"My Lord, what do you plan to do next?"
Varys looked at the imposing young man before him, his voice a melodic purr that held a hint of calculated seduction. He spoke in a humble tone, his hands tucked deep into his lavender silk sleeves. "The North is your loyal ally, the Vale stands by your side, and the Riverlands lords obey your every command. Between the Crossing and Harrenhal, you command ten thousand veterans and two hundred giants of legend. Even the Westerlands are buckling under the Blackfish's assault. Lannisport and Casterly Rock are islands in a sea of your pikes."
Varys stood to pour a fresh cup of wine for the new master of the Red Keep. "Perhaps, My Lord, you are the most suitable person to sit upon the Iron Throne. A new dynasty for a new age."
"And then?" Eddard raised his wine glass, looking at Varys with a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes.
He didn't need the Master of Whisperers' service, nor did he intend to recruit him. Men like Varys were chameleons; they changed their colors with the light, and keeping such a creature near your throat was a slow form of suicide. However, the eunuch still held keys to doors Eddard hadn't yet kicked down.
"And then?" Varys froze for a heartbeat, his fawning smile widening into something cloying. "Then, naturally, the Seven Kingdoms submit. A Karstark-Stark dynasty, a wise and mighty King to heal the wounds of the Lion's war. It would be the kingdom's fortune."
Eddard burst into a dry, jagged laugh. He took a sip of the wine and leaned forward, his expression turning sharp. "Varys, I don't think things are that simple. Firstly, the moment I sit in that chair, the war between Tywin and Stannis ceases to matter. They would turn their spears toward me instantly. The Iron Throne is a magnet for every sword in the realm, and I have no desire to be the target."
Eddard signaled for a refill. "Secondly, my allies in the Vale would see me taking the 'fruit of victory' for myself. Their loyalty would turn to resentment. The Northmen? They want revenge, and they want enough gold and grain to survive the coming winter. They don't want to spend the next ten years dying for a Southern crown."
Varys's face slowly lost its animated flattery. The sweetness evaporated, replaced by a calm, watchful mask. He realized the young man before him possessed a maturity that made compliments useless.
"Finally," Eddard whispered, leaning in so close he could smell the eunuch's lavender powder. "I heard a story from the East. Princess Daenerys has three dragons and ten thousand Unsullied in Meereen. She might not be as... 'legitimate' as the Aegon Targaryen you've been hiding in the shadows, Varys, but she has fire. And fire melts even the Iron Throne."
Varys abruptly stood up, his unruffled eyes rippling like the Narrow Sea. "How do you know this? No one could possibly know!"
"The meeting is beginning," Eddard interrupted, dismissing the eunuch's shock.
The heavy doors groaned open, and Lord Galbart Glover entered. He was a steady, kind man, and one of the few Northern lords Eddard trusted to manage the city without burning it.
"My Lord" Glover said, bowing. "King's Landing is pacified. The vendors are back on the streets, though the people are asking who wears the crown today the Lion, the Stag, or the Wolf."
"They'll be disappointed," Eddard said. "What of the troops?"
Glover hesitated. "The wine from the Red Keep's cellars has been moved to the camp. And as you instructed... I gave each man five gold dragons for the brothels of Silk Street. Is it wise, Ned? To let them vent like that?"
"As long as they pay and don't kill anyone, it's a cheap price for discipline," Eddard replied. "If the gold runs low, go to the Great Sept. We worship the Old Gods. The High Septon should extend some hospitality to his guests, unless he wants his stained glass turned into gravel."
Glover nodded, beginning to understand the "Wizard's" method of governance.
Next came Bronze Yohn Royce. He looked grim, having just come from the harbor. "All warships are under control. Ninety-three galleys, one hundred eighty-six transports. Twelve are heavy galleys of a hundred oars or more. What is the plan, Eddard? Do we occupy?"
"No," Eddard said, tapping the table. "I plan to hand King's Landing to Stannis Baratheon."
Glover accepted the news with a stoic nod, but Royce frowned. "Hand it over? Stannis is an iron-faced fleet commander. He'll execute us for our 'treason' in supporting the Lannisters initially. He is not a man of mercy."
"Which is why we aren't giving it for free," Eddard smiled. "I plan to propose a trade: a pardon for all, independence for the North and the Trident, and an alliance against the West."
Eddard looked at Royce. "And money. I hear the Vale lords love their tourneys, but your coffers are thin compared to the Reach. I intend to give the Vale a gift of over one million gold dragons for your 'service to justice'."
Bronze Yohn fell silent, his grey eyes wide. Varys, in the corner, looked incredulously at Eddard. The eunuch had already figured out the source: the "Lysene Fleet Fund", the gold Tywin had squeezed from the Tyrells and the treasury to hire mercs that Eddard had just intercepted.
"Jon Royce," Eddard asked, "are you willing to accept the Lion's gold to buy the Vale's future?"
The Lord of Runestone looked at the map of a burning kingdom and slowly nodded. The "Winter Wizard" wasn't just conquering cities; he was buying the map itself.
[System Notification: Capital Capture stabilized.]
Plz Drop Some Power Stones.
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