer. They slip through cracks unseen. Be kind to them."
Illyrio grumbled, "At least teach them to hold their tongues?"
Varys replied softly, "You know what is right."
After a moment's thought, Illyrio suggested, "Perhaps we can act in advance. In the name of Aegon, propose marriage to Dorne. The Dornish want a Targaryen king it need not necessarily be that particular Targaryen. Would they truly object if it were Aegon?"
Varys answered cautiously, "It is a gamble. Nothing but risk."
Illyrio sighed, his mind racing. "What of our forces? Trading Daenerys for Drogo's riders would have been a bargain a worthless princess for tens of thousands of warriors. Now the king has squandered that chance. Are we to march with only Dorne and the Golden Company?"
"Few does not always mean weak," Varys said quietly. "Their plan the 'three-headed dragon' suggests they seek to provoke a second Dance of the Dragons. Blood will follow blood."
"Is rumor alone enough?" Illyrio asked.
"Of course not," Varys replied. "Thus the need for more birds. And you must watch the king closely."
Illyrio frowned. "Is there enough time? What of the old Hand's health?"
He had already accepted that Jon Arryn's death would be the catalyst they needed.
On the journey to King's Landing, Illyrio had considered many strategies: to press Viserys to offer Daenerys for a Dothraki army, or even to entrap him somehow. But he had dismissed them all.
If Viserys truly had support from Dorne and could stir rebellion, Daenerys's value would soar. She could be married to a Westerosi lord of great power not traded for barbarian horsemen.
After all, during Robert's Rebellion, many noble houses had remained loyal to House Targaryen.
Now that Viserys's hidden alliances were suspected, the plan to offer Daenerys to Drogo became untenable.
"He is old," Varys answered, "but he will not die naturally just yet. Still, the Sea Lord troubles me."
The "Sea Lord" Varys spoke of was not the ruler of Braavos, but Stannis Baratheon, Robert's stern and unyielding brother, Lord of Dragonstone one of the so-called "three heads of the dragon" mentioned earlier.
"What has Stannis discovered?" Illyrio demanded. "Why would he approach the Hand and not the king?"
"We cannot have war break out before we are ready," Illyrio said grimly. "Neither Viserys nor Dorne may move as quickly as we need. And Jon Arryn still lives. The deer, eagle, wolf, fish, and lion are all strengthening Robert's rule."
"It would take a miracle to slow the hand of time," Varys murmured. "Am I a wizard, then?"
Illyrio laughed. "I always thought your talents bordered on sorcery."
"And yet even I failed to see the Beggar King's dealings," Varys said dryly.
Illyrio smiled. "All men err. But I still believe you can achieve anything."
They passed through the cavernous hall of dragon bones and arrived at a heavy oaken door. Varys grasped the iron ring and pulled. The door groaned open, revealing a dark corridor beyond.
"The Seven Kingdoms are tangled," Varys said, his voice low. "Jon Arryn wished to betroth his son to Stannis, to make Stannis Lord of the Eyrie after his death. But the king has different plans he wishes to foster the boy with Tywin Lannister and raise Jaime Lannister to Warden of the East."
"Has your king gone mad?" Illyrio said incredulously. "Granting both the East and West to the lions?"
Varys sighed. "He trusts the queen's kin too much and loves his brothers too little."
He continued, "Renly is no more silent. He and the Knight of Flowers conspire to bring Lady Margaery Tyrell to court. She is young, beautiful, and untouched. They hope to capture Robert's wandering eye, to make her queen."
Illyrio made no comment, but his expression darkened.
"And," Varys added grimly, "the Sea Lord's movements worry me most of all. I fear Stannis has uncovered the secret of the Lannister twins — and he moves to bring it to the Hand."
Varys said worriedly: "And now, you come to me again and tell me that the Dornish and your king have conspired and made plans without my knowledge. You know, the king has asked me recently whether there is any news from across the Narrow Sea."
Illyrio finally answered: "What did he notice?"
Varys said bitterly: "He just cannot stand the silence about the dragon remnants. Somehow, he has heard whispers of the word 'Usurper'. Robert loathes being called that, ever since he took the throne at the cost of Rhaegar Targaryen's death at the Trident. I am debating whether to let him know about Viserys and Dorne."
