Though they couldn’t make sense of it yet, Petyr and Varys had seen too much of the world to be easily rattled by a few verbal jabs, like some green old masters. They once again resorted to their tried-and-true strategy: adapt by doing nothing, quietly observe, and wait for the right moment.

They didn’t dare offend Aegor now, not because of him personally, but because of the Gift Army’s soldiers. But if this Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch thought he could fool them with such tactics, he was far too confident.

After a brief pause, Aegor spoke again.

“Lord Varys supports Her Grace marrying Aegor, hoping to unite the strength of the last two Targaryens, win the loyalty of the Riverlands and Dorne, and smooth the path for the True Dragon Dynasty to reunify the Seven Kingdoms. That is correct.”

“And Lord Petyr is firmly against it, fearing that once Her Grace marries him, due to her disadvantage in gender, she would be controlled or sidelined by her husband and King. Power would fall into others’ hands, and the Queen’s status would become nothing more than a name… That concern also has its merit.”

Of course, the reality was far more complicated. He knew the truth well but chose to ignore it. If he dug too deeply and admitted that the conflict between the two sides was irreconcilable, then he couldn’t use mediation as an excuse.

“Both of you are wise and experienced men, and both serve the Queen. Is this one difference in opinion enough to warrant lifelong hostility, mutual sabotage, and the waste of precious time and energy on internal strife?”

Putting the cart before the horse, confusing cause and effect, utterly nonsensical…

After listening to his speech, Varys and Petyr remained completely baffled.

Their disagreement over Aegor was merely a small and inevitable manifestation of their deeper, fundamental conflict of interest. How had it become the source of the tension in Aegor’s mouth?

Is he just spouting nonsense to confuse me? Varys couldn’t be bothered to guess whether Aegor truly couldn’t see through it, or was pretending to be foolish. Either way, as long as he didn’t mobilize the Gift Army or have Melisandre intervene by force, nothing could shake Varys’ resolve to eliminate obstacles.

If you want to play, I’ll play along.

“Then, Lord Commander, what is your brilliant suggestion?”

Without reacting to the vivid, insincere smile on Varys’ round face, Aegor shrugged. “It’s simple. Her Grace and Prince Aegor are living people. They have thoughts, feelings, and emotions. Their relationship is not simply black or white—either a surrender of the throne or sworn enemies. In this era, when the blood of the True Dragons is nearly gone, there is no need for a struggle to the death. Why not find a middle path where both sides compromise, allowing Her Grace to enjoy the benefits of alliance while avoiding the pitfalls of acknowledging his identity? Wouldn’t that be best for everyone?”

Under the eyes of the two listeners, the Night’s Watch Commander continued smoothly.

“After this idea came to mind, I did some research and discovered something important. Aegon landed in Westeros before Her Grace but has yet to formally claim the throne. He continues to correspond with her through envoys and letters, peacefully coexisting on this continent in the identity of Rhaegar Targaryen’s son—a nephew, a ‘crown prince’, not a ‘king’.” The dining hall had become the Lord Commander’s personal stage. He showed no interest in watching the expressions of his two dining companions, considering their feelings, or waiting for a reply. “I may be a foreigner unfamiliar with Westerosi customs, but where I come from, in China, this kind of political humility—lowering oneself to avoid conflict—is a strong signal of goodwill and sincerity. Based on this gesture, I believe Her Grace should at least give Prince Aegor the chance to meet her and prove his identity. He deserves that.”

…

Varys became even more confused.

(Does this man truly believe what he’s saying? Or is he pretending to stand for fairness, while secretly trying to deceive me?)

If it was the former, then an ally who commanded the most powerful army north of the Neck and was still alive was surely more useful than a dead former Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Maybe he should be taken off the “must eliminate” list?

Even with all his insight and calm as the Spider, he was momentarily swayed. For a brief instant, his killing intent toward Aegor almost dissipated. But that moment of weakness lasted only half a second before it was shattered by his hardened heart.

