Oberyn Martell
Oberyn had come to King's Landing with several goals in mind. One of his goals was to find influential allies who were not enthusiastic about the Lannisters and the Tyrells. And he found such people—especially since he knew where to look for them and what they looked like.
One evening, Lord Varys arranged a meeting between them, one that no one else knew about.
This was already their third conversation. In the first two, they had slowly revealed their cards, speaking in hints and ambiguities, cautiously probing one another's motives and extracting at least some guarantees.
But today, for the third meeting, Oberyn decided to act more decisively.
The Spider seemed to him an ideal ally, even though he disliked eunuchs. But Dorne had always maintained its own people in the Free Cities, including Pentos. The Martell brothers had managed to learn quite a few interesting things about Lord Varys—about both the deals he had made and those he intended to make. Threats and gold, the carrot and the stick, helped to loosen quite a few tongues that at first glance had seemed completely unapproachable.
Once again, they found themselves in a windowless room somewhere deep inside the Red Keep.
The Spider was very cautious—he led Prince Oberyn by the hand, blindfolding him with a black cloth. The prince could not help but be impressed by the eunuch's ability to arrange such meetings right under the noses of numerous enemies and their spies.
However, the Spider did not know all of the Red Viper's talents. And even if Oberyn had not memorized the route the first time, he now knew the number of steps and every turn and could have found the place on his own. He understood now that the room lay deep underground, not far from water—at times he could hear the faint sound of waves breaking against stone.
The very first time, Oberyn had asked whether it was safe to speak here. The Spider had assured him that he knew of no safer place. Martell feared nothing in this world, and he had asked the question for only one reason: if something went wrong, he would gain another argument with which to pressure Varys.
"Wine, Prince Martell?" Varys asked in his soft voice when they finally entered the small, windowless chamber furnished with a few chairs and a table.
"No, no." Oberyn was not confident enough in Varys to drink his wine. Besides, he was unsettled by how easily and smoothly the eunuch moved—the prince felt he had encountered similar people before, but could not recall where. He also disliked the wide sleeves of the man's garments; in the East, skilled individuals often hid a great many deadly toys within them.
"Well, as you wish." Varys smiled knowingly. "I gather you wish to discuss something once more?"
"Yes, I do… To be honest, I'm tired of stalling. Weeks pass, and nothing changes."
"Patience is the lot of the wise."
"And the fearful."
"Oh, Prince Martell, if I stood in your place, with such a powerful House behind me, I might act more decisively. But I am only an old eunuch with no friends. No one will lend me a hand if I slip."
"We agreed that Dorne would lend you a hand if necessary."
"Yes, my lord, I remember that generous offer. But I still don't have a ready solution. What do you propose?"
Oberyn knew that Varys would, as always, remain vague and evasive until the very end. He could expect no clear guarantees or bold promises from him. But the Martells possessed solid evidence that Varys, together with one of his associates in Pentos, had helped—and continued to help—Daenerys Stormborn. With such knowledge, Oberyn could keep the Spider firmly in hand, without fear of betrayal.
Gathering his thoughts, Oberyn scratched his chin and began to speak:
"I don't like the way things are going. Tywin Lannister alone is capable of causing enormous trouble for anyone. But now, when his grandson Joffrey has unexpectedly revealed some unpleasant talents and has begun assisting his grandfather in everything. That makes matters far worse."
"I understand you, Prince," Varys nodded, staring intently at his interlocutor. His eyes glimmered strangely in the light of the smoldering torches.
"Good. Then here is what I think—the brat has charmed the Tyrells and, in some incredible fashion, merely through conversation, managed to reduce the Crown's debt by a million and a half dragons."
"One million six hundred thousand," the Master of Whisperers corrected softly.
"I rounded it," Oberyn frowned. "You understand that if this continues in the same way, the war on the Trident will die down, Fat Flower will take Storm's End sooner or later, Stannis will be driven from his fucking Dragonstone, and the Lannisters will successfully overcome the crisis. Then it will be the Iron Islands' turn, and their cursed Drowned God. The situation will stabilize—and that will make things very difficult for us."
"What do you suggest, Prince Oberyn?"
"I suggest that we act."
"It is too early, and far too dangerous."
"On the contrary. The right moment is slipping away, and the dangers are fewer now than they will be later. I have long heard that you are a cautious man, Lord Varys," Oberyn pressed. "Are you truly waiting for the dragons in Meereen to grow and for your girl to gather the necessary strength?"
Varys's eyes widened for the briefest moment—that was all the emotion he allowed himself. But Oberyn was an observant man, and he noticed it.
Silence settled over the room. The prince did not press further or resort to threats—he was far too clever for that. And he knew that Varys was exceedingly skilled at grasping what remained unspoken. Why voice what was already clear?
"Do you have a plan?" Varys finally asked.
The question sounded like surrender.
(End of Chapter)
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