Jon Connington stood frowning deeply at the war map spread across the hall in Storm’s End, his mood foul.

“You said that if we didn’t strike back, we’d lose our last chance. That made sense, and I believed you. Even now, I still don’t doubt the soundness of the advice you gave.” He didn’t look up as he spoke to the bald, perfumed man sitting across the table. “But unfortunately, the right decision doesn’t always lead to victory. We’re in trouble. I’d like to say that the Golden Company still has the strength to defend itself but not to attack. The reality is worse: one of our two main allies failed to show up, and the other can barely protect itself. Right now, we’re struggling just to hold what we’ve gained.”

…

The Dornish army had quietly withdrawn from the battlefield. Meanwhile, the Reach was plagued with internal issues after repeated defeats. Voices opposing the rebellion and calling for recognition of King Stannis’s legitimacy were rising again. House Tyrell was preoccupied with domestic unrest, and just as things seemed at their worst, Euron Greyjoy, the new Lord of the Iron Islands, led his fleet in a surprise invasion of the western coast of the Reach, capturing the Shield Islands and the Arbor.

Though the Riverlands army could easily reclaim these territories in normal times, the Tyrells were overwhelmed with crisis after crisis and had no way to provide the Golden Company or the Prince with any real support.

Had Stannis not also needed time to regroup and redeploy after the Northern army’s withdrawal, giving the Golden Company a bit of breathing room, Storm’s End would likely have already changed hands again.

…

Varys’s expression wasn’t much better, but he didn’t respond directly to the Hand’s bleak assessment. Instead, he shifted the subject slightly. “Was there any issue during Prince Oberyn’s meeting with the Prince?”

“If there was, I didn’t see it.” Connington shook his head. “The two met, exchanged courtesies, and then went into a room to talk privately. I didn’t think it proper to ask the Prince about what they discussed, but there was no sign of any tension. After their meeting, Prince Oberyn returned to his army, and the Dornish forces quickly crossed the border into the Stormlands, pressing hard against Stannis’s flank. They helped break our siege…”

The Hand of the King paused, frowning in thought, but still couldn’t find anything amiss. “I admit, since they had never met before, Oberyn Martell had no way of judging whether the Prince was truly his nephew. Their reunion wasn’t emotional or dramatic. But—if Dorne doubted the Prince’s identity and refused to send troops, that would be understandable. Why send an army only to retreat at a critical moment, giving us false hope and completely derailing our original plan?”

“It’s certainly a headache, but you won’t be confused for long after you hear what I’ve learned.” Varys remained seated, fingers interlaced, and spoke slowly. “My little birds tell me that Prince Quentyn Martell of Dorne has been missing for some time.”

“Hmm?” Connington looked up, confused. “The news I received said that Prince Quentyn was stationed on the Boneway—”

“Serving and training under Lord Yronwood,” Varys cut in with a forced smile. “Yes, that’s the official line. But how could someone serving in his foster father’s army not show himself for months? Prince Quentyn is no sheltered maiden. And more interestingly, my little birds in Volantis reported that a group of Dornishmen recently landed in port, asking around for ships heading to Slaver’s Bay, specifically Meereen. What would you make of that?”

Realization began to dawn on Connington. “You’re saying Prince Quentyn Martell went to Meereen… to find our Queen?”

“Do you remember the secret pact signed fifteen years ago between Willem Darry and Oberyn Martell? It was witnessed by the Sea Lord of Braavos and promised that Viserys Targaryen would marry Arianne Martell. In return, Dorne would fully support his claim when he returned to Westeros to reclaim the Iron Throne.”

“Now that Prince Viserys is dead, the Martells have turned their eyes to Daenerys. They want to make our Queen their Queen?” Connington drew a sharp breath, startled by the implications, and quickly fell into frustration. The long-awaited counterattack had just begun to show promise, and now the last two Targaryens were on the verge of competing against each other. “Is Daenerys still playing at ruling Meereen? What are your spies doing? Why haven’t you brought her back?”

“Our Queen isn’t as easy to control as you imagine.” Varys shook his head with a bitter smile. “It’s not surprising, really. Anyone who grew up as she did, endured everything she has, and then gained three dragons would naturally develop ideas of her own… especially with the blood of the True Dragon flowing through her veins. Viserys used to speak of the ‘True Dragon’s wrath’ every time he lost his temper. But in hindsight, it seems the one who truly carried that wrath… was the sister he bullied all those years.”

Connington had no patience for any talk of True Dragon’s wrath. He cut Varys off sharply. “Then use your methods! Isn’t this what you’re good at? What about Littlefinger? Didn’t you send him to her? Use him to persuade Daenerys to return to Westeros immediately. We can’t hold out much longer!”

“I must correct you on one point—I do not control Littlefinger. I never have, and I never will.” Varys spoke calmly. “Petyr Baelish merely had the bad luck to fall into my hands, and I arranged for someone to deliver him to Daenerys. He is the second most cunning man in the Seven Kingdoms. The moment you think you can control him, he’s likely already planning how to kill you. The few times I’ve used him effectively were only when I planned cautiously and aligned my goals with his interests.”

