Chapter Text
“Do you ever think before you act or are you cursed with a simple mind,” Varys hissed as he slammed the door shut behind him. The Kingslayer stood awkwardly in what was once Princess Rhaenys’ room. Not the best location for a meeting such as this one, but it was convenient and out of the way. And more importantly, it was familiar.
“You can’t speak to me that way,” the knight replied, hand tight around the hilt of his blade. He was in full armor, the royal progress set to arrive in less than an hour. And Varys had cornered the man as soon as he received the news of what had happened in Winterfell.
“You threw Lord Stark’s son from a tower,” Varys barely resisted the urge to yell, wringing his hands together in the folds of his sleeves as he faced the knight. “And worse, he didn’t die. Why would you do something so utterly foolish? Do you have any idea what this could cost the realm?”
“Fuck the realm,” Ser Jaime replied, gesturing angrily as he took an aggressive step forward. “Do you have any idea what this could have cost my family if I hadn’t done what I did?”
“Because the boy saw you and the queen fucking in the tower or because it puts the legitimacy of the royal children into question?” Varys asked almost casually.
The knight reeled back as if he’d been physically assaulted, before he was pulling his sword an inch out from the sheath in a silent threat. “How do you know this, who have you told?”
“Oh, don’t get upset about it now,” Varys admonished, appearing unbothered by the threat even though he knew that the unpredictability of the Kingslayer was very much a threat. He was beginning to think that he had perhaps miscalculated the situation. “I’ve known for years.”
“Y-years?” The knight spluttered, eyes wide as appeared bewildered.
“Despite what you and your sister think, you were not subtle,” Varys told him, forcing his tone to remain calm. “And I believe that I am not the only one that knows. If something happens to me, I assure you, the whole realm will know before the end of this very long summer.”
The Kingslayer stumbled towards the small table that still had three chairs around it. The Princess’ chair painfully empty. Varys missed her presence, though she had been an incredible risk to hide. She, at least, could talk sense into the knight.
The other man’s hand fumbled for the back of the nearest chair before he pulled it out and sat down heavily. His armor made a scraping sound, and Varys winced, but smoothed his expression quickly.
“Who else knows,” he whispered, scrubbing a hand across his face aggressively.
“I have my suspicions,” Varys told him, still standing by the door. “But haven’t been able to confirm any of them. I suspect Pycelle and Baelish know. But as I said, it’s only my suspicions.”
“What…” the knight paused, clearing his throat. “What do you plan to do with this information.”
“The same thing I have done with it, nothing. For now, at least,” Varys told him, glaring at him when the knight looked up from the floor. “As long as you stop making rash decisions that endanger not only us, but the entire realm.”
Jaime sighed from his nose, shaking his head as he sat up straighter in the chair. “I shouldn’t have pushed him out the window. But I panicked.”
“You should have never been in that tower,” Varys said behind clenched teeth. The stupidity of the man before him was going to get them all killed. “But I wasn’t talking about that, I was talking about the attempted assassination that came after.”
“What in the seven hells are you on about? What assassination?” The knight asked, his eyebrows raised and eyes wide.
“What?” Varys asked in response, hands shaking from under his sleeves as he realized that the Kingslayer had no idea what he was talking about. “You really don’t know?”
“Don’t know what?” Ser Jaime hissed, his own hands fisted on the table. “What assassination?”
Varys sighed, feeling the breath escape him so quickly he almost sagged in place before he made his way over to the opposite side of the table and sat. “Less than a week after the royal procession left Winterfell, there was an assassination attempt on Lord Stark’s young son, the one you threw out the window,” Varys began, voice soft as he caught the knight’s gaze in his own. “A catspaw, hired to kill the boy. He set the library on fire to draw attention away, but he must not have expected Lady Catelyn’s devotion to her son. She was still in the room.”
“Is…” Ser Jaime swallowed thickly. “Is Lady Stark…”
“She’s well,” Varys replied, a little stunned by the relief that flooded the other man’s face as he slouched in his chair. “Her fingers were cut to the bone when she grabbed the knife, and she may never be able to embroider or sew again, but Winterfell’s Maester is confident she will regain of her strength.”
