King's Landing Port in the late night sea fog.
Full of salty and rotten fish offal smell.
Jon. Connington pulled his hood to cover his gray-red hair.
The planks of the dock groaned wetly under his feet.
In the distance, the frenzy of the city came through the thick fog, becoming blurry and distant, like another world.
He hates this place.
He hates the smell here, hates the dangers lurking here, and even hates the people who let him come here.
A shadow slid out from behind the stacked cargo boxes, making no sound.
The visitor was wrapped in a rough linen cloak and had a bulky figure, like a dock porter.
But the way he walked, the lightness hidden beneath his clumsiness, gave him away.
Jon. Connington's voice was very low. "You are late."
Varys's voice came from under the hood, no longer the sweet tone of the palace.
"The storm came and went, and the huge waves washed over me, but I was still paddling in the sea fine."
As he approached, the sour smell of bad ale and sweat hit his face.
Jon. Connington frowned.
"You like this storm?"
"I never hated the rain, my friend."
Varys chuckled.
"It cleans the streets and makes seeds sprout."
Jon. Connington is not in the mood to play riddles with him.
"I saw the situation in the city."
"Those monks, those fanatical believers, are you the one who did it?"
Varys shook his head, his face under the hood hidden in the shadows.
"I just opened the door of the cage. Where the birds want to fly is their own choice."
"A hungry bird will eat any grain it can find."
Jon. Connington's fists were clenched under his cloak.
"This plan is pushing the entire kingdom into a pit of fire."
"The power of the church is uncontrollable."
There was a hint of cold mockery in Varys's voice.
"I thought that the years of exile would make you more pragmatic, Lord Connington."
Jon. Connington's breathing stagnated.
Varys didn't give him much time to remember him.
"Tell Mistoin to prepare himself."
"Ships and supplies, Illyrio will make arrangements."
Jon. Connington looked through the fog to the dark sea.
"Are you sure Suleiman will act according to your plan?"
"I heard about his deeds."
"What he did in Riverlands was precise and ruthless, and no step was unnecessary."
"Everyone says he is cunning and cunning. Will he really step into the trap you set for him?"
Varys let out a deep laugh, like the cry of a night owl.
"Trap?"
"No, my friend, we never set traps."
"I just paved a road for him, a road filled with flowers and glory."
He took a step forward, and the sour smell became stronger.
"Cunning comes from information."
"A person, no matter how smart he is, can only make what he thinks is the most reasonable judgment based on the information he has."
"Tell me, what information can Suleiman have on King's Landing and Westeros?"
"He even had a black eye even outside the territory of Governor Riverlands."
Jon. Connington was silent.
"House Lychester, they rose so fast, like they appeared overnight."
"Gorgeous, huge, but rootless."
"They have no connections, no eyes, and no ears at King's Landing."
"They don't even know this city as well as a fisherman who has been selling oysters here for ten years.
Varys's voice was lowered, with a hiss like a snake's message.
"If you give him a year, no, half a year, of course all this will fail."
"He will build his own intelligence network, and my Little Birds sons will discover his little mice."
"But now, he is blind in both eyes and deaf in both ears. The only things he can touch are what we want him to touch."
Jon. Connington thought of another person.
"Where is Jon. Arryn?"
"Will he also follow your steps?"
Varys's tone seemed to be talking about a child.
"Jon. Arryn is a good man and a respectable elder."
"Unfortunately, a good man is often not a good politician."
Varys's cloak shook slightly.
"Our venerable Lord Hand knows nothing about everything."
"Petyr. Baelish knows whatever he wants him to know."
"Petyr. Baelish doesn't want him to know anything, he will never know it."
"He is being manipulated like a scarecrow by Petyr. Baelish."
"He thinks he is governing the country, but in fact, he is just repairing a broken network that has been poked with countless holes by Littlefinger."
Jon. Connington felt a chill, colder than the fog in the harbor.
He always thought that after Usurper stole Iron Throne, there was at least one decent person maintaining order.
