Night was black as ink, and Ser Boggs, commander of the Gold Cloaks, blended into the darkness.
"The King does appreciate your ability, but you..." Ser Mortimer Boggs said to Tyrion Lannister.
"Thank you." Tyrion was ugly in a distinctive way. He was very short, not even as tall as a slightly taller boy.
His head was disproportionately large, and beneath his bulging forehead was a twisted, grotesque face. One eye was green, the other black, both peering out from under long, straight golden hair so bright it was almost white.
Lately, the truth about Tysha had made Tyrion even more dispirited, as if his spine had been pulled out of him.
"I am a Lannister. That cannot be changed," Tyrion rasped, then swallowed a large cup of red wine, red as blood. "There are far more people who want me dead than cheap friends willing to stand by me."
"My father told me that once you make a threat, you have to carry it out when necessary, or your enemies will look down on you. But he threatened too many people, until the world was full of enemies of the Lion," Tyrion said, mocking himself.
"You do have an extraordinary head on your shoulders. It seems your enemies value you more than your father did. You performed well at the Battle of the Blackwater Rush. Wildfire burned across the river and killed plenty of slavers and soldiers," Ser Boggs said.
"But the Storm was still one step ahead," Tyrion said gloomily.
"For a commander who had only just entered war, you were already outstanding. But if you go to the Wall, you will not miss the grandest war of all," Ser Boggs said, looking at Tyrion.
"It is fucking cold up there. Does the King actually believe the Night's Watch's alarmist nonsense?"
"It is not alarmist nonsense. It is real. Winter is coming, and war is near," Ser Boggs said gravely. "The wildlings are moving south, no fewer than a hundred thousand of them. What they fear is not only winter, but those inhuman wights and Others..."
"This..." Tyrion felt a chill run over him. He trusted the Storm's judgment.
Back then, Tyrion had seen the boundless darkness at the freezing Wall. If there truly were man-eating white ghosts and wights inside it... "It is cold there. If there are strange monsters as well, that is terrifying."
"The Wall lacks men, especially clever heads like yours. A pack of criminals in the North will cause trouble sooner or later," Ser Boggs said. "I hope you make yourself useful at the Wall, Tyrion."
"I can talk. I can praise the Storm too. I can tell you some things I know," Tyrion said through gritted teeth.
"Then start writing," Ser Boggs said, watching him. "We have been friendly enough to you. As for Varys, he can hardly even breathe now."
"Could I ask the King for a few favors?" Tyrion asked.
"Speak, Imp."
"First, there is Podrick. I ask the King to arrange a way forward for him. He has no one else. Second, for myself, could you help me find Tysha and let me see her... even just once?"
"Sentiment is your weakness, but it is also what makes you different from that cold-blooded beast Tywin. And that whore Shae nearly got you killed," Ser Boggs said with a half-smile.
"Shae. If I still had power, I would strangle her myself. But Stannis slapped her a few times for me, so I have had some release." Tyrion hurriedly wiped the tears from his face. "Now, I only want to see my wife."
"I thought you were begging for yourself, but in the end, it was for a woman. Affection is priceless." Ser Boggs looked at the grieving dwarf. "We will find her for you."
After Ser Boggs took his leave, he rose and headed to another residence.
"It stinks."
When the courtyard gate opened, Varys's fat, bloated body lay on a door plank, giving off a foul smell. All his former agility was gone.
Boggs looked at Varys's face. It was old, withered, and deathly pale, his eyes swollen shut. The Spider's lips were cracked and bloodless, unable to speak. Apart from his face, there was not a single sound piece of flesh on him.
"A dead Spider needs no rope," Ser Boggs said. There were no ropes or chains on Varys, because his injuries made binding him unnecessary.
Varys's gray robe seemed to have fused with his body. The blood and pus were so thick it could no longer be pulled free.
Gendry had pierced Varys's palm earlier. His leg bones had been broken by soldiers, every bone in his fingers shattered with a small hammer, and he bore countless other wounds from scabbards, sword hilts, and whips.
"Pitiful man."
The Spider may have had many friends in King's Landing, but not a single one had been sincere.
Once all the Spider's little birds were caught in one net, Varys, stripped of his eyes and ears, became like a trapped beast in a cage.
"But this is the end you deserve. You harmed the Mad King and Rhaegar, father and son. You harmed King Robert, Jon, and Great Lord Eddard." Ser Boggs held back the stench and cursed coldly.
The Crackclaw men, the Vale men, the Northmen, the Stormlanders, and others all hated Varys to the bone for the evil he had done.
"How is he?" Ser Boggs asked the guard.
"The complications from so many wounds are too severe. He cannot make enough blood, and he has lost control of himself. Varys does not even have the strength to speak or open his eyes. He is only waiting to die," the soldier replied. "Even Myrish fire-herb is useless. There are too many wounds. And Varys no longer wants to live. He has refused food these past few days..."
"Look at that mouth of yours. It will never again speak those sweet, cloying lies," Ser Boggs said.
"Lift him up."
"Yes."
The soldiers propped Varys up, then placed his head on a large wooden block.
