Varys let the scroll fall to his desk. How very interesting. It never ceased to amaze Varys just how quickly the board could be upended. With a shift of the wind, the whims of a half mad boy-king, the entire board could be reset and the game itself changed. He picked the scroll up and pocketed it before leaving his chambers.
Little birds in Westeros, my little mice in Pentos. Children were so often overlooked, serving children even more so. One can accomplish much from the shadows. It had been no easy feat to gain as much influence as he had. The world did not look kindly on eunuchs, the Westerosi nobility no less. But provided one had something valuable, something that others desired…
Varys took great pride in his knowledge. He had built his life around it, and some might say his very life depended on it. To be sure, Robert would have killed him had he not proven to be so useful. His little birds flitted to and fro, far and wide, and such knowledge was not without its value. They whispered to him from Sunspear and Oldtown, from Highgarden and Storm's End to Casterly Rock. They brought songs from Riverrun and the Twins and the Eyrie, and occasionally all the way from Winterfell. Some of his songs even came from the east, from Pentos, Braavos, and beyond. Even Littlefinger could not boast such reach. It was, after all, what the late King Robert depended upon when it came to his search for Viserys and Daenerys. Even if I was... slower than I could have been when acquiring such information.
Knowledge was a powerful thing. It could be traded and bartered, twisted and warped to best suit an agenda. How else could a boy tossed onto the streets of Myr rise so high? He had been quite fortunate to serve not one, but two Kings. And now a third, may the gods protect him. The first was Aerys Targaryen, the Mad King himself. Varys knew well that many thought him responsible for the King's paranoia. And perhaps he had been. He had pointed out many missed traitors to the King. But Aerys' madness had started long before then, and by the time Varys arrived, he trusted no one. Not even his own family. How many times did Aerys set his sights on innocent men? Too many to count. And each time, Varys pulled a traitor from the shadows. The innocent men were all but forgotten, or at least given time to flee. And his sights directed away from Rhaegar.
Robert Baratheon was perhaps a much easier King to serve. He was better for the realm than Aerys had been, but that was not difficult to accomplish. It had been Jon Arryn who ruled in truth. Varys could count on one hand all the times he recalled King Robert attending a small council meeting. Perhaps it was for the best. Not much would have truly been accomplished otherwise. The son, however, had attended many of the small council meetings thus far. His mother's doing, no doubt. His reign was still in his infancy, however. Only time would tell the kind of king he would be. The last moons do not bode well.
Varys entered the small council chambers and found them delightfully empty. Early, as always. The small council was smaller than ever. The office of master of ships remained empty, and had remained empty since Lord Stannis' hasty departure. As had the office of master of laws, which had been held by his brother Lord Renly.
The seat for Lord Commander of the Kingsguard sat empty as well. Joffrey, or Cersei more like, had wasted no time in dismissing Ser Barristan. What a disgrace that had been. If Ser Barristan is wise, he'll have followed my advice and set east. Ser Jaime had been named in his place, but Ser Jaime was busy waging war on behalf of the King in the Riverlands. Against his own daughter, no less. An unfortunate conundrum.
Varys did not have to wait long for the rest of the Small Council to arrive. Tyrion Lannister was first after him, the acting hand in his father's place. He had returned from his foray to the Wall not a moment too soon. Sooner still, perhaps, would have been better. Although Varys doubted that even Tyrion would have been able to keep Ned Stark's head where it belonged.
Either way, he had returned, and with a missive from Lord Tywin in hand. Cersei had wasted no time in having Joffrey name his grandfather as the Hand of the King following Robert's death. Tyrion had run into his lord father on his return south, and he had seen fit to name Tyrion acting hand in his place. Oh, how Cersei had raged. Never had Varys had such a hard time hiding his amusement.
Pycelle still served as the Grand Maester, much to Varys' disappointment. He waddled into the room as slow as ever. A poorly concealed farce. His little birds had witnessed him walking quite spryly on more than one occasion. Their Master of Coin sauntered in not long after Pycelle. Varys had no love for Littlefinger. Quite the opposite. The man served himself and would see the realm burn if he could lord over it. Varys could find no love for a man such as him. He is perhaps partly to blame for the mess we find ourselves in.
