RIP Varys
RIP Varys
Chapter 10: Six Weeks
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Finally, movement forwards. I have spent months gathering allies in King’s Landing, carefully and meticulously vetting them and bringing them on board. Finally the opportunity strikes and with the aid of a bribed carriage driver, King Stannis’ new wife is sent to meet her untimely demise. It is a grim task, and grimmer still for the necessity of killing the carriage driver, but it is a necessary one. King Stannis grows old and I aim to prevent him from procreating again before he passes away. Whilst the circumstances are obviously very suspicious, Stannis finds no leads that bring him to the conspiracy.
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To the north, former Lord Paramount Eddard Stark, who had been usurped in some rebellion in my childhood, passes away at the age of 67. By all accounts he deserves his nickname “The Honorable”. I am saddened that I will never gloat over the destruction of his house for the treason it has done to mine.
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That thrice-damned assassin of joy Stannis Baratheon has already remarried, to someone called Perra. Another commoner! Is he just picking out whores from the brothels and elevating them to Queendom? I begin putting out feelers to repeat our efforts against Leonette, but the fear of the Seven has been put into the court of King’s Landing. I don’t know what threats Stannis has made, but not a single person is willing to join me in an effort against Perra. Fortunately that same fear seems to be keeping them silent about their own roles in Leonette’s death as well.
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Frustrated, I have taken to reading through old tomes in the castle’s library. It’s not an extensive collection but there are some interesting works in there, and I have found the efforts to decipher them calm and sharpen my mind. Many are just gibberish, but a few are actually clever codes that can be undone. Most interesting is the array of methods people have used throughout history to bring about political changes.
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A few days later and I realize from my nausea that I am once again with child. A third child is a great blessing indeed, and Kennett greets the news with great joy. I am now hoping for a girl, to be a sister-wife to Aelix. And a daughter it is. She has the striking eyes of a true Targaryen, with the golden hair of a Lannister. I name her Visenya.
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Shortly thereafter, my spymaster comes to me with dire news. (I don’t know why he started the letter with an insult, he’s got 100 relations with me!) My own Septon, Osney, is conniving to murder my sweet husband Kennett. I will countenance nothing of the sort! I order him seized and thrown into the dungeon. Unfortunately it seems he had guessed that we had learned of his plot, because he was already out of the castle on the way to the Septry when I gave that order. He raised his flag against me, hoping against hope that he might win. I order my own banners raised and march against him at the head of it.
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It takes just a few days to force his surrender. He had managed to rouse some peasant rabble to his cause, but they were swept aside without a single casualty among my men. One horse stepped on a dog’s tail and was bitten, but neither was seriously wounded.
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I have Osney executed on the spot. I will not countenance traitors and I will certainly not countenance those who seek to murder my family. I am a Targaryen! I may be a temporarily embarrassed Queen, but I am a Queen still. I then send word to my other Septon, the one in Plankytown, that he is to be my new court Septon and holy man. He is the most learned remaining in my court aside from myself.
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Well, it seems that Castamere is just not a place that the Lannisters can hold without trouble arising. Despite the example Tywin Lannister made of House Reyne, killing them down to their last child, his son Tyrion now faces a revolt on the part of House Piper, the new holders of the lands. Apparently, though, they were able to come to some sort of arrangement, as the revolt ends inconclusively after a few weeks. Many wonder if Tyrion is not undoing the work Tywin put into strengthening his House.
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Soon enough the time comes to decide on the course of education Aelix will undertake. After some deliberation I decide he must be shaped into a commander and warrior. The only way he can overcome his hunchback is to destroy it head-on. The Targaryens must be strong warriors and brilliant commanders, able to lead men.
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FINALLY! A raven arrived from King’s Landing just a moment ago, with perhaps the most momentous piece of news in the Realm for thirty years. Stannis Baratheon, curse his name, has finally died. Despite my efforts I could not secure his death, so he died peacefully and naturally at the age of sixty-seven. No matter, revenge is pleasant, but second to efficiency. Now - now my time is at hand!
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His heir Steffon is a lackwit prone to dour moods, and believed by half the world to be the son of some man other than Stannis. He will not, I expect, be a popular or effective king. Not that he is likely to get the chance to prove it. He is known for his kindness and general honesty as well as his idiocy, and has cultivated friendships with many Lords Paramount. I can still find the support needed to murder him within a week. The plan is set in motion within a few weeks of it being agreed upon.
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It is an easy kill. Supposed highwaymen ambush the King’s carriage during a trip through the Kingswood and slay him with crossbow quarrels. He looked, I am told, much like a hedgehog. After a mere six weeks on the throne his son Gulian, just ten years of age, as much of a moron as his father, inept with a blade, and too scared to use one anyway, has come to the throne. This young man I have no intentions of killing, at least not yet.
