"What has happened to Arya?" Eddard Stark asked hoarsely.
His long, solemn face seemed carved from grief itself. The damp air of the Black Cells clung to him like a shroud. He hated the Lannisters—hated their deceit, their cruelty—but in this moment he hated himself even more.
Varys folded his soft hands within his sleeves and regarded him calmly.
"Your youngest daughter escaped Ser Meryn Trant. She still carries the wildness of her direwolf," Varys said gently. "Neither the Lannister guards nor my own little birds have been able to locate her. That, at least, may be counted as a mercy. His Grace King Joffrey does not hold affection for her."
Eddard closed his eyes briefly.
"And Sansa?"
"Your eldest daughter remains in the Red Keep. Queen Cersei keeps her close. She is still betrothed to Joffrey. The girl pleaded for you before the court only days ago. It was… quite moving. Had you seen it, I believe even your stoic heart would have broken."
Eddard's chest tightened painfully. Bringing his daughters south had been a mistake—a fatal one. The winds of King's Landing were not the clean winds of the North; they were poisoned, heavy with intrigue and ambition.
"They will use them," Ned said quietly. "As hostages."
Varys inclined his head. "Such practices are not uncommon in troubled times."
A long silence stretched between them.
"Lord Eddard," Varys continued softly, "surely you understand the gravity of your position?"
"I understand enough," Ned muttered. "But Cersei would not dare kill me. Not openly."
The wine he had been given earlier burned through his veins. Hunger and exhaustion dulled his senses, and the darkness of the cell pressed in on him.
"One can never say what a cornered lioness will do," Varys replied. "You hold few cards, my lord."
"Then let her kill me," Ned snapped bitterly. "Or you may do it yourself. Cut my throat and be done with it."
Varys chuckled, the sound light and oddly warm in the cold chamber.
"You mistake me. I have little interest in the blood of wolves."
"You stood silent in the Throne Room," Ned accused. "When they seized me. You said nothing."
Varys laughed outright this time.
"Oh, Lord Stark. When will you awaken to the truth of this city? Had that moment come again, I would behave exactly the same."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"I am no knight. I carry no sword, no armor, no men-at-arms. I was surrounded by Lannister red cloaks. Each of us plays a role in this grand performance. The royal executioner must look fearsome. The Master of Coin must count his coppers with miserly devotion. The Lord Commander must embody valor."
He smiled faintly.
"And the Master of Whisperers must be subtle, cautious, and alive. A brave whisperer is as useless as a cowardly knight."
Ned studied the eunuch's powdered face. It was like a painted mask. How many masks did the man wear? And beneath them all—what lay there?
"Can you free me?" Ned asked at last.
Varys paused.
"It would not be easy," he admitted. "But not impossible."
Ned's gaze sharpened.
"At what cost?" Varys continued smoothly. "Every suspicion would fall upon me. Why would I assume such risk? Unless…"
"Unless what?"
"A man in the Black Cells must learn to bow his head," Varys said. "Your northern bannermen cannot reach you in time. Nor can any allies across the Narrow Sea. If I were you, I would consider survival above pride."
"You would have me beg?" Ned's voice hardened. "That would dishonor me."
"I did not use that word," Varys replied lightly. "Honor is a luxury I was never granted."
Ned swallowed his pride.
"Then deliver a letter for me."
"That depends entirely on its contents," Varys said. "I will provide parchment and quill if you wish. I will read what you write. Whether it is sent depends upon whether it aligns with my… objectives."
"Your objectives?" Ned asked sharply. "And what are those, Lord Varys?"
"Peace," Varys answered without hesitation.
The word echoed strangely in the darkness.
"If there was one soul in King's Landing who truly wished to preserve King Robert's life, it was I. For fifteen years I labored to shield him from daggers—seen and unseen. Yet in the end, I failed."
Ned's jaw tightened. "Then why remain?"
"Because chaos devours the innocent first," Varys replied. "And because men like you still exist."
Ned gave a hollow laugh. "Look where that has brought me."
Varys surveyed the damp stones of the Black Cells.
