Jon had briefly considered stopping at Winterfell but had quickly decided against it. He had already lost valuable time and Rhaegal seemed to have recuperated well enough to travel a long distance in a straight line. Besides, if Davos sent him such an urgent but welcome message, he better not linger too long. And who was he kidding? Even if he intended to make a very short stop to see Robb, Uncle Benjen and the rest of his cousins, it would be difficult to leave after only a short greeting. They would guilt trip him into staying at least a day.
Since there was no need to make a detour overland to stop at Greywater Watch, his journey would be considerably shorter if he travelled along the east coast. This time Jon was in a real hurry to get home and not just to see Dany again. He planned to rest part of the night at Widow's Watch or on the shores of the northern most Finger. He would let his dragons decide which of the two.
High up in the air, with the wind blowing in his face, he felt the excitement bubbling up inside of him. Free of the worry that the dead would overrun the Free Folk anytime soon, he could finally allow himself to be selfish and embrace his own goals. The Iron Throne was so close he could almost hear it calling out to him. And his betrothal would be a really short one. If all went well, they needed only to wait for the time it took to organise the ceremony. Then he would no longer have to limit himself to kisses and stolen touches under the all-seeing eyes of Ser Barristan.
His mood improved the nearer they got to Dragonstone. He was slightly disappointed to see that his ships did not yet display the Targaryen sigil when the bay of Dragonstone came into sight. Everything looked just as before. Perhaps fewer ships were anchored in the smaller bay but no visible signal of Targaryens ruling supreme. When he thought about it some more, he had to admit that it was for the best. Better to play it safe and not botch things up at the very last moment.
Seeing a lot of activity in the larger harbour and some familiar looking silhouettes as well, he landed close by the docks. He had been right. Ser Gerold and the rest of his Kingsguards were overseeing the loading of his flagship, the Princess Daenerys. 'Must do something about that name soon.' A big smile lit his face at that thought and it didn't diminish when he limped awkwardly towards his loyal friends. He had forgotten how stiff his wounded leg got after a long period of inaction.
"My Prince!" Ser Gerold called out while running up to him. The four knights met him more than halfway but stopped a few feet away from him. "We got word from Eastwatch that you were coming. You certainly made good time. How is your leg?"
"I won't be sparring for a few days yet I am afraid. I will need you to protect my back." He answered smiling from ear to ear.
"We'll protect your front, your left and your right side as well," Ser Arthur made a small step forward as he joined the conversation. Welcome back, my Prince." The knight hesitated but then bowed formally to greet Jon.
"I'm very glad to be back and to see you all." Jon smile dimmed a little. He didn't move from his spot trying to wrap his mind around what was off.
He answered Ser Oswell and Ser Barristan's stiff bows with a nod and a friendly smile, but couldn't help noticing the quick glance they threw in Ser Gerold's direction. He studied the men curiously. They all seemed genuinely glad to see him. However, nobody had hugged him or had as much as touched his shoulder. Not really sure how to deal with the unusual situation his eyes had wandered to the men that were loading crates onto his flagship. "We are all set to leave soon?" He asked a bit hesitant now.
"Tomorrow morning before first light, my Prince. Might I suggest that you go inside and have a bath and a nice warm meal? I can only imagine the hardships you endured beyond the Wall. A clean outfit has been made ready for you." Ser Gerold's speech was more formal than usual.
Jon eyed them suspiciously now. "And you will all stay down here, while I go all the way up there?" He looked pointedly in the direction of the castle with its long winding stairway that was a long way from where he was standing.
Ser Oswell looked at Ser Gerold hesitantly and explained. "Sandor Clegane wrote that we should order you to fly up to the Castle. His scroll mentioned you were too darn weak to climb all those fucking stairs with a nasty cut on your thigh, my Prince."
"Sandor wrote that? He has never been to Dragonstone." Jon was almost sure now he had landed in some strange dream where everything was upside down. His Kingsguards were behaving strangely.
"Apparently he wrote this because Jaime Lannister wouldn't stop nagging him until he did, my Prince." Ser Barristan added stiffly.
"Then I guess I will heed their advice." Jon looked a little lost. He hesitated but then decided to assess Dany's, Sam's and Davos' behaviour before drawing any conclusions.
