Varys and Petyr had traveled far and wide in their lives and were considered men who had seen hardship, having encountered dangers and crises far more stimulating than this. Yet this was the first time they had experienced such a dramatic and convoluted meal. Even with all their knowledge and experience, they couldn't help but sigh inwardly, "I've lived long enough to see everything."
After enduring such an emotional rollercoaster, the two lifelong rivals coincidentally chose to appease the volatile third party by making concessions and feigning weakness. After much effort, they finally managed to calm the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.
Aegor, seemingly satisfied with his dominance over the situation, finally stopped his intimidation tactics. He instead began to enjoy the lavish meal, chatting and laughing with Varys and Petyr like old friends, discussing the upcoming Lord's Assembly at Winterfell and sharing his thoughts on the upcoming allied expedition to the South.
Although it was called a "chat," the reality was that the two schemers, having been thoroughly frightened earlier, simply wanted to pacify this boorish man, make sure he was well-fed and drunk, and then get out of the room unharmed. They had no intention or desire to seriously argue or discuss anything. So, under their subtle control, the conversation flowed entirely along Aegor's thoughts. He was the sole voice in the room, and whatever he said was taken as truth. At most, the two would occasionally pose a question or offer a harmless suggestion, just to avoid seeming too perfunctory.
Having not slept properly the night before, and after enduring a terrifying round of intimidation, Varys had not felt tired when the sword was pointed at him. But now, after drinking wine, sitting for a while, and feigning some interest in the food, as soon as he relaxed, an overwhelming wave of fatigue hit him. After humoring Aegor a few more times, he suddenly felt weak all over, everything became dull and uninteresting. For a moment, he didn't even want to speak, nor could he summon the energy to move his fingers.
Perhaps they were both tired, or perhaps everything that needed saying had already been said. Suddenly, a brief silence settled over the table. After about half a minute, Aegor, who had just swallowed his last bite of food, set down his utensils and looked up.
"Ahem... I've been thinking," he cleared his throat, smacked his lips to remove food residue, and placed a hand on his napkin. "There's a small flaw in the plan we just discussed."
The two had just readied themselves to respond, but Aegor's sentence was only half-finished before he abruptly stopped. Under the gaze of four eyes, he raised his napkin and casually began to wipe his mouth.
Three circles left, three circles right, three circles up, three circles down. It felt like either a show of authority or a display of childish stubbornness, neither rushed nor slow. After wiping once, he folded the napkin and did it again, twice in total, until his mouth was perfectly clean. Only then, as Petyr and Varys waited, secretly annoyed, did the Lord Commander continue the second half of his sentence.
"I believe both of you are loyal to the Queen, and I'm very glad we've reached an agreement on matters concerning the North and the Southern expedition. But, given our different backgrounds, upbringings, and perspectives, even if we can come to consensus today, how can we ensure that every future disagreement or conflict in ideas will always be resolved smoothly and without friction?"
Again?
What kind of madness is this?
Petyr and Varys both felt a sudden headache. They had already performed, already feigned weakness, and made every reasonable concession. The atmosphere had just turned pleasant and harmonious, but now Aegor, after a brief moment of normalcy, had once again uttered something sarcastic and odd. What exactly did he want? Was there no end to this?
Petyr forced a smile and said dryly, "Lord Commander, what are you saying? Isn't it normal to have differences of opinion? Everyone presents their thoughts, we exchange ideas, debate the pros and cons. Whatever Her Grace decides will naturally be the path we follow, right?"
"Exchange ideas?" Aegor let out a quiet chuckle. "That's indeed a good method, most of the time. But the premise is that everyone shares the same interests, ideals, and goals, and is willing to work toward a common purpose." He shrugged. "You're both very intelligent. I don't deny that. But due to your noble backgrounds and the mindset that comes with it, you'll never understand the Queen's true thoughts and intentions the way I do. Under such circumstances, your talents and abilities may not be strengths, but liabilities, causing unnecessary internal conflict."
(Isn't he implying that he and Petyr are both unnecessary?)
Varys took a deep breath. His recently calmed heartbeat began to speed up again, and he grew alert.
"What do you mean by that? Aren't we all loyal to Her Grace and working to see her on the Iron Throne? Isn't that a shared goal?"
"No. At most, that just means we serve the same master and happen to be in the same boat. No disrespect intended, but among the three of us, only I truly understand the Queen's ambitions and ideals, and am willing to fight for them." Aegor's expression remained calm, his demeanor elegant and composed, his tone even and pleasant, yet his words were so outrageous one dared not even think about them. "For this reason, I've drawn up a detailed strategic plan. Her Grace need only follow it step by step to easily reclaim the Iron Throne and break what she has always wanted to break... the wheel of history."
