The Small Council meeting at the Iron Throne had ended, and the gathered lords and officials gradually filed out of the throne room. Petyr Baelish, known as Littlefinger, remained seated.
Only after the chamber had emptied did he rise slowly, strolling toward the Iron Throne. He looked up at the monstrous seat of swords towering atop its seven-tiered dais.
"What are you thinking about?"
A silky voice, laced with perfume and amusement, echoed lightly through the hall.
The overly smooth, almost effeminate voice carried a faint echo.
The hall was silent.
Littlefinger slowly turned his head to see Varys, the Spider, emerging from behind one of the grand pillars. Varys's plump hands were hidden in his wide sleeves, his pudgy face powdered, and his scalp gleamed with a clean, polished shine.
"I was thinking." said Littlefinger with perfect composure, his posture straight, "why Lord Renly hasn't laid a fur rug over the Iron Throne. Watching him squirm on that thing makes me uncomfortable just looking at him."
Varys smiled, and though he hadn't yet reached Littlefinger, the scent of his cosmetics arrived first.
Makeup was a constant part of Varys's presentation. He wore every powder and perfume noblewomen did, and only the finest. He also had a compulsive need for cleanliness.
"The Iron Throne has stood for two hundred and ninety-eight years." Varys replied amiably as he approached, "and never once has a fur rug been laid over it."
"Oh? Well, whether it's lion fur, wolf fur, shadowcat or stag, I imagine any of it would make for a more comfortable seat. Though perhaps not a stag, after all, the crowned stag is House Baratheon's sigil. Maybe a leopard or a shadowcat. That way we avoid offending anyone's house pride."
A sly smile tugged at Littlefinger's lips.
Varys chuckled. "When King Robert returns, you might suggest bear fur, or boar. That would please him, I'm sure."
"Excellent point!" Littlefinger feigned sudden realization. "The king does love hunting. Who knows how many bears and boars he's killed. Lining the throne with their hides would not only make him comfortable, it would also highlight his courage and prowess."
"Of course." said Varys, eyes twinkling. "Though I wonder what House Mormont of the North, or House Crakehall of the Westerlands, would think of seeing bear or pig hides on the Iron Throne."
"They'd feel deeply honored." said Littlefinger, lips curving into his trademark mocking smile.
Varys eyed his grin. "My lord, is that a bruise on your mouth from a slap?"
The smile vanished from Littlefinger's face. He straightened and replied seriously, "Some new country whore didn't know her place. I'll have to give her a proper lesson." Then, lowering his voice with a mocking tone, "But tell me, my lord, how do you pass the long nights, having never known the company of women all these years?"
Varys had been mutilated as a child by a sorcerer, cut and rendered a eunuch. Littlefinger's comment, targeting that wound, was cruel beyond measure.
Varys loathed anyone bringing up the subject.
And yet Littlefinger had done it, blatantly, to his face.
Varys gave a shrug and looked down at his own groin, frowning slightly. "The nights are unpleasant, true. But at least I haven't been beaten into a bloody-lipped mess by some deranged brute. I'd say I'm doing fairly well."
Littlefinger's expression twitched.
"The Mountain from the Westerlands came to King's Landing recently." Varys continued, his tone light. "He wanted to speak with you about the quality and quota of gold ore he's delivering. Judging by that cut on your lip, I assume you were well compensated for the meeting."
Littlefinger's mouth tightened. The faint scar on his lip had nearly healed.
"I've heard that drawing blood from a fingertip with a steel pin and collecting it in a glass vial is... a practice usually reserved for sorcerers." Varys added gently.
Littlefinger's eyes flickered with surprise.
He had been puzzling over why Gregor Clegane, the Mountain, had taken his blood in a vial. The action had made no sense to him.
"So." he asked cautiously, "your little birds saw what happened that night?"
He brushed a hand over the straight strap on his right shoulder, adjusting the silver mockingbird crest pinned to his chest, his personal sigil.