Now it seems that that dignity was just a joke.
He spoke softly, "What plans have you arranged for that young man?"
"What if he refuses to accept the sword and help the church?"
Varys's laughter rolled in his throat.
"It doesn't matter whether he wants the sword or not, or even whether he sternly refuses the sword."
"Everything is doomed."
He spread his hands as if showing an invisible chessboard.
"Why did the controversy in the church arise? Because of him."
"Why are those monks so fanatical? Because they pin their hopes of returning divine power to the earth on him."
"My friend, do you understand the dead end of politics?"
Varys's voice is like a persuasive teacher.
"If a monarch is suspicious of his ministers, his ministers will be killed."
"If the ministers are suspicious of the monarch, the ministers will rebel."
"If the monarch is suspicious of his ministers but does not kill them, then the ministers will become suspicious and rebel."
"If a minister is suspicious of the monarch but cannot resist, then the monarch will definitely kill the minister."
"Suleiman will definitely make a judgment that he thinks is correct based on all the information he knows."
"But that's useless, because it's up to me what news the King and Hand of the King get."
"I will ensure that Jon. Arryn makes a decision that leaves House Lychester with no way out."
He paused, letting this cold logic sink into Jon. Connington's heart.
"Suleiman has fallen into this dead end, from the moment he became the sword chosen by the church."
"By the time this huge rabble moves north, no one will be qualified to command them."
"East Riverlands Lords will approach King's Landing in the name of House Lychester welcoming back Viserys."
Varys's plan is like a giant network, slowly unfolding in front of Jon. Connington.
"At that time, the church will add the final fire."
"A vast jihadist army marches to King's Landing in his name, an army that does not belong to the king."
"The previous plan was too risky, and he didn't dare to make a bet easily."
"But this plan I have for him, the church will be on his side, Targaryen will be on his side, Dorne will be on his side, the Reach will be on his side, and Golden Company will be on his side."
"He has everything to lose and, of course, everything to gain."
"King's Landing defends against the void, Stormlands's governor is a child, Robert. Baratheon's royal army hangs alone overseas."
He said in an almost pitiful tone.
"Intelligence and information determine everything."
Jon. Connington felt his throat was dry. "So, everything Suleiman sees is what you want him to see?"
Varys shook his bloated fingers and corrected. "No, no, that's all true."
"I never create falsehoods. I just master information that others don't know. I just guide the truth."
"The church does need a sharp sword, and the people do need a hero."
"We are just making sure that the version Mr. Suleiman hears is the one that best suits our interests."
"He will believe that Seven chose him."
"He will believe that Iron Throne is at his fingertips."
"He will believe that becoming a kingmaker is just a matter of thought."
"He will believe that when he leads his army to the city, King's Landing's city gate will be open for him."
Jon. Connington's heart sank. This was a conspiracy. "When will Golden Company land?"
Varys's voice returned to that smooth accent. "There's no rush."
"Wait until the flames are burning brightest."
"Waiting for the church and Baratheon, both sides will be hurt."
"By the time Seven Kingdoms is in chaos, everyone is exhausted."
"At that time, the emergence of a true dragon will become everyone's hope."
He patted Jon. Connington on the shoulder, his movements as gentle as a feather falling.
"Take care of our prince."
"Tell him that home is not far away."
After saying that, Varys took a step back and his figure merged into the shadows again.
The shadow squirmed, and the bloated figure completely disappeared behind the cargo box.
It's like he never appeared.
Only the sour smell of inferior ale was left, proving that what just happened was not an illusion.
Jon. Connington stood alone on the dock.
The fog became thicker and thicker, swallowing up the lights in the distance.
He felt like he was standing on the edge of the world, with an abyss beneath his feet.
He doesn't like this plan.
He doesn't like Varys, he doesn't like Illyrio, he doesn't like all these people who hide in the shadows and weave a web of lies and secrets.
He is a Warrior, who is used to solving problems with a sword.
But he looked at his calloused hands from holding swords for many years.
For the son of Rhaegar.