He, of course, had known of Littlefinger's duplicity. One did not need little birds to know that Littlefinger was untrustworthy. Varys had attempted to warn Lord Stark. But no one ever trusted a spider. Or a eunuch, for that matter. Varys had hoped dear old Ned would have learned enough from the rebellion to know not to place too much stock in the honor of others.
Varys tapped his fingers on the table. What good did Ned Stark's death do for the realm? Had Varys only known… How he hated being unprepared. But who could have foreseen that? A smarter man would have, Varys chided himself. Sansa Stark had begged so prettily, and Ned Stark had listened to the advice Varys gave him in the black cells. Woe that he had not listened earlier. The boy King even seemed apt to listen to him. Boys like Joffrey were easy to influence. Or so he had thought. Madness, Varys shuddered. Who could have foreseen that Joffrey would lob off Ned Stark's head in the sight of gods and men?
The King himself was the last to enter, his mother close behind. They all rose, and it was Cersei rather than Joffrey who bid them to return to their seats. What a change it was to have a King attend his own small council meeting. With any other king, perhaps it would be a welcome one, but this one had a penchant for outbursts and tantrums. We will be seeing many of those today.
Cersei bid them to start, and Littlefinger cleared his throat. "Your grace, news from Dragonstone. The Reach as well."
Littlefinger passed a scroll to Cersei, who handed it to Joffrey. Joffrey tossed it to the table dismissively. "Yes, yes, my traitor uncles. What of them?"
Stannis declaring himself Robert's rightful heir had been no surprise to Varys, especially given his accusations. Accusations supported by young Bran Stark, no less. No, Varys had expected as much when he fled following Jon Arryn's untimely death. He had suspected that when the time came, he would be one of the first to decry Joffrey a false heir. Perhaps he would have done it while Robert still lived, had he not also met an untimely death. Stannis was a stern man, and ever so dutiful and righteous. Varys expected that none who knew Stannis were surprised by his voicing his claim. Joffrey appeared to not have expected it, however. That had been an eventful small council meeting. Their gracious king had raged for nigh on an hour, and promised to display his dear uncle's head where all of King's Landing could see. Right beside Ned Stark's.
Renly had been perhaps more of a surprise than Varys was willing to admit. The younger brother, who, according to the laws of the realm, could not be King before Stannis. And yet he had more support and better odds than his elder brother. The gods did like their japes. Stannis had only the support of the houses sworn to him as the Lord of Dragonstone, as well as a portion of the royal fleet he absconded with. But one could not win the Iron Throne with ships alone. Renly, on the other hand, had a majority of the stormlands as well as Highgarden at his back. How that must rankle Stannis, Varys tittered to himself.
Their new King had raged at the news of his other uncle rising in rebellion. His counselors had been quick to reassure him. "You have the true claim," Pycelle had prattled. "And the Westerlands at your back." Tyrion had been quick to point out that as long as the brothers remained at odds, they were no threat to them. An astute observation. The brothers had long been at each other's throats. Renly was everything Stannis was not. Perhaps it was no surprise at all that he had managed to garner so many valuable allies. They would rule wisely together, with Renly serving as Stannis' hand. But the wounds ran too deep, it would seem.
"Your Uncle Stannis has seen to forsake the seven, and has acquired himself a Red Priestess," Littlefinger said. Varys twisted his mouth. The Red Priests Varys had encountered all strayed far too close to magic and sorcery than he liked. What good could Stannis possibly find there?
Cersei retrieved the scroll from where Joffrey had tossed it. "So he is a heretic as well as a liar and traitor. What of Renly?"
Littlefinger passed Cersei a second scroll. "The last of the storm lords have declared for him. He moves across the Reach as we speak."
Joffrey scoffed and slouched in his seat. "Is this all you bring me? A waste of my time."
"Your grace, we should not ignore the power Renly has gained," Pycelle wheezed.
Tyrion pushed himself up in his seat. "Were you not listening last time, Pycelle?" The grand maester wrinkled his nose at Tyrion. "There is too much animosity between Renly and Stannis. They'll fight each other first, and we'll pick off whoever remains."
Joffrey remained uninterested. Perhaps I should cure his boredom. "Your grace, I have something that may be of interest."
Joffrey sat up in his seat. "What is it, Lord Varys?"
Varys produced a scroll of his own. "It seems the North did not take the news of Lord Stark's treason well. Blood has been spilled, and they have crowned Robb Stark King of the North and the Trident. With your cousin Alysanne as his queen."