He turned around and limped toward the place that Rhaegal had landed. The green dragon sensed his needs and lowered his wing without further ado. At least one living being still had some affection for him. When they were in the air he could see the knights arguing below him. It looked like it was three against one. Ser Gerold was gesturing heavily toward the three Kingsguards who formed a united front clearly not happy with what their Lord Commander was telling them.
Rhaegal's large form had some trouble landing close to the gates without damaging the centuries old stone walls. After a bit of manoeuvring they succeeded and Rhaegal flew off as Jon stepped up to the gate bearing the large sigil of the three headed dragon of House Targaryen.
The large gate slowly opened and the guards stood to attention when Jon passed them trying not to limp too much. Dany flew into his arms as soon as he stepped inside the hall. Jon embraced her, immensely relieved that some things were still the same. He kissed her and then quickly released her again, conscious of the crowd in the hall that had all stopped what they were doing. Davos quickly came forward and gave Jon a hug.
"Glad to have you back, son. Let me look at you." He released Jon and took a step back, his keen eyes taking everything in.
Jon knew Davos would have recognised the effort he had put in in to disguise the worst of his limp. Hells, the man probably had noticed the hesitant way he had looked at them before Dany's greeting had lessened his worries substantially. Davos eyes' wandered from the tired lines in the young man's face to his thigh where the heavy bandages were straining his breeches.
"Better come with me, son. We will let the Maester see to your thigh. The servants started to draw you a hot bath as soon as our lookouts informed us your dragons had been spotted. We put the tub in a room on the ground level. No need to climb all these stairs to your usual quarters. Just follow me, please."
Jon looked at Dany, an apology visible in his eyes.
"It's alright, Aegon. I'll see you after." She pressed his hand and gave him a light peck on his cheek.
Jon limped after Davos to a room he had never entered before. The first thing he saw besides the large steaming tub was a beautiful outfit that had meticulously been laid out for him on a wooden bench. Pristine looking shiny boats stood on the ground beneath it.
"Davos, what is going on here?" Jon asked, glad that his Hand had installed himself on a small stool in the corner. At least Davos hadn't left him at the first opportunity. His leisurely pose indicated that he planned to keep Jon company while he bathed.
Davos studied the large bandage covering his leg when Jon pulled down his breeches. "Sandor wrote you had a nasty cut. We don't want it to get infected. The Maester will be here shortly."
"Don't underestimate the healers of the Free Folk." Jon admonished him lightly. "When it comes to sewing wounds, they are as competent as any learned Maester."
"Hmm. The bandage looks clean enough." Davos conceded.
"Davos, is there something I should know about my Kingsguards?" Jon reformulated his earlier question. He had his back to his Hand now so he could lean on the table while he finished undressing.
"Whatever do you mean, son?" Davos answered innocently but Jon could see a shadow appear in the man's eyes when he peeked over his shoulder to check out the older man's reaction. Davos knew something. He was sure of it.
"You are my Hand, are you not?" Jon's patience was waning.
He hissed when he stepped into the warm water. "This is something I missed north of the Wall." He sighed contently and emerged himself completely. Even his head disappeared beneath the surface to rinse his hair.
"I am still your Hand last I checked. The only one who can dismiss me is you, I guess." Davos answered as soon as Jon's head had emerged again.
Jon used both hands to brush his wet locks out of his face and tucked them behind his ears. "Then you owe your allegiance to me first and not to Ser Gerold. What is going on with the Lord Commander? Has he disrespected or mistreated any of my Kingsguards? "
"Not that I am aware of. He is just following your instructions, I presume." Davos looked puzzled now.
"Then you presume wrong. Ser Oswell has been acting shy towards me lately. I had noticed before but hadn't given it much thought. But just now on the docks, they were all behaving out of character."
"Strange how, Jon?" Davos' tone sounded slightly admonishing. "Strange as in being a bit less forward and acting more like the Kingsguards of a True King should?"
Jon turned his face abruptly towards Davos. "Is that what is going on here? Do you really believe I ordered them to be more circumspect and to treat me like a stuck up royal? They kept several feet away from me, Davos. Not a single hug, nor a handshake, not even a friendly pat on my shoulder. I felt like … They all treated me like I had some contagious disease."
"Then you deny that you had a talk about the new structure of the Royal Guard with Ser Gerold? Three divisions, ring a bell?" Davos probed him gently.
