Natasha
"You know there are many things I was trained to do. I know how to kill a man 10 different ways and a woman 9."
"Is there really a difference between the two?" Clynt asked.
"You can't rip the cocks off of women."
The sellsword shrugged at that. "I hear in Lys there are women with cocks."
"If every rumor about Lys was true don't you think my father would have gone there for a visit by now? Or stayed there forever?"
"You bring up a good point." Clynt leaned back on the padded bench, feet resting on a small decorative chest while he lazily played with a small silver knife, dangling it from his fingers before snatching it away with his other hand.
Natasha nodded as she looked about the room once more, hating the feeling that she had forgotten something. "I can also save lives as well. I know how to birth babies and remove infected limbs and I've dug through torsos to find broken arrow heads and spear points. I can sail a ship and tan leather and repair every weapon I keep on my person. I can plot and plan and scheme and play the game of thrones as well as anyone else. And I can do all this without betraying a single emotion."
"Is there a point or are you just bragging, Nat?"
The red head rolled her eyes and let out a frustrated huff. "I can do all that yet I still can't help but feel like an utter failure when it comes to planning a damn dinner party!" She grabbed the napkin she'd finished folding, which was supposed to be in the Pentosi crown design, only to ball it up and throw it as far as she could. Unfortunately it was still a napkin and thus went a pathetically short distance. "I'm worried about the food and if the rooms look right and its all foolishness because I know no one actually cares about that but I find myself worrying about it all the same-" Natasha stopped, fighting the urge to tear at her hair and scream.
"Aw, is the Princess of Dorne upset that she isn't perfect at everything?" Clynt teased.
Natasha shot him a glare, walking over and retrieving the napkin to try and refold it again. She knew there were servants that could do that but since this was going to be a private dinner she wanted to do it on her own; besides her old instincts were screaming at her to be utterly careful around everyone and that meant keeping those that she let freely walk through her and Jon's chambers down to a minimum. "Don't call me that. I'm not the Princess of Dorne, legitimized or not. That is Arianne and the last thing I need is that jealous cunt thinking I'm going after her birthright."
"And calling her a jealous cunt will certainly help matters," Clynt said with a smirk.
"I don't tell her to her… never mind. Just don't call me that. You might slip and I really don't want to add kinslaying to my ledger." The Gods, if they were real and at this point she seriously doubted it, had enough to curse her over without her adding the murder of her family to the list. Even if Arianne would never say the two of them were such.
"I thought you two were good," Clynt asked, arching an eyebrow in confusion.
"We were when we were children," Natasha admitted. "My father would take me to the Water Gardens when I was very young, before my training truly began, and I spent time with her. We played and splashed about and…" She trailed off, smiling fondly as she remembered those more innocent times. "Perhaps things would have continued on pleasantly enough had I remained a bastard in the eyes of all." She shook her head and huffed at that. "The moment I was legitimized I suddenly became a threat to her. Arianne sees threats all over… it doesn't matter how much her father relies on her or how the people love her or that I am to be the Lady of Iron Pointe; in her mind I am a danger to her power and thus an enemy that must be dealt with. It happened with her brothers and any suitor that comes for her hand and it thus also happens to me."
Clynt though waved her off. "Or you're just negative because you're all pissy that you didn't get this meeting early."
She didn't say a word either or about that. It was true though; she had wanted this meeting earlier. It should have happened the first day Jon and her arrived in King's Landing. But her father also joining them on the Small Council had thrown all the battle plans astray. Suddenly nights that should have been free were filled with dinners at the finest whore houses in King's Landing, so that her father and Ellaria could both spend time with her while also tormenting poor Jon with a parade of naked lovelies.
