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[KING'S LANDING]
[LORD TYRION LANNISTER enters VARYS's chambers.]
"I hope we might speak. In confidence."
"Oh, always in confidence."
[VARYS works to open a large crate with a crowbar]
"About the events of the Blackwater. Perhaps this is the wrong time?"
"Oh, no. It's a wonderful time."
"I thought one of your little birds might have knowledge of my sister's intentions to-"
"End your life?"
"You're very blunt when you want to be" Gendry snorted.
"Bluntness has its time, as do sweet drawn-out words" Varys giggled behind his sleeve.
"I didn't inherit Littlefinger's spies along with his position, I'm afraid. Which is why I'm coming to you. I need proof."
"I don't think you can find any" Myrcella said to her uncle, half as if she was concerned and half as if she was talking to herself. "Mother isn't stupid enough to leave clues."
"She may have" Tyrion muttered.
Myrcella did not reply to that.
"I have no proof, only whispers. Before all this nastiness, I was going to tell you the story of how I was cut. Do you want to hear it still?"
Rhaegar leaned forward with interest. Maybe he'd get some answers now. The question has been nagging him for too long. Why Varys?
"As a boy, I travelled with a troupe of actors through the Free Cities. One day in Myr, a certain man made my master an offer too tempting to refuse. I feared the man meant to use me as I'd heard some men used small boys. But what he wanted was far worse. He gave me a potion that made me powerless to move or speak, yet did nothing to dull my senses. With a hooked blade, he sliced me, root and stem, chanting all the while. He burned my parts in a brazier. The flames turned blue and I heard a voice answer his call."
"Blue?" Rhaegar asked.
"I recall blue, yes" Varys nods. "Why?"
"Nothing of important" Rhaegar shook his head. The flame could have turned blue for various reasons, the spell being one of them.
It was only a coincidence that the white walkers were blue.
"I still dream of that night. Not of the sorcerer, not of his blade. I dream of the voice from the flames. Was it a god? A demon? A conjurer's trick? I don't know. But the sorcerer called and a voice answered."
"What did it sound like?" Bran asked curiously.
Varys smiled tightly.
"You don't want to know" he murmured and ignored any other questions on that topic. Best to not let it haunt his waking moments too.
"And ever since that day, I have hated magic and all those who practice it. But you can see why I was eager to aid in your fight against Stannis and his Red Priestess. A symbolic revenge of sorts."
Stannis' lips pursed at the reminder of his downfall. Resorting to witchcraft, he was disgusted.
"Yes, ahem. I feel the need for revenge against the actual person who tried to have me killed. Which will require a degree of influence, which-"
"You do not possess at the moment."
[Varys puts down the crowbar and moves to a basin to wash his hands and freshen up.]
"But influence is largely a matter of patience, I have found. Once I had served the sorcerer's purpose, he threw me out of his house to die. I resolved to live to spite him. I begged. I sold what parts of my body remained to me. I became an excellent thief and soon learned that the contents of a man's letters are more valuable than the contents of his purse. Step by step, one distasteful task after another, I made my way from the slums of Myr to the small council chamber. Influence grows like a weed. I tended mine patiently until its tendrils reached from the Red Keep all the way across to the far side of the world where I managed to wrap them around something very special."
[VARYS removes the top of the crate. He and TYRION peer in. VARYS protects his nose from the stink. TYRION is aghast. A man lies helplessly in the crate. His mouth has been sewn shut long ago. He mumbles desperately behind his sewn mouth.]
"Is that... is that the sorcerer?!" Catelyn asked aghast.
"It is," Varys said cheerily.
People were looking at Varys a little uncomfortably now. They knew the Spider to be ruthless, as he had to with what he did, but this was... surprising. Most did not expect him to hold grudges, let alone foster one to the point he had his criminal trapped in that manner.
"Lord Varys" Jon suddenly asked, "have you always been bald?"
Something flickered in Varys' eyes before they were smothered away.
"I was not. But in my days as a performer, I had to shave my head. Sadly, after whatever the sorcerer did, my hair refused to grow."
"And your hair was..."
"I don't remember my boy. It has been so long."
"Yet you remember the sorcerer who wronged you?"
Varys smiled.
"You seldom forget the people who wrong you. I am certain you will learn of that too."
Jon frowned, deciding not to push with any questions for now.
"What was that about?" Robb asked.
"I was curious" Jon shrugged.
"Is this about the thing you said before?"
Jon nods.
"You're wasting your time there, Jon. It's a coincidence and nothing more."
"I suppose" Jon muttered, for now dropping the matter.
But Rhaegar had picked up the matter dropped, understanding Jon's line of questioning easily. Maybe his son also thought the same as him though he didn't had any proof of that.
Regardless, Varys was now on Rhagear's radar.
[CRASTER'S KEEP]
[GRENN and "DOLOROUS" EDDISON TOLLETT work in the pig sty, shovelling mud and shit.]
"When people talk about the Night's Watch, they never mention the shovelling."
"Or the shit."
"Because the Night's Watch is not supposed to do these things for anyone but themselves" Ned muttered angrily. He would have a talk with Jeor about the Watch's association with this wildling Craster.
Even if he had to invest in something beyond the wall for the Watch.
"They tell you about honour, pardoning crimes, and protecting the realm, but shovelling really is most of it."
"And getting attacked or killed or worse. And that."
"But when you're not getting attacked or killed, usually you're shovelling."
"Oh, look. More shit. I was starting to wonder what to do with the rest of my day."
[RAST stands at the side of the pig sty.]
"We need to get out of here."
"When the Lord Commander says we go, we go."
"The Lord Commander told us to go to the Fist of the First Men. How'd that turn out for us?"
Rickard's face grew dire. This was not looking good for Jeor. Discontent like this would no doubt cause a rebellion of sorts in the camp. And that was something the Night's Watch could not afford with the White Walkers on their heels.
"He had no way of knowing."
"We do now. We know what's out there."
"Craster's been out here surviving."
"So he's your new protector now? Our good friend Craster?"
"We're like the sons he never had."
"Oh he's had sons" Jon said darkly. The image of Craster handing his son to the White Walkers was still in his head.
"Mormont isn't gonna save you. This lummox here isn't gonna save you. When the walkers come calling, Craster will serve us up like so many pigs. If we want to live we'll have to look out for ourselves."
"He isn't wrong" Stannis muttered. "Jeor Mormont can't protect them against the White Walkers, and Craster serves men to their ranks like some ritual sacrifice."
"Like you burning men?" Renly raised a brow.
"Yes," Stannis muttered through gritted teeth.