Chapter 366: The Big Player
Varys's heart skipped a beat—this little girl, why isn't she playing by the rules? If Stannis really were to be burned to a crisp in the Red Keep by a blast of dragonfire and Daenerys took the Iron Throne, what would be left for Young Griff and the Golden Company?
He could not let them execute this plan!
"A fine plan, though unfortunately, it is mere wishful thinking," Varys said, his tone flat, yet his words unforgiving. "On a moonless, windy night, the defenders of King's Landing certainly wouldn't see the dragons flying in from the sea, but could Your Majesty truly navigate across Blackwater Bay in pitch-black darkness and accurately locate the Red Keep? Furthermore, from the day Your Majesty returned to Westeros and seized Dragonstone, Stannis and his Small Council have quietly left the Red Keep, dispersing and hiding in various temporary command posts throughout King's Landing. My little birds can use various tracks to find and mark most of these locations on a map, but it is impossible to predict which one Stannis will be in on any given day... Even if we could, asking Your Majesty to ride a dragon and accurately find these places—which look no different from civilian houses from the air—within the vastness of King's Landing and then dive down to burn them, is nothing short of a pipe dream."
How was it that Varys could serve two dynasties and maintain the trust of his rulers, even appearing now before Daenerys as an uninvited guest and quickly integrating into her council, while even Petyr Baelish—who guarded against and loathed him with extreme intensity—could find no evidence or leverage to use against him?
It was because he was more sophisticated—so sophisticated that no one could grasp concrete evidence of his crimes.
Where specifically was this sophistication displayed? Littlefinger, standing before him, was the perfect comparison. Petyr Baelish's mastery of political intrigue was arguably divine, something even Varys humbly admitted he could not match. Yet, even so... Varys still called him the 'second cleverest man in the Seven Kingdoms'. Why?
Because Petyr's manipulation of power remained at the level of technique—in common terms, playing various tricks.
And even the cleverest tricks leave traces... or rather, evidence.
Varys was the opposite; from beginning to end, he only used one move: providing true, accurate, detailed, and usually instantly useful intelligence.
You heard that right; it was that simple, but the actual execution was far more complex. If Petyr's method was seven parts truth and three parts lie, then Varys's was nine parts truth and one part withheld. Suppose the information he obtained through his intelligence network was 1 or 100%. Varys would then undergo a selection process so complex that ordinary people could never master it, extracting the 90% that favored him and could manipulate those in power to move in the direction his script required, delivering it to the right person at the right time.
Yes, he almost never provided false intelligence. Anyone who dug into the 90% he provided would find it difficult to find evidence or traces of forgery. But never underestimate that 10% he intercepted and hid: through clever editing, quoting out of context, and hiding cause and effect, Varys could shape a rebel planning an uprising tomorrow into a loyalist of the millennium. He could describe a chaste virgin as a wanton harlot, or frame the most honest and upright man in the world so that anyone listening would want to hang him immediately...
Better yet: by not lying, he saved himself the vast amount of corroborating evidence and cleanup work required to maintain a lie. Thus, Varys could squeeze out more time, energy, and resources to build deeper momentum than Petyr and design grander, more exquisite layouts. As for what happens when those in power realize later and ask why the 10% was missing? Deeply sorry—intelligence gathering is a heavy and taxing labor; errors are bound to occur!
And when an intelligence master who never provides false info suddenly mixes a 1% lie into an almost entirely true report, how sharp and paranoid would a person have to be to immediately sense the anomaly?
"Never mind then," Missandei said, blinking a few times and speaking quickly. "I didn't think it through."
Stannis's caution was well known, and leaving the Red Keep to hide in a shelter to win the war seemed to fit his style. Not only a young girl like Missandei, but even Petyr, who was currently arguing with Varys, believed the lie the eunuch had woven in a split second without a second thought—he was busy thinking of how to persuade Daenerys to attack King's Landing immediately, and he had found his argument.
"Making dragons the last choice should indeed be the final option." Petyr figured out how to break that phrase; it was simple—concede it. "But now is the moment you must make that final choice! Your Majesty, anyone can find a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old Valyrian youth with silver hair and purple eyes and claim he is Aegon Targaryen, pushing him before us to snatch the fruits of victory you achieved through sacrifice and risk. I do not believe he is real!"