"I did. But I also mentioned that the three of them would always have a double role, being loyal advisors and ambassadors to me as well. Ser Barristan, I had hoped would accept a position as leader of the Dragonguard so he could keep protecting Dany and hire as many guards a she deemed fit to make his task lighter."
"Then I think there is some sort of misunderstanding between you and Ser Gerold. Add to that the fact that you are practically King, I reckon Ser Gerold has insisted on a stiffer protocol."
"I didn't like it one bit. I return from a war unlike any I have ever heard of. I have faced a scary mystical enemy and was nearly killed several times over. Only to come here and not even get a hug from men I consider as close as kin. Men who have been with me and cared for me before I was even born!" Jon's emotions had risen with each word he had uttered. He deflated and looked dejectedly at Davos Seaworth.
"Ser Arthur, he was one of my dearest friends and he just, he just stood there."
"He still is your friend. Come now, son. Like I said, this is all a big misunderstanding. Might I ask about those several instances you nearly lost your life, or should I let it rest for a bit?"
"Not you too, Davos." Jon complained.
"Jon?" Davos for once didn't understand what Jon was getting at.
"Don't become all deferential and scared to displease me. Not you too. Just ask if you want to know something." Jon explained.
A knock on the door prevented Davos from responding.
"Is now a convenient time to look at the Prince's wound?" Maester Pylos entered hesitantly.
"Thank you Maester, enter please. I will be ready in a moment." Jon stood and clumsily climbed out of the bathtub."
"Normally I would not advise to weaken a fresh wound by soaking it too long in hot water, my Prince." The Maester remarked in a deferential tone.
"Normally?" Jon snapped losing his patience. "And advising me against doing something is not normal?"
"Forgive our Prince," Davos tried to defuse the situation. "He has had some disappointing encounters since arriving home."
Jon calmed down when he saw the effect his outburst had on the young Maester. "I didn't mean to snap at you, Maester Pylos. Please treat me as you would any other patient."
"Then I would strongly advise my patient that he leans his wounded leg over the bathtub next time he intends to enjoy the comfort of a warm bath, my Prince, and that he do so at the very least for the next sennight or so." The young Maester had regained his composure quickly.
Jon studied the man he had not given a real chance the previous times he had resided on the island. He had been favouring Sam's advice and services above the Maester's. Also they had wanted to keep his birthright a secret from him until they knew him better. Sam however vouched for the Maester and tomorrow everything would be out in the open anyway.
"Thank you, Maester Pylos. That is an acceptable compromise. I will keep my thigh mostly out of the water next time I bathe." He had dried himself off and quickly put on some smallclothes. He sat down on the only seat left in the room and stretched his injured leg.
"Now tell me, Maester Pylos, how do you rate the treatment I received north of the Wall. And please hold nothing back. I want your honest opinion."
Maester Pylos knelt next to Jon's thigh and dabbed at the wound with a dry cloth. Then he studied the sutures. "Excellent work, my Prince. I couldn't have done it better myself. Eastwatch must have a really experienced Maester. I seldom saw such even stitches and healthy looking wound after such a nasty cut. You will have a scar on your leg but it won't be an ugly one."
"No Maester sutured this wound, Maester Pylos. A healer of the Free Folk, you know them as Wildlings, treated it. He scolded me for not coming sooner, never mind me being a Prince. And if we talk experience, I reckon he has had a lot of opportunity to practice sewing wounds north of the Wall. The Free Folk have a rough life beyond the Wall and injuries in need of sewing occur rather often over there."
"I am rather surprised to hear that a simple healer without training at the Citadel is capable of such a feat but the evidence is here right in front of me. Perhaps one day, you will tell me more about these people?" While he spoke, the Maester was rummaging in the bag he brought with him and took out a small jar.
"If I ever spend enough time on Dragonstone, I will certainly oblige you. If not, ask Sam Tarly. I told him plenty about them already." Jon answered, studying every action of the Maester with interest.
Jon turned to his Hand. "Davos, where is Sam?"
"In the library probably with his nose deep in some book or scroll. Nobody will have told him of your arrival yet. I'll fetch him so you won't have to travel the stairs."
"Maester Pylos?" Jon switched his attention back to the Maester. "Can you tell me if the cut is still in danger of reopening? Should I really avoid stairs and limit my movements so drastically?"