“She grabbed it?” The Kingslayer asked, brows high. “With her bare hands?”
“She was desperate,” Varys replied. “And almost died despite her tenacity. Luckily, the boy’s wolf arrived soon after and ripped his throat out.”
“The wolf…” Jaime mumbled with a frown. “They’re just pups.”
“And growing larger every day,” Varys replied with a small smirk. “My birds report that they are now the size of large dogs and still have much more growing to do.”
“So it’s true, there really are direwolves south of the wall…” the knight mumbled, more talking into the room than at Varys. Like Varys, he must have thought that they were simply wolves when he’d first heard about them. The thought left him feeling uneasy.
“There are other rumors, from beyond the wall,” Varys told him. “But that’s for another time. I’m afraid we need to figure out who wanted Lord Stark’s son dead, other than you, that is.”
“And Cersei,” Jaime added with a shake of her head. “But hiring a catspaw isn’t like her. Why did you think it was me?”
“The dagger, of course,” Varys replied, absently tapping the table in nervousness before he realized what he was doing. He smothered a frown and tucked his hands back into his sleeves. “It had a distinguishing feature.”
The knight raised an eyebrow and tilted his head curiously. Varys raised his own brow. “It looked remarkably like it belonged to your family. A golden lion’s head pommel with ruby eyes.”
“A golden lion head?” Jaime asked quietly. “Was it male of female?”
“Pardon me?” Varys asked, confused.
“The lion, did it have a mane?” The knight asked, his voice tight.
“I haven’t seen it in person, but from what my birds tell me, it has a mane. Why?”
The Kingslayer hung his head, one hand coming up to rub at his eyes before he grunted in frustration. “Fuck. Joffrey.”
“The crown prince?” Varys asked with a tilt of his head. “How do you know?”
“Because I gave it to him,” Jaime replied, sitting up straight and throwing his head back to stare briefly at the ceiling before sighing heavily and catching Varys’ gaze. “On his tenth name-day, I gifted him a dagger with a golden lion’s head pommel. Myrcella has a matching one, but her lion is female, no mane. I was going to commission one for Tommen when he turned ten as well.”
“Why would the prince want Lord Stark’s son dead?” Varys asked, his eyes trailing to the open balcony doors behind the Kingslayer. It was sunny outside, but he could see storm clouds in the distance. No doubt heavy rain was coming before sunset.
Jaime shrugged as he crossed his arms. “I don’t know for certain, but I can make a guess.”
Varys returned his attention to the knight and saw the way the other man was frowning. “The cat?” He asked curiously, wondering if they were thinking the same thing. The knight simply nodded in reply.
Varys hadn’t been in the castle during the cat incident – he’d been in the city following up on a rumor he’d heard regarding missing wildfire from the pyromancers – but he’d heard about it after. Everyone had heard about it by then.
According to his little birds, the crown prince had caught a pregnant cat and cut the kittens out of her before presenting them to the king.
King Robert had been drunk and so enraged that he’d slapped the ten-and-two year old hard enough to make him lose consciousness. Cersei hadn’t talked to her husband for almost three whole months, choosing instead to glare at the king whenever forced to be in his presence. She’d even taken the children to Casterly Rock for the rest of that short winter.
“He probably thought he was doing the boy a favor,” Jaime said softly, almost absently, as he tried to reason behind his son’s homicidal actions. “The maester said he’d never walk again. Maybe he thought a quick death was better?”
“Or he wanted to finish the job,” Varys replied, his voice stern as he stared at the man.
Jaime only shrugged at him.
“Well,” Varys sighed, reaching into his sleeve to pull out or rolled parchment. “More bad news, I’m afraid,” he said, setting it on the table and sliding it over. “Your father rides for King’s Landing. He’ll be here before the end of the month.”
“Shit,” Jaime mumbled, taking the parchment and glancing at the words, but he didn’t bother to read them. If his father was to arrive in King’s Landing in the next twenty or so days, it could only mean one thing. He was riding with a small party and pushing his men hard.
“He has been summoned by the king,” Varys added with a sharp tone, his eyes darting to the unread and abandoned parchment that Jaime had dropped to the table. “To answer for Rhaenys.”
