Chapter 123: And You Still Say You Didn't Poison Him?
"Heehee~ I think this move should go here, my lord."
From inside the room beyond the door came a girl's sweet, tinkling laughter. A moment later, it was answered by another voice—soft, oily, and steeped in perfume.
"My lady, I am hardly a lord. The true giant here is yours."
"Then you should call me by my name, not 'my lady,'" the girl replied with mild protest. Then she added quickly, "Though I do rather like the title—so you may put it in front of my name."
"How very reasonable, Lady Shae," the soft voice replied with a chuckle.
"Then it is my turn."
A crisp clack followed—the sound of something hard being set down on the table.
Standing outside his study, the dwarf listened to the scene within and shook his head faintly.
Then the knowing look vanished from his face. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
A shaft of golden sunlight poured in through the round window, falling across the floor and illuminating a bare foot, pale and smooth as polished jade.
Shae sat laughing at a low table, leaning comfortably to one side. She wore a loose, vivid green dress, and between her fingers she held a stone game piece carved with what looked like an animal's head.
Opposite her sat the eunuch, Varys—upright yet relaxed. Draped in a robe of rich purple, he stroked his chin thoughtfully, as though pondering his next move.
The sudden opening of the door startled them both.
But it was the dwarf who greeted them first.
"Good afternoon, my friends—especially the lovely Lady Shae."
With that, he opened his arms wide, moving to embrace his treasure, newly returned.
Shae leaned down and whispered softly into his ear.
"Good afternoon, my lord."
At once, the eunuch set down his game piece and rose to offer a respectful bow.
"Lord Lannister, good afternoon. You look well—everything settled, I trust?"
Instead of answering, Tyrion seized the moment to nip gently at Shae's earlobe, making her giggle and draw her neck in shyly. He kissed the corner of her mouth before finally releasing her and turning his attention to Varys.
He seemed not the least bit surprised to find both the eunuch and Shae here together.
Smiling, the dwarf nodded.
"Everything is quite in order. I've made all the necessary arrangements."
"And do those arrangements include me, Lord Tyrion?" Varys asked, a hint of urgency creeping into his voice.
"You know how stifling confinement can be—I've always preferred… wider horizons."
"Well…" Tyrion hesitated. "Today truly isn't the best moment. But I promise—next time. How does that sound?"
Today really wasn't the right time.
At least, Tyrion felt he still needed just a little more time.
Varys neither agreed nor objected. He merely smiled again and calmly resumed his seat.
"I trust you completely, Lord Tyrion," he said smoothly. "Just as you trust me."
I don't, the dwarf admitted silently to himself—though his face never lost its smile.
"Of course," Tyrion replied aloud.
"After all, you personally returned Shae to me—rather than doing anything… foolish."
At that, the eunuch's face twisted into an expression of wounded innocence.
"I had no choice, my lord. Please believe me—my intention was never to abduct Lady Shae, only to protect her."
"In that situation, had I reacted any slower—or had I not, regrettably, ordered my men to pose as ruffians—I would never have been able to deliver her back to you, safe and sound."
Tyrion did not believe a single word the eunuch said.
To him, it was a threat—an exhibition of power and reach.
A reminder of what he could do.
Just like this.
But Tyrion had no intention of ruining such a pleasant lie by tearing it open.
The dwarf smiled.
"I should thank you, Varys."
At Tyrion's words, Varys's smile grew humbler still.
"It is only my duty, my lord. Regrettably, misunderstandings arose between us."
The eunuch's face was a portrait of anxious sincerity. Who, seeing it, would not be inclined to believe him?
And so Tyrion chose to believe.
"If it was a misunderstanding, then all the better. Such things can always be cleared up in time. Still, compared with a loyal servant such as yourself… sigh…"
"Why does the Hand of the King sigh?" Varys asked softly.
"Compared to you, the Grand Maester and the Master of Coin have been deeply disappointing. It saddens me."
"Then I believe there is no need for you to be sad at all, Lord Tyrion."
That answer piqued Tyrion's curiosity. He turned his head slightly.
"Oh? And why is that, Lord Varys?"
Varys withdrew his hands from his sleeves and shook his head regretfully.
"Because, my lord, you have only just arrived in King's Landing and do not yet fully understand. In truth…"
"In truth, what?"