"When Prince Aegon was taken from King's Landing, he was indeed only a child. It is impossible for anyone in Westeros to recognize him now; it is natural to question his identity." Varys swallowed quietly, relieved that no one was dwelling on the plan to burn the Red Keep. "But Jon Connington, who is currently assisting him, is a well-known noble who served as King Aerys's Hand during the Usurper's War. There are many who have seen him—without looking too far, among the lords of the Narrow Sea islands you have already conquered, you are bound to find nobles who recognize him."
The identity of Aegon Targaryen was unafraid of any investigation.
This was the ultimate venture Varys had planned for half his life to overturn the table of the game of thrones and seize the legal ownership of all Westeros. It was also the most brilliant deception he had ever designed: it was a deception, but everything within it was real—the Golden Company was real; the team of tutors and advisors who raised the Prince to be a perfect ruler was real; the Hand of the Mad King, Jon Connington, was real. From the lowliest soldier to the Prince's closest confidants... even the Prince himself believed he was truly Aegon Targaryen.
Aside from Magister Illyrio of Pentos and Varys himself, everyone in the world who knew the Prince was a fake was dead. With such a seamless deception, who could tear it down?
"The Lord of Griffin's Roost may be real, but what does that prove?" Petyr couldn't tear down a lie built entirely of truth, but that didn't stop him from using his intuition as an elite player to sniff out the scent of a conspiracy. He stared intently at Varys, feeling he had found the man's slip-up: "Allow me to say something harsh, Your Majesty. Even if that Aegon Targaryen is real, you cannot wait for him. As the son of your brother, Prince Rhaegar, if the real little Aegon is alive, then according to Targaryen succession law, his claim to the Iron Throne comes before yours! If you wait for him before attacking King's Landing, even if you win easily, to whom will the credit truly belong?"
...
The plain truth, and of the kind that was difficult to bring to the table. It was only because Petyr relied on being the Hand of the Queen, holding high status and deep trust from Daenerys, that he dared be so bold... but it was precisely because it was the plain truth that it truly checkmated Varys and left him speechless—after all, no one can argue with the obvious truth.
Truly the second cleverest man in the Seven Kingdoms, to think of the best way to counter his own argument so quickly. Varys gave a bitter smile, hiding his true inner thoughts. He decided not to counterattack but to defend conventionally: "Your Majesty, there are only you and your nephew, two Targaryens left in the world. In this situation, do you still intend to engage in internal strife?"
Petyr pursued without leaving an inch of room: "Your Majesty, if you acknowledge Aegon Targaryen as real, then your previous act of declaring yourself Queen becomes a rebellious act of usurping power."
"Before Her Majesty claimed the throne, Aegon had not yet revealed his identity; it is excusable. I believe Prince Aegon would be quite willing to forgive his aunt and take her as his wife, with the two of them ruling the Seven Kingdoms together."
"Ruling together?" Petyr let out a cold laugh. "Your Majesty, that Aegon is male. If you marry him, are you a Queen Regnant or a Queen Consort? By ruling with him, as a woman, you are naturally at a disadvantage... Furthermore, while I personally understand Valyrian marriage customs and know that a marriage between aunt and nephew is legal and reasonable within the Dragonlord families, the people of Westeros won't all be so understanding! You landed in Westeros leading a world-renowned 'slave army,' which has already incited strong resistance. If you rush to practice Valyrian ethics and laws that are so alien to Westeros before your great work is complete, proving that Targaryens are different, it will greatly damage your cause and reputation, making your path to unification much harder!"
...
Daenerys Targaryen had not uttered a single word throughout.
Listen to both sides and you will be enlightened; this was the wisdom she had summarized for herself during her brief but tumultuous reign... Previously, whether under the assistance of Jorah Mormont or after Petyr Baelish found her and exposed the former's treachery, there had only ever been one person who could be called a guide by her side. Now, finally, she had two people of great wisdom, experience, and ability gathered under her command, debating before the Queen... Rather than choosing to adopt the opinion of one over the other, Dany preferred to observe their process and patterns of argument to understand and learn their ways of thinking, enriching herself.
The first round of the contest was over. Both players were breathing quietly, preparing more arguments and materials in their minds, when the sound of boots quickly striking the floor came from outside the meeting room.
"Your—Your Majesty!" The messenger was a new Freedman soldier wearing full armor, his face slightly youthful and his Common Tongue stuttering. "The fleet patrolling the outer sea... intercepted a grey-sailed ship from the north. On board is someone calling himself the Lord Commander of the... something, and a Red Priestess of the Lord of Light."
Support me on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/c/MistaQuartz
On Patreon, you can explore Extra Chapters in advance!