For that boy with silver hair and purple eyes.
He is willing to walk into this net, even if he is eventually swallowed by it.
Just...
Will that young man really follow the path designed for him by others----
Myr The air is thick, mixed with the smell of sea water and despair.
Viserys. Targaryen was pacing back and forth in this rented shabby room, like a beast trapped in a cage.
Since being driven away by his former servants, he had to wander around among several Free Citiess.
The faded tapestry could not hide the mold spots on the walls, and the air was filled with the smell of decay.
His voice was hoarse, with a nervousness caused by long-term fear. "They will find us, Dany."
"Usurper's assassins, they are everywhere."
Daenerys. Targaryen sat on the only chair in the room, clasping his hands.
She said nothing, just watching her brother's dull silver hair swaying in the dim candlelight.
She has become accustomed to this fear, it follows her everywhere like a shadow.
Suddenly, there was a slight, almost inaudible sound of footsteps outside the door.
Viserys. Targaryen froze instantly, and the blood on his face faded completely.
He rushed towards Daenerys. Targaryen, pulled her up from the chair, and protected her behind him.
"Don't make a sound!"
He lowered his voice, his violet eyes full of fear.
The door was knocked lightly three times.
Don't be hasty or slow, with a kind of politeness that cannot be refused.
This is more heart-stopping than the loud noise of breaking into the door.
Viserys. Targaryen's breathing became rapid. He grabbed a fruit-cutting knife from the table. The tip of the knife was facing the door, but his hand was shaking violently.
"Who...
He tried to make his voice sound majestic, but the trembling tail betrayed him.
There was no answer outside the door.
After a moment of dead silence, there was a slight click from the door lock.
The door was pushed open from the outside.
A tall figure stood at the door against the light of the corridor.
He was wearing dark traveling clothes, with no emblem visible, but he had a tall and straight figure and steady movements. He was by no means an ordinary assassin.
"Don't come here! I am a real dragon! I am Viserys III! If you kill me, Seven Kingdoms will never have peace!"
Viserys. Targaryen screamed, and backed away with Daenerys. Targaryen behind him.
Daenerys. Targaryen staggered a few steps and fell to the ground.
She raised her head and looked at the stranger with fear.
He ignored Viserys. Targaryen's roar, his eyes fell on Daenerys. Targaryen, and he nodded slightly, as if to apologize.
Then, he took a step forward, walked into the room, and closed the door behind his back.
His movements were slow and there was no hint of threat.
"Viserys. Targaryen III, Andals, Rhoynar and First Men King."
The man's voice was low and steady. He knelt down on one knee and lowered his head.
"Governor Riverlands, House Lychester, I offer you the highest respect, Your Majesty the King."
Viserys. Targaryen was stunned.
His hand holding the knife hung in the air, and the panic on his face was replaced by a look of extreme confusion.
Daenerys. Targaryen was also stunned. She got up from the ground and looked at the scene in front of her in disbelief.
A follower?
At their most desperate?
Viserys. Targaryen's mind was running rapidly, fear receded, and doubt and innate arrogance reoccupied the high ground.
He narrowed his eyes. "Lychester?"
"I've heard of this name, Riverlands's upstart, Usurper's lackey."
The man was still kneeling and did not raise his head.
"Our hearts will always belong to the real dragon."
"Warden of the Trident ordered me to come, find the true king, and bring his allegiance."
"Lymond. Lychester, all my glory will be given to you, Westeros, the true king."
Viserys. Targaryen's chest rose and fell violently.
This is the scene he has dreamed of.
A vassal with a heavy army knelt at his feet and swore allegiance.
His tense nerves finally relaxed, and a kind of ecstasy filled his heart.
Viserys. Targaryen threw away the knife, straightened his back, trying to regain the majesty of the king.
"Get up!"
The man stood up. He was taller than the young Viserys. Targaryen, which created a sense of oppression.
"Your Majesty, Lord Lymond. Lychester has paved the way for you."
"But to go to Iron Throne, you still need your decision."
