---
"My Lord, what do you plan to do next?"
Varys spoke in his calm, honeyed tone, his eyes flicking toward the imposing young man seated before him. There was the slightest hint of seduction in his words, as if he sought to manipulate rather than merely inquire.
Eddard Karstark took a slow sip of wine, regarding the Master of Whisperers with a half-smile. "Now, the North is our loyal ally, the Vale stands firmly by our side, and the Riverlands obey my command. Twin River City and Harrenhal are powerful, capable of raising over ten thousand men."
Varys's eyes flickered. "Even the giants—the ones spoken of only in songs—are at your disposal. I hear there are as many as two hundred of them."
Eddard raised a brow but did not answer.
Varys continued, pouring wine for his host with meticulous care. "It is said that the Westerlands, under Ser Brynden Tully's assault, are retreating steadily. Even Casterly Rock and Lannisport face siege. Perhaps… you are the most suitable man to sit upon the Iron Throne."
Eddard chuckled. The sound was low, warm, almost amused. "Varys, you flatter me far too easily."
The young lord's mind was clear, precise, and wary. He did not need Varys's services—yet. Clever men were unpredictable; their allegiances could shift like clouds over the Narrow Sea. Best to keep them close, but not yet cut them down.
Varys, undeterred, allowed the honeyed smile to return. "Then, naturally, the Seven Kingdoms will bend to your rule. A new dynasty, born of the Stark, shall rise, and all will rejoice. The realm will see a young, wise, and mighty king—one who brings fortune to the people and prosperity to the lands."
Eddard laughed, a sharp, short burst of sound that cut through the room. "Fortune, prosperity… It is never that simple, Varys."
He sipped from his cup and leaned back, the candlelight flickering across his face. "First, once I claim the throne, the rivalry between Tywin Lannister and Stannis Baratheon will vanish in importance. But it won't be long before they and others turn their spears against me."
"After all, King's Landing—or that iron chair full of blades—is the prize every lord and knight covets."
He gestured at the wine, inviting Varys to pour more. "Second, my allies—the lords of the Vale—may feel I have claimed too much of the victory, breeding resentment or even hostility. The Northern lords seek only revenge, and then to return home with spoils to survive the harsh winter. Few will care to entangle themselves in the future disputes of the Seven Kingdoms."
Eddard's eyes narrowed. "Thus, when the lion, the stag, and the rose rise, the Riverlands, Westerlands, Crownlands, Stormlands, and Reach will plunge once more into war. Even I cannot contend with so many enemies at once. Another long, grueling war will erupt."
Varys's expression changed. The flattery fell away, replaced with the first signs of genuine respect. The young man before him displayed a maturity unbefitting his years. Mere compliments would not sway him.
"And across the Narrow Sea," Eddard added with a wink, "Princess Daenerys, the Dragon Queen, has already proclaimed herself ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. She commands three dragons, nearly ten thousand Unsullied, and occupies Meereen. She is learning to govern."
Varys abruptly rose, eyes sharp as the Narrow Sea in a storm. "How do you know this? No one could possibly know—"
"Enough," Eddard interrupted, setting down his cup. "The meeting begins now. Leave speculation for later."
---
The doors to the meeting hall swung open. The first to enter was Earl Glover of Deepwood Motte. Among Northern lords, he was intelligent, steady, and kind—loyal to the Stark above all else. Eddard had instructed Bran to ensure that Glover brought troops, a task completed with minimal complication.
"My lord, most of King's Landing has been pacified. People have emerged from their homes; vendors hawk their wares, and citizens inquire who rules now—whether the lion, the stag, the wolf, or the rose."
Eddard's gaze hardened. "The people welcome the rose more than the direwolf."
"And the soldiers? Are they maintaining order? Any disturbances?"
"Most remain in camp," Earl Glover replied. After a moment's hesitation, he asked, "Your Majesty, I emptied nearly the entire Red Keep wine warehouse for the troops and distributed five gold dragons to each soldier, allowing them to visit the brothels along Silk Street in shifts. Is this acceptable?"
Eddard smiled. "Of course. Reward them. Let them relieve themselves of excess energy responsibly. As long as they pay and do not kill, it is permitted. If more gold is needed, consult the High Septon of the Great Sept of Baelor. We worship the Old Gods, not the Seven-in-One New God, but a courtesy may smooth relations."
The Earl nodded, quickly understanding the implications.
---
The second to enter was Jon Royce. Eddard had ordered him to control all warships in the harbor, regardless of previous ownership. Previously, White Harbor had proposed a Northern fleet commander, but Winterfell lacked funds. By sharing spoils, Eddard sought to cement Northern and Riverlands loyalty.
Bronze Yohn, seated, spoke in a deep voice. "All is under control: ninety-three warships, one hundred eighty-six transports. Most warships are small; only twelve have over a hundred oars. Transport ships exist but are not combat-ready."
Jon Royce glanced at Varys and repeated the question that had begun this discussion: "Eddard, what now?"
"Occupy King's Landing?" Eddard shook his head. "No. Why think I desire that iron chair? The Westerlands await, full of wealth. I have no time to manage this sewer called King's Landing."
He grimaced at the memory of the foul stench outside the city gates. "This city is a cesspit. Truly."
Varys, smiling sweetly, poured wine for the lords and asked again, "And the people? Hundreds of thousands require governance. You cannot simply leave, can you?"
"No," Eddard replied. He tapped the table. "I plan to hand King's Landing over to Stannis Baratheon."
Earl Glover lowered his head without objection. Bronze Yohn hesitated, frowning. But Varys spoke, incredulous: "Eddard, he is a ruthless man, iron-fisted. He will destroy King's Landing!"
Eddard shrugged, unconcerned. "This city once suffered under a mad king who sought to burn it entirely. His successor did nothing but drink, hunt, and play. Chaos followed, leaving fools and cruel men in power. Now, a child sits upon the throne, signing and stamping papers. Responsibility—rarely enforced—is enough to stabilize the city for now."
Varys fell silent. Jon Royce, puzzled, asked, "So we hand it over? Won't the commander-king pursue past crimes?"
Eddard smiled confidently. "Let him. Our deeds were necessary, and Stannis is a fair ruler in matters of law. Let him handle King's Landing as he sees fit."
He looked at Royce. "I heard Vale lords value tourneys. True?"
"Yes," Royce replied, slightly confused. "The young nobles train, demonstrate skill, and gain knighthood through tournaments. It ensures status and prestige for families."
Varys added, "The Reach is similar, though their tournaments are more lavish due to fertile lands and wealth. The Vale, though rich, cannot afford such frequent expense."
Eddard's gaze sharpened. "That's exactly what I intended to discuss." Turning to Bronze Yohn, he explained, "King's Landing will not be handed over freely. I will propose conditions: pardons, alliances, Northern and Riverlands independence, and gifts. Over a million gold dragons will go to Vale lords for siding with justice. Jon Royce, are you willing?"
Bronze Yohn remained silent. Varys, eyes flickering, stared incredulously at the smiling young lord. He already knew where that million-plus would come from.
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