Euron moved like a shadow, infiltrating the Red Keep of King's Landing soundlessly.
Towering walls and tight security were nothing to him, who had mastered Geppo (Moonwalk) and Soru (Shave). His target was clear—the Spider deep within the castle, Varys.
This Master of Whisperers ranked extremely high on Euron's list, a vital piece of the puzzle. What Euron valued wasn't just Varys himself, but his pervasive intelligence network spanning the Seven Kingdoms, and his unique method of training "little birds." These were the true treasures.
Varys possessed an elusive talent: he could seep into any crack like quicksilver.
The rags of a beggar, the gloom of a gaoler, the shrewdness of a merchant, even the soft grace of a woman—he could imitate them all perfectly by altering his voice, gait, and subtle expressions. He was a true master of disguise, able to dissolve himself perfectly into the background of any crowd.
Thus, when King Aerys descended completely into madness, resolving to bury King's Landing and all his subjects with him, the Spider evaporated like dew at dawn. Leaving not a word behind, he vanished silently into the intricate shadows and secret passages of the Red Keep, his destination unknown to all.
Euron's figure moved through the shadows cast by the massive stone walls of the Red Keep. Varys's disappearance didn't surprise him, nor did it slow him down. He came prepared.
At a deserted corner, he precisely intercepted a handmaiden carrying linen towels, her head bowed in submission. Her name was Elana. The moment their eyes met, a swift gleam flashed in hers before she reverted to her submissive, numb expression. She was a key piece Euron had buried deep within the Red Keep as part of his vast "Internal Affairs Plan" (Note: referencing the spy/mole concept).
After years of careful training and disguise, she lurked here in an unassuming role. Her most critical core mission was to use every method possible to keep eyes on the elusive Spider, recording his habits, figuring out his routes, and even spying on the traces of his secret network.
Elana kept her eyes lowered, her voice so soft it almost melted into the shadows of the wall. "Master, Varys vanished before Lord Tywin's army entered the city. He left the Red Keep, disappearing like a drop of water into sand."
Euron's gaze didn't waver. "Where is he now?"
Elana bowed her head slightly. "He could be a beggar, a whore... or anyone. But he must still be in King's Landing, and he has completely changed his identity."
"Possible hiding spots?" Euron's voice grew colder.
"I don't know exactly which crack he's hiding in," Elana looked up, a determined light flashing in her eyes. "But I can find him. I haven't spent these years watching him come and go for nothing."
Euron nodded slightly. "Lead the way."
Elana turned immediately, her skirt brushing silently over the stone steps as she led Euron deeper into the darkness of the Red Keep.
Elana led the way. She didn't walk straight but deliberately slowed down or paused briefly every time she passed a corridor or corner. In those moments, Euron saw her delicate nose twitch imperceptibly, as if catching some invisible trace in the air.
Euron's gaze was sharp as a hawk; he noticed the subtle action immediately. "You track by scent?"
"Yes, Master." Elana didn't deny it, her voice remaining calm.
Euron's next question went straight to the point. "What if he uses strong spices, or cheap perfume common to whores, to mask his scent?"
Elana turned her head. Moonlight through a high window illuminated half her face, her eyes bright and certain.
"Spices and perfumes can change the smell, but they cannot completely erase the source. He is a eunuch," she said lightly. "The scent emanating from deep within his body is... distinct from whole men or any woman. That hollowness is a unique marker that no amount of spice can cover."
Elana guided Euron through the unknown veins of King's Landing as if she knew her own palm lines. They ducked into an underground tunnel reeking of rot and mold, muddy water covering their ankles. On a relatively dry stone ledge around a corner lay a familiar set of luxurious robes—the very ones Varys wore daily.
Elana didn't stop. Her nostrils flared slightly as she continued tracking. They exited the sewer through a hidden outlet, slipped into a seemingly ordinary house, and passed through its back door. Salty sea breeze hit their faces instantly. Before them was a small dock, currently heavily guarded by hundreds of Western soldiers, torches lighting up the night.
Elana's sharp gaze swept over the dock like a falcon—panicked fishermen, piled crates, civilians shivering as soldiers herded them... Finally, her eyes locked firmly onto an extremely dilapidated fisherman's hut at the end of the pier.
In the gloomy doorway of that hut, a hunched old woman with a face full of deep wrinkles was curled up, seemingly terrified and bewildered by the chaos before her.
Elana's eyes narrowed. She pointed at the figure, her voice low and decisive:
"Master, that's her—Varys!"
Euron stared at the hunched old woman curled in the shadows. No matter how he looked, he couldn't find a trace of Varys. But he trusted not his eyes, but the ability shown by this piece Lysa had meticulously placed years ago.
He walked forward slowly, stopping in front of the old woman. She seemed scared witless by the slaughter around her, trembling like a dry leaf in the wind, burying her head lower, daring not to look anyone in the eye.
Euron revealed a playful smile. His voice wasn't loud, but it cut clearly through the surrounding noise. "Varys?"
The old woman shuddered violently, lifting a face covered in wrinkles of fear and confusion. Her eyes were cloudy, as if she didn't understand a word he said.
Euron squatted down in front of her, closing the distance. His gaze scraped over every fine wrinkle on her face like a blade. "Honorable Master of Whisperers," his tone was steady but carried undeniable pressure, "you should recognize me."
The old woman remained silent, only shaking more violently.
Euron wasted no more words. He tossed the set of Varys's robes he had been carrying—still damp from the sewer—into the mud at the old woman's feet. "My patience is limited. I have no time for role-playing games."
Before his voice faded, the long blade at his waist was unsheathed half an inch, cold light reflecting on his face. "If you are not Varys," Euron's voice turned abruptly cold, carrying a death sentence, "then you are a useless old woman. Living in King's Landing right now is only suffering. I will grant you release. I count to three!"
He began to count, his voice soft but ringing like a funeral bell:
"One..."
"Two..."
Just as "Three" was about to leave his lips, the old woman's trembling body went strangely still. She slowly raised her head. The terror in those cloudy eyes faded, replaced by a bottomless calm and resignation. A voice, distinct from the old woman's appearance—slightly high-pitched and calm—spoke:
"...I am."