He took out a roll of parchment from his arms and held it up with both hands.
"This is an agreement, and as long as you sign it, the throne is within your reach."
Viserys. Targaryen snatched the parchment and unfolded it eagerly.
Daenerys. Targaryen came over and looked at the words on it with him.
The ink is clear and the terms are clear.
First, Riverlands will welcome the return of House Targaryen.
Lymond. Lychester will serve as Protector of the Realm, regent until King Viserys comes of age.
The Kingdom recognizes the legal inheritance rights of his adopted son Suleiman to House Lychester and Riverlands.
Viserys. Targaryen's expression changed instantly.
His voice sharpened. "Regent?"
"I am the king! I don't need anyone to rule for me!"
The man's expression did not change at all. "This is temporary, Your Majesty, when you sit down Iron Throne, the entire Seven Kingdoms will be yours."
Viserys. Targaryen's anger was slightly appeased by these words, and he continued to read.
Article 2: The Kingdom will allow the church to reorganize Sons of the Warrior and Poor Fellows, and return the right to coronation and the right to judge crimes from the noble lords to the church.
A group of monks chanting sutras, let them go, Viserys. Targaryen sneered.
He has no interest in religion or law. As long as it helps him regain the throne, he doesn't care who judges sinners.
He looked at the third item.
King Viserys. Targaryen III will marry the Reach, daughter of supreme commander Mace Tyrell. Tyrell, Miss Margaery. Tyrell.
House Tyrell will get a permanent seat for Small Council.
Viserys. Targaryen's eyes lit up.
House Tyrell's wealth and military strength.
He was very satisfied with this marriage.
This is how a king should be treated.
His eyes moved to the last one, and the smile on his face froze.
Article 4, Princess Targaryen, Daenerys. Targaryen, will marry Prince of Dorne Doran. Martell's son, Quentyn. Martell.
Viserys. Targaryen turned his head and looked at her coldly.
There was no trace of brotherly warmth in his eyes, only the calculation of a businessman.
Dorne, House Targaryen's most loyal ally, Dornish's hatred for Usurper runs deep into his bones.
Marriage is the best way to awaken this hatred.
Viserys. Targaryen's voice had a hint of cruel pride. "Look, Dany."
"Your usefulness has finally come, for your king, for our family, this is your glory."
Daenerys. Targaryen The lips moved, but no sound came out.
A man's voice broke the silence. "How is it, Your Majesty?"
"It was an offer that couldn't be refused."
"Riverlands's sword, the Reach's rose, Dorne's sun, and the blessings of the gods."
"The entire Westeros is waiting for its true dragon to return.
2
Viserys. Targaryen's breathing became heavy.
He looked at the parchment, as if what he saw was not words, but a crown made of gold and rubies.
The man took a step forward, his voice lowered, full of confusion.
"Think about it, Your Majesty, when you wear black and red armor, ride a war horse, and lead tens of thousands of troops into King's Landing."
"The people of King's Landing will cheer for you, and the nobles of Westeros will crawl at your feet."
"You will no longer be the Beggar King, you will be the reincarnation of Aegon the Conqueror."
Every word is precisely struck at the most vulnerable and longing places of Viserys and Targaryen.
His eyes burned with crazy fire.
He was fed up with being displaced, fed up with the ridicule and pity of others.
He wants to go home.
He wants to take back everything that belongs to him.
The man immediately took out a quill pen and a small ink bottle from his arms.
Viserys. Targaryen grabbed the pen and almost pierced the parchment.
He signed his name at the end: Viserys. Targaryen III.
The handwriting is scrawled and flamboyant, full of impatient ambition.
He threw the parchment back to the man, as if throwing away an insignificant piece of trash.
"Okay."
"Now, go and tell your master that I want my army, and my crown!"
The man carefully rolled up the parchment and put it solemnly into his arms.
He knelt down on one knee again. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
After saying that, he stood up without saying another word, turned around and opened the door, and his figure quickly disappeared into the darkness of the corridor.