Chapter 213

To Prince Doran Martell of House Martell,

I hope you still remember me.

I am Jon Connington, a man who once served your sister and her family loyally for many years. Like you, I have never stopped mourning their loss. But I did not die, and neither did your sister’s son. For his safety, I hid him away, but now the time for hiding is over.

The dragon has returned to Westeros, determined to claim his birthright and avenge the wrongs done to his father, Prince Rhaegar, and his mother, Princess Elia.

Renly Baratheon is dead, and we march toward Storm’s End. Its garrison has been drawn away, leaving the castle defenseless. By the time this letter reaches you, the true dragon’s banner will fly over its towers. Yet to counter the retaliation of the usurper’s brother, we will need the support of Dorne. I urge you, my prince, do not abandon us now.

Yours faithfully,
Jon Connington
Earl of Griffin’s Roost
Hand of the True King
----


How interesting. Truly interesting.

A dragon has returned to Westeros, but it is not the one Doran Martell had been expecting or even knew existed. The Prince of Dorne put down the letter and handed it to his younger brother, Oberyn Martell.

To think that a mere letter could convince Dorne, secure and patient as it awaited its moment, to throw itself into a war of blood and fire was absurd. But if this letter had been delivered personally by Varys, the Spider himself, the situation changed entirely.
----


“Aegon lives?” Oberyn scoffed after reading the letter, tossing it onto the table. “So, the pirates harassing our shores, looting our villages, and slaughtering our people during the siege of the Westerlands were my nephew’s men?”

“No. Only the mercenaries of the Golden Company landing near Cape Wrath serve Prince Aegon. The rest of the raiders… to my knowledge, were hired by Tywin Lannister,” Doran replied evenly.

“No one wishes this letter’s claims were true more than I, but I saw Gregor Clegane rip Aegon from Elia’s arms and dash his head against the wall. Many saw my nephew’s broken body. Perhaps I should send you to King Stannis as a gift, Varys. I am curious—what does the Spider want with rebellion? Why not remain in King’s Landing and serve as Master of Whispers?”

“What could a crippled eunuch possibly want?” Varys said with a sad smile. “Only to end this long war of usurpation and restore peace and order to the Seven Kingdoms. By law, Aegon is the rightful king. The word ‘rebel’ is hardly accurate, my lord.”

The Spider shrugged, his expression mournful. “King Stannis blames me for the deaths of Lord Arryn and King Robert. Had I remained in King’s Landing, I fear my head would already adorn a spike atop the Red Keep.”

He sighed. “As for the body many claim to have seen, it belonged to a peasant boy—a decoy. The true prince was smuggled out of the Red Keep. Our original plan was to strike during the Baratheon brothers’ war, but their conflict ended far quicker than anticipated. If Dorne does not act now, Stannis will lead his host into the Stormlands, crush the Golden Company, and kill the last Targaryen male.”

“Touching loyalty, Varys. Your words are hard to dispute…” Oberyn chuckled darkly. “But let’s discuss something more practical. How do you intend to prove that this Aegon is Elia’s son?”

“How would you have me prove it, my lord?” Varys countered smoothly. “The common tales all require both parents and child present. Even Maesters have confirmed through experiments that such methods—such as blood-dripping—are unreliable. Robert Baratheon himself could not confirm if his three children were truly his. Is Aegon’s upbringing under Rhaegar’s closest friend, Jon Connington, not enough proof? If the boy were an imposter, would Connington, once so proud and fiery, willingly destroy his honor, feign death, and live in obscurity for over a decade to raise him?”

“Who’s to say this Connington is the real Jon Connington? The Griffin I knew was a proud, hot-tempered young man, not a wet nurse. Why would he give up his life to care for a child? It doesn’t add up.”

“If my lord doubts him, you could always visit Griffin’s Roost and see the Hand of the True King for yourself,” Varys offered. “The man has changed over the years, but his face has not. You should recognize him easily.”

Oberyn frowned and glanced at Doran, who had remained silent, seated in his wheeled chair since reading the letter.

“Varys, no offense intended, but if I risked my family and people every time someone came to me with an unverified letter, I'd have no family left.”

“Your concerns are valid,” Varys said, unfazed. “To show my sincerity, I am willing to remain here in Dorne as a hostage.”

Doran said nothing. Even without speaking, his thoughts were clear: A eunuch as a hostage? Ten of you wouldn’t equal the worth of my only brother.

After a moment of silence, Doran finally spoke. “Even if all of this is true, what does my dear nephew expect of me? Dorne is not full of Red Vipers; we are not as numerous or strong as sand in the desert. What can we do?”

“What if you add the Reach to the equation?”

Doran’s expression shifted. “The Reach? Why would they help?”

“Let me guess,” Oberyn sneered. “This Aegon Targaryen has already arranged a marriage with Margaery Tyrell?”

“No,” Varys said. “Aegon’s queen will be Daenerys Targaryen. To avoid disputes over succession, the last two Targaryens will wed. Aegon has offered the Tyrells something else—security, continuity, and influence. Stannis Baratheon is not Robert. He will show no mercy to the Tyrells, who supported his brother’s rebellion. If they are to face the Iron Throne’s wrath, why not ally with others and fight for their own survival?”
----


Doran let the wind from the Water Gardens carry away the Spider’s words. After a long pause, he said, “Dorne has bled enough. My sister’s death has been avenged. We have no wish to fight further wars.”

“Avenged?” Varys echoed in disbelief. “My lord refers to Gregor Clegane’s head? If that is justice, then I’ve overestimated the Dornish thirst for vengeance.”

“A poor attempt to provoke us,” Oberyn laughed. “If the Reach is truly involved, this becomes interesting. If my nephew’s dragon queen appears and acknowledges him, I’ll march north alone if I must.”

“She remains in Meereen, bound by the chaos of Slaver’s Bay,” Varys admitted. “But my efforts to bring her back continue.”

“Then you’ve failed. Return when you succeed.”

“Enough,” Doran interrupted. “Your mission is complete. Leave us to deliberate.”

“As you wish.” Varys bowed, departing under the escort of Doran’s guards.

When the eunuch was out of earshot, Oberyn smirked. “The fool doesn’t know we’ve already sent Quentyn to Meereen to bring Daenerys back. As for this Aegon, gods only know if he’s real. Perhaps we should gift the Spider to Stannis as proof of our loyalty.”

Doran shook his head. “Stannis may have won for now, but this time… I intend to gamble on the losing side.”
----


Oberyn looked stunned. After a moment, he nodded. “If that’s your will, brother, I’ll prepare.”

“Not so fast. Wait for news of Storm’s End. If Aegon fails to take it, we gain nothing and risk much. If he succeeds, then we march, ostensibly to aid Stannis in quelling rebellion. Once there, we’ll decide whether to fight for or against the true dragon.”

Oberyn smirked. “I’ll need my spear ready, one way or another.”