Varys

It so interested him, seeing the wide array of emotions that could past over people's faces concerning the same event. It was something he'd found that the tapestry weavers and grand scenic painters always got wrong when they depicted events in history and thus why they never seemed realistic to him. He thought of the tapestry that depicted Robert first claiming the Iron Throne and cementing his alliance with the Lannisters. It was a grand piece, to be sure, as the weaver had consulted with over a hundred people to ensure that he got every major person's features right. Nearly twenty feet long and eight feet tall, it depicted all the gathered lords as they stood in the Red Keep and Tywin Lannister and Robert Baratheon sealed the alliance between their houses.

Of course it was all a lie and so terribly false.

First and foremost was the smiles depicted on the many shown faces in the Great Hall. That was certainly not how Varys had remembered it, even if no one knew he'd been there; he'd been hiding in one of his favorite little observation spots, high above the Iron Throne itself. He hadn't been a fool and had known that if Robert decided that his working for Aerys could not be forgiven then Varys the Spider would need to disappear and the Council would have to select another to take his place. There always had to be one of their numbers in the Red Keep, just as there must always be one in the Iron Bank and in the Dothraki horde. And those were only the three he knew about; the Council so did love to keep secrets, even from their own members.

What he had seen as he had watched the assembled lords was not a happy gathering. Lord Stark had certainly not smiled as Tywin Lannister, with barely concealed annoyance after hearing that his son had been declared the Kingslayer, presented Robert with the broken bodies of Rhaegar's children. Nor had Robert been smiling serenely at the broken babes as the tapestry artful depicted; no, Robert had looked at them with a manic glee that made even Varys wary. Ser Gregor had been annoyed that there were no more babies for him to murder and Jon Arryn, sensing the conflict between Eddard and Robert, had tried to plaster a smile on his face but failed horribly.

People didn't react the same way, much to Varys' annoyance. Life for him would be so much easier if people reacted like pieces on a Cyvasse board. Place a dragon here and all the pieces did as one would expect, every single time. Some would flee, some would rise up, others would continue on. But in real life it was entirely different. He had seen men one moment fight against a terrible threat only minutes later to flee from another. It was as if something would come over them and turn them into a completely different person. It made it so hard for the Master of Whispers to keep everything on track.

One only had to look about him at the moment to see how one event could cause so many conflicting emotions.

Princess Myrcella was crying, looking back at them from the small rowboat in which she sat with Ser Arys Oakheart seated beside her looking rather awkward and unsure of himself; less because he was being rowed towards the ship that would take him to Sunspear (and the ancient enemies of his family, the Dornish) and more that he didn't know how to handle a whimpering, crying young princess. The men in charge of the oars were grimacing, clearly annoyed that Oakheart had decided to wear his armor and thus add to the weight of the boat.

On the shore there was an even greater collection of conflicting emotions. The High Septon was trying to look impassive but Varys knew for a fact that the man was actually quite giddy as he so did love standing in front of everyone and being the center of attention. In his mind he was the main focus of all gathered and not Myrcella herself. Baelish was quietly fuming to Varys' right, angered that Lord Tyrion had made him a fool with his scheme to discover who was in Cersei's employ and that now he was forced to see the girl he'd hoped to use as yet another pawn in his plans to do… whatever it was Baelish's crazed little brain wanted… sail away. Varys, had he truly been Varys, would have been annoyed as well that Lord Tyrion had used him but since The Spider was merely another role for him the man that he truly was respected deeply the Imp's plan. It was rather cunning and Varys respected that. It was something he'd need to keep in mind and attempt to do himself one day. Perhaps with some variation? Command one little bird to hire three more to attempt to kill him, just to see which were loyal to him and which purely to gold? Or perhaps not him but someone else. An interesting idea.

