When he saw his queen’s body, Varys allowed himself a few moments of grief, but by the time the council chamber was full, his mind was active again, his decision made. The only question was, would the others agree?
Varys had studied everyone carefully. Qyburn and Dickon were utterly shorn of influence at the capital. They would likely sway with the majority. Missandei was in grief, but would probably follow Varys’ plans for the throne, once she knew what it was.
Mhaegen and Ellaria were certain problems. From what he heard of Mhaegen the Maiden, her allegiance to her gods were fickle, swaying between the Righteous Saviors and the Lord of Light. Having said that, she was Master of Men, and the only person inside the Red Keep the rioters outside would not want dead.
Ellaria’s army was the only survivor of the war, and probably the strongest contender to the Iron Throne. Varys did not think the throne interested her much, but the lust of power could sway anybody. Varys did not trust the Sand Snakes much, and resolved to keep them away from the throne.
The only true highborn here, if one could discount the imprisoned Kingslayer, was Sansa Stark. Her mind intrigued the Spider’s most of all. Varys’ plans for the realm included her, but it took two to spar. Were her childhood memories of the capital too traumatic, or would she support a Stark on the Iron Throne?
It was now, when ladies and lowborns looked at the eunuch to begin the dialogue, that Varys appreciated the power of being Hand. Sansa Stark, Ellaria Sand, Mhaegen, Dickon Tarly, Qyburn and Missandei waited for him. Even Jaime Lannister was in the room, albeit in chains, disinterestedly awaiting his fate.
“Queen Daenerys took great value in the words of her councilors,” Varys began. “I am sure that she, like me, would like to know what your wishes are for the future.” Yes, and especially the three of you, Varys thought, eyes at Sansa, Mhaegen and Ellaria.
Mhaegen spoke first. “Fuck what the highborn think,” she said haughtily. “Flea Bottom is a hole in the ground. We don’t want another lord or lady sitting the Iron Throne,” she said, looking pointedly at Ellaria Sand, “we want a king of our choosing.”
“Which will be you?” Ellaria snapped, offended by Mhaegen’s earlier accusatory glance. “Do you think Brynden the Blackfish or Randyll Tarly will bend the knee to an upjumped wench?”
“Not me,” she retorted. “The man who fulfills the prophecy of ice and fire. The man who fights to bring us the dawn. The Prince that was Promised.”
Sansa nodded. “Jon Snow.”
A collective silence fell at this, and it was then Varys realized how much narrative had been woven with the man. Varys himself, with his birds in the north, found it hard to separate fact from fiction. The name even seemed to mean something to Qyburn and Ellaria.
Ellaria Sand voiced that concern. “Resurrections, dragons, prophecies, and an army of the dead?” she challenged. “The last I heard, our queen was ready to wage war against him. There is too much of him we don’t know. Mayhaps there is some fire at the heart of the smoke. Mayhaps there isn’t, and he’s just a bastard.”
“I know my brother,” Sansa argued fiercely. “I grew up with him at Winterfell. He can be cold and sullen, but his heart is true. He is a man of honor. You call him a bastard? That bastard rose as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. The bastard was named king of all the north. We sit here wondering who leads men, but Jon Snow fights to save all men, not just the ones who bend the knee.”
Varys could scarce believe his luck. This ship steers the right way, he thought, gleefully. Time to bring it home. He tried to bring Missandei into the discussion. “Queen Daenerys valued your opinion very highly,” Varys spoke kindly to her, “and so do we.”
Missandei chose her words. “I am but a scribe from Naath,” she said. “I follow the wishes of Queen Daenerys, in life and death. True, they warred, but she made peace with Jon when she saw him for who he was. Jon bent the knee to her.” She shared an awkward glance with Varys’ brooch of golden fingers before continuing. “She had also planned to name him Hand when the war was over.”
With Sansa, Mhaegen, Varys and Missandei convinced, a general murmur of assent followed. It was not the Targaryen restoration I had hoped for, he thought, the image of Daenerys’ torn limbs returning to his memory, but it is the best chance for peace. He cared not how true tales of White Walkers and resurrections were. He had known Jon for a brief time at Barrowton, and every occasion reminded of Eddard Stark. I could not save Lord Stark, but I am in a position to save him. “We must send riders and ravens to the Wall and summon him to court,” he said.
Ellaria Sand was still skeptical. “A Sand can rule Dorne, but can a Snow rule all of Westeros?”
“Not just any Snow,” Varys said, remembering the night he survived Drogon’s flames on the rooftops of Barrow Hall. “The bastard child of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen, the only one in Westeros with the blood of the dragon.”
*
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