"Gregor and his men didn't bring a cupbearer." Varys said with a smile, "but inns and taverns are never short on serving boys."
"And the murder in Flea Bottom?" Littlefinger asked, his eyes narrowing with meaning.
"Polliver killed the unlucky Yigo." Varys replied matter-of-factly, as if speaking of squashing a fly or stepping on an ant.
"I heard Polliver also took Master Tobho Mott away in a cart. Any truth to that?" Littlefinger probed again.
"Tell me, does Casterly Rock lacks for good blacksmiths?" Varys suddenly asked.
Littlefinger wasn't sure why Varys brought that up. After a pause, he replied, "No, it doesn't."
"Well then, that's odd." Varys frowned.
If Casterly Rock did lack good smiths, Gregor stealing Tobho Mott would have made sense. But Varys doubted Gregor acted on his own. He suspected Tywin Lannister had sent him. Gregor wasn't the type to care about blacksmiths. He cared about gambling, booze, and assaulting any woman who wasn't ugly.
"What's odd?" Littlefinger asked.
"Oh, nothing. A good smith is always welcome, of course." Varys said casually, masking his suspicions.
"A good smith?" Littlefinger repeated with a dismissive tone, though his eyes revealed deeper contemplation.
Changing the subject again, Varys asked, "Why would the Mountain take an old blacksmith the Mint had already cast out? What could he possibly want with Tobho Mott? To drink with him? Or sleep with him?"
"The Mountain has no use for Tobho." Littlefinger said coldly. "He only craves women, wine, poppy milk, and blood."
"Ah, how astute of you, my lord." Varys said, smiling as he gently patted Littlefinger's shoulder. "Not many can bear the weight of a gift from the Mountain. Come now, let's go."
Varys turned to leave. "The King is surrounded by Lannisters. Best we keep our concerns to ourselves."
Littlefinger held both the realm's finances and the mint in his grasp. If Tywin had taken Tobho for a reason, it would be Littlefinger's duty to investigate. But Varys had made himself clear: if Littlefinger tried to probe deeper, Tywin might send the Mountain to "deliver another gift", and no one could bear that.
Yes, Littlefinger had King Robert above him. But as Varys pointed out, everyone around the king, his cupbearers, his bedmates, his guards, even his grooms, were all Lannisters.
Watching Varys approach the doors of the throne room, Littlefinger called out, "Why are you telling me all this?"
Varys stopped and slowly turned around. "My lord, some things you can choose not to act on or speak of, but you must understand them. We both serve the realm as its senior officials. I've never kept secrets from you. I hope you'll offer me the same courtesy."
He glanced down again at his empty groin, his lifelong shame.
"My lord, please… don't joke about me being a eunuch again. Your words wounded me. I felt humiliated."
Littlefinger opened his mouth, dumbstruck. After a pause, he gave a forced laugh.
"Yes, my lord. I was wrong."
Varys smiled faintly, folded his hands into his sleeves, and left.
Two old foxes, trading barbs and veiled threats in a verbal duel as sharp as any swordsman's clash. In the end, Varys had the upper hand, forcing an apology from Littlefinger and leaving him wary.
The Spider's intelligence network was not something Littlefinger could match. Varys had only shown a sliver of his power, but it was enough, a warning to the man who had stood before the Iron Throne, musing aloud that it might need a fur rug.
Meanwhile, charging down the Goldroad, Gregor Clegane paid no mind to the political duel unfolding in the throne room. He knew he couldn't hide his actions from the Spider, his tracks were too obvious, but he had already subtly sought approval from Tywin beforehand.
He was the deadliest sword in the Westerlands, and Tywin needed him. Gregor, in turn, needed Tywin to take the fall, at least for now.
A "kidnapping" by the Mountain that couldn't possibly escape the eyes of the royal council had already been detected and analyzed by two brilliant minds, each of whom arrived at the same clean, confident conclusion.
But what they didn't know… was that Varys's "flawless" deduction this time was completely wrong.
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