~~~Kings Landing~~~
~~~Small council room ~~~
Varys POV
I opened the doors of the Small Council chamber and stopped.
One thin man stood inside, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the main seat at the head of the table. He was perfectly still—the stillness of a man who had been standing there a long time.
"Ahem." I gave a light cough to announce my presence.
"Lord Varys." He turned with a smirk already in place, as if he had heard me coming long before the cough. "What brings you here at such an hour of the night?"
"I could ask you the same, Lord Baelish," I replied, moving slowly toward the council table.
"I forgot my account book here during this morning's meeting." He tilted his head. "Since I have stated my purpose, may I ask yours?"
"Oh, it's nothing. I was merely passing by, unable to sleep, and noticed the door open. I thought I would take a short walk."
"I could have sent some of the women from one of my establishments," he offered pleasantly. "Don't worry on the house."
"I have no need for such gifts," I replied.
"I have always wondered," he said, his eyes dropping briefly with an expression of exaggerated curiosity, "what exactly they took from you when they did it. The stones, or the tower?"
"Have you?" I replied evenly. "Do you spend a great deal of time thinking about the view between my legs, Lord Baelish?"
"No," he said.
"Of course not. How would you find the time? Most of your hours are already occupied thinking about your childhood friend, Lady Arryn."
"Lady Arryn and I have been friends since childhood and remain so," he answered, his voice perfectly measured.
"How admirable." I turned my gaze to the head of the table—the main seat, the one beside the Hand's chair. "I wonder, Lord Baelish… do you ever sit in that chair when no one else is here?"
He followed my eyes. "I do not. That would be insulting to our king." A pause. "Though I confess I have wondered what it would feel like."
"Oh. Do you imagine the Small Council bowing to you when you sit in the main chair in your thoughts? Does it feel good, thinking you are the master of the Seven Kingdoms?" I asked as I sat down.
"Controlling the lords and ladies who once looked down on you," I added.
He did not answer that.
Instead, he walked calmly to the sideboard, opened the cabinet, and took two cups, setting them on the table with a quiet click.
He studied the bottles arranged inside, confused as to what to pick.
"What will you have, Lord Varys? Thanks to our generous king's taste for excess, the options are considerable." He gestured along the shelf. "Dornish red, Arbor Gold, or perhaps something from the Vale—they've sent rum, whisky, vodka, and what I'm told is quite a spectacular series of wines."
He lifted one bottle and studied it.
"Perhaps the Virgin Wine? The latest batch from the Vale."
"The Virgin Wine," I murmured. "What a name."
"Well, it comes from a young boy—however clever that boy may be, he is still young." Littlefinger poured into both cups and carried one to me. "Boys his age tend to think a great deal about girls. One supposes the name is a kind of aspiration."
"I doubt he has much time for that," I replied, accepting the cup. "From the rumors, he keeps himself rather occupied."
"Rumors?" Littlefinger settled back into his chair, eyebrows raised with fresh interest. "So even your little birds cannot enter Arryn lands?"
"It seems your ladies of the evening cannot reach those lands to gather information either," I replied.
"House Arryn is my liege lord," he said, touching his chest with mock gravity. "I would never spy on them. Honor and duty forbid it."
"Honor and duty." I let the words sit for a moment. "Such fine words. They lose all meaning when spoken by a certain kind of mouth."
He smiled as the reaction to the comment I made.
This man was a problem. He plotted constantly. Even I lost track of it sometimes.
"Let us not fight tonight." He raised his cup. "Let us talk as friends, while we enjoy the Virgin."
"Virgin Wine," I corrected.
"Of course." He sipped. "Come now, Lord Varys. You have served the Mad King, and now Robert, for many years. Such long service from a man not even of this land."
"Where are you going with this?" I asked, confused, watching the behavior of this schemer.
"No service lasts forever. When you retire, King Robert might give you lands of your own to establish House Varys."
Before I could respond, he began smiling.
"What is it that you find so amusing?" I asked.
"Nothing at all. I was only picturing the words on the sigil of your house." He chuckled softly. "Two fewer balls to kick."
"Amusing as always. But as Master of Coin, ought you not be more concerned with the Crown's growing debts?" I tried to steer the conversation elsewhere.
"My job is to find the coin," he said with a small shrug. "The Hand and the King spend it."
"How convenient. Though I notice the coin finding has become quite creative of late." I set my cup down without taking any sip at all and looked at him. "The brothels are doing well, I hear."
"They are."
"And yet my birds tell me the number of customers has not increased significantly. Nor have the girls raised their prices. Yet the profits have doubled." I studied him. "Curious arithmetic."
Something shifted in his expression, barely noticeable; he hid it quickly. So this is where he is gaining his wealth from.
I took a sip of the wine for the first time.
Dear gods.
What is that Arryn boy doing to make such good wine?
"Your little birds observe a great deal," he said. "Even my girls speak of your friend in Pentos. Even Jon Connington seems to spend a great deal of time with your Pentoshi friend., seen frequently in Essos—and often in the company of a young boy."
How did he know that?
I kept my voice easy. "Jon Connington is a rebel and a traitor, banished by His Grace. Besides, I have many friends in Essos; who they talk to is beyond my control."
"And my brothels are doing good business," he replied.
The meaning was clear enough.
Don't prod me, and I won't prod you.
"I hear many things as well. A certain lord from the Crownlands is a regular visitor to your establishment; he has a rather specific taste—he seems to like young ones," I said with disgust.
"What a client wants, I provide. Discretion is a cornerstone of good business." He refilled his cup.
