Stannis had shut down every brothel in King's Landing, but the highborn and the wealthy always found a way around the rules.
In a quiet residence near the old city gates, Oberyn Martell lay tangled with a young man and woman. Their heads were close together, and every so often a soft laugh rose from the bed. A servant entered, leaned down, and whispered something in Oberyn's ear. When he heard who had come to call, Oberyn's eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. He tilted his head back and looked toward the door.
"Let him in."
When the visitor appeared, the two young people curled against Oberyn's sides let out quiet, mocking laughter. The man who stepped inside was a heavy, bald figure with a smooth, untroubled face.
"Lord Varys," Oberyn drawled, voice thick with lazy amusement. "I didn't expect a visit at this hour. Though I suppose you won't be joining us in our… activities."
Varys showed no reaction to the jab or the naked bodies on the bed. His expression remained perfectly calm.
"Prince Oberyn, may I speak with you alone?"
"Right here is fine," Oberyn said, waving a hand. "These sweet creatures won't repeat anything they hear."
It was a polite refusal. These were dangerous times. A war far larger than the War of the Five Kings was gathering on the horizon. Dorne sat at the southern edge of it all, least entangled in the coming storm. It would be foolish to commit too early while the board was still shifting.
"This concerns your sister, Elia Martell," Varys said quietly. "But if you have no interest, I'll take my leave."
Oberyn moved before the words had fully left Varys's mouth. He sprang from the bed like a striking snake, crossing the room in two steps. The edge of a dagger pressed against the side of Varys's neck.
"What did you say about my sister?"
Varys did not flinch. "Perhaps now you'll ask them to leave?"
Oberyn glanced back at the two frightened youths. They scrambled for their clothes and fled without another word. When the door closed, Oberyn lowered the blade, pulled on a dark red silk robe, and motioned for Varys to sit.
They spoke for a long time.
By the end of it, Oberyn's usual mocking smile was gone. Tears tracked down his face—something few people had ever seen from the Red Viper.
"You're telling me my sister's son… little Aegon… he's alive? And he's already seventeen or eighteen?"
"Yes," Varys said. "I swapped him with another infant the night the Mountain came. Aegon has been raised in Pentos all these years. His foster father is Jon Connington, once Hand to King Aerys."
Oberyn wiped his face with the back of his hand, forcing his breathing to steady. The news had hit him like a hammer, but he was no fool. He needed proof before he would believe it.
"Lord Varys," he said at last, voice rough, "if this boy truly is my sister's blood, then the gates of Dorne will always be open to you and to your friend."
The tension in the room eased. Varys had come for a reason: he wanted Dorne to keep its strength in reserve rather than bleed itself dry in the coming clash between Jon and Stannis. Oberyn understood the logic perfectly and thanked him for the warning.
Then the conversation turned to Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons.
Varys revealed that the Golden Company—ten thousand professional soldiers, many of them third- or fourth-generation members—would fight for Aegon. Even so, both men agreed that the Golden Company and Dorne together would not be enough to sweep Westeros. The greatest obstacle was not Stannis, whose claim was already shaky. It was Jon.
No one had expected Ned Stark, the most honorable man in the Seven Kingdoms, to have hidden such a secret. Whether Jon was truly a Targaryen or not, he had become the single most dangerous man in Westeros. They needed Daenerys.
Aegon had the advantage of looking like a true Targaryen and being unmarried. If he could wed Daenerys, her dragons would come as part of the bargain. Golden Company, Dorne, and three dragons might be enough to break Jon's power.
"There's more," Varys said. "Tyrion Lannister is alive as well. He traveled to Slaver's Bay with Aegon's party. He may already be there."
Oberyn leaned back, thinking. "Even if we offer her marriage and an army, will she leave Slaver's Bay? I spent time in the Free Cities, Varys. Many of them still keep slaves. Daenerys rules because she freed slaves and because she has dragons. If she abandons Meereen, she abandons her crown. Why would she give that up to return to Westeros as someone's wife?"
Varys nodded. "A fair concern. But Westeros is still her home. And the cities around Slaver's Bay—Volantis, Tolos, Qarth, New Ghis—are already moving against her. She may soon need a way out. We can offer her one. We can also make sure her dragons are not killed before she has the chance to use them."
Oberyn accepted the point. Securing Daenerys was the most important piece of their plan. Without her dragons, their chances against Jon were slim.
They had already discussed whether Jon himself might be a Targaryen. After weighing everything they knew, both men believed it was likely. Varys had spent time with him and sensed real ambition, though not the kind that reached for the Iron Throne—until recently. Jon's sudden rise had forced everyone to adjust their calculations.
One thing was certain: they had to brand Jon a bastard. A second Blackfyre. That meant bringing Maester Aemon into their fold. The old man had stayed silent so far, and his silence worked in their favor. A man who looked like a Stark claiming Targaryen blood would be hard for Aemon to accept without proof.
"I have a daughter training at the Citadel," Oberyn said. "I'll write to her tonight. She can find a way to reach Aemon and tell him about Aegon."
"I would be grateful, Prince Oberyn."
After Varys left, Oberyn wrote two letters.
One went by ship to his eldest daughter at the Citadel, instructing her to reach Maester Aemon and share the truth about Aegon. The other flew by raven to Sunspear, to his brother Doran.
Oberyn had another thought, one he did not put in the letter.
If Aegon could marry Daenerys, why couldn't Dorne do the same?
Robert's grandmother had been a Targaryen princess named Rhaelle, which was how he claimed the throne. But House Martell had its own old ties. A Targaryen princess named Daenerys had once married into Dorne.
Fate really did work in strange ways.
If there had been one Daenerys who brought dragons to Dorne, why couldn't there be another?