The Queen was seated on a bench that had been brought for her to the stony shore, trying to be the cool and collected queen but her eyes revealed the hatred and despair she felt over what her brother had done with her child. Tommen was sobbing as his septa tried to comfort him while Joffrey was annoyed that his sister's leaving meant that he had to take time out of his busy schedule of getting in the way of everyone trying to actually rule the Kingdom to watch her go. Next to him stood Sansa Stark, dressed for once in an outfit designed for her form and not the childish clothing she forced on her grown body, her face like an ice sculpture as she stood with the King while the grim form of Sandor Clegane stood at her side.

'If only I could learn more about her,' Varys thought, making sure he never let his gaze linger on the woman. He'd contacted the Council to let them know of the Stark girl's resurrection and transformation and had been told to continue on like normal. It had only been the slight tremble in his contact's voice that had told him that the Council was just as unnerved as he was by the events surrounding her… return. He knew that Lord Tyrion believed her not to be Sansa Stark and Varys understood why; if he hadn't seen her walk out of the sept himself and had confirmation from his little birds that only Sandor Clegane had entered the room that held her corpse he'd have believed it a falsehood as well. But with such evidence what could a Spider do?

So unlike Tyrion he didn't believe her to be a whore… despite the rumors that swirled about the Capital despite the Hand's attempts to keep things quiet. Everything from her being the bastard daughter of Lord Baelish and Lysa Arryn to her being Robb Stark's secret twin sister had been floated about. The Small Folk could be fools… but then again they didn't believe that the girl was the pure and innocent Sansa Stark as the Queen and the rest of the Court did.

Varys knew that the woman before him had been born Sansa Stark. The question was who was she now?

'Or what?' a tiny voice whispered in his head that sounded suspiciously like Gerion.

How he wished his friend was still in the city. He could have used his cunning to get to the heart of the mystery. Varys was a Spider (in this life, at least) but Gerion was a Lion and not just because it was his family's Sigil. He hunted like one and could sniff out information hidden in the weeds better than any man or woman in the world. But they were held to the whims of the Council and Gerion had been sent to the Westerlands to meet with one of his students that served as another of the Council's spies.

Pulling himself from his thoughts he tucked his hands into the sleeves of his large and rather garish robe ('I hate my younger self for thinking that exotic robes would sell my story better') and made his way over to where Lord Tyrion stood, watching as Myrcella became little more than ever shrinking dot in the distance.

"I hope there are no hard feelings for how I used you," Tyrion said without ever looking at him.

"None at all," Varys replied smoothly. "It is a good pairing. Much better than Robert Arryn or Theon Greyjoy. Trystane Martell is said to be a more gentle soul than his father and certainly more than his sister and Uncle. I believe Princess Myrcella will come to thank you greatly for the match."

"I think so as well. I would have preferred to have her wed the heir of a family but I doubt even Dorne would allow two Princesses to wed. As interesting as that would be." Tyrion smirked before growing more serious. "It won't cure all the hate between my family and the Martells but it will help. I am hoping that when Prince Doran comes to take his place on the Small Council I will be able to speak with him. His brother had wed his daughter to Tony's heir and now I have wed a princess to his prince. It is a start and I hope to prove that I, at the very least, am not my father. Hmmm… perhaps one day Jon Stark's child by Natasha might marry Myrcella's child. Bond our houses even further."

He glanced over at the Queen and shook his head as her jaw flexed with tension. "I fear that while the princess will thank you for your actions the queen will not be so quick to forgive."

"My dear sister is much like the not-mourned Ser Gregor and I don't mean because of their love of dresses and braided hair." Varys raised an eyebrow at that and the Hand of the King continued after he'd taken a moment to savor his little joke. Varys had found that Tyrion needed to inject such humor before he got down to serious matters, like a septa using honey to force sour medicine down a child's throat. "You know how the Hound got the scars on his face, do you not?"

"The King has commanded us not to call Clegane by that foul name."

"And I always live to do as the King commands," Tyrion said dryly.

Varys let out a small huff before speaking. "Of course I know how he became scarred. Everyone knows the tale: he took a toy of Gregor's and his brother pressed his face into the family's hearth as punishment."