"That depends," the Maester was still sat on his knees next to Jon's thigh and looked up at the Targaryen Prince. "If you want to heal fast and be able to resume your training soon, I would caution you and advise you to rest a few days longer. A wound like this is always in danger of reopening the first sennight, more so after the tissue has been weakened by soaking in hot water."
"Thank you, Maester. So if I am a good boy and do as I am told, when can I resume training?" Jon was starting to like this Maester.
"Light training next sennight. I trust you are wise enough to listen to your body and not to overextend yourself. You will be best placed to feel when you need to stop. Don't bend your leg too far when you feel the wound is resisting the stretch. If you can keep the cut from reopening you will be as good as new in a fortnight. On the other hand, if you overdo it and it reopens, you will be right back to where you started the day you got wounded."
"These are clear directives, Maester Pylos. I will do my utmost to let it heal then." Jon gave the Maester a nod of approval.
"Thank you, my Prince. Now let me rub this substance carefully in the wound to prevent it from getting inflamed. I would prefer to delay for a bit before covering it with a clean bandage though. Would it be possible to wait a bit longer before you leave this room? I'd prefer it if you did not put on your breeches just yet. It is preferable to give the wound a chance to dry out first. It won't take that long and will speed up the healing process."
"The room next door has been transformed into temporary quarters for you, my Prince. It contains a bed, a desk and a few chairs." Davos' suggestion was clear.
"Then meet me there after the appropriate time has passed, Maester Pylos. I am grateful for your excellent care." Jon showed his appreciation with an honest open smile.
"I am at your service, my Prince. I'll pass by the library and let Lord Tarly know where to find you." The Maester bowed and left the room.
Davos studied Jon. "Now put these clothes on, son. I know they are not what you are accustomed to but I fear you will need to get used to dressing the part."
Not long after, Jon was installed in a cosy chair in the makeshift bedchamber his injured leg resting on a stool. To get there, he had leaned on Davos' shoulder careful not to strain his leg. The promise of a light training session in a mere sennight had been enough inducement to take it easy for now.
"Now Davos, tell me the particulars. Your message has made me very curious."
***
"Sam, come on in." Jon answered the tentative knock on the door of his temporary quarters.
He sat on the bed his legs stretched out before him. He had a thick scroll in one hand and his free arm tugged around Dany who was helping him sort out all the scrolls that had arrived at Dragonstone while he was in the North. His thigh had been bandaged and he was wearing his breeches. Davos had prevented the Princess from entering until Jon had been 'suitably attired' as he had called it. She had been obliged to wait in the hallway while the Maester had been fetched to wrap his thigh in clean bandages.
All ill will Jon might have felt for Davos had quickly dissipated when his Hand had left the two of them alone despite just having handed him a bundle of messages to read through together. He had left the door slightly ajar, teasingly warning Jon and the Princess to behave.
"I didn't mean to disturb you two." Sam blushed.
Jon easily understood his friend's embarrassment. Dany was still slightly out of breath. Her cheeks and lips were very red and her hair was not as neat as it had been when she had entered the room. He tried to act normal and gave Dany a light peck on her cheek.
"You're not really disturbing us, Sam. We managed to get some private time in already. Dany was just saying she needed to leave soon to confer with the cook about supper and change her dress. I expect Davos to come back anytime now anyway.
Dany blushed becomingly. He gave her a quick closemouthed kiss and then playfully pushed her off the bed. "We'll see each other at supper and after as well." Jon promised her.
Dany smiled and blew him a kiss from the doorway. "See you Sam, Aegon." She slipped past Sam and disappeared in the hallway closing the door behind her.
"Interesting room." Sam looked around from where he stood still close to the doorway. "I thought this was a storage room."
"Well it is my bedroom now, at least for as long as I am forbidden to climb the stairs. Just sit on the bed with me here. I am in need of a hug from my friend."
Sam didn't let him ask twice. He smothered Jon within an inch of his life. "I'm glad you are well, Jon. Davos told me you briefly mentioned you had a hard time beyond the Wall?"
Jon rearranged the messages on the bed so there was room for Sam to join him. "I will have nightmares for years to come. But I also made friends for life." He finally answered Sam's question. "But let's discuss that some other time. How are things here?" Jon looked at his friend who looked fitter than ever before.
"Things are good, I guess. I never had as much time for reading and writing as I have had here. And I am getting better with my sword. Ser Arthur says I am finally getting a grasp on things."
