If he could not trust his own intellect, how was his role any less redundant as the dead Tyrion Lannister’s?
The Spider’s webs spread from the frigid Wall to the shores of the Arbor, from Pyke to the Shadow Lands of Asshai. For years the tendrils grew until they snaked upon the feet of every lord, lady and their children. He honed them with great care, thriving the treacherous climb with dreams of achieving the omniscience of gods by mortal means alone. And when he thought he had, the tragic flaw revealed itself, him.
Whispering in the ears of those he served, be they savage men like Mad King Aerys or just like Queen Daenerys, Varys was careful to not tell them all, for absolute information was more a bane than gift. Magic was often sacrificed, for he was not an unbeliever of it as much as a despiser. Varys cast away tales of fire gods, sorcerers, prophets and armies of the dead the moment he heard of them. But when the queen confided in Varys the marks bearing Jon’s abdomen, mayhaps he ought to have told her what he had heard, when he had heard of it.
The Dragon Council had yet to reach consensus on Jon’s conditions. Paxter Redwyne refrained superstitions of the Night’s Watch, calling the northern king “as distrustful as his outlaw friends”. Missandei was of the opinion that there would be little harm in flying beyond the Wall, assuming the queen and her dragons would not find the weather overwhelming. Grey Worm and Qhono were silent, the former waiting to receive orders from his queen, while the latter surveyed the conversation in an odd manner of disdain.
“What do you think, Varys?”
He decided, this time, to recall discarded rumors and put them to practice. “Much the same as you, my Queen. I do not think Jon Snow is a liar. There have been a lot of whispers from men north of Winterfell about the army of the dead. As soon as he was made King in the North, he sent wildlings to man Castle Black. It means, at the very least, that many believe in a greater threat beyond the Wall, be their claims true or not. If gaining the alliance of nearly half of Westeros means flying to the Lands of Always Winter and, possibly, burning dead men who stand no chance against you, so be it.”
When the council disbanded, Varys lingered behind for a private audience. He knew he needed to choose his words carefully. “My queen,” he began, emphasizing who had the power to make the final decision, “people are not beholden to their lineages or their ancestry. But the loyalty for Jon Snow in the north is so ferocious that one may assume it to be earned by some merit. And if our guesses are true, he is part Targaryen.”
Daenerys was unmoved. “We know all this. What else do you have in mind?”
“Winning the throne is easy, but keeping it will be the harder task. In the wake of the Battle at Barrowton, it is essential we strengthen this alliance. It is not uncommon for Targaryens of the same lineage-”
“Are you suggesting, Lord Varys,” she interrupted, “that Jon Snow and I draw up plans for marriage?”
Varys best choose his words carefully. “There is no greater hope for Westeros than you,” he said. “But for the people to give you a chance, they must be wooed enough by their monarch. For political purposes, a Targaryen restoration, in which the queen pets three dragons, and the king cheats death, is certainly enough allure.”
He knew not if his words to Daenerys felt logical or delusional. When she finally spoke, her voice was measured. “It is too soon to explore this idea, Lord Varys.”
*
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