A Gentle Breeze | Jon Snow | Game of Thrones

Chapter Thirty-One

||And Now His Watch is Ended||

"Oh, Lord Tyrion. Come in, come in." Varys told Tyrion as he came in the room. Zephyr stood by the window, gazing out into the City.

"I hope we might speak in confidence." Tyrion said. "Oh. Always in confidence." Varys replied.

"About the events of the Blackwater." Tyrion tried but Varys was focused on opening this massive crate. "Perhaps this is the wrong time?" Tyrion sighed.

"Oh, no. It's a wonderful time uncle." Zephyr finally spoke.

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

"End your life?" Lord Varys finished for her Uncle.

"I didn't inherit Littlefinger's spies along with his position I'm afraid. Which is why I'm coming to you two. I need proof." Tyrion explained as Varys and Zephyr shared a knowing glance.

"Proof? Will there be a trial?" Varys snorted.

"I need to know."

"I have no proof, only whispers. The princess has even less." Varys stated. "Thank you, I'm well aware of how useless I am in this current situation, Lord Varys."

Varys grunted as he took off the lid, "Before all this nastiness, I was going to tell you the story of how I was cut. Do you want to hear it still?"

"I don't know. Do I?" Tyrion looked at the crate and then back up at Varys, almost in a comical manner.

Varys began explaining anyway, despite the mildly terrified look on Tyrion's face.

"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 wante was far worse. He gave me a potion that made me powerless to move or to 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."

After a moment of stunned silence from Tyrion, "I still dream of that night." Said Varys. "Not of the sorcerer, not of his blade, I dream of the voice from the flames."

"Was it a god? A demon? A conjuror'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." Varys glanced at the Princess, "No offense to you, Princess, but if you don't learn to control those newfound powers of yours... They'll be burning you at the stake."

"But you can see why I was eager to aid in your fight against Stannis and his red priestess. A symbolic revenge of sorts." Varys stated.

"Yes," Tyrion cleared his throat, "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..."

"You do not possess at the moment." Varys finished the sentence for him once more. "But influence is largely a matter of patience, I have found." He washed his hands.

"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 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 tendrills reached from the Red Keep all the way across the to the far side of the world, where I managed to wrap them around something special."