The north crowning Ned Stark's eldest son had been entirely unforeseen. An interesting development. Oh, he knew the north would rise in rebellion after Joffrey chopped off poor Ned Stark's head, and the Riverlands by extension. Varys had expected young Robb to throw his weight behind Stannis, or at the very least Renly. But an independent kingdom, with the Riverlands joining? How exciting.
Joffrey sprung to his feet and held out his hand. "Give that to me," he demanded.
Varys handed over the scroll. Joffrey barely read it before he crumpled it in his hand. "I'll have their heads for this," he spat.
Cersei placed a hand on his arm and tried to pull him back to his seat. "Sit, Joff. Your grandfather and Uncle Jaime will-"
Joffrey ripped his arm out of her grasp. "Your brother let that fish chase him off, and grandfather sits and does nothing!" Cersei pursed her lips. He is lucky Lord Tywin was not here to witness that.
Tyrion made an attempt to quell the King's rage, but to no avail. "Lady Alysanne is still your cousin. Your Uncle Jaime's own daughter."
"She is a traitor!" He roared. "Father should have killed her bitch mother, and the dragonspawn as well!"
The small council went silent at that. Shaena Targaryen had been well liked at court, for all the King despised her. Varys remembered her well. Sweet Shaena, he had been especially fond of her. A kind girl who loved stories. Perhaps a bit timid, but who could truly blame her, with a father such as Aerys? She loved her brother Rhaegar dearly. Varys remembered how she had wailed and screamed at the news of his death. She had been a frail thing as well. So frail that Pycelle once believed her to be supposedly barren.
He had not forgotten Alysanne Lannister, either. Sent north at Tywin's suggestion to Robert. What were the words he used again? Ah yes. "To smother the dragon fire," he had said. He had been so certain neither Ned nor Ned's son would allow her to rise in rebellion. How very humorous, poor Robert would perhaps perish twice over were he to know. Varys had kept a close eye on Alysanne as she grew in Winterfell. He would be a fool not to. She had always had the potential to be an important piece, and perhaps now a player herself. Such a shame, to waste her on Robb Stark. If only... Perhaps he should have done more to thwart that betrothal.
"Perhaps so, my dear," Cersei placated. "But we cannot blame your cousin for her mother's blood. Certainly she cannot approve of Robb Stark's treason?" She looked to Varys in question.
Varys made a show of uncertainty. "I cannot say, your grace. My little birds did not report as much."
Joffrey continued to seethe. "It's her blood. Uncle Jaime should have kept a closer eye on her. She's spent too much time with the Starks. "
The wolves have joined the ranks of the dragons in his eyes. Sansa Stark had endured his wrath following Edmure Tully's victory against Ser Jaime. Varys imagined she would endure the king's wrath this time around as well. The poor girl will carry these scars with her for years to come. Edmure Tully drove off Jaime Lannister and most of his men, and Sansa Stark shouldered the blame. Robb Stark routed the men Ser Jaime sent back, and Sansa Stark gained a scar. Robb Stark gained a crown, and Varys suspected Sansa Stark would soon gain a trophy of her own, as unwanted as it was.
At least Ned had the foresight to send his other children north. If only the eldest girl had listened. A queer decision. What good did the girl think staying would do? A misplaced sense of loyalty, perhaps. Or a daughter's love for her father. When Varys had visited Ned Stark in the black cells to inform him of the deal Sansa had made, Ned had begged for him to save Sansa. Would that I could. It was too risky. A disappearance such as hers would not be a small matter. The Lannisters would tear down every stone in the Red Keep to find who had betrayed them, and Varys had plans he meant to see to fruition.
That did not mean he wouldn't do what he could. When Cersei had demanded he find where the younger Stark children had gone, he had waited as long as he could to turn over the name of the ship they fled on. As for where they fled after, well, perhaps his little birds could not fly that far. The Lannisters had one hostage, and Varys had no intentions of handing them more. He had seen too many children die in the Red Keep. What good would their deaths do for the realm? As for dear Sansa, if he could not help her escape, he could certainly ease her pain. A poultice or two sent to her chambers after a beating would go unnoticed. Perhaps word of her treatment would slip out of the Red Keep. My little birds fly both in and out, after all.
Cersei pulled Joffrey's hand and he returned to his seat. "We did what we could in regards to Lady Shaena, and we'll deal with Alysanne accordingly."