"A toy Gregor had not played with for ages. That he had outgrown. That he would have tossed away to never think of again, but became possessive of only because Sandor touched it." Tyrion looked over at his sister who sat utterly still, her righthand holding onto her golden false left one so hard it was a wonder it hadn't shattered. "Do you know how often my dear sister has actually had a private conversation with my dear niece since I have arrived in the Capital? I will give you a hint… were I to lose a finger for each time she'd done so I would be able hold a wine glass still in each hand. I once stated that my sister loved her children and that it was her one redeeming trait. I was partially wrong; Cersei loves her children when it is convenient for her. She was all too happy to ignore her youngest when they offered her no strength or power. But now that someone else has seen worth in them suddenly she sobs at the thought of them being taken from her."

"That does explain why she has refused to allow any of the children to leave her sight when she seems to prefer to keep them at arm's length," Varys stated.

"Never has a woman been able to push something from her while also clinging to them so tightly," Tyrion groused as Joffrey, finally growing tired of watching a row boat move away from him, motioned for the Court to rise and begin making their way back to the Red Keep. "My sister seems to forget that when she was Myrcella's age she had left her home and come to dwell in King's Landing. Jaime was a squire and competing in tournaments while Joffrey, at the same age, has been kept in the Red Keep and not allowed to do little more than walk around to torment everyone he could find. Tommen should be learning how to be a knight but instead is treated like an infant. We mock Lysa Arryn and how she has turned "Sweetrobin" into a dullard but Cersei is little better. At least Lysa Arryn pays attention to her child other than when someone else shows interest in them."

"I suppose the Queen remembers what it was like for her, to be tossed about so, and wishes to prevent her children from going through that." Varys shook his head though as they joined with the quickly forming procession that was heading back to the Red Keep. He didn't agree with that idea, of course, but it was in the nature of the Spider to play the Serpent to everyone's Lamb. "Still, I fear that the lack of real-life experience will affect all three of them. The world has a terrible way of forcing children to grow up, despite how we might wish to protect them."

The two of them lapsed into silence and Varys took the time to look about the streets of King's Landing or, to be more specific, to see the reactions of those he walked with to the conditions of the streets and its people. Unlike most of them Varys had been keeping an eye on the Capital and not just thanks to the words of his little birds. He had ambled about its streets and ate in the filthiest holes in Flea Bottom and drank with dockworkers and Steelsmiths during the Hour of the Wolf. Unlike the rest of the Red Keep he knew what the Small Folk really thought and thus what he saw did not shock him in the slightest.

The same could not be same for the others.

Some ignored it, like their King, who found it something he could not amuse himself with and thus beneath him. Others glanced at it and it made them want to hurry not out of fear but from disgust. The Queen's nose was held up and she had a look on her face that Varys wagered she had only worn when Robert had come to her bedchamber smelling of drink and with his cock dangling out of his pants still slick with the juices of yet another whore. Tyrion, for his part, was looking about with wide eyes and Varys suddenly pitied the man. It wasn't his fault that he didn't know the truth, as the Hand had thought he was being kept appraised of the situation in the Capital. But there was a difference between walking the Street of Steel with an armed guard and marching through the masses with the king they blamed for all their troubles. While Lord Tyrion thought he was seeing what the situation truly was what he instead saw was merely the scab upon a festering wound.

And said scab was being picked at with every step the King took and soon the puss would come oozing out.

"All hail King Joffrey!" someone called out from one of the rooftops and like a fool the boy king smiled and waved, not hearing the sarcasm in the man's voice. The others did though and as the cries of Joffrey's name grew more frequent Tyrion turned to Ser Mandon Moore and hissed for him to get Tommen away as quickly as possible. The knight, sensing as well the brewing storm, picked up the young prince and began to race back towards the shore; it was little known that there were tunnels that ran throughout King's Landing, many of them leading to and from the Red Keep. Maegor had been smart enough to realize that one could only be cruel for so long before the peasants revolted and a cunning psychopath always had a second way out. Aerys had put them into use when people had thought that he was too paranoid to leave the Red Keep and when the rumors had become true he'd commanded them all to be sealed up, fearing a thousand different creeping threats that might come crawling through the tunnels and end his life. Of course no one tried to remind him that sealing the tunnels and passageways would leave him with no way to escape; one didn't question Aerys if they wanted to live.

