So Lo Quen bid farewell to Janice and returned to Tyrosh.
Upon his return, the first to greet him was Meizo.
After Tyrosh lifted its state of martial law, Varys had immediately reached out to his little birds stationed in the city, issuing them fresh instructions.
When Meizo relayed the intelligence gathered by these undercover agents, Lo Quen was momentarily taken aback.
The report stated that Varys had ordered his little birds to investigate Lo Quen's marital status and his preferences regarding women.
What were they plotting?
Lo Quen pondered the matter carefully, a sense of unease stirring within him.
Ah… so that was it—they wanted him to marry Daenerys, to draw Robert's attention and wrath.
At once, he understood Varys's intentions.
His own ambitions for Westeros were no longer hidden, and with dragons as his greatest weapon, Varys clearly wished to use that to his advantage—pushing Lo Quen and the Targaryen siblings into the open, making them the focus of the world's gaze.
The thought left Lo Quen half amused, half exasperated.
Did Varys truly not consider that if he went along with such a plan, would young Aegon even have a chance to set foot on Westerosi soil?
Then again, perhaps Varys simply viewed him as an ordinary dragonrider.
He likely believed that once the wars in Westeros had run their course, removing Lo Quen would allow Aegon to effortlessly claim the spoils.
Lo Quen let out a cold, mirthless laugh.
Varys's schemes were doomed from the start.
There might be things in this world capable of killing him—but certainly nothing within the reach of Varys and Illyrio.
...
Tyrosh Palace.
Great Lord Eddard Stark stood at the head of the delegation, his long face even sterner than usual, the gray-blue depths of his eyes shadowed with heavy concern.
Behind him stood an array of notable figures: Petyr Baelish, Master of Coin; Stafford Lannister, cousin to Lord Tywin of Casterly Rock; Garth Tyrell, steward of Highgarden, accompanied by Loras Tyrell, third son of Lord Mace; Garth Hightower, son of Lord Leyton of Oldtown; Horas and Hobber Redwyne, sons of Lord Paxter Redwyne of the Arbor; Robar and Waymar Royce, second and third sons of Lord Royce of Runestone.
Also among them were Lord Harmen Uller of Hellholt in Dorne and his bastard daughter Ellaria Sand; Cletus Yronwood, son of Lord Yronwood of Yronwood; and Daemon Sand, the bastard of Godsgrace.
Beyond these prominent names, a number of knights and retainers completed the retinue.
Lord Eddard had originally intended to travel with Littlefinger alone, yet before they could depart, news of the Seven Kingdoms' defeat had already reached the great lords of Westeros.
One by one, nobles whose kin had been captured insisted on joining the delegation.
They set sail from King's Landing, enduring several rough days across the Narrow Sea. Their first destination was Bloodstone Isle—only to find it empty. They were told that all captured nobles had been transferred to fallen Tyrosh.
The news of Tyrosh's fall left Eddard and his party utterly stunned.
When they arrived at Tyrosh, they once again found themselves too late.
The Easterners had moved on to the Disputed Lands.
They waited for ten long, fruitless days before the mysterious Eastern conqueror finally appeared.
During that time, they had not been idle.
With permission, Eddard and his men had managed to visit the imprisoned nobles held in the dungeons—and what they found was far from pleasant.
A month in the cells had stripped the once-pampered Westerosi lords of their dignity.
They were thin as reeds, their faces smeared with grime, their fine clothes reduced to rags. Living day after day among rats, the noble prisoners of the Seven Kingdoms had been reduced to despairing shadows of their former selves.
When Lord Paxter Redwyne saw Eddard and the others arrive, he immediately burst into furious complaint—railing against the cruelty of the Westerlanders, Ironborn, and Dornishmen alike.
He claimed this motley alliance had never come to fight the Easterners of the Stepstones, but rather to seize the rumored hoards of Valyrian steel.
Hearing this, Lord Eddard felt a deep weariness settle over him.
He recalled that the last time the Seven Kingdoms had sent troops to the Stepstones was thirty years ago, during the War of the Ninepenny Kings.
Back then, King Jaehaerys II Targaryen had likewise raised a great host. The Great Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Tytos Lannister, had contributed eleven thousand men, while Quellon Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands, had provided one hundred longships.
At least half of the forty thousand soldiers who had joined this campaign did so for impure reasons—driven not by duty, but by greed and the lure of treasure.
In that moment, Lord Eddard Stark could not help but acknowledge the enduring power of House Targaryen's legacy.
Thinking of it, he also found himself admiring the loyalty of the Reach's lords to the Iron Throne.
In the expedition against Bloodstone Isle, the southern nobles of the Reach had contributed a quarter of the men and half of the fleet—and it was they who suffered the greatest losses.
After speaking with several captured nobles, the delegation quickly confirmed three critical pieces of intelligence.
The first was that Jorah Mormont had indeed betrayed the Seven Kingdoms, becoming a lackey of the Easterners. The ambush on Bloodstone Isle had been his doing—a trap meticulously prepared, waiting for Westeros's forces to step right into it.
The second was that Moryn Tyrell, commander of the Oldtown garrison and uncle to Lord Mace, had offended the Easterners and been executed—beheaded by their own men.
The Tyrells were furious, yet utterly helpless. For now, all they could do was ensure that the surviving nobles were ransomed home and report the grim news to Lord Mace.
The third piece of intelligence concerned the Easterner's reaction to a certain tale: after hearing Prince Oberyn speak of how Dorne brought down Meraxes with scorpion bolts, he seemed noticeably uneasy.
That was a crucial detail.
The envoys unanimously agreed that if they emphasized the value and threat of the Scorpion crossbows, it might deter the Easterner from ever daring to invade Westeros.
...
At long last, after days of anxious waiting, the delegation of the Seven Kingdoms finally witnessed the return of the Eastern ruler.
Lo Quen, dressed in a dark gray velvet coat, sat upon a high-backed chair adorned with ivory and agate. His cold gaze swept over the gathered envoys below like a silent tide.
Meizo had already informed him that this Seven Kingdoms delegation was led by Great Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell.
Eddard drew in a deep breath—the chill of the North carried in his lungs seemed to freeze the heavy air within the hall.
Now in his thirties, tall and broad-shouldered, his brown hair streaked faintly with gray, Eddard's gray-blue eyes locked onto the man seated upon the dais. His voice was deep, steady, and edged with northern resolve.
"Lord Sorcerer of the East, we come by the command of His Grace Robert Baratheon I of the Seven Kingdoms and Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King. We are here to discuss terms of truce and the release of our captured lords... I believe there has been some misunderstanding between you and the Seven Kingdoms. We were never meant to meet in battle—but to coexist in peace."
As he finished speaking, his gaze flicked subtly toward the man beside him.
Petyr Baelish's lips curved into that faultless, sly smile of his. He was just about to speak, ready to smooth over the tension with his silvered tongue—
—but a quiet chuckle from above interrupted him.
Lo Quen's voice followed, calm and laced with amusement.
"Friends of the Seven Kingdoms," he said. "I believe we can indeed reach a truce."
Silence fell across the hall, thick and absolute.
...
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