Illyrio protested: "How can this be?"
Varys restrained his expression: "I am the Master of Whisperers. If I have no news to offer, I will seem incompetent. And incompetence at court is as deadly as treason."
Illyrio said gravely: "This will accelerate the war. We are not prepared yet. Dorne remains a potential ally."
Varys led him into another darkened passage: "You urge delay, but I must ask you to hasten your efforts. Even the finest mummer cannot keep all his balls in the air forever."
"Old friend, you are more than a mummer—you are a magician. I only ask you to conjure a little longer."
Varys shifted topics: "You must pry information out of your king swiftly. If not, you must at least be prepared. He spoke of wildfire buried under King's Landing, under the Sept of Baelor, the Red Keep, the Dragonpit. That much, I believe, is true."
The issue Illyrio had brought over the Narrow Sea now returned to him: "But the king intends no immediate action. He waits for Jon Arryn to die."
"He is within your grasp." Varys said pointedly.
Illyrio suddenly added: "When he sought to win my loyalty, he spoke of collecting dragon bones and dragon eggs."
"He wishes to hatch dragons?" Varys's voice sharpened; anyone would be startled at such madness.
Illyrio shrugged, "He is a Targaryen, after all."
"The blood of Aegon the Fifth runs through his veins." Varys warned, his voice low and urgent. "We must not place fire in the hands of children who will burn the world."
Aegon V, also known as "Egg," the fifteenth Targaryen king, had become obsessed in his later years with reviving the dragons. His efforts culminated in the tragedy at Summerhall, where he perished along with his son Prince Duncan and Ser Duncan the Tall, the legendary Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, when a pyromantic attempt to hatch dragon eggs went horribly wrong.
Afterwards, the Iron Throne passed to Viserys' grandfather, Jaehaerys II, and then to Aerys II, the Mad King, whose downfall ended the Targaryen dynasty.
Illyrio nodded heavily: "I have no wish for my mansion in Pentos to become another Summerhall."
Their footsteps echoed down the corridor until they reached a heavy iron-banded door. Beyond it was a secret chamber.
Varys handed Illyrio a small bundle of papers: "Here is the latest information: Lady Mellario of Norvos, and Prince Quentyn Martell. Quentyn has traveled to Norvos twice in recent years. Once by way of the Stepstones and Pentos, another by Tyrosh. Little birds from the east are still gathering details, but you know how it is—the truth ignored too long is often lost for good."
Norvos, one of the Free Cities of Essos, was Lady Mellario's homeland. She had married Doran Martell for love, but their marriage fractured under the pressures of Dorne's politics and personal tragedy.
The Yronwood family of Dorne, once princes themselves before Aegon the Conqueror's time, had longstanding influence. After a fatal duel between Oberyn Martell and Lord Edgar Yronwood, tensions flared. To mend ties during Robert's Rebellion, Doran sent his young son Quentyn to be fostered by House Yronwood, effectively giving him into their keeping to heal old wounds.
Lady Mellario opposed this decision bitterly. After Quentyn's fostering, she abandoned Sunspear and returned to Norvos, never to set foot in Dorne again.
Years later, grown to manhood, Quentyn made two trips to Norvos, purportedly to visit his estranged mother. But now, with suspicions that Viserys is allying with Dorne, Quentyn's journeys loom large. It is likely that if Viserys has any secret communication with Dorne, Prince Oberyn or the young Quentyn Martell are central to it.
Though not fully confirmed, the pattern made Illyrio grimace: "A true son of Dorne."
Varys gave no reaction, merely saying: "Regardless of the truth, old friend, we must be ready. Don't blame me for pushing you—are you prepared to weather the coming storm?"
In the original chronicles, Illyrio Mopatis often appeared as a man full of grand schemes but slow to act. His procrastination cost him dearly; eventually, the mercenaries of the Golden Company, weary of broken promises and shifting plans, abandoned Illyrio's dream of retaking Westeros via the Stormlands and Stepstones, and chose their own path forward.
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