"I'm glad to hear that. Are you coming along tomorrow? Ser Gerold still has to brief me on the particulars." Jon's tone had changed slightly when he mentioned Ser Gerold's name.
Sam studied him thoughtfully. "I am. They think I will look harmless enough. I thought you would be more excited, Jon?"
"I am, Sam. I can't fathom the moment is finally there. It still seems like I will wake up and it is all a dream."
"Then you better read the message from Lord Stark again." Sam looked at the stash of messages on the bed.
"I was just reading the first part and then Dany entered and we, well we uh," Jon looked a bit embarrassed and opted not to finish that sentence. "Davos told me the gist of what it contained already. It is a truly unexpected turn of events."
"Well, you better read it in its entirety first. Dany must be flattered that you interrupted reading one of the most important scrolls in your entire life and I mean your entire life including your future, just to give her a kiss or something." Now both men avoided each other's gaze.
Sam tapped the scroll in question and stayed silent while Jon read its entire content. Not long after, Jon put the scroll down and looked at Sam who had been studying his reactions the entire time.
"You were right. I had to read it myself. Hearing Davos summarize the content isn't the same as reading it. It is hard to fathom. All these various outcomes we have been preparing for, this one was not even on the list."
"You will believe it tomorrow when you see it play out with your own eyes." Sam smiled.
"And hopefully I will be able to hear it with my own ears as well." Jon's expression sobered a little.
Again neither of them spoke for a while. Jon figured they were both contemplating the events that would transpire the next day. Then Jon's gaze fell on the locked door. He turned his head and looked at Sam, a serious expression on his face.
"Sam, when you came in just now, was there a guard stationed at my door?"
His question surprised Sam. His friend turned to look at the door as well. "Of course, two actually, Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell."
"And how did they behave?"
Sam looked really puzzled now. "What do you mean? They behaved as they always do. They greeted me cordially and let me enter."
Jon got up from the bed and hobbled to the door. "Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell, would you step inside for a moment please?"
Both knights complied immediately.
"Please shut the door." Jon requested. "I want to talk to you both."
"My Prince," Ser Arthur turned to Jon the moment the door fell shut. "We're so relieved, grateful and happy that you returned safe and sound."
"Are you?" Jon looked dubious. "You could have fooled me earlier out there on the docks".
"Dammit." Ser Arthur exclaimed. "Didn't I tell you we hurt his feelings?" He exchanged a meaningful glance with Ser Oswell before he took two steps and enclosed Jon in an embrace that lasted for some time.
"We were so worried. A host of fifty thousand strong." Ser Arthur mumbled against Jon's hair. "I'm so glad your back, Jon. Never doubt that we love you."
"Ser Oswell?" Jon looked at the other knight, his eyes moist. Ser Arthur released Jon and pushed him gently in Ser Oswell's direction who embraced him as well.
"My Prince, how could you doubt our loyalty and affection? You must understand. We were in public on the docks. Anyone could have witnessed our greeting. We are first and foremost your Kingsguards."
"Anyone on the docks?" Jon repeated incredulously when Ser Oswell had released him. "Anyone on the docks is a Targaryen supporter and has probably shared a meal with me sitting unceremoniously on the sand near a bonfire. Are you kidding me?"
"My Prince, … Jon," Ser Arthur tried to take his hand to calm him down but Jon put it behind his back.
He looked accusingly at his two loyal guards. "You can't begin to imagine how I felt. I barely manage to come back alive from a massive battle and you, you two who helped me blow my nose when I was a toddler, you stand there and execute a formal bow because we are on the docks of our very own private island?"
"Jon, breathe." Sam rubbed his back. "Come on, Jon. Don't you see they were under orders? Ser Gerold briefed us all on how to behave in public from now on. You are Prince Aegon Targaryen and tomorrow the official King of the Seven Kingdoms. There is a protocol to respect. Even you with all your liberal thinking can't escape that."
"Ser Gerold briefed all of you? Dany as well? What does she need to do? Prostrate herself at my feet?" Jon shook his head. "I don't believe this. I really don't believe this."
"Jon," Ser Arthur looked at him willing him to understand. "We are still the same, you, me, Ser Oswell, all of us. We are still the same people and you can trust us and treat us as you wish here in your chambers, away from prying eyes. But in public, and certainly in the Red Keep when you hold court, things will have to be different."