Varys sighed, shaking his head. “And even if I could get Littlefinger to persuade Daenerys to return right away, he wouldn’t be able to. Not because Daenerys wouldn’t listen to him, but because… our Queen is no longer in Meereen.”

“Then where is she?”

“Far to the East.”

“What gods-forsaken place?” Connington scowled. “Did she read some Night’s Watch tale, start believing the world is round, and think she could sail east and end up back on Westeros’s west coast?”

“Not to my knowledge. The main reason is that her three dragons have been growing wild, developing the urge to hunt, and have begun attacking livestock around Meereen… and even people. On the advice of her counselors, Daenerys decided to search for a place to learn how to ride and control them. Guided by information from some mysterious figure, she flew east with her dragons. Where exactly? We don’t know.”

“You didn’t stop her? You just let the Queen, along with the dragons, slip out of sight?”

“I’m not her attendant. How could I stop her? By the time I received the report, she had already left Meereen.” Varys scowled, defending himself against Connington’s blame. “Besides, if Daenerys truly learns to master her dragons during this journey, it will only help us. I’m just as concerned for her safety as you are, but we must be clear-eyed. A Daenerys who cannot control her dragons is of limited use to us.”

“Fine. I admit you can’t be blamed for the Daenerys situation.” Jon Connington finally calmed down and sighed. “Let’s talk practical matters. How are we supposed to hold off Stannis’s next offensive? And what do you intend to do about Dorne’s ambitions for our Queen?”

“Our mysterious benefactor in Pentos will soon send aid. All you have to do is hold out until then. Meanwhile, I will contact Euron Greyjoy, explain the situation, and urge him to direct his chaos elsewhere.”

“I’ve heard he’s a madman. Do you really think he can be reasoned with?”

“I’m not going to him in person. What can a madman do from afar? Maybe he really is as dangerous as the rumors claim, but madmen and fools are not the same. If he keeps stirring up trouble, then once Stannis finishes with us, the Iron Islands will be next. Anyone with a brain can see that much.” Varys lifted his gaze, and a sharp light flashed in his usually lazy eyes. “As for Dorne… you don’t need to worry. Doran Martell thinks he’s playing us for fools, and he believes he’s done it flawlessly. But since he’s heartless, I won’t be sentimental either. His precious Prince will never have the chance to marry anyone.”

“What are you planning?” Connington’s expression darkened. There’s only one permanent way to prevent someone from doing something—make sure they never get the chance. “I must remind you, no matter what the Martells are plotting, Dorne is still one of our most important allies. If what you’re planning gets exposed—”

“I have my ways. It will look like an accident. And as for you… are you simply worried I’ll fail, or has the knight in you awakened again?” Since leaving the Red Keep, Varys no longer had to maintain his harmless façade at all times. With Jon Connington, he could speak plainly. “Need I remind you of the Battle of the Bells? If not for your soft heart back then, would we even be in this mess with King Stannis today?”

—

During Robert’s Rebellion, Robert Baratheon was defeated by Randyll Tarly at the Battle of Ashford. The Riverlands army was allowed to move past and march on Storm’s End. After being wounded while trying to link up with the armies of Stark, Tully, and Arryn, Robert hid and recovered in the Riverlands town of Stoney Sept.

At that crucial moment, Jon Connington surrounded the town. He knew the Usurper was inside, but refused to order drastic measures. He merely ordered a house-by-house search, until the Stark-Tully-Arryn allied forces arrived and drove him off. He failed to capture Robert.

It wasn’t a total military defeat, but it was the closest the royalist army had ever come to ending the war early. Had Connington ordered the burning of that rebel town and all within, the rebellion might have ended then and there…

But history has no “what ifs.”

Robert survived Stoney Sept, recovered from his wounds, and joined the Battle of the Trident months later. There, he killed the last hope of House Targaryen, Prince Rhaegar, and decided the fate of the war.

During his long exile across the sea, Jon Connington often woke from nightmares, tormented by regret. He always believed it was his moment of mercy that doomed his beloved “Silver Prince.” And after years of remorse, he swore that on the path to restoring Rhaegar’s son to the Iron Throne, he would kill the knight within him… and use whatever means were necessary.

—

“Do you remember now?” Varys saw that Connington had fallen silent and knew he understood. He didn’t press the matter. Instead, he softened his tone. “I’ll take care of the dirty work. You don’t need to worry about it, and don’t let the Prince know. Rhaegar’s son must sit the Iron Throne. Anyone who gets in the way or threatens the bigger picture… will share the same fate.”

“I understand.” The Griffon Lord replied hoarsely. “As long as you’re sure this won’t blow back on us, go ahead. I won’t stop you.”

“Let’s not talk about this anymore. I was wrong to tell you in the first place. I should’ve just done it quietly. Now all I’ve done is stir up concern.” Varys returned to his usual unassuming manner and shrugged. “We’re both here to serve the true king. Let’s set aside our doubts and do what needs doing. Consolidate our lines. Endure these next few weeks, and the tide will turn.”

(To be continued.)

***

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