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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 69: The Spider's Web
The shadows had always been Varys's true home.
Not the busy streets filled with people going about their day, but the spaces in between them...the alleys where secrets were whispered, the doorways where shady deals were struck, and the darkness where eyes were always watching every movement and every sound.
This was the environment that had nurtured him as a street rat and where he had learned how to thrive.
At a young age, he had built networks in King's Landing, Pentos, Volantis, Myr, and Lys.
But Asshai was proving to be a different beast. Here, the secrets were older and more dangerous. The price for knowledge was often paid with blood instead of money, and the shadows themselves seemed to hunger for those who ventured too deep.
Varys pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and moved through the narrow streets, his soft footsteps barely audible on the ancient stone.
The cold blue flames of the braziers cast their eerie light on the black walls. He had learned to move through darkness long ago, but the darkness of Asshai was different...it felt aware, watchful, as if it had eyes of its own.
He suddenly stopped. He was no longer alone.
A figure emerged from a doorway ahead, robed in red and black. Varys's body tensed, but only for the time it took him to confirm that this masked individual was the one he had been expecting.
"There you are." The voice came from behind a lacquer mask, smooth and calm.
"You called, Quaithe." Varys kept his voice low, barely a whisper. The shadowbinder had summoned him through one of his informants, claiming that she had important information that she would only give to him in person.
Varys decided it was worth the risk of coming here alone, or at least he hoped. This woman could see things that had not yet happened. Joffrey had said her abilities were legitimate, and Joffrey was not easily impressed.
"You are late," she added.
"I had to be cautious." Varys's eyes darted to the shadows, to the windows, to any place where a spy might hide. "It is difficult to move in this city without being seen, and I have little skill for fighting."
Quaithe tilted her mask. "Come." She opened the door for him, and Varys walked inside, scanning everything for threats.
The house was small and simple, almost devoid of any furniture except for a table and a few chairs. The room was illuminated by two torches, emitting the same cold blue fire that could be seen everywhere in Asshai.
The walls were bare, the floor dusty, the windows shuttered. It was the kind of place where people met when they did not want to be remembered.
Varys doubted this was Quaithe's house, or that she spent any significant amount of time here. It was a tool, nothing more.
"Very cozy," he said with a hint of sarcasm.
"It is useful." That was all the explanation she gave him. "Shall we dispense with the pleasantries?"
"I would love to. Why did you call me?"
The shadowbinder was silent for a moment. Then she looked at him and stepped closer. "Your prince is too bright for this place."
Varys raised an eyebrow. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
"The Shadow Lands devour light. They hunger for it like a wild beast. And he is…" She paused, as if searching for the right words. "He is a beacon. A red-hot flame in the cold darkness. Everything that should remain asleep is now stirring awake because of him...drawn by his light."
"The shadows?. Can we stop with the riddles?." Varys asked. "Are you referring to the shadowbinders? Are they planning something?"
Quaithe shook her head. "They are always planning something. But they are not the ones you should be wary of. The threat I speak of is something much more ancient and dangerous."
Varys considered this. "Should I be frightened as well?"
"You should be careful. Keep your mind open for possibilities you never considered before."
Varys's expression did not change. "And what would you have me do? Warn him about some vague threat from the shadows and advise him to leave?"
"Nothing at all." Quaithe's voice was soft, almost sad. "Because there is nothing you can do. The prince will do what he must, as he has always done. Your role in this, Lord Varys, is to watch, to observe, to record everything you can." She stepped back into the shadows, away from the cold blue light. "When the time comes, you will know what you must do."
"When the time comes." Varys could not hide the frustration in his voice. "But if you do not tell me what you know, how am I supposed to do anything about it?"
"I assure you that I am trying to help. But I can only see glimpses of what is to come. Saying too much would only cause ripples that would distort everything." Her body could no longer be seen, as if she had been swallowed by the darkness in the room. "Take care, Lord Varys. You still have an important role to play in all this. Do not underestimate what you can do."
Her voice vanished as well, leaving Varys alone with his thoughts.
Varys looked around the small room, but could no longer see or hear anything. He felt a cold shiver running down his back and rushed out, eager to leave this place behind.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
The harbor was busier than usual, though Varys could not say why. Ships from a dozen nations crowded the docks, their crews moving through the streets in search of wine and women. The sailors of Asshai were a strange lot...always masked and silent, their eyes as empty as those of the slaves who walked the streets. They moved like ghosts, their footsteps muffled, their voices absent.
Varys avoided them. He had his own contacts, his own informants, his own little birds who sang for silver and traded secrets for survival.
He met them in a tavern near the docks, a low building with black stone walls and a sign that bore the image of a lion with a snake for a tail. The inside was dark, lit only by the blue candles that offered little light.
Shadows pooled in the corners, and the air was thick with the smell of smoke and cheap wine. It was as if warmth and light were treated as commodities in this city, sold only to those who could afford them.
The man who sat across from him wore a hooded cloak and a simple mask of hammered copper, featureless save for two slits for his eyes.
Varys did not know his name, nor did he want to. Names were dangerous. Names could be traced.