It had taken all of Varys skill to get in workers who were under his control alone and would agree to only make it seem like the tunnels were sealed. It was amazing what a man could do with thin wood and a bit of paint.

Robert had thankfully seen the wisdom of having such tunnels and had commanded Varys to unseal them all. Of course he only had just enough opened to satisfy the King… it always helped to have some secrets that were his own.

He had suggested to Joffrey that they use the tunnels by the shoreline to see the Princess off but the boy king would not hear it; he wanted his subjects to see him. He would not 'scurry like a rat' to and from the Red Keep. Joffrey wanted to be seen, to be cheered… because he still believed that his crown would force people to love him. Even as the smallfolk called out they were hungry and his brother was raced back to shore so they might escape into the tunnels Joffrey still believed that he was the King and that title alone would protect him from all threats and dangers. He walked along the streets with a smile, perhaps smaller than what he begun with but still a smile, with Sansa Stark on his arm.

The citizens of King's Landing did not see the smiles as reassuring or wondrous. No, to them it only proved the whispers true: Joffrey was out of touch and perhaps a bit mad. A delusional boy who believed that there was no war, that knew nothing of suffering, and who didn't care about his subjects.

Varys paused, giving the shortest of stutter-steps when the scab was ripped away. But rather than puss and blood it was, of all things, a cow pie splattering into the side of the boy king's head that was unleashed. Varys would have found it rather humorous if it hadn't been for the moronic White Cloaks who drew their swords. Bare steel wasn't what was needed no. That would only make things worse. Still, the situation could have been salvaged-

"Who threw that? Who? I want the man who did that brought to me!" Joffrey screamed. Ser Stacy tried to command his Gold Cloaks to stand down but the tension that had been surrounding them cause the nervous men to react without thinking, grabbing several innocent bystanders and tossing them to the ground and striking them with the butts of their spears. The crowd roared in disapproval and when no one stepped forward to happily accept their death Joffrey screeched, "Kill them! Kill them all!"

The smallfolk didn't wait to see if the Kingsguard and the Gold Cloaks would obey that order. Instead they rushed forward, the City Watch and the White Cloaks suddenly finding that it was hard to draw one's swords when the populous was crashing them with their sheer mass. Varys watched on, not needing for once to hide his shook as the guards began to brutally attack the smallfolk, which only drove the poor to realize that there was no hope for justice and if they wanted to live they needed to fight back. Trained soldiers could do much but when a man held a rock and had no fear… it was hard to defeat one such as that. The screams and cries began to fill the air and the Royal procession ducked down as the streets descended into madness.

Finally it was Tyrion who got some sense, yelling "MOVE!" at the guards and his sister. Shields were raised and swords lashed out as the time for caring disappeared and all that mattered was finding a path through the mob.

Varys heard Joffrey cry out as Sandor Clegane grabbed him and began to drag him after Tyrion, swinging his sword at anything that moved. The boy king screeched as he demanded the peasants die and the Master of Whispers smirked as Clegane snarked that they wanted the same.

Their party began to spread thin and Varys knew that not all of them would make it out alive. He saw Ser Preston swallowed by the mob, his white sword still flashing even as he was pulled away from them, like a piece of drift wood caught in a riptide. Gold Cloaks battled to contain the unrest only for them to suddenly find themselves alone with no help and to come under siege by the rioters. Not that they focused solely on the King's party. This was a rage that had been threatening to boil over for a while now and men weren't going to stand about doing nothing just because there wasn't a royal they could get their hands upon. So when there was no one from the Red Keep to turn their rage and frustration upon it was the very people they had been fighting with moments ago who became the focus of their ire. To his left one peasant lifted up a steel sword he had claimed from a fallen Gold Cloak only for his yells of triumph and dreams of the better life he could have with such a weapon dying just a touch quicker than he did when four other men set upon him, their battle for the blade becoming a small riot of its own.

