Lord Karl, Please Come This Way. I Will Lead the Way!
Karl's voice fell like a blade.
And the blade in his hand—Valyrian steel, with a dragonbone hilt—rested coldly against Varys's throat.
It had slid down from the eunuch's cheek to his neck without haste, without tremor. The steel felt colder than the night air, colder even than Karl's voice.
The edge pressed lightly into flesh.
A thin line of blood welled up.
For a fleeting moment, it felt as though time itself had frozen.
Varys did not dare to move.
However, at the brink of death, pride meant nothing.
"Let me live!" he blurted, squeezing his eyes shut. "I know things—many things! More than you can imagine!"
The blade stopped.
Varys swallowed, feeling the metallic scent of his own blood. His heart pounded violently against his ribs, as though it might burst free.
Slowly, cautiously, he opened his eyes.
Karl looked down at him with faint amusement.
"You wish to live?"
His tone was light. Almost playful.
"Of course, Ser Karl," Varys forced a brittle smile. "No one desires death. Especially not like this."
"You may trust me," he added hurriedly. "I have information—valuable information. And I can prove my worth."
Karl did not respond immediately.
Instead, he tapped the dagger slightly against Varys's throat.
The blade deepened the cut.
A thin trickle of blood ran downward.
"Including the true cause of Lord Jon Arryn's death?" Karl asked casually.
For the first time, Varys faltered.
His eyes flickered.
The reaction was subtle, but Karl caught it.
Under mortal threat, Varys's mind moved rapidly.
"Yes," he answered at once. "After His Majesty left the capital, I… happened to learn more."
He paused deliberately.
"But with war already erupting, I had to suppress certain truths. Timing is everything."
Karl smiled.
It was not a kind smile.
Varys could not decipher what the young knight was thinking. That uncertainty frightened him more than the blade.
After a long pause, Karl withdrew the dagger.
He stepped back and gestured lightly with two fingers.
Bronn and Hall, who had moved forward to apply additional pressure, reluctantly released Varys.
"Let our Lord Varys go," Karl said lightly. "If His Majesty learns you dared treat his Master of Whisperers in such a manner, he may send you north in black cloaks to freeze in some forsaken wasteland."
Bronn blinked.
Hall glanced at Karl.
Unlike Bronn, Hall had followed Karl long enough to understand the subtle difference between mockery and sincerity.
This was not sarcasm.
Hall stepped back immediately, lifting his rapier from Varys's spine and removing his boot from the eunuch's ankle.
Bronn followed suit with a shrug.
Varys rose shakily, ignoring the pain in his bruised body.
"Lord Karl need not trouble himself," he said smoothly. "If His Majesty learns that you command such loyal and capable men, he will surely reward them."
He offered a thin smile.
"Compared to your warriors, the Gold Cloaks are little better than sewer sludge."
"As a eunuch," he added softly, "I confess that I envy your men's… completeness."
Karl nodded, satisfied.
"Why are you not apologizing to Lord Varys?" he barked at Bronn and Hall, his tone suddenly stern.
Neither man argued.
They offered perfunctory apologies.
Varys inclined his head graciously, though bitterness brewed beneath the surface.
Karl sheathed his dagger and adjusted his clothing as if nothing had happened.
"As for Jon Arryn's death," Karl said calmly, "this is not the proper time."
He studied Varys.
"Now, tell me about this secret passage you mentioned."
Varys quickly resumed his familiar composure. His voice regained its smooth, honeyed quality.
"Of course, Ser Karl."
He gestured toward the narrow alley.
"This way, my lord. I shall lead you personally."
Karl did not move.
"How many men can pass through the tunnel?"
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"If space is not an issue… perhaps thirty," Varys replied after a brief pause.
He expected resistance.
Instead, Karl nodded.
"Good."
He turned to Hall and the tribal chieftains, including Shagga and Timett.
"Select thirty men. We enter through the secret passage."
He continued calmly, issuing orders with measured authority.
"The rest will remain under Hall's command. Prepare to assault the Red Keep—but do not attack."