"The Red Temple is divided," the man said, his voice muffled by the mask. "They have been watching the Baratheon prince since before he arrived in Asshai. They knew he was coming with the Dragon Princess."
"They had already admitted as much," Varys said, recalling what he had heard about Joffrey and Daenerys's conversation with the red priestess Lyssara.
"The flames show us many things." The man leaned closer. "But interpretation is where the conflict arises. The temple views the prince as a dangerous variable...a threat to their plans."
"A threat? We have never made any moves against the Red Temple." Varys's voice was cold. The only enemies Joffrey had attacked since arriving in this city were the warlocks, and they had started that conflict.
"It matters not. The High Priest believes that Daenerys Targaryen is the chosen one. A gift from R'hllor, along with her dragons." The man's voice dropped to a whisper. "Many share his vision. They see the Mother of Dragons as an instrument of divine will...something to be guided, protected, and controlled."
Varys did not like the sound of that. "Who is this High Priest?"
"He is known as High Priest Malachar. No one knows his real identity or where he came from. He has served the temple for decades. He is patient, calculating, and utterly without mercy."
"And by controlling the princess, you mean…"
The masked man nodded. "The claim is that she should not be left to her own devices. The High Priest fears that the Baratheon prince will corrupt her, lead her astray from the path the Lord of Light has set for her." He paused. "Some of the highest members of the temple have agreed that he should be removed."
"Removed." Varys understood one thing clearly: this High Priest and his faction had no idea what they were dealing with if they believed they could simply remove Prince Joffrey. The warlocks already tried that, and now they are all dead.
But that did not make the news any less troubling.
"You said that not everyone agrees with the High Priest. Tell me about that."
The informant nodded slowly. "Priestess Lyssara saw something in the flames that the others did not. Something that terrifies her. She believes that the prince has a crucial purpose in all this and that the temple should not interfere with him. She has been arguing that the Mother of Dragons should be gently guided, not controlled by force. A few of the members agree with Sister Lyssara."
"And I presume you are one of them. That is why you are speaking to me now."
The man said nothing, but his silence was answer enough.
'There is conflict in the Red Temple,' Varys thought. 'I need to speak with the prince about this. He needs to be prepared.'
He slid a pouch of silver across the table. "Thank you. You have been most helpful. This should be well rewarded."
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
Varys returned to the tower as the grey twilight deepened toward nighttime, or something of the sort.
He climbed the spiral staircase to the laboratory, where he found Joffrey alone, studying a map of the Shadow Lands. The cold blue flames burned in their braziers, casting strange shadows on the walls. The prince did not look up as Varys entered.
"The Red Temple is going to become an issue," Varys said without preamble. "Their High Priest, Malachar, leads a faction that wants to remove you. They have expressed a wish to control Princess Daenerys and her dragons, and they see you as an obstacle."
Joffrey set down his quill and looked up. His green eyes were unreadable. "Malachar?"
"High Priest of the Red Temple. He leads the Red God's faith here in Asshai. No one knows his true identity or where he came from, but he has served the temple for decades."
"And he wants to get rid of me."
"Yes." Varys stepped closer. "However, the temple is divided. Some members do not agree with the High Priest's methods. The priestess you spoke with, Lyssara, opposes him."
Joffrey leaned back in his chair. "Lyssara...I see."
"She argues that Daenerys should be gently guided, not controlled by force. But she is outnumbered. The temple's warriors answer to Malachar."
Joffrey was silent for a moment, his fingers drumming on the obsidian table. Then he smiled. "So they want to control Daenerys. Use her dragons for their own purposes, just as the warlocks did before I killed them."
"That seems to be the case."
"And they want to remove me."
"Yes."
Joffrey's smile widened. "They have no idea what they are dealing with."
"Those were also my thoughts," Varys said carefully. "I presume they believe their god and their faith protect them from any opponent. That is how religious people often think."
"Let them believe what they wish." Joffrey rose from his chair and walked to the window, looking out at the grey sky. "I will not let anyone take her from me."
"You sound protective of her," Varys observed.
"I am being practical, Varys. Without her, the rituals cannot continue. Without her dragons, the army cannot be built." He turned to face the eunuch. "Keep watching this High Priest. I wish to know more about him and how much military power the Red Temple holds in Asshai."
"I will keep you informed. The funds—"
"I will give you as much as you need. This is important." Joffrey's tone was bored, dismissive. Money meant little to him. It was just another tool.
"Very well. It shall be done, my prince."
Joffrey nodded. "Good. Now leave me. I have work to do."
Varys bowed and withdrew from the laboratory, leaving Joffrey alone with his thoughts.
As he descended the spiral staircase, Varys could not shake the feeling that the conflict with the Red Temple was inevitable. Malachar was patient, but his patience would not last forever. And when he moved, the consequences would be felt by all of them.
Varys also thought about his conversation with Quaithe. He had never mentioned that encounter to the prince, and now he wondered if he should have said something. As usual, Quaithe had been vague with her words, and he did not feel it was worth the prince's time.
Just a vague, shadowy threat looming in the distance.
'I am supposed to simply observe,' he thought. Watch, record everything, and wait.
But as he stepped into the main chamber, where the cold blue flames flickered, and the shadows danced on the walls, he wondered if watching would be enough...
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