"You confessed many things, yet why would you not speak of your good friend Magister Illyrio, or that fine young man you worked so hard to support, Lord Varys?" Ser Boggs asked beside Varys's ear. "You may rest easy. Before too long, they will come and keep you company themselves."
Varys could not speak and could not open his eyes. Only bitter tears slid weakly down his cheeks.
So the Storm had known the greatest secret in his heart all along.
"In the name of Gendry I of House Breaker, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, King of Myr, Tyrosh, the Disputed Lands, and the Stepstones, Commander of the Wolf Pack, the Storm, I, Mortimer of House Boggs of Crackclaw Point, commander of the King's Landing Guard, hereby sentence you to death."
When he finished, Ser Boggs raised his sword high above his head.
No expression showed on Varys's face. Only the corner of his mouth twitched in pain. That faint movement may have been unwillingness, terror, or rage.
But it no longer mattered. On the stage of power, he was the loser in the end.
The torches gave off fierce warmth. A head fell to the ground, and hot blood sprayed over Ser Boggs.
"Burn the body. The head can be tarred as a trophy. The King still wants to see it."
From this day onward, there would be no more Spider.
Some lived. Some died.
Some rose to glory. Some fell into the abyss.
...
The next day, in Maegor's Holdfast, the Queen Mother's Ballroom was far more elegant.
The ballroom could hold a hundred people, and polished silver mirrors had been mounted on the walls behind the candelabra.
First were King Gendry and his queen, then the King and Queen's important ministers, servants, Great Lords, and their families, all arranged within.
They enjoyed honey cakes baked with blackberries and nuts, cured ham, bacon, fried starfish meat coated in breadcrumbs, autumn pears, and a Dornish-style dish of onion, cheese, and eggs cooked with a great deal of pepper.
There were also large pitchers of milk, mead, and low-strength golden sweet wine. Musicians wandered through the hall, playing flutes and harps.
Gendry's table looked like a children's table. Besides Gendry and Daenerys, there were Mya Baratheon and Mychel Redfort as a couple, as well as Edric Baratheon, Shireen Baratheon, Robert Arryn, and Arya Stark.
"This is good. Helps you grow." When Gendry was not drinking wine, he drank milk. That Dornish dish was not bad either.
Gendry ate while placing food on his wife's plate.
Daenerys also swept through the food before her. She had once lived in fine clothes and good food, but after the servants ran off with their money, she and Viserys had spent more time in poverty.
"Arya, do you know what flying is?" the small Robert Arryn asked Arya Stark. He wanted to win Arya over, but Arya had little interest in him.
"What is flying?" Arya ate in great mouthfuls, and Robert could not help envying her appetite.
"It is flying in someone's hands. Brother King Gendry made me fly before. As long as I flew up, he could catch me steadily." Robert Arryn smiled from ear to ear. "That is flying."
Mya suddenly remembered things from long ago. When she had still been a little baby, Robert liked to toss her into the air. He had been built like a tower, with hands so strong that Mya felt as if she were flying.
The two of them had laughed and laughed until she could hardly breathe, laughing so hard that tears came out, which only amused her father even more. Mya had never been afraid. She knew her father would always catch her. Until one day, he never came back.
Arya looked at Robert Arryn, then glanced at the tall King, at the lines of muscle on him. Sweetrobin, by comparison, was a little chick.
Arya pursed her lips and nodded. "That is because you are too skinny."
"I am a little skinny, but maybe I will get to fly around on a dragon someday. A real dragon," Robert boasted.
"I want to fly too." Edric stretched out his hand.
"I want to fly too," Shireen said shyly.
The other children also began asking.
"You may fly, but only if you eat properly now," Daenerys said, smiling at the children.
"They say... they say you are the best swordsman in the known world, Your Grace," Arya asked hesitantly. She was not very interested in flying. She was far more interested in swords and spears.
Ever since her teacher died, Arya had been figuring things out on her own, and now she was looking at the strongest, fiercest, most deadly swordsman there was.
"Of course. My brother is the most dangerous swordsman," Edric said.
Gendry looked at Arya. "A longsword is no path for a lady."
"I was not a lady anyway," Arya muttered, then went back to eating. Arya had been feeling her way through the Water Dance before, and she was not sure whether the Storm's swordsmanship would suit her.
At another table for attendants, Anguy and the others were talking and laughing. Most of them were young and full of energy.
"Those Summer Isles girls are something, with that dark skin," Anguy remarked.
"Damn it, you are already a lord, Anguy, and still so crude," Jon Snow commented.
"I am not married yet, though plenty of noble ladies have praised me for being hot as fire."
"They love your money... ha ha ha," Harry the Arse said with a curl of his lip.
"The Vale is different. I hear the women in the Vale will not even take outsiders as customers," Guyard Morrigen said. The Vale's stiffness and distrust of outsiders were well known.
"That is because you are too ugly," Robar Royce immediately shot back, trying to win back a point for the Vale.
Eddard caught sight of Jon's table. It was a very young group. After escaping the shadow of Winterfell, Jon clearly smiled much more often.
If that was the case, Eddard should tell Jon.
He had the right to choose. Snow Stark, or White Stark.