'Then there are the Lannisters,' Natasha thought to herself. For some reason Tywin Lannister had begun to show a great interest in Jon and, in turn, forced Joffrey and Cersei to hold dinners for the two of them to attend. 'I've been tortured many ways but having to watch Cersei practically chew the brat's food for him is a new way of agony and pain.' OF course because the Lannisters were interested in dining with them that meant others were as well and for the last few weeks whenever there wasn't a feast Jon and Natasha found themselves being the guests of everyone with a title in the Red Keep. Littlefinger, the Prince of the Summer Islands, various crownland, Westerland, and Reach lords who sought to win their favor. It had just as much kept Natasha from this meeting as it had prevented Jon from finding the Night's Queen. Though Natasha was actually glad for that as she had no idea how to rip the bitch out of Sansa's body.
Tonight was the first time in ages that the two of them had actually had a quiet night without plans and while Natasha had wanted nothing more than to spend it only with Jon, getting him to see that she truly was on his side and wanted nothing and no one other than him in order to protect them and their family… she had to have this dinner.
'At least it's with people I don't hate,' she thought to herself before wincing, hoping that Clynt hadn't gained the ability to read thoughts. With the way the world was at the moment she'd couldn't deny the possibility of that.
Her dear friend was on loan from her father, sent to keep an eye on her when Happy was busy watching over Jon. Clynt had been happy to do that as in reality Natasha could more than handle herself and thus that allowed Clynt to sneak about and do his thing, helping her in establishing her own network of spies that were independent of Fury and the Council. Bronn had remained with her father, sent out to do his odd jobs which Natasha knew was her father setting up HIS spy network. People thought Oberyn Martell was just a hotheaded and overly emotional prince who had did whatever he wanted because he could rely on his family name. They forgot that he'd gone to the Citadel and forged several links, studied with several learned masters in Essos, and joined Tony in adventures that hadn't just involved wine and song.
'Speaking of Bronn,' she thought to herself. "Clynt, something I've been meaning to ask you."
"Ya?"
"Bronn."
"How much does he know?" he asked, because of course he'd already cottoned onto what she was getting at. "Honestly? I have no idea. More than you might expect. He's smarter than he looks. A cocky, arrogant man but he's earned that by being one of the best."
"I wondered why you spent time with him," Natasha said. "You don't settle for subpar."
Clynt nodded at that. "And he's smart. He doesn't let on to people how good he is… when everyone knows you're the best you are constantly getting challenged by people that want to take the title. I'm one of the best archers in the Seven Kingdoms and spend more time than I care for dealing with little shits that want to prove themselves my better, earn themselves a legend. Same with everyone." He paused, a smirk forming on his lips. "Bronn told me of a knife thrower… Wyco. Fastest hands in Dorne."
"I've heard of him," Natasha admitted. "My father once thought of seeking him out but in the end decided to have me just continue working with my other teachers."
"It would have been a waste of time to find him. Wyco was constantly being sought out to be tested in duels. Not competitions… duels. All sorts would find him and demand the same trial, the one he himself had gone through when he claimed the title of best Knife Thrower in Westeros: Back to back, walk 10 paces, turn and throw. Winner was the one standing."
Most other ladies would have gasped in horror at such barbarism. Natasha merely motioned for Clynt to continue.
"One day he heard someone call out to him that they wanted to challenge him. But when he turned, hands already on his knives, ready to kill this new opponent… he saw it was just a child. Barely six years old. And he was so disgusted he tossed his knives down on the ground and turned away in shame." Clynt paused. "Little bastard threw a dagger right into his ass."
Nat couldn't help it… she snickered.
"After that he crawled into a wine bottle and stayed there." He shrugged. "No one knows what happened to him after that but he wouldn't have been up to teach you anything." He stood up and stretched. "But the point is that Bronn makes sure no one knows how smart he is or how skilled he is. Which is good because if he did show off how skilled he was he'd have been picked up by someone… and not necessarily the Council."
Natasha sighed at that little reminder. She didn't like to think about it but part of her old job had been dealing with the other forces that liked to interfere with Westeros. It seemed like there were hundreds of different groups all vying to be the one to take Westeros in hand and guide it towards their chosen destines. The Council. The Maesters. The Faith. The Hand. The Hellfire Society. The Blackfyres. And those were just some of the bigger ones.
