To epitomize the world in which we live, we must first step back and remember that we are flawed.
But to understand the world in which we live, we must recognize that man realizes just this: the good exploit the flaws and the wicked jeopardize their...
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Gabrielle has to give it to Stannis: Dragonstone is rather bleak. With the dark walls, imposing darkness, and endless shadows, she can only suppose it was much worse with the burnings just five years ago. And indeed, Davos seems rather uncomfortable with his return, looking into rooms with a sense of remembrance and everlasting measure of hurt—likely due to Shireen. But with her re-entry into this realm of Southern politics—by just stepping onto that beach—she does not let her mind get boggled by aesthetic pretenses or the awaiting Queen.
And rightly so, as she sees the gleaming vision of white skin from Varys in the corner outlying the throne room, her bleak facade breaking into a grin as she makes in his direction. Looking upon her, the Spider similarly smirks at the return of this ally...although with the added presence of wary abandon—simply wondering where her loyalties lie. And she does not blame him, curtseying before his feet.
"Lady Baelish."
"Lord Varys, it's a great pleasure to see you once again," she responds as he bows his head in greeting.
"You've been busy in my absence."
"Busy guarding the realm," she replies, prepared for this game as they lock eyes over the slate floors, wondering who will divulge their secrets first. But with moments of quiet, there seems to be a lurking measure of distrust, followed only by the coughing of Tyrion as their eyes turn to the awaiting company.
Varys's eyes shift across the two new faces, stopping on the lattermost whose brown eyes and likeness to Ned Stark remark upon his identity, "You must be Jon Snow, then."
Varys bows his head in greeting as Jon remarks, "Lord Varys. I have heard much about you."
"Have you?" Varys fakes his surprise as his eyebrows rise in question, looking to Gabrielle who still inspects him with an air of curiosity. "I expect only good things."
Jon nods solemnly at the man's quiet question, although his eyes stay firm on the rather adamant and stiff Gabrielle Baelish, whose own eyes lock to Varys with the question, "May I speak with you a moment?"
Varys nods in assent while Gabrielle turns to gesture Tyrion onwards, finally meeting Jon's eyes who resound with worry and nerve at the situation she now leaves him to. But knowing him capable by this time, she only gestures at the wolves about her feet, reminding him that no one will touch her without consent. And thus, Jon Snow simply nods before leading onward, unprepared for the ferocity of Daenerys Targaryen as Ned Stark chews lightly on his cheek.
"Your Grace," Jon inquires of the white-haired Dragon Queen whose posture sings of haughty disposition from upon that throne and through her tongue, his feet moving on their own accord as he steps forward, adamant. "Everyone you know will die before Winter's over if we don't defeat the enemy to the north."