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Gulian is crowned and blessed by the High Septon. My investigations suggest that only his relative Renly Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, and Princess Janyce of Dorne hold him in any regard. The rest of the Lords Paramount consider him either frostily or with outright hostility. Good. I must, however, continue the work and put pressure upon him. I turn to an old trick, one which helped against his father - I press the issue of his legitimacy. To my delight, his own Master of Whisperers, Merrell Bushy, a highly competent man, gets wind of my plot and agrees to join it. With his efforts we cannot fail.
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To aid me even further, Hand of the King and Lord Paramount of the Westerlands Tyrion Lannister dies of natural causes. Given that Tyrion was a brilliant man, if shackled by his status as a dwarf, it is to my advantage that he passes away. Four of Tyrion’s six children, all daughters, are themselves dwarves, and it is Sallei who takes the reigns as Lady Paramount. She is far from her father’s match. Gulian names Renly Baratheon, probably the only prominent person in all Westeros he can trust, as his new Hand. I can barely disguise my happiness at this, as Renly has never been a very exciting man. Age has given him some seasonings of experience, but not enough to make up for his basic shortcomings.
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Sallei does not last very long - within just a few weeks she has been murdered, though the culprit remains unknown. She is succeeded by her one-year-old son, yet another dwarf, Barion Tully. I had to check the details there more than once. Apparently, out of necessity, negligence, or optimism, Tyrion had arranged Sallei’s marriage as a traditional one, rather than matrilineal. House Lannister no longer holds the Westerlands, and I didn’t have to lift a finger!
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I may have been premature declaring Stannis' death the most momentous news of recent years. To the far north, the Night’s Watch has retaken Castle Black, but much of the wall remains in Wildling hands. Although they descended into infighting and Queen Gerra was murdered, her son Jarl the Handsome has bound them back together and is now marching on the remnants of the Night’s Watch. He is from what I have heard a terrifyingly brilliant man, the sort who only comes along once in an age, and there is no doubt he poses a tremendous threat to those of us south of the Wall. (Jesus smurf look at his stats. For reference, 10 is perfectly average competence for an adult. Varys had Intrigue of 35 and Aegon the Conquerer had Martial of 35. For someone to have these kinds of stats WITHOUT even having the Genius or Quick traits is mind-boggling. This guy is going to shove the Wall up the Realm’s butthole sideways.)
Last edited by Madame Adequate; 05-23-2014 at 12:47 AM.
Well looks like Steffon didn't win the Game of Thrones. smurfing epic plotting, I absolutely love it. And yet there's parallels with one of my favourite things about the series - that nobody notices what is stirring elsewhere. Jarl is going to conquer the god damn north.
Tywin must be absolutely spinning in his grave. The Lannister name evaporated and a Dwarf Tully now rules the Westerlands. God damn xD
Also don't be harsh to Ned, he did want to put Rhaegar on the throne.
Ahahaha Ned Stark died peacefully in his sleep, what is this Bizarro-Westeros
Also Tyrion with a bunch of little dwarf daughters sounds adorable and I know that's a terrible thing to say but there it is.
The grandkids are mostly dwarfs as well so there's that.
And Paul, yeah, I wasn't really paying attention to anything because I was intensively plotting and trying to maneuver myself, then I happened to see some little notification about the Night's Watch and went to check things out and welp, we're all doomed.
Chapter 11: Outmaneuvered
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My younger son Aegor seems to be growing strange, believing that the nannies and maids are trying to hurt him or at least steal away his treats. At first I dismiss them as childish ramblings, but he persists in his beliefs. Is this the curse of the Targaryens? They say when a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin and the world holds its breath. In any event, he is my second son, not my firstborn and heir. I judge that getting him into regular education and all the trappings that come with it may help dissuade his notions, and after talking with Kennett we agree that Aegor should be trained in the art of numbers. It is not as noble as war, but no wars could be fought without the coin-counters and moneylenders.
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My nights of passion with Kennett are still regular and still greatly enjoyable. I am blessed to be with a fourth child! I am only thirty, and wonder just how many more I might bear before my body stops being able to bring children forth? My joy turns to ashes when the child is stillborn. We had planned to name him Aenar, but he never had the chance to live. I have little time for mourning or self-pity.
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I turn my attention back to the plot against King Gulian. We have spent months gathering evidence and now, with it in hand, we make a case that will show the world he is not the son of Steffon Baratheon. As many believe Steffon himself was not the son of Stannis, the harm done to the Baratheon line increases and few are taking Gulian seriously as King.