Varys came to a stop near Tyrion, the Little Lannister's eyes going wide as the High Septon, who had been crying out for help, was set upon by a horde of the unwashed smallfolk he claimed to tend for. He went down under the weight of many bodies, his cries growing shriller till they were no words, just a high pitched squeal not-dissimilar to a pig's cry as it was led to the chopping block. The people of King's Landing descended upon him like wolves feasting on a dying boar, swarming till it was impossible to see him. Tyrion took a step forward and Varys wondered if the little man planned to try and save the Septon but that option was taken out of his hands… when the High Septon's right hand, with the rest of his arm up to the root, was heaved up above the swarming crowd, a cheer going up at the sight of the bloody limb even as the Septon's screams were suddenly cut off.

Despite the carnage he did feel sympathy for the innocent, as they hadn't done anything to deserve the madness of Joffrey, but he had been trained to compartmentalize such things. That was how, when one smelly man who wore tattered rags and had half his teeth missing grabbed Varys by the shoulder and spun him around in hopes of claiming his pound of flesh, the spymaster easily drew the needle-like dagger he kept forever hidden in the sleeves of his robes and stabbed him right in the heart. Varys made so that it appeared he'd stumbled back, tucking the dagger away as he did so, and quickly rejoined the fleeing party into one of Littlefinger's brothels, the whores crying out even as Baelish yelled for several of the large men that served as protectors for his clients and workers to barricade the door.

"Of all the days to give Bronn and Clynt the day off!" Tyrion snapped.

"You trust they would have stayed at your side and not joined in with this mess?" Ser Stacy asked, it clear from his tone that he held little love for the sellswords.

"They are smart enough to know that there is no money in killing me. If the smallfolk had money to match me they wouldn't be rioting." The dwarf rubbed his face in frustration and Varys stepped back, watching as those gathered around him dealt with what had just happened to them. He found it so interesting to see how people reacted in a crisis. Baelish at first appeared to be taking command but Varys could tell that the whoremonger only cared about his own skin and if he had known for sure that the rest of them would have died in the street he would have abandoned them to their own fates. The Queen was utterly useless, looking about with wide eyes, unable to do anything. Ser Stacy moved away from Tyrion and was barking orders, it clear from the rage in his voice that if any of the survivors were found to have been the ones that began attacking the smallfolks and escalated the whole damn mess he'd have their heads. As for Tyrion himself he was panting hard even as his clever mind processed their next course of action.

"Are there any secret passages nearby we might use to get back to the Red Keep?" Tyrion demanded, Varys nodding in approval; that was the right question to ask. "Baelish!"

"I don't know! Could be! This is one of the newer establishments I bought," Baelish said before letting out a huff. "Close the shutters, I don't care how high up! Those monkeys can climb and I won't have them descending upon us! Get water and wine too, I need a drink!"

'Liking your chaotic ladder now?' Varys thought dryly. It was enough to love chaos when you controlled it but Baelish was learning that chaos was like fire and it had a bad habit of not heeding commands.

"I'll check, my lord… there may be something in the basement," Varys said before ducking around the doorway. There wasn't… there was one in what had been the kitchen and Varys had used it many times to meet with the whores he'd turned into his spies. It was a branching path that led both to the street and to the Red Keep. Before he could go through a familiar cry filled the air and he paused to listen and watch, unnoticed.

"Traitors!" Joffrey yelled over the din, clearly deciding that he needed to remind everyone what a shit king he was. "All have their heads!"