Varys had been genuinely pleased to learn Pycelle had been... mistaken, when it came to Shaena's ability to bear children. Impeccable timing as well, as Tywin had toyed with the idea of having Shaena set aside and finding a new wife for his heir. What a spectacle that had been. Ser Jaime had blustered and raged at the suggestion, and Varys was certain half of King's Landing must have heard. Of course, Pycelle's mistake could not change the fact of Shaena's frailty. Queen Cersei had been ever so concerned over the welfare of her good sister. She had insisted on Shaena using the Grand Maester himself when the time came. What a shame that the queen's interference did not have the desired effect.
Joffrey settled, but his rage did not. "I'll have their heads," he sneered.
Tyrion used the resulting awkward silence to redirect the meeting. "What of the Vale, Lord Baelish?"
Littlefinger met Varys' eyes, but he pointedly ignored him. "My own birds in the Vale have all told me that Lady Lysa has ignored her sister's overtures for aid."
"And yet she refuses our requests for aid as well," Tyrion observed. "One would be forgiven for questioning just how much influence you truly have over her.
Lord Baelish smiled tightly. "Perhaps so, my lord hand. But I believe, given time, I can convince her to join our cause."
So assured of himself. But with this, Varys did not believe Littlefinger to be lying. The Lady Lysa had always held certain... affections for Littlefinger. If his little birds were to be believed, those affections had continued during her time at court. Varys did not doubt that Lady Lysa would do as Littlefinger bid.
"See that you do. Is there any word of Dorne?" Tyrion glanced at each of them.
It was Littlefinger who spoke again. "Dorne has remained silent. There has been no word of movement to aid any of the rebels, but neither have they moved to aid us."
Cersei answered before Tyrion could. "Dorne still holds onto anger from the rebellion. They will not move to aid us, nor will they move to aid Stark or Baratheon."
Tyrion eyed her. "Dorne hates no one more than our family. I would not be so sure, sweet sister. They would not waste a chance to stick a spear right up our father's arse."
Cersei glared daggers at Tyrion. "You always found yourself quite funny, didn't you?"
"Who cares about Dorne?" Joffrey grumbled. "We don't need them. What else is there?"
Tyrion inclined his head. "As you say, your grace." Tyrion met Varys' eyes. This will not be the last he mentions Dorne.
Varys felt the two scrolls in his robes as Pycelle rambled on about other matters. He had received both of them within the past few days, and both had come from his little mice in the east.
A shame that they had betrothed Alysanne to Robb Stark so early. What an asset she could have been. If only he had been able to interfere, as he had with her mother. It had been Varys' own whispers that led to the betrothal of Jaime and Shaena. "If only there were a way to appease Lord Tywin," he had said to the King one day. "If only your daughter were not barren, my King," he said on another. The King did so wish to insult Tywin Lannister. It had only taken a few more well timed whispers to lead the King to the idea. King Aerys had intended to marry his two eldest children to each other, and Varys could not let it come to pass.
Discontent had been growing amongst the lords, and Varys feared the realm would not abide by another marriage between siblings. Already there were whispers of Rhaegar and his plot to displace his father. An idea that would serve the realm, but one not as simple as Rhaegar believed. No, he needed a marriage alliance that Shaena could not bring. And Varys had not been of a mind to place Tywin so close to the throne. It seems the gods had different plans.
For all his scheming and shifting of pieces, Varys had not accounted for Rhaegar absconding with the Stark girl. Perhaps seeing to the marriage of Cersei and Rhaegar would have been the better path. Perhaps then the realm would not have plunged into war. Varys would never know. What was done was done, and he had been forced to act. Switching Aegon for another bastard child of similar coloring had been a simple task. Elia had never let her son far from her arms, and Aerys never cared to pay close attention to the child.
Rhaenys had been a far more troublesome matter. Finding a child to pass off as Rhaenys would have been impossible, and so other plans were made. It had never been his intention to leave her to die. No, Elia would have never stood for saving one child over the other. There had been a plan in place to spirit her away and out of the Red Keep before harm could befall her. But Tywin Lannister's arrival in the city was one matter Aerys did not listen to Varys on. Tywin's men were quick, and Varys not quick enough. Never could he have imagined such cruelty. At the very least, he thought he would have to arrange an escape from a cell. The deaths of Elia and little Rhaenys haunted him still.