"Pimping. What a fine business you are in," I replied.
"It's a profitable one."
"Ahh yes, the one that magically doubled its profits," I shot back.
"The same way your friends do alliances in Essos," he replied, a cunning smirk on his face.
"Tell me, Lord Varys—you have so many friends across the Narrow Sea. Yet the young falcon seems to have gone somewhere none of them can quite account for. Not Volantis. Not Pentos. Not Lys, Myr, Lorath, or Braavos." He swirled his cup. "Where is he?"
Every piece of information has its price.
"And you were criticizing me for my business," I said.
"Pimping is mine. Information is yours. We are not so different." He leaned forward slightly. "So. What is the price?"
"Why the hurry? We have the entire night," I said, raising my cup.
"So we do." He settled back. "Then choose a topic. Any topic."
"How about news from the North?" I said, watching his face.
The shift was small. But it was there.
He still hasn't let go.
"Lady Stark's youngest son celebrated his first name day just a few days ago," I said idly.
"And?" His voice had sharpened, very slightly.
"Nothing at all. I simply wondered whether you still carry any feeling for Lady Stark."
"It's all in the past," he said dismissively, though there was bitterness on his face.
"Past, is it? Then she—"
"Enough of your games, Lord Varys," he cut me off before I could finish.
I merely smiled and took another sip, enjoying his struggle.
Littlefinger rose, went to the sideboard again, and returned with a handsome bottle, red of color the infamous mountain rum from the Vale and a small bucket of ice. He set both on the table without a word.
"I must say," I remarked, "it is rather a luxury to have ice in King's Landing."
"Thank your little lord for that." Littlefinger rolled the ice around his cup. "Most men see a frozen lake and think of winter. The Arryn boy looked at one and saw gold. Cut the ice, pack it in sawdust, ship it south, and sell it to lords who wish their wine cold in summer. Ridiculous. Profitable. I almost admire it."
Lord Baelish sat down and filled his cup. He placed a cube of ice into it, added a little rum, and drank it in one go.
Seems like Lady Stark still leaves a deep scar on him.
"I heard you purchased three ships and attempted something similar," I said. "What became of that venture?"
"Why ask me something you already know the answer to?"
"Do you believe the young falcon may have had a hand in sinking them?" I asked. "Ships that interfere with his trade routes do seem to have a habit of meeting unfortunate ends."
"It was pirates," he said flatly. "The Arryns are too honourable for something like that."
He didn't admit it. But he didn't deny the implication. After all, he lacks any evidence; any wrong move will bring lots of trouble.
"So what is he doing in Essos?" he asked abruptly.
"Why ask? It doesn't affect you."
"It's his mother, Lady Arryn, who worries so much."
"Stepmother," I said pleasantly. "The young lord insists on the distinction in public, in private, before lords and smallfolk alike. He has never once called her mother. That tells you something about the state of that relationship."
I watched his face; his plan to control the Vale through her is a foolish adventure, I must say, something that will get him crushed by the falcon.
"And if anyone is entertaining the idea of simply… removing the problem, five spectacularly failed attempts would seem to argue against the wisdom of a sixth."
These two idiots have tried so many times to have him killed, yet no results. Now my little birds cannot reach him how, I wonder.
"I have absolutely no idea what you're referring to."
"Of course you don't." I folded my hands. "How much does the Crown owe in total, these days?"
He glanced at me. "Four and a half million gold dragons."
I stared at him.
"Two million to the Lannisters. One million to the Arryns. Five hundred thousand to the Iron Bank. Another five hundred thousand to the Merchant Guild of the Vale. Four hundred thousand to the Faith. The remainder owed to various Tyroshi banks."
"The Merchant Guild of the Vale," I repeated slowly. "I thought they lent only to merchants."
"Artys made an exception for the Crown."
Of course he did.
"The Guild's influence grows more significant every year," I murmured. "Even the Iron Bank has begun to take note of it."
"Enough of your questions." Littlefinger set down his cup. "It is my turn now."
"Very well, Lord Broken Heart," I taunted, with a small smile. "Ask away."
POV Ends
Meanwhile, on the windowsill…
A small brown sparrow perched perfectly still, head tilted as it listened to the conversation inside the Small Council chamber.
"Chur-chur… You dumb shits will never touch the Emperor," it muttered under its breath.
Suddenly, a large crow landed silently beside it with a soft caw.
"Agent White," the crow hissed, "what the hell are you doing here? Shouldn't you be stationed near the Queen's quarters? That's your night post."
The sparrow saluted sharply with its right wing. "Ser! The Cuck and the Wretched Woman are scheming again, chur-chip!"
The crow sighed. "Language, Agent White. You are no longer just a pigeon. You are a member of the esteemed Feathered Bureau of Investigation and a servant of the Emperor. Act like it. Caw-caw."
"Yes, Officer Crow, sir!"
"So what are they scheming about?" the crow asked, tilting its head curiously.
"Against each other, as usual," the sparrow replied.
The crow nodded. "Fine. I'll take the Queen's chambers tonight. You stay here and monitor these two snakes. Give me a full report tomorrow afternoon."
"Yes, ser!" The sparrow saluted again with its wing.
"Long live the Emperor!" it chirped enthusiastically.
"Long live the Emperor," the crow replied, returning the salute with a wing.
The crow spread its wings and vanished into the night.
The sparrow turned back toward the window, muttering to itself:
"These two idiots have no idea the Emperor's eyes are literally on the wall… chur chur."