Geralt awoke with a face of cold water, smelling of rot and human excrement. He was missing his sword, both silver and steel and was hung bare from waist to shoulder.

"Wakey, wakey." The guard flashed a toothless grin. "How much you want to bet he breaks before noon?"

"Hans, you're not getting out of this mess that easily."

"Yeah, I know."

He shuffled the dice and threw them on the table.

"Two pair."

"Come on. Daddy needs a brand new belt."

"Fuck." He stared down at two dice below him as snake eyes stared upward back at him.

"Heh, heh. You're not getting out of this mess that easy."

The third man rolled and scored a six before looking over at Geralt's form in the corner.

"Hear he took a king's guard before they carted him off."

"What's he here for anyways?"

"Besides murder? Conspiracy."

"Blokes been snooping around in ways that made him extra suspicious. But still." The guard looked again towards Geralt, unshaven, lice covered, half naked, with a despondent expression on his face. "It's a shame to see him in this state given what he was."

"Let him rot with the rest of the Northern spies. At least until the Tickler gets a hold of him.

The door opened, blinding Hans, as a trickle of light emanated from the hallway.

"Oi, the eunuch." He looked towards the approaching figure. "Guy gives me the creeps."

"Everybody out. Gentlemen, your table."

The man was large, rotund. He wore fine clothing and a golden robe and just as well draped his hands into his sleeves. "The Tickler, I presume."

Varys sat down. The room silent, as he looked towards the incapacitated Witcher.

"I've been told that you killed ten of our men yesterday."

"Twenty."

"Four."

"What's it to you?"

"And that you've been searching through Flea Bottom."

"I've been searching for someone."

"A woman with ashen hair and a scar on her face," Varys smirked. "No, Geralt I am not the Tickler, but they do however call me the Spider."

"Your name is Geralt of Rivia. Your whereabouts, prior to your arrival in Hasting are unknown, as if taken out of thin air. You are, quite curiously, astute with magic much like the Warlocks of Quarth, and are capable of influencing the minds of others through hand signs, of drawing fire, much like yourself, from thin air, and of crafting barriers both to defend and to enshrine others. You wield two swords, one steel and the other silver, but over the prior week have only used the steel one. Why is that?"

"Ones for humans, the other for monsters."

"Monsters?"

Geralt hesitated, unsure of whether to divulge more information but falling below the man's all knowing stare he suspected he already knew.

"I'm not from Westeros."

"From Essos?"

"No. Previously I was in a place called Velen in a world far away from this one."

"Other worlds? Come now."

"It's true."

A pregnant pause. A moment silence gathered above the two men. And the Spider began to speak.

"Do you know how I became The Spider, a eunuch?" He asked rhetorically. "When I was a boy, I was poor, lived across the sea. What I couldn't beg for I'd steal and learned one thing after nearly losing my hand. That there's nothing of greater value to steal than knowledge.

Unfortunately, as I learned, another came to the same conclusion and duped through a lack of knowledge once again I fell into the hands of a sorcerer." He paused, gauging Geralt's reaction as the later struggled not to move in his seat. "I can still remember him tossing my privates into the fire, as well as the disembodied voice I heard later that night.

There are stranger things in this world, Geralt, than in mine or in any other's reality. So, Geralt, why don't you tell me a tale of this 'Velen.'"

"In Velen, in my world, monsters are common."

"Like manticores?" Varys asked, referring to the small, insect-like creature.

"No. Like dragons. Wyverns, and trolls. There are also people who kill these monsters for profit called Witchers. We can use magic and through a ritual are given powers far surpassing other men. There are also sorcerers in my world. But they can do far more than I've heard your Warlocks of Quarth can."

Varys paused, considering the new information. "Magic has long dissipated from Westeros. But returning. Along with dragons and an exiled noble intent on conquering the country with three of them. Which brings me to my request, Geralt. Westeros is in a state of disarray. In exchange for information about this ashen haired woman, Cirilia, I want you to fight for us."

"Against dragons?"

"No. Against men. The disarray comes not from dragons but from a civil war that threatens to tear this country apart. The Northern rebellion will be dealt with but I want you to travel to the Riverlands and lay siege beneath Kevan Lannister against House Tully. Then, and if you serve us faithfully, we'll provide you not only with knowledge but will bankroll your search for Ciri."

Geralt loathed politics, and bound to them again could not help but grimace, but the proposition voice by the eunuch, the Spider, was the best lead he'd obtained in weeks, perhaps months.

"When do I set off?"