Chapter 549

"Discuss important matters?"

Littlefinger twitched his nose slightly, sensing the faint scent of something off.

Under normal circumstances, he might have chuckled at the clumsy excuse. But today, amidst the tensions that filled the air, his frown deepened.

While cracks had begun forming in their alliance, the common interests shared by him and Aegor kept their relationship intact—for now. But if this truly were a matter of importance, why invite an enemy to the table?

His instincts whispered something wasn’t right, but his rational mind reminded him there was no way to refuse the invitation.

Last night had been restless for him as well, his thoughts dominated by Aegor’s earlier mention of a “permanent solution.” That one cryptic remark had spiraled into a web of anxiety that he couldn’t escape.

Half the night had been spent tossing and turning, questioning whether Aegor might act rashly, if it was worth alerting the Unsullied to prepare for an unexpected move, or if he should simply keep his ears sharp for the sound of marching feet in the snow.

Nothing happened. Morning arrived uneventfully. Yet when the first light of dawn crept through his window, Littlefinger felt no relief—only exhaustion.

Why was he so rattled?

Once, as Master of Coin in King Robert’s court, he had navigated far more perilous situations. His ambition had driven him to embrace cunning, weaving plots to climb higher in power. Yet now, as Hand of the Queen to Daenerys Targaryen, he had embraced an unusual dedication, almost genuine in its sincerity.

He had poured his time and energy into teaching and advising the Queen. He had steered her away from traps, built alliances, and countered the machinations of her enemies—all for the singular goal of placing her on the Iron Throne.

But here he was, still burdened by the incompetence of unreliable allies.

Daenerys, for one, was as mercurial as her dragons—brilliant and decisive one moment, impulsive and temperamental the next. Aegor, meanwhile, had shown promise as a reasonable ally, but he had just as quickly revealed a penchant for impulsive overreactions. It took only a mild provocation from Varys to send him into a public tantrum, jeopardizing their fragile coalition.

Littlefinger could barely suppress his frustration.

Still, he knew his position. He lacked the resources or reputation to seek new allies. Whether Daenerys’s volatile leadership or Aegor’s brash tendencies, he had to work with what he had—guiding them carefully, like children, toward the right decisions.

His musings were interrupted by a thought.

"Will Her Grace be attending this luncheon?"

"No," the messenger replied. "The Lord Commander said it will just be the three of you."

Littlefinger exhaled lightly. If Daenerys had been invited, he would have suspected something far more dangerous—perhaps a move to overthrow her entirely. But without her involvement…

Varys likely planned some scheme for the Northern lords’ arrival. Littlefinger couldn’t afford to waste his focus dealing with distractions. He needed to meet Aegor and understand his intentions.

"Inform your commander I’ll attend after making preparations," he said.
----


By the time he arrived at the dining hall, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Soldiers were training, dragons were being tended to, and the Unsullied stood in casual conversation with Aegor’s guards outside.

Even Varys, for all his cunning, appeared to respect the unspoken rules of the North.

Littlefinger stepped inside.

The dining hall had been rearranged. The usual tables and benches had been moved aside, leaving a single table at the center, adorned with food and drink. The fireplace radiated warmth, and the room offered no shadows for hiding assassins.

Apart from a servant standing nearby, only Aegor and Varys were present. Notably, the seating arrangement placed Varys and Littlefinger across from each other, while Aegor occupied the head of the table—a position of neutral authority.

It was a carefully constructed setting, one that neither reassured nor revealed too much.

"My apologies for the delay," Littlefinger said as he approached the table with a calm but deliberate stride. No matter the unease in his chest, his demeanor remained composed.

"Right on time," Aegor replied with a faint smile. He gestured to the servant. "Pour the wine."

Littlefinger watched as the servant filled their glasses. The three sat in silence, none eager to be the first to break it.

"Good afternoon, my lords," Aegor began, standing and placing his hands on the table. His voice carried an even, measured tone. "I’ve invited you here because I’ve identified a problem—one that exists within the Queen’s inner circle. Specifically, among the three of us."

Neither Varys nor Littlefinger reacted visibly, though inwardly, both were already analyzing Aegor’s motives.

"After observing your actions and conversations over the past days, I’ve come to a conclusion," Aegor continued. "The two of you are divided over Prince Aegon. Lord Varys supports recognizing him and aligning with him to unify the Seven Kingdoms, while Lord Baelish opposes such a move, fearing it would undermine the Queen’s authority. This disagreement has fueled tension between you, distracting you from your true purpose: serving Her Grace."

He paused, letting his words hang in the air.

"Forgive my bluntness, but I find such behavior unbecoming. Wasting time on petty rivalries weakens the Queen’s position and casts doubt on your loyalty. So, today, I propose we resolve this issue—here and now."
----


The crackle of the fire and the faint chatter outside were the only sounds that followed. Varys and Littlefinger exchanged subtle glances, each assessing the other’s reaction.

To them, Aegor’s words were nonsensical. Their conflict over Aegon was merely a symptom of their deeper, irreconcilable ambitions. It was not a misunderstanding to be resolved but a calculated power struggle.

Yet Aegor either failed to see this or deliberately ignored it, choosing instead to frame their enmity as a petty dispute.

Varys was the first to respond, his tone smooth and agreeable. "An admirable sentiment, Lord Commander. I too have urged the Queen to consider Prince Aegon’s claims. It is unfortunate that other matters have delayed her decision." He turned to Littlefinger. "Perhaps the Hand of the Queen has a different perspective?"

Littlefinger tilted his head slightly, calculating. Aegor’s tone, his stance, even the faint tension in his movements—all pointed to a man who wouldn’t hesitate to act on impulse.

"Perhaps," he replied carefully, "though I’m sure we can all agree that the Queen’s decisions should be her own. Our role is merely to advise her."

Aegor’s gaze hardened, and his hand drifted to the hilt of his sword—a casual gesture, yet unmistakably threatening.

"If that’s the case, then let’s dispense with these games," he said coldly. "We are here to ensure the Queen’s reign remains unchallenged. If you disagree with my approach, Lord Baelish, then perhaps this discussion has reached its conclusion."

The implication was clear.

Littlefinger suppressed a shiver, his mind racing. He couldn’t afford to test Aegor’s patience, not here, not now.

"Of course, Lord Commander," he said smoothly. "Your proposal is… reasonable."

Varys nodded in agreement, offering a smile. "Indeed. The Queen’s cause must take precedence above all else."

For now, at least, they would play along.