"Wait for the signal."
Varys, eager to prove usefulness, quickly added, "Once inside, I can find a way to open the gates for your army."
Karl's lips curved into a faint smile.
"That would be convenient."
Varys immediately regretted speaking.
Though none dared openly protest Karl's decision to personally infiltrate the Red Keep, unease flickered among his men.
Timett suddenly stepped forward and knelt.
"Lord, allow me to follow you."
Karl looked down at the one-eyed warrior.
"Very well."
Qira moved as if to kneel as well—but Karl shot her a warning glance.
She stiffened, frustrated, but obeyed.
Soon, the chosen thirty gathered—Jon Snow, Bronn, Timett, and others.
They followed Varys through twisting alleys until they reached a quiet courtyard and entered a modest room.
Inside stood a worn wardrobe.
Varys opened it and removed a hidden wooden panel.
Behind it yawned darkness.
"This is the passage," Varys said.
Timett stepped forward immediately.
"Lord, let me go first."
Karl shook his head.
"No. I trust Lord Varys."
He patted Varys's shoulder lightly before crouching and entering the tunnel.
Timett cast Varys a hostile glance before following.
Varys lit a torch and entered behind them.
The tunnel was narrow but stable.
Air circulated faintly through hidden vents. The scent carried a trace of salt—perhaps the passage connected somewhere near Blackwater Bay.
Karl remained vigilant.
Before entering, he had discreetly consumed several potions, prepared for ambush.
Yet none came.
The passage sloped gradually upward.
At last, they reached a heavy iron door.
Varys produced a key.
Chains clanked as it unlocked.
Beyond lay a wide stone chamber.
Large blackened bones lay scattered within.
Karl stopped.
"Dragon bones," Varys explained quietly.
"In the Free Cities, they fetch high prices," Karl said. "Warriors fashion weapons from them."
He studied the enormous remains.
"I have never seen bones this large."
He did not linger.
They continued until they emerged into a silent chamber within the Red Keep.
The room was empty.
Moonlight filtered through a small window.
On the floor lay dark, dried bloodstains.
Karl's gaze rested there.
"Many died here," Varys murmured. "Servants. Stable boys. Scholars. Children."
Karl's voice was blunt.
"I saw children's heads on the walls. Some must have been your little birds."
Varys's composure faltered.
"They were innocent."
Karl inhaled slowly.
"Then Kevan Lannister's head will replace them."
Silence fell.
"Do you know where they are?" Karl asked.
"It is… difficult," Varys admitted. "But I have a method."
He lit a candle and placed it in the window.
"We wait."
Karl nodded.
"You have until that candle burns out. When it does, you will fulfill your promise."
"My army will take the castle soon enough."
Varys sat in shadow.
Time passed.
When the candle neared its end, muffled sounds echoed outside.
Moments later, tribal warriors brought in a woman.
She limped badly, clutching her arm.
Karl saw her clearly in the dim light.
Bruises. Torn clothing. Hollow eyes.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"I serve as an assistant cook," she replied steadily.
"And your injuries?"
"They raped me," she said calmly. "But they still require food. So I live."
No tears.
No hysteria.
Only exhaustion.
"You know where the Lannisters are?"
"Yes, my lord."
She nodded.
"They returned after the battle at the Dragon Gate. Like years ago."
Her eyes darkened.
"But worse."
"They kill without reason. Servants. Children."
She swallowed.
"I remember one of them. He dragged Princess Rhaenys from beneath her bed years ago."
Her voice trembled faintly.
"He stabbed her again and again."
The room fell silent.
Even Bronn's expression hardened.
Karl's face remained calm—but his eyes grew cold.
"Where are they now?" he asked quietly.
The woman met his gaze.
"In the Tower of the Hand."
She took a slow breath.
"They believe no one would dare strike them here."
Karl turned toward his men.
"Prepare."
The candle guttered.
Its flame flickered.
Then went out.
Darkness swallowed the room.
And with it—
Mercy.
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