There was a knock on the door, startling her out of her thoughts.
Rising she walked over to the door and smiled as she saw just who was standing on the other side. "Lord Varys. Please, come in."
"Thank you, Lady Natasha. I truly appreciate your gracious offer for dinner. Ah, and this is… your father's guard?"
"Clynt," Natasha said, gesturing towards the blond archer who merely gave Varys a wave while she casually reached over to the bowl that sat next to the door and scattered a handful of the tiny fragrant nut shells on the ground before shutting and locking the door. Anyone that wanted to eavesdrop would need to find a way to sweep the shells up without making a sound… something that was near impossible due to just how much noise the pesky things created. It was an old trick of hers to make sure she knew was her room was truly secure.
"Varys," Clynt said with a smirk, settling at the table. "Think you can drop the act."
"And what act might that be?" Varys asked, hands folded into the sleeves of his robe.
"Not talking about this whole act," he said, waving his own hand in the Spider's direction. "I meant us acting like strangers."
"Very well," Varys said with a sigh before smiling and extending his hand to Clynt, who gave it a firm handshake. "I would ask how you are doing, Clynt, but we both know you've been doing well."
"Spying on me?" he teased.
"I spy on everyone, including myself," Varys stated.
"Seriously?" Clynt said in surprise when Varys didn't begin laughing and let him know it was all a joke.
"But of course!" Varys said, sounding rather surprised. "You don't?" Clynt shook his head and after a moment Natasha did too when Varys looked at her, expecting her to take his side. "Oh, how disappointing."
"You mean getting Cersei or Tywin's spies to work for you and report back what they are saying about you?" Natasha asked. She was currently identifying which servants and guards and members of the Small Folk were in the employ of members of the Court so she might begin the process herself.
Varys though waved off such speculation. "Oh, I have those. The delightful tales they sing to Lord Baelish and the Queen. Well… delightful for me. Boring and dull for them. I am not a man for hosting parties or engaging in interesting hobbies. The Spider does not bother itself with making friends or leaving its web for a thrill. But the spies I speak of are my own, tasked with watching me."
"Why would you spy on yourself?" Clynt complained. "You know what you are doing!"
"Not always." The Lord of Whispers chuckled at that. "Though I suppose that makes it sound as if my memory is failing me. Which it isn't." He lightly reached up and pressed a finger to his temple before he moved on to explain. "We all do things that we believe are natural and normal in the heat of a moment only to realize later that they were not. Or, just as frightening, we never realize and continue doing. Verbal ticks, repetitive motions, those sorts of things. I have a few spies that watch over me and report back what I do, so I might see if I have fallen into bad patterns or missed something. Sometimes just hearing back on a conversation I had from another source is enough to open my eyes to a mistake I have made." He chuckled at that.
Clynt merely shook his head. "Sounds paranoid to me."
"And you've never had Bronn watch your form when you practice, so he might alert you if you aren't notching your arrow properly?" Clynt silently conceded the point. "The same is true with speech and action. All can be practiced. You have heard men who stammer and stutter. Speaking is a skill and an art, no different than painting or singing or firing a bow. I like to ensure that I keep my own skills finely hones." He looked about the room. "We are secure?"
"You know we are," Natasha said. She'd have been disappointed if Varys hadn't already sent some of his little birds to check over all the hiding spots within her and Jon's room, to make sure she'd properly blocked them off. Not permanently… that would raise eyebrows and cause the other spymasters in the Red Keep to find new unknown ways to keep tabs on her and her husband. No… only when she really needed to discuss something in private were the hidey holes and secret passages blocked and stopped up. Otherwise she allowed the spies to listen to her and Jon lazily have dinner or watch them undress. She had nothing to hide… and it did give her a little thrill to know there were women lusting after Jon while knowing she'd never share him.
Varys though couldn't help but get a little smug. "Oh, so you found the hiding spot behind the fireplace then."