However, young Aegon, if Jon Connington was to be believed, thrived. A promising prospect. The rightful heir to the Iron Throne. If only he could have held off a betrothal and marriage for Alysanne Lannister, a powerful alliance could have been made between the two. Two of the last dragons, and not so nearly closely related. Cousins often married cousins, and perhaps between the two there would have been enough outside blood to avoid that famous madness.
Varys had managed to keep Young Griff (as he was called) far from the notice of Littlefinger and his ilk. None in King's Landing knew of his existence, save for Varys himself. Surely Littlefinger would have come to Varys, bragging about his uncovered treachery. He had never been one to pass up an opportunity to gloat at Varys' expense.
Best to keep him hidden, for now. When the time came, the element of surprise would be essential. From all Varys had heard from the exiled Lord Connington, perhaps it would be time to make that move sooner rather than later. Dorne would come to his aid, and perhaps an advantageous marriage could still be made. Alysanne could still be persuaded to come to her lost cousin's aid. Varys filed those thoughts away, determined to untangle that puzzle at a later time. There were other dragons to be concerned with.
Joffrey made to dismiss the small council. "My apologies, your grace. But there is one more matter I wished to discuss." The King and his council looked at him expectantly. "There is the matter of the Mad King's remaining children, your grace," Varys retrieved one of the scrolls from his pocket.
Joffrey straightened his doublet and sat up in his seat. "Yes, father mentioned the Targaryen girl had married some horse lord." The survival of the Mad King's son and daughter was no secret. Robert had been furious that Stannis managed to let them slip away. So furious, in fact, that he gave Storm's End to Renly. And Stannis never forgot it.
Viserys and Daenerys. How many times had Robert raged at their survival? It had been a point of contention between him and Lord Stark, before their deaths. Viserys and Daenerys had blessedly stayed just out of his reach. Until recently, Viserys may have been a promising prospect as well.
There had been some concern, of course, over his mental state. But how much of that was his father's madness, and how much of it was his upbringing? It was madness after all, it would seem. If his little bird spoke true, he had been mad enough to threaten his own sister and her unborn child. The unborn child of a Dothraki Khal, no less.
That had been an interesting marriage. What his dear friend Illyrio had been thinking, Varys did not know. The Dothraki famously will not cross the narrow sea, how were they to help? They could have arranged for a much more beneficial marriage, both in Westeros and in Essos. It does not matter now. Viserys met his end, and Daenerys was in the wind.
"You remember well, my King. But Viserys Targaryen has died, as well as the Dothraki Khal he married his sister to."
Joffrey snickered. "And what of the girl?"
Varys shrugged his shoulders. "In the wind. She fled with only a small portion of the khalasar."
In the wind, but not a complete loss. Three dragons had been born of the stone eggs, and Varys was near giddy at the thought. An alliance between Aegon and Daenerys should not be discounted. Never would Varys have thought the three stone eggs Illyrio found would be more than ornamental. A way to purchase sell swords or passage across the narrow sea perhaps, but never this. And they aren't the only eggs that remain. If my birds are to be believed, Rhaegar found some on Dragonstone prior to his death.
"All the better," Joffrey smirked. "She is no threat to us. Let her die."
Joffrey made to address Pycelle and Varys shifted in his seat. "Pardon, your grace, but that is not so."
Joffrey snapped his attention back to him. "What do you mean?"
"It would seem," Varys cleared his throat. They'll think me mad. "Daenerys hatched three dragons from stone eggs given to her at her wedding." Silence overtook the small council, before Littlefinger chuckled. The rest joined; Tyrion, then Pycelle, then Cersei and Joffrey.
"I had not known you to have a sense of humor, Lord Varys," chuckled Littlefinger.
"I do not jape, my lord. My birds sing me songs of three dragons hatched from stone. Although it is too soon to tell how big they will grow."
King Joffrey stood, and the rest with him. Cersei cast an amused glance at him. "The dragons are dead, Lord Varys." She swept around the table and towards the door, Joffrey close at heel. "The last true dragon died when Rhaegar Targaryen fell on the Trident. Or have you forgotten?" She would know about the killing of dragons, wouldn't she?
Tyrion followed, and Pycelle ambled after him. Littlefinger did not squander the chance to gloat, shooting him a mocking smile as he passed by. Varys rolled the scroll in his pocket between his fingers. Perhaps, he thought, it was time someone contacted Dorne.