"I know that. Of course I understand that. In the Red Keep, once I am King. But not now, not here today, not earlier when I just returned from a terrifying battle and was so happy to be safely back home, with my friends, safe on Dragonstone that is firmly in Targaryen hands again. I am still the Prince of Dragonstone, just the same as I was when I left. It is not tomorrow yet nor are we inthe Red Keep."
Ser Arthur put his hand on Jon's shoulder. "You will always be our Prince, our King, our Jon. We'll need to confer with Ser Gerold again. Perhaps we can define public and private a little bit better."
"I hope so. If not, I do not know if I can keep you on as Kingsguard, Ser Arthur. I might ask you to become my second Hand or something."
"Even your Hand will have to adhere to protocol." Sam cautioned him. "Davos won't embrace you in public nor will he be allowed to contradict anything you say in the presence of others. And you better make him a Lord at the first opportunity. Otherwise he will have trouble exercising his authority when he deals with stuck up nobles."
Jon sighed. "Perhaps I should just forget about this King of all Westeros business. I will take Dany and move to my Grandmother at the Driftmark. Farm the land, earn an honest living," he muttered as if to himself.
"Don't talk nonsense, Jon." Sam once again was the voice of reason. "Dany will probably be waiting for you in the Throne Room where we will partake our meal. I believe she invited many guests to celebrate your return. Leave these messages for later. You read the singular most important one anyway. Go and enjoy the feast the Princess has organised for your homecoming. This might be your last supper on Dragonstone for some time."
***
Approximately a sennight earlier in the Red Keep.
"How is Robert Baratheon?" Prince Oberyn asked Varys.
"Good day to you too, Prince Oberyn." Varys responded and seated himself on a modest chair in the small backroom of Tobho Mott's workshop.
"I bid you welcome, my dear Master of Whispers," Oberyn made an exaggerated bow and sat back down. "Now tell me, how is Robert Baratheon doing?"
"He needs bedrest but will recover. Our flawless plan to have Maester Pycelle indisposed backfired. We should have let the incompetent fool treat him. Instead Thoros of Myr sought the help of a capable healer and together they did a damn fine job of patching the King up. For the moment it looks like his nasty abdominal wound will not be fatal. That is as long as the stitches hold and no body waste can leak out and infect him from the inside. I am verbally recounting what the healer explained to me. I am not a Maester."
"That's too bad. When I heard of the extent of his injuries, I surely thought we had succeeded." Prince Oberyn frowned. A long time ago he had been present during an autopsy at the Citadel and had learned all about the digestive tract and the small and large intestines. When he had been given the news that Robert Baratheon's intestines had been visible, he had been sure that the usurper would soon be dead meat.
"Don't worry. I still have not played all my cards yet." Varys reassured his co-conspirator. "He will recuperate only if he rests, doesn't get drunk and avoids all stress. He is bedridden and totally at our mercy."
"Let me know if you need my assistance. I can procure you anything you wish." Prince Oberyn offered already debating what poison would work best in these circumstances.
"That will not be necessary. I have another plan in mind, a safe one that will never implicate any of us. You know our most important directive. The young Prince must never suspect foul play and to accomplish that, we must make it look as if King Robert is solely responsible for his own demise."
"A stupid drunk King who gets himself accidentally killed during a boar hunt was a genius plan." Prince Oberyn pouted. "And the potion he took wasn't detectable since it was no real potion, only a strong concentration of the substance that makes men drunk. My man told me it was not easy getting the boar to set off in the right direction once the oaf had fallen of his horse."
"I readily concede that it was an excellent plan. But trust me. What I have in mind will make him look even more stupid. History books won't be kind to the Baratheon usurper who leaves no heirs and no legacy to speak of."
***
"Your Grace, you summoned me?" Varys made a low bow. He had entered the royal bedroom and had positioned himself at the foot of the large bed.
"I did, Lord Varys. Please sit down. We have several things to discuss."
Varys took a seat in one of the cozy chairs that stood next to the bed. He studied the King unobtrusively. His complexion had regained colour and his eyes looked sharp. His medicine had probably worn off. Varys knew he would need a new dosage shortly before his next meal. For now Varys had to remain alert. The King's mind was clear for the moment and the man was no fool if he made an effort.
"First of all, did you find out who sent those archers that twice tried to kill me? I am at the mercy of assassins here, you know." Unlike his improved demeanour, Robert Baratheon's voice sounded awful.