"In truth, your decision to arrest those two men was a good thing."
The eunuch's tone was firm, his eyes filled with just the right measure of sorrow and reflection.
"Even during the reign of House Targaryen, the seeds of disaster had already been sown—and our Grand Maester here played no small part in that."
"When King Robert's rebellion reached its climax at the Trident, the Targaryen dynasty was already finished. The rebels marched south."
"At the time, I urged King Aerys not to open the gates of King's Landing to your father, Lord Tywin Lannister—nor to place his trust in him."
"But this time, Aerys II listened instead to Grand Maester Pycelle's counsel… and opened the gates."
"Your brother, Ser Jaime Lannister, was witness to all of it."
Varys sighed gently.
"How ironic. Perhaps the one time Aerys should have listened to me… he did not."
He told the tale softly, letting it unfold like an old secret shared among friends.
Shae listened, rapt. She had never heard such courtly history before.
"But why?" she asked eagerly. "Aren't maesters supposed to be impartial?"
Tyrion already suspected the answer—but he wanted to hear Varys's version.
"As long as one is human," Varys replied, "true impartiality is impossible. Surely you understand that, Lady Shae."
Shae nodded slowly, eyes bright with confused curiosity.
"As for Grand Maester Pycelle," Vrarys continued, "it would be more accurate to say that his loyalty lay not with the realm—but with House Lannister."
"Toward the end of Robert's Rebellion, he likely believed that Lord Tywin would claim the throne. And so he persuaded Aerys to open the gates."
"What followed… I imagine I need not explain further."
---
"I DID IT FOR HOUSE LANNISTER!"
Sweat gleamed on the old man's broad forehead. Wisps of white hair clung to his sagging skin.
A Valyrian steel dagger—its hilt shaped from dragonbone—glided back and forth beneath his chin.
"For years… for decades…"
"Podrick Payne—go ask the Imp! Ask Queen Cersei! Ask Lord Tywin himself! I was always loyal!"
"It was me who told Aerys to open the gates—!"
Pod had not yet been born when King's Landing fell. So he calmly shaved the old man's beard.
Scrape. Scrape.
The sound of steel cutting hair made the scribe nearby shake uncontrollably as he scribbled down every word.
The dagger crept closer to Pycelle's throat.
He broke.
"I—I did it for the realm!"
His sobbing sounded like a saw biting into rotten wood.
"Rhaegar was dead. The war was decided. Aerys was mad—everyone knew it! And Prince Aegon was still a suckling babe!"
"The realm needed a king… I hoped Lord Tywin would take the burden—but Robert was too strong, and Stark moved too quickly…"
The dagger stopped.
So did Pycelle's voice.
The charcoal pencil snapped in the scribe's hand.
The truth was uglier than history remembered.
"Which means," Pod said coolly, "that the slaughter that followed… was inseparable from you."
Pycelle swallowed hard.
Pod smiled faintly.
"Pick up the pencil. Keep writing."
---
Varys's sigh drifted through the study.
"And then there was Lord Eddard Stark…"
"If you had been there, my lord, you would not doubt me."
"Lord Stark was rigid as northern ice—but for his family, he could bend."
"When he was imprisoned, I went to him disguised. I convinced him to confess to crimes he did not commit—for Sansa's sake."
"So Cersei would allow him to take the black, and war could be avoided."
"He asked me the same question you once did."
Who do you serve?
"And what did you answer?" Tyrion asked quietly.
Varys shrugged, a weary smile on his face.
"That I serve neither ambition nor pride nor loyalty—but the realm itself."
"Just like you, my lord."
"But Joffrey shattered that hope. He chose execution."
"He is a shameful king… vain, cruel, debauched…"
___
"Renly plotted with Highgarden's rose—gods as my witness—!"
Pycelle babbled now, unraveling.
Pod tapped the dagger against his throat.
"Skip that. Tell me about Jon Arryn."
Pycelle trembled violently.
"He knew… about… about—"
"Skip it."
Pod leaned closer.
"Who killed him?"
"Was it you?"
"No—! Not me!"
"He planned to send his wife back to the Eyrie… his son to Dragonstone… and then act—"
Pod's voice was ice.
"And you still say you didn't poison him?"