"Nope," Natasha said with a smile. "Because it is on the right side."
"The left you mean."
"Just checking."
"Of course, like you checked the ceiling."
"And left some rather playful surprises for anyone that sneaks through there."
"I'll make sure I give Renu coin to go to a bathhouse then."
"And his partner that I am sure is currently hiding in that wall," Natasha said with a slight shrug.
Clynt shook his head. "This is why I prefer just being an agent and not a spy. You two manage to give my headaches a headache." He clapped his hands. "Come on, let's actually get settled at the table and some food on our plates before we really get into talking shop."
Natasha looked over at Varys as Clynt made his way to the dining area. "Do you think, when we're finally out of the game, that he can teach us how to be normal?" Because no matter how deep Clynt got with the Council he would never be like Varys or Natasha; they had been spies since children.
"Oh, you should have him teach you now," Varys stated. "You need it. I fear I will be a shriveled up little thing like the Yellow Toad of Dorne before I even begin to think of leaving this life." Natasha puckered her lips at that and Varys added, "Tell me, does dear Jon realize all your experiments with sex were done in part to examine him?"
"No," Natasha admitted. "And he never will." She hated that Varys knew her well enough to know she'd do such things; she hadn't come as a maiden to her marital bed, having been with many men during her time before Jon. Sex was just another tool for her… until she hadn't wanted it to be.
Until Jon.
She'd chosen for their meal traditional Dornish dishes, as she had gotten a touch homesick for the comfort foods of her youth being around so many Dornish. Her father, Ellaria, the guards and members of her father's entourage… they reminded her of simpler times and thus she'd wanted a taste of that life, to remind her, here in the pinnacle of power within the Seven Kingdoms, of where she'd come from.
"Ah, Dornish style," Varys said as he walked over to a small basin near the table and washed his hands with simple soaps. Natasha and Clynt, having already done the same, joined him then at the table. "I so do find the many customs of the Seven Realms so interesting. We talk of how we are connected but yet we remain separate." He looked towards Clynt. "You do understand how this all came to be, don't you?"
"Nope," Clynt said with a shrug. "Food is food."
Varys gasped in shock at that and Natasha wondered if it was truly surprise, merely him playing up his role, or if he'd become so consumed by his role that it was now actually a part of him. "Oh, that simply won't do!" he complained. "A meal can not be truly enjoyed lest it is understood. Natasha-"
She shook her head though. "Please, explain Varys. I know you'll just interrupt me anyway."
He smirked at that before focusing on Clynt. "The food itself is obvious, for it represents Dorne itself." He waved at the dishes. "Corn is one of the few crops that can be easily grown in Dorne despite its temperature. And the flour made from it is rather unique. Thus they have found many ways to use it in all manner of dishes." He gestured first towards the flat corn cakes, though that was being rather generous for there was nothing truly 'cake' like about them. Rather they were flat thin circles that were closer to parchment than desserts. They'd been carefully folded around spiced chicken and desert peppers that had been finely minced. "The Dornish, strangely enough, do love their foods to have a burning hot flavor. Perhaps because their blood is fire… or because they enjoy watching intruders suffer trying to eat their meals."
"Wonderful," Clynt grumbled and Natasha chuckled at that.
"There is plenty of milk if your tongue begins to ache too much," she told him, selected one of the corn cake bundles and placing it on her plate.
Varys wasn't done with his lesson, moving himself to the fried corn bits. They crunched and shattered like glass but were also rather strong, which they needed to be to stand up to the weight of the sweet and spicy minced beef and melted cheese that coated them. "Here we have the perfect example of culture influencing food. The Dornish will all eat from the same plate, never being served separately by servants or attendants. Plenty of maesters would say it is a communal thing, a way to bring all together." Varys took a chip and carefully brought it to his mouth, crunching down on it and murmuring in delight. It wasn't until he swallowed, and Clynt had decided to try one himself, that Varys finally said, "The true reason is poison."
THAT caused Clynt to stop, the beef nearly falling from the dangling chip.
Natasha shook her head at that, taking pity on her friend. "Not in the food."
"Well, in the food," Varys argued.
"Not this food," she snapped before turning her attention back to Clynt. "In Dorne there isn't as much scorn on using poisons as a weapon as there is in the Seven Kingdoms. To prove that food and drink are safe all eat from the same plate." She reached from a pitcher of milk that had mostly been turned into cream, freshly produced and allowed to chill for a few hours in sealed casks left in special underground wells, and poured some into her goblet along with some Salty Dornish alcohol. It created a drink that at once killed the burn of the spices while being flavorful upon the tongue.
"It is the same reason there are no utensils," Varys pointed out. "No knives and forks."
"Yeah, that one makes sense," Clynt said before finally taking a bite of the chip.
There were of course other items on the table that Natasha and Varys happily told Clynt about. A paste made from a green desert fruit once known as Green Stones but had later gained the name Dragon Eggs due to their texture. Pickled sea lettuce that served as a bed for fresh fish (sadly not from the Dornish shores but what the Blackwater had provided worked well enough). A chicken pie made of more corn flour and shredded chicken though now in a thick sauce flavored with all manner of peppers. Corn bread, which Clynt rather enjoyed for how simple it truly was.
The finally moved onto dessert, a sweet Dornish cheese cake, when it was quietly decided that they truly should begin discussing the matters that had seen the three gather together.
"Tell me, where is your husband, Natasha?" Varys asked. "I am surprised he isn't here."
"I felt it better he not be. Jon remains… displeased… with the Council." She scowled. "Fury made the error of telling him of the plans to take him as a babe so he might become Aegon's Hand."
"Ah," Varys said with a nod. "Yes… he does not seem to be one that enjoys being controlled."
Clynt frowned at that. "Speaking of that… why is Tywin Lannister sniffing around Jon so much." He helped himself to another slice of cheesecake. "I expected him to keep him close, because he's a hostage in all but name, but the way Tywin looks at him at times…"
"I am not certain on that myself," Varys stated. "Though I have heard some… interesting rumors from the Tyrell side."
Natasha grimaced. "The marriage contract?" Clynt looked at her, confused, and she let out a sigh. "Apparently Tywin has been meeting with Mace Tyrell and the Queen of Thorns to see about creating a marriage contract between Joffrey and Margery's' first son and Jon and my first daughter." Clynt opened his mouth only for Natasha to cut him off. "And no, I'm not pregnant." Silently she added, 'Not for a lack of trying'.
She knew it would be dangerous and wrong and would jeopardize what she and Jon wanted to do… but with her fully breaking away from the Council and pledging her loyalty to Jon she had begun to feel an urge she'd never thought she'd exoerience: to have a child of her own. Something she created that was purely out of love, not violence or a sense of duty. Oh yes, it would be expected of her and Jon to produce heirs by much of Westeros but Tony and Pepper making Jon their heir had set a precedent for the Lord of Iron Pointe to not produce a child. Yet… that is what Natasha had begun to think about. A physical representation of her and Jon's love for each other.
'Not now though,' she scolded herself, hating that she was thinking like some flighty girl. "What I don't understand is why."
"Securing the North," Varys said with a slight smile. "Tywin Lannister is not a man to allow his enemies to quietly slink away, win or lose. Perhaps he goes to the bargaining table. Perhaps he is able to convince Ned Stark to bend the knee." He held up his hand. "Hypothetically, that is all. We both know that Lord Eddard will not do so for as long as a single Lannister lives."
"I'm hearing some dark rumors about the ol' Quiet Wolf," Clynt told them. "Whispers of his new name: The Punisher."
Natasha nodded, for she had heard the rumors too. Of how he hadn't merely told his men to not take a single Lannister prisoner but threatened them with death themselves if he discovered them allowing a Lannister to take a breath longer than they should. That he was the first one to rush into battle and the last one to leave it. How even the likes of Roose Bolton had begun to whisper in fear that the King in the North had no sense of mercy anymore, not when it came to the Lannisters.
"Some are true, some are false," Varys said simply. "But we are discussing Tywin. Even if he manages to get all of this he will not allow the Starks to remain forever in power. Not after how they embarrassed him."
"Thus Jon and I," Natasha said. "Our daughter is sold to the throne and her second born is placed as the Warden of the North after a refreshed Westeros slaughters Robb or his children."
Varys nodded. "It is a plan he had been prepared to enact, should the Reynes have come to their senses and agreed to stand down. Allow them to believe that all was well only to place his boot upon their throat."
"Revenge even after he is long dead," Natasha said with a shake of her head. "I'd be impressed if I wasn't disgusted."
"You aren't going to allow them to do that, are you?" Clynt asked.
Natasha opened her mouth only for Varys to shake his head slightly, causing her to snap her teeth together. No… she wouldn't let that happen. She almost said that. She'd have Jon on the throne before she allowed any child of hers to share a bed with the vile spawn of Joffrey. She knew that plenty of good men had come from horrid fathers… but horrid fathers could also produce horrid sons just as easily. It was simply a risk she refused to take.
But saying those words? Even with how much she had made sure the room was protected? Madness. ESPECIALLY the threat of putting Jon on the throne. His parentage was simply something that could never be discussed in King's Landing. Ever. The city was too dangerous, filled with too many ears. There were claims that former Masters of Whispers and Hands of the King had used the dark arts, getting rats and ravens and all manner of beasts to whisper tales to them. Maegor's dark Essosi bride. Tyland Lannister. Bloodraven. Varys had no magic, merely a network of spies, but that didn't mean there weren't others in the city that possessed such power.
Like the Night's Queen.
"Then where is your husband?" Clynt asked. "I could have gotten Bronn to keep him company."
Natasha huffed at that. "In other words you want to see a disaster? No, Jon is… relaxing." By that she meant he had used a secret passage she'd found within the Red Keep that led underground and then out into the Kingswoods to don his armor and make some patrols as the Centurion. She'd seen how her husband had been getting twitchy dealing with so many two-faced cutthroats and known that he needed some time in the air, making a different in the world, to recenter himself. Other women would have been horrified that their husbands needed to do such things, and Natasha did hold a sliver of fear that one day Jon wouldn't come back… but she also realized how hypocritical it would be for her to tell him he couldn't go off and burn off his frustrations when she did the exact same thing night after night, sneaking away to train.
"I do have to ask…" Clynt said, "isn't there a risk doing this? People are going to talk."
"People will talk no matter what," Natasha said with a wave of her hand. "If I ate with the Queen they'd talk. Or Tommen. Or Tywin. Or Mace Tyrell or Littlefinger. And if I eat by myself they'll talk. 'Why isn't she dining with others? Does she think she's better than them? Is she sick? Plotting?' King's Landing wasn't built on hills it was built on gossip with rumor as the mortar."
"And in this case it isn't unseemly," Varys told the sellsword archer. "I am a member of the Small Council so it is expected for us all to be… dear friends." He giggled at that, a real peel of laughter rather than the false chuckles he normally gave. The Small Folk all at once wanted the Small Council to be at each other's throats and the dearest of friends and allies. "And while gossip would run wild if it were Lord Baelish or Balon Swann who dined along with our dear Black Widow none will say a word about this meeting of spiders."
Because he was a eunuch. Varys didn't say the words but that was the reason. Natasha refused to say the words as well. Each of them had aspects of their lives that were off limits, even if the rest of the world was so disrespectful to bring them up. For her it was the 'red in her ledger', the deaths that she caused that had not served a purpose or been for some noble cause… but because she'd been sloppy and careless and someone else had paid the price for her failure.
"I do wish we had been able to have this dinner sooner. There is so very much to discuss." Varys reached over and cut himself another piece of cheesecake. "But his grace's whims caused much madness, as you have come to learn."
She had. Joffrey reminded her of Aerion Brightflame in a way, in how he seemed to flicker from intense focus to then utter boredom. Something (or someone) could hold his attention for hours, even days, so that he ignored all his other duties. Once he had become obsessed with getting the famed singer, Alyson Blarre, to perform for his wedding feasts. When told however that this would be impossible, due to her currently living in Myr and even if she could be convinced to come (and she wouldn't as she still claimed she had yet to find the spark to inspire her once more) she wouldn't receive the message until the wedding was over, let alone travel there. Joffrey had raged when he'd been told this by Pycelle, calling him a fool and a liar and demanding Blarre be brought to him at once. He claimed that they were plotting something, that there must be some other reason for them not to wait the singer to come to King's Landing. Was she in league with the Starks? Renly? Stannis? He was the KING and she should have come anyway because he wished to hear her sing and she should have known this. Should have longed to perform for him!
He'd refused to let the Small Council focus on any other topic. Attempts to shift focus to other aspects of the wedding were driven right back to forcing Blarre to come to Westeros and perform for Joffrey… or be thrown in a Black Cell for not properly honoring her king. And the Gods save anyone who tried to move away from the wedding at all; Joffrey had no interest in the Gold Cloaks or the war in the Riverlands or treaties for trade with cities beyond the Narrow Sea. He wanted Alyson Blarre! It had gotten so bad that Tywin had begun having secret meetings with individuals just so the kingdom could ruin smoothly.
And then one day Joffrey had walked into the Council room and when Mace had brought the girl up Joffrey had waved his hand in a dismissive manner, told his future goodfather he didn't care, and that they needed to get the meeting over with soon as he wished to spend some time with his newest crossbow.
"Well, we're meeting now so tell us all you know," Natasha said.
"That will take some time," Varys teased. "Would you like to narrow that subject list down a touch?"
"How about starting with the Red Keep?" Clynt asked. "Then move outwards."
"Very well," the Master of Whispers said with a slight bowing of his head. "Your servants have been carefully selected by a man in my trust. A few whisper of course to the Queen and Lord Baelish and the Hand but all of them come to me first and I allow only the words of my choosing to continue on." Anyone else would have been horrified by that but Natasha had posed as a servant herself many times and she knew nearly all were either fiercely loyal to their lords and ladies or the creatures of someone else. And it would have caused more problems if she eliminated all the spies than allowing them to exist. "Of the Small Council Ser Balon Swann and Jiffsun of the Gold Cloaks are the least concerning. They are quite harmless and, unfortunately for them, actually want to do good for the realm."
"A pity," Natasha said softly. Such people rarely survived the game of thrones and the chances were even slimmer with Joffrey on the throne. Under a good king, a true commander of the people, they would have gone down in history as heroes. But Joffrey had no need for men like Ser Duncan the Tall or Aemon the Dragonknight. "What of the Queen?"
"Ah," Varys said with worrisome frown. "That is where things get… tricky."
"How so?" Clynt asked. "She pretending to be a complete fucking idiot?"
"Hardly," Varys said drolly. "It is rather the company she keeps. She's done well to hide it, especially for her, but I myself while in the guise of a simple rat catcher spied her deep within the lowest levels of Maegor's Holdfast with a troublesome figure." He leaned forward. "Have either of you heard of the disgraced Maester named Qyburn?"
Clynt frowned. "He's a myth. A boogeyman told to naughty children. Be careful or Qyburn will come to snip off parts of you and stitch them onto other people. Then he'll come back to replace what he took." He shuddered. "My mother told me that one and it always bothered me."
"I'm more concerned your mother told you stories about deranged Maesters who hack off body parts," Natasha said. Her father wasn't the most conventional of parents but even he had never thought of frightening her with such tales.
Varys though did not join her in worrying about Clynt's childhood. "Qyburn is no mere myth. He is very real… and very dangerous."
"He was old when I was a child."