"I think so, your Grace. They had ties to the Stormlands so we now suspect that your brother sent them. I have several little birds trying to find out more over there." Lord Varys lied with a straight face. This tale would have a larger impact on the peace of mind of the Baratheon King than the truth, namely that it had most likely been Doran of House Martell who had sent these men. Now the whoring fool would once more be confronted with the fact that he had no trueborn heirs and that his brother, Prince Stannis had stooped even lower than he already knew.
Prince Oberyn had asked Varys to conceal his suspicions for now, fearing that his position here in King's Landing could be in jeopardy if the King decided to punish Dorne. The Prince had no intention of ending up a hostage of the usurper King to keep his brother in line. The Master of Whispers had only been too willing to help out.
Varys realised all too well that the Dornish Prince needed his freedom to deal with his deranged brother. Prince Doran's attempt to marry Arianne to the Baratheon he could understand. Murdering the current King without a proper plan in place was sheer madness. It would play into the hands of all the other Kingdoms who were vying for the throne. Dorne would not be the only one to benefit but they would be the only Kingdom running the risk of being exposed as traitors to the Crown.
You could only murder the Baratheon King and get away with it if your plan to take the throne was totally ready and could be executed mere days after Baratheon's demise, kind of like their own plan. Hopefully Prince Oberyn's daughter, Nymeria had successfully laid the foundation for her father's scheme. If so, then soon the ruling Prince of Dorne would be utterly powerless. Robert Baratheon's hoarse voice brought Varys' attention back to the present.
"Thank you Lord Varys. No need to investigate further. My brother's life is forfeit. He already committed enough other crimes to justify his execution. Let's concentrate on the second reason for which I summoned you here." Robert Baratheon needed to stop talking due to a coughing fit.
Lord Varys handed him the cup of water that stood on a nearby table.
"My stomach hurts when I cough." Robert Baratheon whined after he had taken a few sips. "The Gods are really cruel to me. Lately I wonder what I have done for them to punish me so. " Robert sighed and leaned back against the furs.
'Condoning the killing of innocent children because they bear the name of House Targaryen.' The bitter thought flitted through Varys' mind. Back then, they had all been so happy when Princess Elia had given birth to a little prince.
"You were saying, your Grace?" Varys was a master at disguising his thoughts. Nobody following this conversation and witnessing his respectful, subservient behaviour would suspect the dark thoughts and schemes that crossed the mind of the Master of Whispers when he looked down at the King he pretended to serve.
"More rumours reached my ears and I would like to discuss them with you." Robert Baratheon's voice sounded a bit better. The King's intonation betrayed that he didn't like what he had picked up.
"Of course, your Grace. Just tell me how I can be of service to you." Varys had a very good notion of these rumours. He had spared no efforts for the fool to get wind of them even if the King had been sequestered to a bedroom for days now.
"Can you move a bit closer? I do not wish to speak too loud. You never know who is listening in. I can't trust anyone in this cursed place."
Varys arranged his chair closer to the bed and leaned forward. His voice was hardly more than a whisper when he spoke next. "You know you can trust me, your Grace."
Baratheon nodded. "The rumours have started again, rumours about the Dragonrider and how my own Hand is implicated." The King complained. He waved with his hand to stop the Master of Whispers from responding.
"I know you told me not to doubt him before we had proof. You advised me to speak honestly and give him the benefit of the doubt and I did. At first I believed him but you see, he has returned to his former behaviour. He doesn't look me in the eye and looks guilty more often than not. And it is not about the subject of my prospective bride that Ned acts skittish, it has to do with the dragonrider. I am not a fool, Varys. He knows something. I am starting to believe the rumours. It might be true that the dragonrider is his kin after all."
"I'm afraid you might be on the right track, your Grace. I have gathered reports from several eye witnesses who claim to have seen the dragonrider with their own eyes. They all tell the same story. He looks like a Stark. One man claims he knew Eddard Stark when he was young and swears the dragonrider is his spitting image. His exact words were and I quote The Dragonrider is more of a Stark than Lord Robb."
"Have you learned more about the rumours of Robb Stark's supposed kidnapping?"