"You blind bloody fool!" Tyrion snapped, it clear from his panting that his heart was still raising.

"You can't insult me!" Joffrey said, trembling with rage.

"We've had vicious kings and we've had stupid kings, but I don't think we've ever been cursed with a stupid vicious king before!"

"Y-you can't!"

"I can and I am!"

"They attacked me!"

"They threw a cowpie at you so you decided to kill them all!" Tyrion yelled, moving to get right in Joffrey's face. "They're starving, you fool! All because a war you started!"

"YOU ARE TALKING TO A KING!" Joffrey squealed.

Tyrion slapped the boy so hard his head snapped to the side.

"And now I've slapped a king! Has my hand fallen from my wrist?" With no Kingsguard to notice him Tyrion grabbed Joffrey's remaining ear and twisted it so hard the boy began to cry. "You think you'll be king for long when your grandfather hears about this? Do you realize how many of our problems would be solved if we cut off your head right now? You think your blood and title will save you? Tell it to them! The only way to get them to stop rioting at this moment would be to toss your corpse to them! I'd save your head though… the Starks might actually forgive us if we gave them your skull!" Varys wondered if the dwarf would make good on his threat but, sadly, he released Joffrey and the boy whimpered, covering his good ear with his hand. The Little Lannister panted and sneered at Joffrey. "Enjoy your crown, your highness, and begin thinking of how you'll convince your grandfather not to rip you from the throne himself to undo all the damage you've done!"

Joffrey looked around, searching for someone to come and protect him and coddle him and tell him he was a brave big boy. But his mother had retreated upstairs ('Most likely to find a bottle of wine to drown in') and the Kingsguard were too busy securing the brothel to come to his aid. "Where is Sansa?" Joffrey finally asked and Varys realized that was a VERY good question.

"Who cares?" Tyrion sneered.

"They could hurt her! Rape her!"

The dwarf rolled his eyes. "If you think your little whore hasn't spread her legs for half of King's Landing before today you are madder than I thought."

"Someone needs to find her! She belongs to me!" Joffrey cried out.

"I'll get the Little Bird," Clegane grunted, making towards the back of the brothel to find a door that wasn't being assaulted, ignoring Tyrion as he shouted for him to come back.

Varys decided to finally duck away, heading into what had been the building's kitchen, and opening the hidden door in the wall and slipping inside and down. He hurried through the dark tunnel, his years of training in total darkness allowing him to easily move through the dimly lit passage till he finally found his cache of disguises tucked into a crevice in the wall. He stripped off his robes and put on the coarse britches and thread-bare shirt of a dock worker, tossing on a cap similar to the one favored by the Freys before he made for the street-level exit. He wanted to see just how bad the riot had grown, as such knowledge would be needed in the hours ahead. There was no hope that his little birds would be able to get him the information he needed and thus Varys the Spider needed to become Varys of the Council once more and do the work himself.

The passage split in two where no one would notice, with the fork looking like just a small alcove in the wall until someone stepped fully inside it and saw the handholds made in the stone that led up to a second passage that he knew led to into a warehouse used to store grain. From there he would be able to climb to the roof and get a sense of the scope of the riot before returning, redressing as the Master of Whispers, and leading the Royal Party to safety.

The only danger was that others would have entered the warehouse. Varys was ready for that, having exchange his needle-like daggers for a sword and a single hand axe. So when he heard voices as he emerged from his hiding spot and into the warehouse itself he tensed and readied himself for a fight.

But the scene that awaited him wasn't what he expected.

Five grubby unwashed men with sun and wind-burnt skin, matted greasy hair, and mud-stained clothing were moving on Sansa Stark like the Wolf-Cats of the Red Waste, cackling and jeering at the woman who was crying and whimpering as she backed away from them, letting out a gasp when her back struck a wall and she found no more floor left for her retreat. One of the men reached out and ripped the sleeve of her dress, laughing and leering as the woman gasped and shrank away from them. Varys licked his lips and considered his options before deciding, sadly, he couldn't afford to interfere. Saving her would expose him and run risk of his true nature and mission being found out. And the part of him that was concerned with the safety of the realm whispered that perhaps it would be better for her to just disappear. Tyrion had been right that she posed problems for them and if she were to die-

"I rather liked that dress," Sansa said, all fear suddenly leaving her as she stood up straighter and looked at her torn garment.