He didn’t have the time or luxury to gamble on what the Lord Commander was really thinking. Aegor had soldiers, supplies, and territory. He held real power. That meant even if he genuinely supported the Queen meeting Aegor now, he could change his mind later if it suited his interests, and no overt method could stop him.

Rather than give in to wishful thinking and later be forced to devise another plan to deal with this cautious man, it would be better to strike now. If he could eliminate both Petyr and Aegor at once, that would settle everything.

His mind made up, Varys’ face remained cheerful and agreeable. “Why not? I once advised Her Grace to do the same. Unfortunately, just as she was ready to agree, the White Walkers invaded the Wall and disrupted everything. Hmm… the Hand is the one firmly opposed. Why don’t you try persuading him?”

…

Aegor nodded, turned to face Petyr, his expression and posture seemingly seeking his opinion, but for some reason, an unspoken pressure spread across the table.

Littlefinger quietly swallowed and calmed his heartbeat.

(Is this man really turning on me and siding with that damned eunuch, or is he putting on a show to fool Varys into dropping any tricks during the upcoming Northern Lords’ oath-swearing ceremony?)

If it was the former, losing an ally and gaining an enemy was a terrible trade. If it was the latter, then he was acting without coordination and being recklessly naive. What kind of man did he think Varys was? Someone who could be swayed by one conversation?

He thought for a moment and presented an irrefutable argument. “If Prince Aegor is real, then he certainly has the right to be received by Her Grace. But the truth is, Her Grace has never heard of him, let alone met him. Nearly twenty years have passed. Who can say what’s real and what’s not, and what could prove it?”

“Lord Varys personally rescued him from the Red Keep, and Lord Clinton raised him. I believe he is real, Lord Petyr.” Aegor interrupted, clearly displeased, looking down from above. His right hand drifted to his waist and rested casually on his sword hilt. “Whether it’s real or not, Her Grace will judge for herself. If you insist on dwelling on this argument, then forgive me, but I can no longer continue mediating.”

Petyr stiffened. He had come from humble beginnings and faced countless threats in his rise, but rarely had he truly felt fear like this. Part of it came from the overwhelming pressure, even greater than Daenerys’, radiating from the other man. But the main reason was his clear understanding: at this very moment, Aegor had both the reason and the means to make good on his threat. A single wrong word, and he could die.

This wasn’t mediation. This was coercion. He and Varys were being forced to submit, while the Queen they served hadn’t even left the castle and was still close by.

Even with all his experience, Petyr had never imagined someone could be this arrogant and audacious. And he had once treated this man like a junior. While secretly clicking his tongue, he made up his mind. Whatever Aegor said or wanted next, just agree. Until he returned to the safety of the Unsullied in the South, there was no point in risking anything by arguing with a madman.

“As you wish, Lord Commander,” Petyr shrugged. “I have no objection to Her Grace meeting Prince Aegor. But about what you said earlier—’the way to solve the drawbacks of acknowledging him.’ What is it?”

“After Her Grace meets Aegon, whether to acknowledge his Targaryen lineage or to ally with him, that is for Her Grace to decide. We, as her advisors, can only give counsel. But as women face inherent disadvantages compared to men, to prevent power from slipping away, we, as her council, must present a united front. No matter whether Her Grace allies with or marries Aegon, whether she remains sole ruler or they share power, the first Hand of the new dynasty must be Petyr Baelish. And among the first group of Lords Hand, more than half must be her direct supporters. What do you two think?”

…

Ah, so this was the old trick: threaten with a stick, then tempt with a carrot.

Putting trusted people in the Queen’s inner circle was indeed a good way to keep power from drifting to a husband—at least in theory.

But reality was never that simple.

To put it plainly—what exactly were the powers of the Hand, and how broad was the Small Council’s authority? Wasn’t it still up to the King to decide? A few clever moves could sideline those in power, even if Petyr remained Hand for life and the Council was filled with loyalists, it might not matter.

