The more I got to know Jaime, the more he amazed me. He had all the makings of a great man. I had no doubt that he himself was aware of this, yet for reasons I could not fully grasp, he did everything he could to remain nothing more than just the Kingslayer. He despised his past, yet clung to it with stubborn tenacity.
Yes, that was how he had lived for years. But lately, he had begun to change. And I had to help him become a better man. Just as he will have to help me.
"On the isle of Faces."
"Why?"
"It's the right thing to do," I replied firmly. In that moment, I finally understood that it was true—this was my path. "I need to be there. I don't know what I'll find, or whether I'll find anything at all. But I have to try."
"When?" I heard newly awakened curiosity in his voice.
"First, everything must be settled in Riverrun. So—on the way back." I hesitated for a heartbeat. "Will you let me go?"
"Yes," he said after a pause, his gaze fixed on the distance. "On one condition. You take me with you."
"I was going to ask you that myself," I smiled faintly. "Thank you, Father!"
The silence that followed was long—very long. Jaime clenched his jaw and stared out toward the horizon. It seemed as though nothing mattered to him more than holding his gaze there, and only there. He was clearly made a considerable effort not to turn toward me. The sound of rolling waves and the lonely, mournful cry of a gull were the only things that broke the stillness. The air smelled of dampness.
"So you found out after all…"
"Yes."
"And now what?"
"Nothing. Everything will remain the same. And everything will change."
"Are you judging me?" He finally looked at me.
"I used to judge you far more harshly."
"How long ago?"
"A long time ago. Just don't ask me how I found out."
"I won't."
We fell silent once more. The wind strengthened, rocking the trees harder and harder. Somewhere nearby, a horse whinnied. The air grew colder. Yet the silence between us felt natural—right. It was as though we understood one another without words, drawing closer in that understanding. Only men could share such silence, and this one was worth a hundred speeches.
"Will you help me, Father?" I asked, moistening my dry lips.
"With what?"
"To become king."
"You are already king," he replied, a faint smirk audible in his voice.
"A real king. Brave and judicious… wise and just… honest and far-sighted…"
"Yes," he said at last. "I will help you, son."
***
Varys
Varys had been born in Lys, one of the Free Cities, and raised among a traveling troupe of actors who sailed from port to port, performing in cities on both sides of the Narrow Sea.
Looking back on his past—on the monstrous event that had scarred his childhood—Varys admitted to himself that had he not been castrated, he would never have achieved anything of consequence in life.
He became a eunuch. And then the Spider.
Some doors closed forever, yet others opened unexpectedly. And he discovered talents and abilities within himself that he never knew he had.
His story and rise to power began in Myr, continued in Qarth, was solidified in Pentos, and would most likely end in King's Landing. Though—who could truly say?
All those years, as he climbed rung after rung, he was haunted by nightmares and by the voice of the sorcerer who had taken his manhood…
So he believed in magic and retained his fear of it for the rest of his life. Varys believed in magic. As for the gods, he was never quite certain. If you think about it, if magic existed, why should gods not exist as well? And yet, the presence of one proved absolutely nothing about the other.
Magic, however, he knew. And magic, he feared.
That fear was why he had supported Joffrey against Stannis. Stannis was aided by Melisandre—a dark sorceress and a devotee of R'hllor. That alone had been enough for Varys to choose his side.
Joffrey, however, was never meant to be permanent. He was a temporary solution, a necessary evil, a compromise—a way to buy time until greater plans could come to fruition.
And yet, life delighted in irony. So fearful of magic, Varys ultimately found himself serving its living embodiment—dragons. And their Mother.
Who could have imagined that the little Targaryen girl whom he and his old friend Illyrio Mopatis had chosen to support would become what she became?
No one could have foreseen it. Not even Varys—despite his talent for long-term planning and peering into the future.
Varys never considered himself kind or virtuous. But he did have principles. And once he had chosen his goal—once he had selected the one he intended to place upon the Iron Throne—he could not simply renounce that choice.
To betray his rules, his ideals, his principles would have been unbearable. It would have meant the destruction of everything he valued—his honor, such as it was, as a eunuch.
All his actions were part of a grand Game that encompassed the entire world. The Game of Thrones fascinated him, and within it he felt as a fish feels in water. The presence of other players only sharpened his interest and heightened the thrill.
That was how things stood—until Oberyn Martell arrived in King's Landing.
The man was undeniably capable, gifted in many ways, and possessed of great potential. And yet the eunuch disliked him intensely. Varys had never cared for people of that sort—loud, flamboyant, rash, forever standing in the spotlight!
(End of Chapter)
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