The Prince of Thorns

Conversations⚖

KING'S LANDING

Tyrion enters Varys's chambers.

VARYS: "Oh, Lord Tyrion. Come in, come in."

TYRION: "I hope we might speak. In confidence."

VARYS: "Oh, always in confidence."

Varys works to open a large crate with a crowbar

TYRION: "About the events of the Blackwater. Perhaps this is the wrong time?"

VARYS: "Oh, no. It's a wonderful time."

TYRION: "I thought one of your little birds might have knowledge of my sister's intentions to-"

VARYS: "End your life?"

TYRION: "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."

VARYS: "Proof? Will there be a trial?"

TYRION: "I need to know."

VARYS: "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?"

TYRION: "I don't know. Do I?"

Varys pauses from his efforts to open the crate.

VARYS: "As a boy, I traveled 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. 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. 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."

TYRION: "Yes, ahem. I feel the need for actual revenge against the actual person who tried to have me killed. Which will require a degree of influence, which-"

VARYS: "You do not possess at the moment."

Varys puts down the crowbar and moves to a basin to wash his hands and freshen up.

VARYS: "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.

TYRION: "The sorcerer."

The sorcerer lies helplessly in the crate. His mouth has been sewn shut long ago. He mumbles desperately behind his sewn mouth.

VARYS: "Hello, my old friend. It's been a long time. I have no doubt the revenge you want will be yours in time if you have the stomach for it."

Varys returns the lid, in spite of the sorcerer's protests.

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KING'S LANDING

Varys and Ros speak in his chambers.

VARYS: "Is he very large?"

ROS: "No larger than usual, apparently. And yet they said that he was-"

VARYS: "Extraordinary."

ROS: "The most extraordinary man they've ever had. And they've had a lot of men."

VARYS: "We're talking about the same Podrick? The quiet boy in Lord Tyrion's service? Seems a bit simple?"

ROS: (nods)

VARYS: "What did he do to them?"

ROS: "I don't know, my lord. The girls are usually quite descriptive."

VARYS: "So what did they say?"

ROS: "They said it was hard to describe."

Varys pours her some wine.

VARYS: "Huh. Prodigies appear in the oddest of places. And what did Littlefinger say about this loss of income?"

ROS: "He was too preoccupied to notice. He's leaving for the Eyrie soon. I'm helping him prepare for his journey."

VARYS: "Ah, yes, to pursue his enduring love of the Lady Arryn and the title that comes with her. Sad, really. Is that all it takes to make our friend lose interest in poor Sansa Stark?"

ROS: "He hasn't spoken to her since the last time, as far as I know. But I don't think he's lost interest."

VARYS: "What makes you say so?"

ROS: "His shipboard inventory."

Ros produces a scroll and hands it to Varys. He opens it.

VARYS: "Ah. You can read. Rare for a woman in your profession."

ROS: "Former profession."

VARYS: "Of course. I'm missing something obvious you're about to point out?"

ROS: "Two featherbeds. He's bringing two featherbeds for the cabin."

VARYS: "Who is important enough to Littlefinger to merit a featherbed besides Littlefinger? Could he be bringing one of his girls?"

ROS: "He's not interested in them, my lord."

VARYS: "How do you know?"

ROS: "Because I'm one of his girls."

VARYS: "Prodigies in odd places indeed."