"I'll like it thrown on the ground!" The man that had ripped the dress sneered as he made to grab her. But rather than cringe from his grasping hand Sansa batted it away before reaching out and wrapping her pale fingers around the man's throat, lifting him up off his feet and easily holding him in the air without any strain. The other men were rendered mute and dumb by the sight of such a slip of a woman easily manhandling their comrade like she was the Mountain and Varys joined them in secret, watching as Sansa stared at the man with cold blue eyes. She tilted her head, her bangs falling a bit over her face, and as she spoke Varys wondered why he hadn't seen how her once red locks had become lighter as time had gone on and even as she held the man up her tresses seemed to grow even more white, like bood soaking into fresh snow.

"Look at you," she said with a curious tone, paying no attention as the man she held aloft clawed at her wrist and arm, leaving bloody gouges in the woman's flesh. "Such a pathetic little thing. How did your kind ever manage to claw your way to your perch? Why is it that so many others have been rendered dust along the edges of time while you and yours survived?" She jerked her hand and a hideous crack filled the air as she snapped the man's neck. She considered him for another moment before, violently, she threw the still-warm corpse at the other men, causing them to topple and fall like ten pins. The men were now looking decidedly less sure of themselves and a sneer formed on the Stark woman's face. "Do you fear me? Think me a beast? I am no queen or monster. I am the Goddess of Death." With that she suddenly reared back before dashing forward with inhuman speed, letting out a screech that no human throat should have been able to produce. She fell upon the men and Varys found himself ducking away, unable to watch as the wet squishing sounds of flesh being ripped to ribbons and organs torn from bellies filled the air.

He had encountered many things in his life. Horrors that would have left normal men trembling in their beds and would have even made hardened soldiers take pause. He had been trained to deal with death and the morbid and not flinch. But as the… thing… that wore Sansa Stark's face attacked her would-be rapists, ignorant and unfeeling towards their cries for mercy as she used her fingers and teeth to tear them apart, Varys found himself ducking back into the secret passage and fighting the urge to flee with a trail of piss marking his passage. He'd never even heard of any animal so viciously tear upon their prey. Joffrey's currently favored plaything however was clearly something else entirely: an apex predator the likes of which Varys had never seen before.

Finally the sounds of bones breaking and flesh being ripped from torsos faded away, as did the final whimpering cries of the men that had sought to gain a pound of flesh only for said pounds to come from their own bodies. And still Varys didn't dare move from his spot, struggling to call upon every calming exercise he knew.

"You can come out now," Sansa called out and Varys froze, ice water flowing down his spine and settling into his gut. "I know you're there."

"I came to get you," Sandor said and Varys let out a sigh of relief. But that emotion gave way to confusion as he realized that the Hound wasn't at all shocked by the scene he'd happened upon; while Varys couldn't see what Sansa had done but he couldn't imagine that it looked nice and clean. "The King was most insistent."

"It is so nice of him to care for me," Sansa said with a laugh. "Did the little bastard cry when I wasn't there to hold his hand?"

"He did, my queen. How are you going to explain your clothes?"

"You saved me, my brave knight, but in your fury your blows sprayed me with blood. I will need much comfort, that much is sure." She hummed to herself a happily little tune and Varys couldn't hear what Sandor said as the two of them left the warehouse.

As he stood in the tunnel with only the sound of his own breathing to keep him company Varys felt a sensation he hadn't felt in years. It was a feeling that hadn't come upon him since the Council had recruited him and taught him how to be the silent watcher who guarded over the realms of men.

'What in the Seven Hells do I do now?'