“Shit,” Jaime repeated, hanging his head and rubbing his eyes harshly.
“The whole world will soon know that Princess Rhaenys survived the sacking.”
“The whole world already does,” Jaime mumbled with a shake of his head. He exhaled deeply, pulling himself away from his slump on the table to lean back against the chair and cross his arms. “Lord Stark found me staring at his bastard. Summoned me down the crypts.”
Varys blinked at him quickly in surprise. His little birds hadn’t reported a secret meeting between the Paramount of the North and the son of the Paramount of the West. “And?” He prompted after a long moment of silence, curiosity eating at him.
“And nothing,” Jaime said with a shrug much to Varys’ consternation. “He confronted me, I confessed how I knew. I don’t think he believed me, to be honest, but he didn’t kill me.”
“Well,” Varys said with a small shake of his head. “If he didn’t believe you then, he certainly will now. News came from the east of a dark haired, purple eyed woman traveling with the last Targaryen’s. I’ve already informed the King about such a rumor.”
“Why?” Jaime asked, startling in his chair as his eyes went wide. “Why would you do that?”
“Because,” Varys replied, tucking his hands into his sleeves as he stood from the table. “It’s my job to be informed and to inform. If he hadn’t heard it from me, he would have heard about it soon regardless and then my position would become suspect. Best he hears it directly from me when I can control the narrative.”
He moved away from the table, giving the Kingslayer a bow just low enough to be respectable for the brother of the Queen. “Princess Rhaenys is on track to arrive at Vaes Dothrak before the next new moon.”
“Why are you telling me?” Jaime asked as Varys stopped near the door.
“I imagine you might want to send along a letter,” Varys replied with a shrug before he turned and left, closing the door behind him with a dull thud. He had several letters from Rhaenys tucked away, hidden, from her time with his friend in Pentos. And quite a few from his spy.
Ser Jorah’s letters were few and far between now that the horde was on the move. But what little he did write was concerning. It seemed Viserys’ madness was not an exaggeration, and every letter had more concerning behavior than the last. Varys had already started making subtle adjustments to his plans since Princess Rhaenys resurfaced, but he would definitely need to accelerate a few if Viserys continued down the path he was on.
It was a shame he couldn’t get the two to marry. He believed Princess Rhaenys was stubborn and strong-willed enough to keep Viserys in line, but the one time he had suggested it was quickly shut down by the princess herself. The look of disgust on her face would have amused him more of it hadn’t made his plans more problematic.
If Ser Jorah’s letters continued on such a trend in regards to Viserys, well…Varys would just have to make a few adjustments earlier than planned. He would never see another mad king sit the iron throne, not while he had any say in it.
The disgraced knight was also obviously and painfully in love with the much younger – and very much married – Princess Daenerys. Not that Varys could blame him. From what he had heard, she was a sweet and charming girl who had just started to grow into her family’s features and otherworldly beauty. But it was the other princess that Ser Jorah wrote about most.
He thought her an imposter at first, before realizing she was just an oddly colored Targaryen, but a Targaryen for certain. She certainly had the temper of one, as Ser Jaime had seen first hand. Only a Targaryen would be brash enough to slap a king in public and somehow get away with it.
As promised, she had written him as soon as she had arrived in Pentos. And Varys had received nearly weekly updates from her since, before she left with her uncle, aunt, and the Dothraki horde. He imagined she had written to him even on the road. She was more talkative than he expected, though she only ever wrote about non-important things, like her opinion on Pentos’ views on slaves, or how Daenerys was teaching her color theory for matching clothes to accessories.
Illyrio must have been incredibly frustrated with her writings, as she never wrote anything of importance, Varys thought with a smile. Even he had spent an inordinate amount of time re-reading each word and line, searching the letters for some sort of code or hidden meaning. But the princess was fully honest in her letters – as far as Varys was able to discern – she wrote to simply write. She wrote honestly and fully about her day to day, as if her existence wasn’t a dying secret within itself.
Varys had never had someone write him simply to just tell him about their day. He wasn’t quite certain how he felt about it, but a part of him admitted that he oddly looked forward to her letters more than he did any other letter he’d ever received before. He felt oddly charmed as he wondered if this was what it felt like to have a friend.