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If Aegor has been unlucky in the eyes of the gods, Visenya is the precise opposite. Not only is she already a beautiful child, as her lessons begin she is demonstrating astounding ability, already the equal of children twice her age. I believe she may outdo both myself and Kennett in time.
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Speaking of my dear Kennett, he has worked hard to improve his abilities and, at a tourney held here in Sharp Point, demonstrates as much with a convincing victory. I applaud him and am deeply proud of this man I love.
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Before the tournament has fully finished a raven comes with news that Lord Paramount Renly Baratheon, last of the traitor brothers, has passed away of natural causes. His son Boremund assumes the Lord Paramountcy of the Stormlands. Some of us had recently identified Boremund’s son, also called Renly, as a weak link in the Baratheon chain and had intended to kill Boremund so Renly would ascend. We continue with the plot, with renewed caution.
My spymaster, Symond, has been murdered. According to his last letter to me he was investigating possible misdeeds on the part of one Ser Pandes Grammaton. Apparently he discovered precisely what he meant to and Ser Pandes was most displeased. I appoint my friend since childhood, Moelle, as new Master of Whisperers. She is not anything special in the field of intrigue, but competent enough, and which is more I trust her.
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News comes that has me in a fit of rage which even Kennett cannot calm me from. I send everyone away and destroy half my chambers in disgust. My plan has not had the desired results. Here I was eagerly awaiting the inevitable wars which would break out when Gulian proved too weak to hold the throne, when schemes in King’s Landing gave me his removal in an entirely peaceful way. I don’t know how he was persuaded, but he agreed to relinquish his hold on the Iron Throne in favor of Jonquil Baratheon, Renly’s middle child. She is a formidable speaker and diplomat, and has apparently used her charms to garner tremendous support for her appointment.
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And the nerve of that misbegotten Baratheon harlot! Just days into her reign she has sent ravens all around the Realm asking for the approval of her vassals, from Lords Paramount to the lowest barons, to lower the authority of the Iron Throne! This authority is mine, not hers! So that is how the bitch managed it - she traded away the power of the Iron Throne in exchange for the chance to sit upon it. Worse, this gains her favor with just about every Lord and Lady in the land, all eager to forge their own paths with less control from King’s Landing.
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With that single move my efforts to secure support for Jonquil’s assassination come to pieces. Few, if any, lords are now willing to move against her. In a single act she has ensured her popularity as well as done yet another injury to my house. Fine. I can still find a way. It may cost me dearly, but there are always people who can do this sort of job.
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Jonquil is granted the blessings of the High Septon (himself only in his role for a few days, after the last died of old age) and this further secures her rule. I do not know whether someone is actively opposing me or I am simply unlucky, but seeing my years of work undone by this bitch in her first few weeks as Queen is galling beyond my ability to bear.
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At a feast in some court whose Lord I forget, I am finally approached by a Faceless Man, one of the impossibly skilled assassins of Braavos. At first he seems just an ordinary reveler until he catches me alone for a moment and informs me, without ceremony, that I cannot afford his services. It is all I can do to retain my composure, and I soon excuse myself from the revelry under the guise of lightheadedness. I know I am not wealthy, but there are always other ways to pay. The Faceless Men have taken limbs, lives, children, and more as payments. I had hoped he would just cut off a hand.
I manage to remain calm at the feast, but make my excuses and leave soon. When I arrive back home in Sharp Point, I lock myself in my chambers and admit nobody, not even Kennett or the children, for over a day. I merely rage, cursing Jonquil’s name to any gods who may be listening; the Seven, the Old Gods, the Drowned God, the Lord of Light, the Black Goat of Qohor, the Lion of the Night. At one point I pulled a book from the shelves to browse it for the gods they worship in The City of Winged Men, but found no reference to their faith. In time I calm down. I am a Targaryen. I am the Dragon incarnate. I will find a way and I will not be denied.
Last edited by Madame Adequate; 05-23-2014 at 12:49 AM.
God damn this is intense. And you two are so fertile.
That bitch!
Bad luck with Jonquil. What a bitch. This is thoroughly interesting. I'm half keen to start one of my own.
The Android Dynasty is weak.
Chapter 12: Shattered Kingdom
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Apparently not everyone is happy with Jonquil’s reign. Lady Paramount Elene Arryn is creating a faction to press for the return of Gulian to the Iron Throne. I doubt that she will find many allies though, Jonquil is a capable ruler who has secured her rule by granting greater powers to lords and ladies throughout Westeros. It will also, Gods be good, be an irrelevance soon enough.