"Honor is admirable," he said softly. "But it can be… expensive."
Ned leaned his head against the wall.
"The wine Robert drank," he murmured. "Lancel had a hand in it."
Varys lifted a brow.
"You already know the answer, my lord. The King loved wine. Lancel provided it. The Queen ensured it flowed freely. Hunting accidents are regrettably common. And had it not been a boar, it might have been a fall from a horse… or a sudden arrow in the woods."
He tilted his head.
"Events such as these rarely hinge upon a single method."
Ned's eyes flickered.
"And you say this concerns me?"
"In part," Varys said. "Cersei would not have delayed much longer. Robert was increasingly unpredictable. And then there was you."
"Me?"
"With respect, Lord Stark, you dug too openly. Your visits to certain brothels were hardly subtle. Your inquiries into the King's bastards stirred dangerous waters. And trusting Petyr Baelish…" Varys shook his head gently. "That was unfortunate."
Ned closed his eyes.
"It was my error."
"Blame not the gods too harshly," Varys said. "The Queen would have moved eventually. After Robert, she must contend with his brothers—Stannis, unyielding as iron, and Renly, charming as silk. Yet you inserted yourself between lion and prey."
He paused.
"And now all bleed."
Ned frowned faintly.
"I have heard," Varys continued, "that Lord Baelish suggested you bend the knee to Joffrey."
"How do you know that?"
Varys smiled.
"I have my methods."
He folded his hands once more.
"Queen Cersei may visit you soon."
"Why?"
"My lord," Varys sighed, "you are ill-suited for this city. The Queen fears many threats. Jaime wages war in the Riverlands. Lady Lysa guards the Eyrie. Dorne harbors old blood feuds. Your son gathers northern banners."
"Robb is only a boy!"
"Indeed. A boy commanding an army."
Ned fell silent.
"But the true storms," Varys continued, "are the Baratheons."
He lowered his voice.
"Stannis. Renly. And the boy you legitimized—Gendry."
Ned's head snapped up.
"Gendry is Robert's rightful heir."
"Perhaps," Varys allowed. "But rightful heirs do not always bring peace."
He paced slowly.
"The boy blacksmith has already spilled blood across the Narrow Sea. Khal Drogo. Khal Jhaqo. Myrish archons. Tyroshi captains. His victories have grown… dramatic."
Ned stared at him in disbelief.
"He would avenge his father," Ned insisted.
"Or use your death to strengthen his claim," Varys countered softly. "If House Stark and House Lannister become irreconcilable enemies, he gains a martyr and a cause."
Ned's hands trembled.
"You advise me to live," he said bitterly.
"I advise you to be useful," Varys replied.
He stepped closer.
"Confess your error. Declare the will false. Renounce treason. Proclaim Joffrey the true king. The Queen will spare you—perhaps send you to the Wall. Your honor remains intact in the eyes of many. Your daughters live."
Ned recoiled.
"You ask me to betray Robert."
"I ask you to preserve your bloodline."
The silence grew heavier.
"If you die," Varys pressed gently, "your son must fight. He will bleed. Perhaps kneel to the blacksmith king you so trust. And what sort of ruler will that bastard become?"
Ned said nothing.
"Imagine it," Varys continued. "Reconciliation between Stark and Lannister. Sansa wed to Joffrey. Arya to Tommen. Your heir allied to Myrcella. A united realm."
"Impossible," Ned whispered.
"Nothing is impossible in King's Landing."
Varys's voice softened.
"Think of your daughters."
Ned's composure finally cracked.
"Sansa is only a child."
"And children have died before," Varys said quietly. "You remember the Targaryen children."
Ned flinched as if struck.
Tears welled in his eyes.
"I gave Robert my word."
"And what of the promises you made to your daughters?" Varys asked gently.
The Black Cells seemed colder than ever.
Ned turned his face away, tears slipping down his cheeks.
"Let Sansa forgive me," he whispered. "I swore to Robert."
Varys watched him for a long moment.
"Truly," he murmured at last, "a cruel father."
And with that, the Spider withdrew, leaving the wolf alone in the dark.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)