"And precisely because of this plan, I know the two of you won't support it. I've thought about it long and hard, and there's only one way to eliminate the potential for future conflict and avoid inevitable disputes."
He paused, a strange and unsettling smile creeping onto his face.
"Thank you both for your support and assistance to Daenerys thus far. But from now on, it would be best if you left the Queen's side and allowed me to accompany Her Grace the rest of the way."
Daenerys?
Was such an intimate and presumptuous address something a newcomer, who had only joined a few months ago, was qualified to use?
And what did "leave the Queen" mean? Was he asking Varys and Petyr to resign?
What a joke. Even if they agreed, would the Queen?
If Petyr could still interpret Aegor's earlier "forced drinking" incident as an attempt to scare Varys and teach him a lesson, then this time, these increasingly arrogant and bizarre declarations left him completely baffled. Sensing something was wrong, his heart pounded violently. His usual sharp wit suddenly vanished. Between his dry mouth and parched throat, the Queen's Hand actually struggled to find the words, taking quite some time before managing, "Lord Commander, you haven't even explained your plan. How can you be so certain we won't accept it?"
Petyr's intention was to question Aegor to get him to reveal his thoughts, buying time and probing for a way to counter him. But across from him, Varys, who also sensed something off, had an entirely different idea for the first time since entering the room.
Something was wrong. He couldn't say what, and that in itself was alarming. With his intuition and experience, honed from clawing his way up from nothing, he could usually pinpoint the source of danger the moment he sensed it. But today...
In panic, his heart pounded even harder. After a difficult mental struggle, he suddenly found the answer.
The problem was with himself. More precisely, his inability to figure out the problem was the problem. His physical strength was fading. His thoughts were slowing. His reactions were dulled, and his mind was sluggish.
Moments ago, he had chalked it up to a lack of rest and being startled earlier. But now, with Aegor uttering increasingly bizarre statements that clearly had some deeper meaning, his alarm returned, and he noticed the subtle abnormality.
He had pulled countless all-nighters in his life, but the fatigue and weakness he felt now far exceeded anything normal.
He pursed his lips, summoned all his strength, and clenched his fist, only to be startled to find that even his fingers were going numb.
Poison? A sedative? Or had he simply been frightened out of his wits by Aegor's behavior?
He no longer had the strength to guess. But with what clarity remained, Varys understood one thing: no matter what, he had to leave this room at once.
"Lord Commander, I'm feeling a bit unwell. I'll take my leave..." Varys struggled to stand, supporting himself on the edge of the table, forcing himself to stay lucid. But he never finished his farewell. Under Aegor's puzzled gaze and Petyr's surprised look, he froze.
A second later, the eunuch collapsed beside his chair with a dull thud, as if his soul had suddenly been pulled from his body.
"Lord Varys?" Petyr was stunned. In shock, he instinctively stood up, unaware that the sudden movement, coupled with his emotional stress, would consume the last of the oxygen his blood could carry. Had he remained seated, he might have had a few more minutes to live, maybe even enough time to cry for help. But by standing, he deprived his brain of oxygen, and everything went black. He lost even the chance to dramatize his final moments by clutching his throat and pointing at his killer, shouting "I won't let you go even in death." Like his old rival, he collapsed quietly to the ground, dying swiftly and without drama.
Amazing.
Could something really act so quickly and lethally?
Though Maester Qyburn had assured him that this poison met all requirements — fast-acting, painless, certain death with no cure — and had even described the exact timing and symptoms from poisoning to death, seeing the two troublemakers drop in mere seconds like characters in a play still left Aegor marveling at the wonders of biochemistry... and his own good fortune in stumbling upon such a talent.
He had waited long enough. As Qyburn advised, he used conversation to confuse and intimidate them, accelerating their heart rates and ensuring sudden death. He had even prepared a backup plan in case the Unsullied outside heard the commotion. In the end, the poison in the wine not only met expectations, but far exceeded them, delivering a surprise gift.
Such a miraculous, perfect poison, so well-suited to his style, was certainly not created overnight. Qyburn had prepared it in advance at Aegor's request for Asha Greyjoy to assassinate her uncle Euron, and had kept some for research. No one expected that this poison, originally intended for a Kraken family blood feud, would first be used here in Winterfell.
There was no time to marvel at its effects or reflect on fate. Aegor impatiently reached up and tugged open his collar, exposing the hidden object beneath to the air.
If anyone else had been present and clear-headed enough to see him, they would've found the sight rather ridiculous. Inside the unbuttoned collar hung a gold necklace inlaid with rubies, shimmering with a faint red glow. It was exquisite and luxurious, clearly no ordinary trinket. Unfortunately, it clashed entirely with his identity as a man and with the black garb of the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, standing out as absurdly out of place.
(To be continued.)