His cell was pitch-black. No matter how hard he tried to focus his eyes to adapt to the darkness, he couldn't see a thing. It was eerily quiet in the Black Cells. All he could hear was the sound of water dripping from the ceiling. He couldn't have been locked up for more than a day or two, but it felt much longer. His throat was dry and his stomach was growling.

Every muscle in his body was aching. The undergoaler had chained him to the cold, damp wall by his neck, allowing him neither to sit nor stand, forcing him instead to squat on the filthy straw that padded the ground. The acrid smell of old urine hung in the air. He himself had held his bladder, unwilling to give his tormentor the satisfaction of seeing him soil himself, even though the pressure was beginning to be near unbearable.

This despicable creature takes pleasure in humiliating me. The realization almost stung as much as the pain of the flesh. Rugen was the name the Spider went by down here, but he had instantly recognized him.

He would remember to pay Varys back in kind, though he did not fool himself into thinking that he would get his revenge soon. He'd seen the look in Ned Stark's cold gray eyes. The Northern boy will send me to the Wall, he knew. And no doubt he'll think himself honorable for doing so.

But these were uncertain times. The king in swaddling clothes and his green boy of an uncle wouldn't last until the next winter, and whoever would sit the Iron Throne after him would likely be persuaded to grant him a royal pardon. Like as not they'll make me Lord Commander at the Wall. That should make it easier to enter into negotiations with whoever comes into power.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a key turning in its lock. When he opened his eyes, he could see the faint glow of the torch the Spider carried. The eunuch wore a smile on his round face under the spiked steel cap that was part of his mummer's disguise.

"Is this the way to treat hostages under the new king?" Tywin asked, unable to hide his anger any longer. "Lock them in a hole and starve them to death?"

The eunuch chuckled. "Why, I believe it was you who first gave the order to cut the rations of prisoners to save coin, my lord. And as much as he despises you, Lord Eddard is convinced you are sitting comfortably in a cell on the upper levels, enjoying your supper as we speak. But he hasn't bothered to inquire about you, so I haven't had to disabuse him of his fantasy."

"Have you come to taunt me, eunuch?"

"You wrong me, my lord." Varys pulled out a wine skin from under his half cape of boiled leather, took a generous sip himself and held it to the chained man's lips. "Here. Drink this."

The taste of the wine was dreadful, but he was too thirsty to refuse, gulping it down greedily.

"Your situation is dire. The Dornish want you dead, my lord. So do the alchemists, and the mood in the city is frightful."

"I hardly need you to tell me this," he said, vexed. "Have you nothing of substance you can offer me?"

Varys sighed. "I'm afraid not, my lord. I am here to gather some information myself."

"You are to take my confession." Of course noble Ned Stark will want one before he sentences me. He needs it to satiate his conscience.

"Ah, but we do not require your confession. You were caught red-handed, my lord." Varys said. "Ser Gregor tells me whatever he did he did under your orders, and Lord Brax has been singing just as pretty a song, claiming you permitted the troops to rape and pillage as they please. No. I have a few questions of my own that you will answer."

"I think not."

They stared at each other in silence.

"This pains me," Varys finally said, a sad smile on his face. "But you leave me no choice." He pulled out a thick black long hair. "Do you know what this is, my lord? It's a hair from the tail of your very own warhorse."

"You are planning to force answers from me with a horse's hair?" The thought almost amused him.

But Varys did not laugh. "Yes. I'm afraid I will."