That evening, Margaery looked pensive and upset. We lay in each other's arms for a long time, silent.
"Joff, whose path did we cross?" My wife's voice carried not only disappointment in people, but something sharp and threatening as well.
Margaery was never naive fool. She understood that things were rarely simple. But it was one thing to know in the abstract that there were people who disliked you—and quite another to face an attempt on your life. And the blow had caught her off guard, striking just as everything had finally begun to fall into place.
"It's over," I whispered.
"Who could it be?"
"Many people," I replied evasively. I had my suspicions, but it was far too early to voice them. "Promise me one thing."
"Yes, of course."
"Be careful. Very careful."
"I will," she said, pressing her lips together with determination.
"I'll appoint a new cupbearer. You should do the same. You often sit with your friends—they might try to reach you that way."
"I will. I definitely will. But do you think there will be more attempts?"
"Yes. I don't know when, but we have to be ready." I hugged her tightly. "Remember—these are serious people. If we don't find them, they won't stop halfway."
After a while, my wife fell asleep. I lay on my back, turning over everything I knew. It turned out that the jug had been placed on the table while no one was in the room. Then a sudden thought struck me: why had we all assumed the jug of water had been brought in the usual way—through the door?
When the Red Keep was built, the Targaryens riddled it with secret passages. Could there be some in my chambers as well? Could someone have entered through one of them?
After wrestling with these thoughts, I came to several conclusions. In the morning, I summoned Jacob Liddon.
"Jack, I have a task for you—find skilled masons and bring them here."
"Masons?" The steward blinked in surprise.
"Yes."
"Very well, Your Majesty. I will find them."
So, several men began examining my chambers. They tapped the walls, inspected the ceilings, floors, and windows. After several hours, their efforts bore fruit. In the fireplace adjoining the wall, behind the hearth, they discovered a narrow seam that resembled a sealed door.
They were unable to open it by ordinary means, so the masons resorted to crowbars, pickaxes, and rough tools.
The door hidden in the fireplace was forced open—and like a small pebble, it triggered an avalanche.
What they discovered literally stunned us all. A passage from my chambers led into a narrow gallery that ran the length of the entire floor. From it, branches and forks stretched in all directions—up and down. It was a vast network through which one could reach almost any part of the castle: the chambers of the Hand, the Lord Commander, Cersei, Mace Tyrell, Oberyn, and many others of lesser importance.
In many places along these corridors were listening slits, and in some—like my own chambers—full passageways.
To make matters worse, the near-total absence of dust on the floor made it clear that someone used these passages with alarming regularity. What followed defies description.
And then, inevitably, the figure of the Master of Whisperers—Lord Varys—emerged into the light.
When Tywin, Kevan, and I realized this fact, and understood who might be behind it, we immediately summoned Jaime and ordered the arrest of the Spider.
Varys did not even have time to utter a sound before he was taken into custody. Without giving him a moment to recover, Kingsguards escorted him to the Tower of the Hand, where we began the questioning.
"Did you know about these passages, Lord Varys?" Tywin asked calmly.
The eunuch hesitated. He clearly did not want to speak—but had no choice.
"Only those below, near the cells and my chambers."
"So you know nothing about passages that might lead to the king's chambers?" I asked.
Varys shook his head negatively, well aware that such a response would only dig himself into a deeper hole..
"What kind of Master of Whisperers are you if you know nothing about the castle and its hidden ways?" I asked a logical question. "Do you know who uses them?"
The Master of Whisperers shook his head again.
"Your guilt has not yet been proven," Tywin said, joining in. "But your incompetence already has."
Further questioning led nowhere. Varys remained composed and resolute, confessing to nothing and repeating the same words again and again: I know nothing. I did not take part in the attempt on the king's life.
The Spider was taken to his cell.
I was glad things had turned out this way. I remembered these passages from the canon, but amid the chaos of events and the constant whirl of faces, I had somehow forgotten about them. And it turned out very well that now they had not only been revealed—but the Spider himself had been exposed as well.
Varys, like Oberyn, had always inspired deep unease in me. But Oberyn was crippled. He had refused the king's help, relied on his own maester, and—according to rumor—his life was no longer in danger. Still, would he ever become the warrior he had been before his duel with the Mountain?
That remained unclear. And Martell and his maester were in no hurry to reveal their hand.
(End of Chapter)
P@treon: /SadRaven
🥳Joining P@treon keeps me motivated and eager to work diligently, so please consider joining.🥰