"That really happened. Robb Stark was indeed abducted by the Boltons and held prisoner at the Dreadfort. Loyal bannerman laid siege to the castle. It is confirmed now that it truly was the Dragonrider that came to his rescue and freed the heir of House Stark with the assistance of several northern Lords. I have eye witnesses who claimed they were present when in the aftermath of the rescue the Lords of the North feasted in the Great Hall of the Dreadfort and shared meat and mead with the Dragonrider. They were heard toasting to his health."
"Dammit, Ned. This is proof indeed. Now my Hand can't deny that the dragonrider is an ally of the North." Robert Baratheon closed his eyes for a moment.
"It gets worse, your Grace." Varys whispered leaning a tiny bit closer to the man on the bed and waited for him to open his eyes again.
"Worse, how can it possibly get any worse? You just confirmed that my Hand is a traitor to the Crown." Robert Baratheon had opened his eyes again. The famed Baratheon blue eyes had lost all of their charm for the moment, expressing only utter despair at being surrounded by traitors from all sides.
"It seems that the North and the Iron Islands are allies. The Dragonrider and the Golden Company helped Yara Greyjoy regain control of her father's seat. The Dragonrider might very well be the leader of the Golden Company. Although I must confess this conclusion might be a bit hasty since that rumour has not been confirmed yet."
What are you planning, Ned?" Robert Baratheon exclaimed his face growing warmer from anger and frustration. "Do you think he wants to betray me? Steel my throne now that I am lying here helplessly?" His eyes looked up to Varys as if the man was his only anchor.
It was very rewarding for Varys to see how much faith Robert Baratheon still had in him. He was not only a Master of Whispers, but also a master at deception, at scheming and at conspiring against the Crown. If not for him, his dear Targaryen Prince's head would have rotted away mounted on one of the spikes that adorned the walls of the Red Keep a long time ago. It was time to manipulate the fool some more and win valuable time.
"Lord Stark still adheres to a certain code of honour, your Grace. He would never hurt a man that is defenseless. Besides, the dragonrider has been spotted beyond the Wall again. He is no threat to your rule anytime soon. They say he lives amongst the Wildlings. Let me investigate some more and find irrefutable proof of your Hand's implication first. We still do not know his exact relationship to the Dragonrider."
Varys' keen eyes noticed that he had Baratheon hooked and in a manner of speaking, he used his last cyvasse piece that could cause chaos. Prince Oberyn had been the one to persuade him to use that argument again if circumstance called for it.
"I sincerely doubt that Lord Stark could steal the throne from a wounded man. And certainly not for himself, the man has too little ambition. My honour compels me to point out that there still is a sliver of doubt whether Lord Stark is in on all this. For all we know the Dragonrider might be a byblow of Brandon Stark, a bastard that threatens to take Winterfell away from the Starks and therefore is an enemy of your Lord Hand. It is not totally impossible that the Lords of the North are scheming with the Dragonrider to remove Ned Stark from power. Many men still resent the fact that he married a Southerner."
"Dammit, Varys! Can't you for once do your job and come with answers instead of more doubts and questions. Now you have me believe Ned is a victim of this Dragonrider." Robert Baratheon exasperated protest ended in a coughing fit.
Once more Varys handed him the cup of water and helped him drink a few sips. "Your Grace, please do not get all worked up. Think of what the healer said. Another sennight of bedrest and you will have recovered fully. You have been very lucky, your Grace. And I can see your health has improved very much already. Don't do something stupid now that you are getting better."
"Only a few more days, the healer promised. I really want to leave this bed. I am indeed feeling a lot better. The healer is overly cautious. And I am so much looking forward to the tournament. I don't want to miss it." The King sounded like a petulant child now.
"The tournament has been pushed back until your Grace is sufficiently recovered. The pre-tournament is taking place as we speak. The main event will start as soon as it pleases your Grace."
"Lord Royce is still in the capital?" Robert Baratheon asked.
"Of course, your Grace. He has not left the Red Keep and enquires after your health several times a day. He feels utterly guilty for what happened during the hunt."
"Nonsense. I enjoyed his company that day, just as I did the previous times. He is not to blame. I told him so already. He was checking out some tracks a stag left behind when that cursed boar came out of nowhere. Summon him to my quarters this afternoon. I will engage him in a game of cyvasse. If he really feels that guilty, he can let me win some golden stags off of him."
A bit later Varys left the King's room satisfied with the effect of his words. Now he just needed to find the King's young paramour and send her to his room tomorrow night. He would make sure she wore a seductive outfit and carried a large pitcher of wine.
***