And to think more seriously… for many lords, especially kings, a wife was merely a tool—to secure rule, bear heirs, and then be cast aside. How many times in history had queens been poisoned and discarded after childbirth? Once the Queen was “accidentally killed” and lost her backing, what use was the Prime Minister, no matter how powerful?

Petyr had many reasons to object, but in the end, he held back. After a slight pause, he nodded slowly but firmly. “I have no objection.”

Varys shared the same thought. He smiled and nodded in agreement. “The other ‘Hand of the Prince’ might not like it, but I know Jon Connington. For the greater good, he will accept it.”

A strange situation took shape. Though all three men viewed the others as threats, the atmosphere became strangely harmonious.

“Very good. See? Reaching consensus is this simple. Why all the bickering?” Aegor’s tone lightened, though his hand remained on the sword hilt. “Since the misunderstanding is resolved, this mediation ends here. Now, on to the next topic. Houses Manderly, Glover, Ryswell, Dustin, Tallhart, Hornwood, Cerwyn, and others have replied, pledging loyalty to the Queen. The last surviving member of House Umber has also appeared in the Gift and is under my protection. But House Karstark has explicitly refused to support the Queen. As for those who have yet to respond—Flint’s Finger, Widow’s Watch, Oldcastle, Greywater Watch, and House Mormont of Bear Island—they are far from Winterfell and likely delayed by poor communication.”

“Conservatively estimated, at least one House in the North will remain our enemy, and two or three may find excuses to remain neutral.” He looked around and raised his voice. “In my view, this handful of dissenters does not change the fact that the North is already under our control. The Queen and the Gift Army cannot continue wasting time in this frozen wasteland. For the sake of unification, we must swallow our pride and set aside the ungrateful Karstarks and certain fence-sitters—for now. We deal with them after the war. First, we must go south and conquer the remaining two-thirds of the realm.”

Aegor straightened his back, stretched, and swept his gaze over the two schemers at the table. “Who agrees? Who objects?”

…

So that was it.

Varys and Petyr, who had been confused for so long, finally understood.

The so-called mediation, the supposed resolution of conflict between the two Dragons—all of it was a ruse. From the start, Aegor’s real goal was to make this point. He didn’t want the Gift Army wasting food, horses, and time at Winterfell. So he staged this entire farce, using psychological pressure to force Varys into silence, so he wouldn’t obstruct the Southward march.

Petyr, loyal to Daenerys, naturally had no reason to oppose this sound decision. As for Varys… he had already bought time for his trap by convincing the Queen to focus on the North earlier. Now, with the trap set, he no longer needed to stall.

So, without hesitation, both men nodded, expressing full support for beginning the Southward conquest as soon as possible.

The mediation had succeeded, and the proposal to march south had passed. The stern look on Aegor’s face finally faded. He released the hilt at his waist, smiled, picked up his wine goblet, and raised it toward the two seated men.

“I knew both Lords were reasonable and would make the right choice. I apologize for my earlier rudeness. Let us drink together to celebrate the resolution of these misunderstandings, and the successful agreement on launching the Southward campaign.”

It all seemed clear now. Yet, for some reason, Varys still felt something was wrong. While mentally replaying everything that had happened since entering the room, searching for flaws, he lowered his head at the sound of Aegor’s voice and looked at the goblet of wine poured at the start of the meal.

Its color was pale and elegant, its liquid clear. The aroma was strong, likely a fine golden vintage from the Arbor. His plump, round face reflected in its smooth, mirror-like surface.

Meeting “his own” gaze for half a second, a spark flashed across his foggy thoughts. The Spider suddenly understood the source of his unease.

Everything so far—from the ridiculous “mediation” to the final push for the Southward campaign—had all been part of a single purpose.

To distract them, and in the end… trick them into drinking this wine.

(To be continued.)

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep