Stephas II

“-Wait… Slow down.” A man with scarred muscles pleaded.

“I thought the younger you are, the more stamina you’ll have.” Stephas languidly sighed as he clothed himself. “So, how’s your task doing?”

“You mean training Lady Baelish’s men? I must say most of them are a bunch of pansies. Couldn’t even lift a twig, I tell you!”

Suddenly someone loudly knocked on the door before opening it prompting the man to jump up, naked like the day he was born. With practised ease, he grabbed his sword. He pointed his sword at the intruder only to visibly relax after seeing him.

“Whoah! Ser Florys, I’m sorry for interrupting!” The intruder looked up and then down before sighing. “Please, I’ve got a lot to talk about to Stephas. Make sure to cloth yourself before exiting the room.”

The Knight nodded dutifully as he quickly put on his underclothes and after that his tunic and trousers. “I must say, you have good taste in men, Maester.”

Stephas fumed and was about to angrily retort but was wise to keep his mouth shut. The person standing in front of him was a dangerous man. “Florys has been good to me. And I’m no longer a maester. After what I’ve done to Gerold, I don’t deserve these anymore.” He straightened himself as his chains clinked then asked, “So, how may I be of service, my lord?”

“I want you to organise the teachers and recent Gulltown graduates coming over. I need you to be my chancellor in the first school of King’s Landing. What better person to do it than a maester.”

“I said former maester-.”

“No. You’re still a maester. Gerold still hasn’t written to the Citadel asking for a replacement.” Petyr smirked and sat down on the bed before flailing his arms and sticking out his tongue in disgust. “That’s a lot of… Fluids.”

Stephas ignored that and focused on what he said prior to him discovering Florys and his lovemaking. “What do you mean he hasn’t written to them? I’ve betrayed him! Is… Is he willing to forgive me?” The maester saw a ray of hope and desperately tried to cling to it only to be slapped away by Petyr.

“No. He’s frothing in rage whenever you’re mentioned. Burning his marriage proposals has hurt him more than you would know.”

Stephas slumped in his seat hearing that. It wasn’t his intention to betray Gerold but the damages to his reputation were too profound if he were to ignore the blackmark Isembard had on him. Petyr nodded then said, “Luckily for you, my wife has made such good use of your lovers… I mean ‘spies’. At this rate, she’ll completely take over the Marketing Department. I couldn’t care less anymore. For better or worse we’re inexplicably linked.”

“And now I live to serve you? Is that right, my lord?”

He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Now you live to serve yourself. You don’t have to keep saying yes to mine and Maribelle’s orders, you know. As far as I know, you’re a free man, free to make his own decisions.” Petyr paced back and forth. “Though, I wonder. Why stay? Why stay so close to us?” Stephas jolted in fright as Littlefinger suddenly bent his back, with his eyes levelled to his, and gazed into his soul. “Perhaps it’s residual loyalty to Gerry…” He tried to stay still but he couldn’t help slightly opening his mouth. It was so slight, yet the eagle-eyed man managed to see it never-the-less. “I must be blunt. Gerold does not want your loyalty anymore.”

As if the world collapsed, he slumped into his seat. Stephas wanted to run out of the room, as fast as his ageing bones can take him, but he knew. He knew he had to hear this sooner rather than later. Petyr dramatically clasped his shoulders and sighed, “But we’re still here. Maribelle and I still need your help. Your expertise and the fountain of knowledge you have will prove dividends in the future. So, I ask you to be my chancellor. Work for yourself first, then me. I know it’s hard doing so when you’ve been indoctrinated by the Citadel to serve but for once in your life, let your ambitions set you free.” He mimed his hands breaking invisible manacles.

Stephas thought long and hard at that and was grateful when Petyr patiently waited for him. What were his ambitions? What were his aspirations? He wiped some residual sweat from his forehead and then planted it on the table. What did he want? He was precocious back when he was a lad, asking the most difficult questions ranging from how tides work and how the movements of the sun and moon worked. Astrology and the way the world works always made him breathless as he would excitedly research them. Unfortunately, once he turned ten and eight the realities of the links he made in the Citadel weren’t to further his knowledge but to serve instead. And so, he served under Lord Marq Grafton and then under his son. But now he was free to pursue whatever he wanted. “I briefly worked as a Schoolmaster in one of your preparatory schools, and I must say it’s a rather dull affair.”

“Eventually, your school would expand to something that enthuses you,” then Petyr smiled which made Stephas tense his muscles. “You must be acquainted to disgraced masters and acolytes who have yet to forge a link and desire… Flesh. The Maesterly Code of celibacy is a massive deterrent for people pursuing knowledge. You know where I’m getting, right? You’re a smart man.”

“You want something that would rival the Archmaesters of Citadel. You want to create an institution where potential scholars don’t have to take a vow of chastity and celibacy?” Stephas deadpanned. With Petyr’s nonchalant desire to step on everyone’s toes and ruffle feathers where he could, this didn’t surprise him. It always shocked him how Littlefinger always manages to weasel himself out of every difficult situation. From setting his enemies with one another or entirely co-opting them to his plans like what he did to the Faith when he was going to commit usury. He must have a plan against the Citadel to which Stephas fixed him a look to mentally communicate his question.

“Yes, yes, yes. I have a plan. But right now, focus on finding lodgings, food and, work out a curriculum for thousands of people.”

“Thousands of people!? Curriculum?!”

“Yes. Hungry people lust for change. And the first thing to change is their poverty. What better way for them to uplift themselves than going to schools which are going to teach them the skills to pull themselves out of poverty. Most would be low-level bureaucrats working for me in the Treasury, but it would be enough to get themselves fired-clay roofs over their heads along with three meals a day.”

Stephas breathed a sigh of relief. “Planning to start small then.”

“Oh no,” Petyr pulled out a scroll with detailed instructions regarding a roadmap with a whole slew of time schedules that made him dizzy. “I expect you to start teaching astronomy – I mean astrology and advanced mathematics by the end of the year. You’ve got four months till the year 283 ends.”

This was extremely unreasonable. “Why would you need mathematicians? For your loans and usury?”

“Much more than that. One of my men, Sowyer, sent me a missive asking that I set up schools for naval navigation hence the importance of astrology.” He frowned then started to pace, “It’s a bit odd how I haven’t heard from him since…” Petyr coughed then carried on, “Any who, I need people that can actually understand macroeconomics and my wider plans for Westeros. The economic module I designed in Gulltown was mostly about microeconomy – so how people react to loans and taxes. Inelastic supply and demand and so on. But macroeconomy is-.“

“Is something much bigger? Macro means large in Ghiscari whereas micro means the opposite. We often use Valyrian terminology in technical aspects and it’s interesting how you keep alternating between both of them.”

Petyr muttered something which he barely heard, ‘Greek’ and ‘Latin’. He didn’t know the meaning of them so waited for Petyr to carry on. “Yes. Bigger. I’m now the Master of Coin and it falls on me to reorganise how the economy of Westeros works.”

Stephas laughed at that as he tried to control his spittle. “The greatest overstatement since drinking wildfire turns you into a dragon! You do realise that position is nothing but a coin purse for the Hand. ‘The King shits and the Hand wipes’ is what the saying goes. But what does the Hand wipe with?” He paused then laughed some more. “Coins. And knowing that dour Baratheon, he’ll be using you a lot less. Stannis has a reputation of frugality.”

Giggling and full of merriment, Petyr said, “You and Maribelle have no imagination whatsoever. I’m not saying my plans now since you’ll see in a year perhaps in a decade, but you’ll see it.” He slowly walked out and before he could close the door, Petyr stared at him, “I’m disappointed. After what you’ve seen me do in Gulltown… I guess, it means I wasn’t doing enough.”

This sent a signal down his spine as he involuntarily jerked upwards. As long as I explore the mysteries of the world before Littlefinger burns it to the ground, then I’m satisfied.

Alyn I

The Goldcloak held his coif higher where they usually are to avoid the foul odour emanating from Fleabottom. Alyn Estermont walked with purpose as he surveyed the parting glances he was given. The pride swelled in him as the hungry looks shifted to ones of admiration from the common folk. After weeks of accepting his Grandfather’s offer to become the Lord Commander of the Goldcloaks, he was busy restoring order. It was easy at first, rounding up criminals and busting out racketeering and general skulduggery. Stormlander bluntness and their no-nonsense attitudes seemed to help him set the city, along with the City Watch, straight. It was a simple affair, bludgeon the evildoers in broad daylight to scare and deter others who dare commit dastardly deeds.

Unfortunately, the outbreak of Dorne’s and Reach’s defiance has led to the city starving. If it weren’t for food from the Vale and their ‘Redcloaks’ then the city would’ve erupted in riots with an unprecedented amount of violence that he was too inexperienced to deal with.

He watched the streets and nodded towards the spectators as he spied his destination. Situated just above the harbour with sprawling warehouses and abandoned buildings – hovels more like, he couldn’t quite believe the amount of change one can do in two weeks. The Master of Coin thought it prudent to base his new duties outside of the Red Keep. Citing that the castle was getting too crowded with the influx of nobility from across the realm pledging their support and loyalty for his cousin, King Robert. This was fine by him as the Red Keep would allow him to breathe without bumping into men working for the Keeper of the Keys and the King’s Counter and Scales. Three organisations working for the Master of Coin full of dour bureaucrats which he was glad was gone. However, this raised some concerns in the Small Council chiefly his grandfather, the Master of Laws, regarding security. And so, Lord Petyr delivered by renovating the abandoned hovels into a barrack of sorts housing Robar Arryn’s redcoats. But that also led to another disagreement, this time by the Spider, about concerns of an army not loyal to the King encamping inside the city. It was this argument that caused his grandfather to negotiate with Lord Baelish. ‘Alyn, lad. This is part of your duty as the Lord Commander of King’s Landing. I want you to come to an agreement with the Master of Coin to reduce his ‘security forces’,’ Alyn remembered Lord Eldon’s words and was encouraged to do his best. He wasn’t going to ruin the trust his grandfather gave him.

He spied the restored street with awe. Last month it was a den of villainy, human shit and pox of lust. But now construction filled the street with wooden scaffolding surrounding the dishevelled edifices allowing ease of bricklaying. Masons with their engraving tools patterned the exterior with extravagant-looking patterns that intercalated with each other.

The familiar redcoat waved and hollered at him prompting Alyn to jog towards him and greeted him with a side hug. “Edgar, good seeing you here.” He said to the coal-haired man.

“Lord Alyn,” he bowed his head. “I hope you learnt from last time to always check your back.”

He rolled his eyes at that and said, “Bunch of honourless curs! Cowards the lot of them! At least you were there to stop them otherwise they would’ve stabbed me in the spine. I would’ve been a cripple if it weren’t for you.”

“Twas no problem, my lord. Now if you follow me to Lord Petyr’s solar.” They walked through a maze of halls full of people carrying parchment to and fro. Alyn was getting dizzy but sighed in relief as they entered Lord Baelish’s solar. He couldn’t help but notice the spartan design. Nothing but a desk, shelf, a potted plant and several chairs. One would think he was one of those grim and boring bureaucrats when seeing his solar, but he was thankful Baelish was anything but that.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Lord Alyn! Welcome to Downing Street!” Petyr got up and happily shook the man’s hand. “I heard of what happened. I wish heavy justice was brought upon the man that attacked you!” His face paled as he guided Alyn into a chair.

“No worries, my lord. Edgar saved me from being crippled.”

Petyr in his part mumbled a prayer to the Seven, which reassured him. He serenely smiled then said, “That’s good. Edgar is a good man. Served me as a bodyguard very well. Saved my life in numerous situations too. A man with a strong code for justice. It’s a shame he isn’t knighted yet.”

This seemed to shock Alyn as that man was the epitome of knighthood. “Do you know Edgar was one of the people that negotiated the peaceful surrender of Timberton?” Petyr paused then placed his clasped hands into his chest as he sobbed, “I would’ve knighted him then and there but the people… The nobility thought it strange to elevate a smallfolk and so I relented.”

“The Knighthood is based on merit and good deeds. It shouldn’t be decided at birth. You have to work for it.” Alyn fumed and would’ve said something more but he was privately delighted that those same nobles were now rotting in the Wall.

Petyr vigorously nodded, “That’s what I thought but the lords in the Vale tend to mistrust the lower folks. And so, I relented. But surely, Edgar saving your life should merit him a knighthood. After all, we’re out of the Vale.”

“I would be glad to, Lord Petyr. It would be an honour to knight him.”

“That’s good. That’s good. It seems the injustice has been set straight.” Alyn hummed in agreement but otherwise kept silent prompting Petyr to continue. “Now, the redcoats serve our liege lord, Robar Arryn, but their loyalty to the King shouldn’t be questioned.” He walked to his window and pointed at the city. “It was them who helped order prevail. It was them who patrolled the streets stopping crimes like theft, rape and vagabond racketeering! They wouldn’t have done that if they weren’t loyal to the King.”

Alyn nodded in principal but what Lord Varys and his grandfather said made him pause. “As the Lord Commander of the Goldcloaks, I sincerely thank you and Lord Robar for the help that the redcoats dispensed. But in the end, they serve another lord.”

Petyr sat straight as he connected his palms together. “Perhaps a compromise can be made.”

“Like what?” He tilted his head in confusion. His grandfather just said to negotiate a temporary time for the redcoats to be there and leave once the time runs out. And if that doesn’t work out reduce the presence of the redcoats inside the walls of King’s Landing.

“What if the very best of my- Lord Robar’s redcoats were to be transferred to the Goldcloaks. Perhaps that will assuage the loyalty problem. I can assure you that they’re trained and well disciplined.”

Alyn can happily attest to that and the more talent in the Goldcloaks the better. But there was one more thing he wanted. “Can Ser Edgar be transferred to the Watch?”

He noticed Petyr slightly bouncing on his seat before he jumped and shook his hands. “Of course! Of course. I’m pleased that you’re now referring to him as a knight. After years of hard work, I can’t think of a man more deserving of knighthood.” The man hopped as he opened his drawer withdrawing bottles of Dornish Red and then pouring them into ornate glass chalices. “I think such an occasion deserves a drink, don’t you?”

Alyn couldn’t be more happier. The war in Dorne was decreasing the levels of Dornish Red being sold in King’s Landing. So much so that he couldn’t wait to take a sip. The Estermont lad merrily drank the cup and was surprised by how much it kicked him as a headache started to worm in. This wine shouldn’t be this strong. It looks like weeks of weening from the Red was making me intolerant. Petyr graciously kept serving him more of the red goodness until he was in complete bliss.

“Now, Lord Alyn. How about we discuss the inevitable administrative overhaul of the King’s Landing City Watch? I’m sure your boys from the Goldcloaks and the good people of King’s Landing will appreciate it.” Petyr kept pouring him drinks as Alyn eagerly nodded to his suggestions. “How do you like it? Becoming the person who oversees the removal of inefficiencies and corruption making the Goldcloaks truly worthy of dispensing justice?”

“H-how m-may I do that?” He asked whilst slurring.

“You’ll need my patronage and my help, of course. I’ll gladly lend a willing hand to a good friend.”

Yes. The rumours regarding Lord Petyr were false. Hearsay and rumours say that the man was banished from Riverrun, that he purged the Gulltown nobility and oversaw blasphemy and heresy. Alyn strongly shook his head. They were all wrong. The man in front of me is nothing like what the rumours say about him. He’s genuine and his desire for order and justice is truly admirable. “O-f course, what should I do, Lord Petyr?” He said as he burped and released some gas.

Petyr pulled a tome from one of his drawers and laid it down on the table. “First let’s start with getting rid of the corrupt. Simple double-entry bookkeeping and… Public… Yes, public surveillance can easily trace them. That’s the lower members of the Goldcloaks.” He pointed at what seemed like a family tree. “This is the hierarchy of the Goldcloaks and as you can see you’re at the top and you’re loyal to the King. But the ones below you are not so loyal. They’re only loyal to money.”

“A serious allegation to level at them, my lord.” For the first time since drinking the cups, Alyn spoke clearly.

“Not so, my lord. I’ve got a mountain of evidence. And most have side loyalty and ulterior motives. Most are loyal to the previous Master of Coin, my predecessor, Lyman Chelsted who has bribed and got them those sergeant ranks. I suggest you remove them as they can impact the integrity of the Goldcloaks. Some are even demanding ‘protection tolls’.”

“I knew it! That dragon sympathiser is the source of the rot! I should have him put into the dungeons!” It all made sense now as he tried to connect the dots. The weeks of nuisance kickbacks and delays were not due to incompetence but the desire to loot the people of King’s Landing in broad daylight. It was nothing but ‘legal’ racketeering and he would need to come down hard at such blatant hypocrisy.

Petyr immediately raised his hands up as he tried to placate Alyn’s anger. “We’re in the middle of a war. We can’t afford to arrest a high-ranking noble since we need every ounce of support against the Reach and the Dorne.” The slim man weakly coughed as he continued speaking, “Removing his men and replacing them with people that are incorruptible is the priority right now. Tell me, Lord Alyn, do you have any people in mind to replace the sergeants and the grunts?”

Alyn sadly shook his head in regret, “Unfortunately, the ones I trust are the knights of the Stormlands and the Estermont men-at-arms and they’ll be departing for war against those cowardly Dornish raiders.”

“It seems we’re at an impasse then. We’ll have to wait for them to defeat the rebels. They’ll also need to survive the war and agree to serve in the Goldcloaks.” He slouched his shoulders as he deeply sighed. “You’ll have to continue with this much corruption I’m afraid. You cannot implement sweeping change with them as sergeants and as top-level administrators.”

The Estermont downed another serving of Dornish Red and slightly cleared his throat. “Wait… The redcoats. I’ve seen them work. Do I have permission from Robar Arryn to poach some of them?” It was odd that Lord Robar now commands the redcoats. An army that defeated his father. Alyn shook his head as it was very similar to Robert’s ability to win over the enemy and encourage them to die for his right on the Iron Throne.

Petyr smiled, clasped his hands together, and said, “He would be delighted.”

That was good news. Alyn’s grandfather gave him a monumental task to oversee the Goldcloaks. A position of great trust placed in him by Lord Eldon. Trust that he wouldn’t lose through complacency. He would reform the Goldcloaks and he would make his father, his grandfather and his house proud.

Varys II

It was a busy two weeks. Sweeping changes were being made constantly across King’s Landing. So comprehensive and heavy yet so subtle. He almost lost his temper as his warnings of the new Master of Coin fell on deaf ears. It was almost a miracle that the Master of Laws finally listened to him about Petyr’s private red army. Yet, he sent his grandson Alyn to relay the concerns of the Small Council. ‘This is the matter of the Lord Commander of the City Watch. Do not underestimate my grandson, Spider,’ he remembered Lord Eldon saying to him. His reason infuriated Varys. The boy, Alyn, was passionate and committed but he was not experienced. He may have been roughly the same age as Littlefinger, but his mind wasn’t sharper than the Master of Coin. It was like pitting normal castle-forged steel against Valyrian steel. No chance whatsoever.

The changes to the Treasury and Goldcloaks were so minuscule yet so profound. In just a day, dozens of people were no longer employed with most, if not all, were thrown into the dungeons. On the same day, the Night’s Watch recruiters came and Littlefinger approached them as he offered dozens of ‘recruits’. Littlefinger replaced the corrupt cronies with his own and Varys couldn’t even complain. It all happened so fast that there was no evidence of a purge. The people that were sacked were quickly shipped to the Wall without a whimper of protest. It was only made worse that the revenue from the Treasury increased which further fuelled Robert’s war machine, making Littlefinger a beloved member of the King’s court. In just two weeks he has made himself indispensable by strengthening Baratheon’s hold on King’s Landing and simultaneously making them wealthier.

At this rate, Petyr Baelish would be the sole guarantor of the realm’s stability and through his words, ‘Prosperity’.

Varys should’ve been ecstatic. A fellow Councillor that isn’t beholden to a house or a region but to the entire realm. A member that worked for the people of the realm. A true servant of the people. Yet what he saw from Petyr Baelish was anything but a servant. He was a wolf disguised as a sheep. A mastermind that can persuade the flock to eat themselves for his self-gaining agenda. It’s not the action that matters but the intent. Littlefinger’s intent is not to serve the realm but serve himself. Gods knows what he has planned but Varys was ready.

His little birds weren’t able to infiltrate Littlefinger’s ‘Downing Street’ and his residence in ‘Number 11’. The unusual naming sense aside, Varys struggled on gaining information from him and Gulltown. The revelation of Lysa Arryn’s survival was a shock to him. As his reports say that she’s been taken hostage by the bandits deep into the Riverlands. How she was able to get from there to the Vale confused him. Years of exemplary service to Aerys Targaryen and outwitting the barbarian nobility seemed to make him complacent, a thought that made Varys shiver in fright and shame.

I’ll not make the same mistake again. He stood up and started to pace. I’ll need new spies. Ones that aren’t Pentosi street urchins but much older. Varys grabbed his empty groin and regretfully mourned. Mayhaps, whores will do. No one will suspect a eunuch to consort with prostitutes. A thought waved into his mind as he smiled.

The eunuch pressed a button covered behind a fireplace causing the back to open up as the gears clanked and creaked. Bracing himself as he tucked his stomach in, Varys entered the narrow entryway. A collection of outfits was laid out in an organised fashion which fit into Varys’ various alter egos. He put on a steel helmet and adorned a brown leather armour. He purposely dishevelled himself as he prepared to act out his different identity.

Varys pushed another button and entered the secret labyrinth and went down to the Black Cells. With a click of a tongue, he barged past the other goalers and relished in their fear.

“M-master Rugen! I didn’t expect ye to come ‘ere. It’s not yer shift yet.” One of them had the courage to challenge him.

Varys walked up to them and breathed down their face. He waited till they gagged and gruffly said, “I’ll come and go as I please. Understood?” They nodded prompting Varys to go ahead to his destination. He stood outside of a cell and waved his torch, instantly waking his assailant up.

The prisoner lifted his hair full of grime and sweat. Varys was surprised by his youth as he squinted at his face. A face, despite weeks of undergoing torture, was surprisingly comely and androgynous. “How many times do I have to tell you! I don’t want to go to the Night’s Watch! They don’t even want me! ‘Sword-swallowers’ like me may tempt them to break their oath of celibacy!” He laughed then twirled his black hair as he trembled. “So… It’s time for my death isn’t it?”

“The crime of rape and buggery necessitates death. Yes.” Varys opened the cell’s door and stepped in. The palpable fear the prisoner felt was obvious when he scurried into the corner of his cell and started to scream.

“Please! I didn’t rape anyone! They paid for sex! There was consent! Please!”

“It’s your word against a lord.” The condemned prostitute started to brawl, but Varys was quick to calm him down. “I believe you.” It took a while for the prisoner to process the information but eventually, he crawled to Varys’ feet and hugged it. The Chief Goaler ‘Rugen’ didn’t bother to look down as he kicked the prisoner away. “There’s a price though. Don’t worry it doesn’t involve you going to the Wall.”

“R-really?”

Varys took a note from his sleeve and briefly read it to refresh his memory. “You come from Gulltown?” The man nodded. “Do you have any relatives there?”

“Yes! My brother is from there! Edgar!” He pointed to his hair. “Has the same hair colour as mine. He was only little when I left Gulltown but I remember him being -.”

“Spare me your anecdotes. They’re not needed. I want to know why you’ve started to work in a brothel. You have your own ship.” Varys looked at his note again. “Jullen.”

Jullen listlessly stared at the burning torch when suddenly he got up in a spark of rage. Varys was prepared to defend himself but sighed in relief when the man started to bang on the walls instead. “My ship got lost during the storm! It’s because of Stannis’ incompetence-,”

“Careful. That’s the Hand of the King you’re talking about.”

This shocked the man but never-the-less he continued, “I haven’t been repatriated since. I was stuck here in this shit-filled city, and I had to make money.”

“You could’ve easily made money from smuggling.” He paused and stared at Jullen as he tensed his legs. Varys smirked. Interesting. My little birds were able to find out that he was from a family of smugglers who used to work for the former Lord Grafton. He must’ve networks and connections into that blasted city.

“I could’ve. But I chose to hide in the Street of Silk. A bad hiding spot, I know, especially when the city is being ransacked by horny Lannister redcloaks. But I was lucky they all ignored me.” Jullen chortled when saying that. “But I made money. I was going to have enough money but I ran into a young man busy exploring his sexuality, whose father is the Lord of who-gives-a-fuck. And the rest is history.” He pitifully pointed at himself. “So, what do I do?”

“Your brother is in King’s Landing.” Jullen brightened at that and was about to hug Varys but he was roughly slapped away. “Your task is simple. Work for me. And I’ll set you free. I’ll even give you land, money or ships.”

The androgynous man frowned and slightly stepped back, “You? A goaler who has no power nor influence except to order his men to rape me every day!”

“Those weren’t my men as they were removed when King Robert ascended the Iron Throne.” Varys lied. Breaking men by penetrating them and fuelling their desperation through imminent death often made them pliable to… Interrogations and questions. It was a grizzly affair but as the Master of Whispers, he needed to know vital information for the sake of the realm. In this case to monitor the newcomer. A man surrounded with foggy rumours ranging from wildfire sorcery to controlling House Tully. He needed to decipher the mystery regarding Littlefinger and hopefully reduce his growing power and influence. I may need to visit Pentos and contact Illyrio. I need help. He pushed a displaced brick from the wall causing it to part ways. Varys pushed the man into the tunnel and led him outside near the Red Keep gardens. “We’ll meet here. Once a fortnight.” Varys gave him a seal. “Make sure to display this to the guards. They should let you in.”

“I don’t have your name. What do I call you?”

“You don’t need to know. I shall be here every fortnight. That’s all you’re getting.”