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This is my final gambit for the time being. I can find no co-conspirators, I cannot persuade the Faceless Men to help me, so all that remains is to hire a regular assassin to do the work for me. It is exceedingly risky and I dither for a long, long time. But I can see no other options: Jonquil is younger than I am and hugely popular.
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By some blessing of the Gods, my man succeeds and, which is more, escapes alive. Jonquil is dead and nobody knows I was involved. Oh, I’m sure there will be suspicions, but who has proof? Thanks to Elene’s dislike of Jonquil, I’m certainly not the only one who may have done this, and I doubt anyone will believe I could have found the money needed to hire such a skilled killer anyway. It has drained the treasury empty, and I must be careful not to let knowledge of my debts spread, but the court estimates it will take just a few months to recover.
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Jonquil had three living children. Her eldest, a girl named Rohanne, and two sons, Matthos and Alaric. Alaric is not a Baratheon but an Allyrion, the product of Jonquil’s second marriage, agreed to long before anyone muttered about putting her on the throne. I immediately, and very carefully, set to work disposing of young Matthos. It may not necessarily benefit me directly, but it will pull the Baratheons off the Iron Throne for the first time in fifty years.
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With the backing of Magister Joss of Qohor and Lorath, Matthos’ regent and/or council has brought us into a war against the Eastern Republic of Norvos. Apparently Norvos had embargoed the Iron Throne, though for what reason I do not know. I applaud the war itself though. It will certainly cost Joss more harshly than us, and it would not do allow the Iron Throne to be pushed around by some upstart Essos republic.
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Kennett and Aelix have been working hard in the courtyard, training. Despite his malformation they have shaped him into a fighter of considerable skill.
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Success!! Poor Matthos took a tumble from the parapets of the Red Keep and splattered on the streets below. He died instantly. Alaric Allyrion becomes King on the Iron Throne. I may not have retaken the throne for House Targaryen yet, but I have removed the traitor House of Baratheon from that same throne. My revenge is not complete against them, but I am already greatly satisfied.
Shortly after taking the throne, the punishment of Qohor is completed and their embargo lifted.
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Finally, my plans have yielded the fruit I truly required. Lord Paramount Boremund II has roused the Stormlands and is marching to press his own claim on the Iron Throne. King Alaric has the allegiance of the Vale, the Westerlands, and unsurprisingly his ancestral homeland of Dorne. For the time being the North, the Reach, and the Riverlands have not taken sides. I instruct my Maester to gather every last scrap of information possible on the war. I do not know if I will find the opportunity I need, but if I do, the timing must be perfect.
To the North, the Night’s Watch has been all but destroyed. Jarl the Handsom, King Beyond the Wall, now seems to be King OF the Wall. I hear rumors that a small contingent of surviving Black Brothers is operating from one of their old ruined castles on the Wall, but even if this is true I see little that can be done. Surely the strike against The North must come soon.
It gives me no small amount of delight to report that the stresses of rule during a war seem to have taken their toll on King Alaric’s young mind. He has become paranoid that everyone is attempting to take his throne and convinced he speaks to some otherworldly spirit whose supposed identity I cannot discern. His regent, moreover, has used this as a cover to move against Lady Leona Rykker of Duskendale, accusing her of plotting against the throne and having her executed without trial. This has accrued a tremendous amount of dislike for Alaric, as lords and ladies now believe him to be a petty tyrant ruling Westeros as though it was his toybox.
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The war between the Iron Throne and the Stormlands has created an opportunity for the Riverlands. Lord Paramount Franklyn Tully has declared war on the Westerlands for the claim of some indeterminate Tully, instead of the dwarf descendant of Tyrion. This will certainly upset Casterly Rock. Unfortunately very shortly thereafter this woman, whoever she was, dies, so the claim is destroyed and the war ends before a battle had been fought.
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Timoth Toland, Lord of Ghost Hill down in Dorne, has produced some obviously fabricated evidence showing his supposed claim to my titles in Plankytown. I have had little use for Plankytown anyway, but I’ll be damned if I let it be taken from me without a fight. He can make the effort if he wishes.
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With obvious sadness in his eyes, my Maester comes to me one morning and reports that my mother has passed away during the night. A servant went to rouse her and discovered she had passed away. I had long since made my peace with her ill-conceived greedy plots, and this news breaks my heart. Daenerys Targaryen is gone, but she will never be forgotten.
Last edited by Madame Adequate; 05-23-2014 at 12:49 AM.
RIP Ugly Dany ;_;7
Blimey, sitting on the Iron Throne is a death sentence. You're like House Baelish, a relatively minor (SORRY ) house building up a huge monarch body count!
Also I'm surprised Jarl has not done more yet! Have some female marry him!