"He was old when the oldest man now living was first born," The Lord of Whispers stated simply. "But in this age of metal and marvels… can we doubt any more the truth of such things? The Others march… one dwells in this very castle. Is a man such as truly an impossible thing?"
"Why is he here? With Cersei?" Natasha pressed.
"That I do not know. Though…" Varys trailed off, jaw working. "His grace commanded many men to seek out items of myth and legend, to try and counter your goodfather and your husband. I kept track of the men that were sent out… and one of them, John Greycrow… whispers have come that he is commanded by Qyburn."
That wasn't good.
"Did he find anything?" Clynt pressed.
"I do not know. But I doubt he would be in the company of the Queen if he didn't have something to offer her. Cersei Lannister is not one to spend time with maesters and the learned men. Not unless she is forced… or they can offer her a prize."
"Find out," Natasha commanded.
That caused Varys to laugh. "Why, what a cunning idea! I never considered trying to find out why Qyburn is here! Thank you for pointing me in the right direction."
Natasha rolled her eyes at that. "Yes yes, but if I hadn't said that you'd have become angry that I DIDN'T suggest it; saying that I wasn't doing my job, taking you for granted, so on."
"…that is fair," Varys admitted. "I'd have asked you to do the same thing, if our roles were reversed."
Clynt suddenly shuddered and the two looked at him in confusion. "I suddenly had the vision of Jon and Varys together arm and arm saying their vows."
Natasha smirked at that while Varys looked surprised before nodding. "Yes, I think we'd make a lovely couple."
She would have loved to continue on with such jests. It was so rare for the three of them to actually relax and act like people rather than the spies and agents they were. To be able to take a breath and just not think of the lies they were telling the schemes they were coming up with. The covers that needed to be kept and the layers upon layers of different roles they needed to take on. That was the life of an Agent of the Council: to never be able to truly breathe. Because that meant you were yourself and that was something they didn't want. Sometimes one was able to forget for a time, such as when Natasha had been with Jon in that little cabin away from Iron Pointe, or when her and Clynt in their early years had snuck away just to watch the sunset. But it always came back to the mission.
It was true then and it was true now.
"What of the Night's Queen," Natasha finally asked softly and the jesting mood disappeared at once like a mirage in the Dornish sun, leaving only the hard reality of their lives.
"I hate that there is an Other walking around these halls," Clynt said, idly reaching back to scratch his shoulder. Or that is what it would have appeared to have been, had someone not known Clynt like Natasha did. She knew that he was reaching back to the quiver that wasn't there, disguising the gesture as a mere scratch. "Are we sure that I can't just stick something between her eyes? Maybe tear out her heart and have a virgin burn it in dragonfire or whatever in the Seven Hells you do to rid yourself of such an evil."
"If you think an Other is stopped as easily as that…" Varys said with a side glance towards Clynt.
"That is easy?" Clynt asked.
"Exactly," Varys said. "A simple solider? Yes, you can behead them , light them on fire, stab them with dragonglass or one of the many variants of dragonsteel."
Natasha instantly began to go through the different types of dragonsteels… and how much they had of each.
'Valyrian steel. Jon possessed two blades; one on the Centurion armor and Shadowfang. If we can secure more we'll need to get other weapons made. Fittings for Clint, perhaps. Adamantium… Blood Valyrian. I have my Adamantium short spear… not that anyone knows that.' The spear, Widow's Kiss, had been a gift from her father on her 13th name day… but even he didn't know that the blacksmith that had crafted it was part of the Council and had traded the castle forged steel requested with Blood Valyrian; it had taken quite a bit of cunning to hide that fact but in the trunk in her sleeping quarters, only 20 feet away from where she sat, was Widow's Kiss. 'Carbonadium, Fire Valaryian. Nothing of the sort.' Fire Valaryian had its pros and cons versus Standard Valyrian and Blood Valyrian. It radiated heat and held the warmth of a flame for a long time. Blacksmiths swore that Fire Valyrian kept the flames of the forge they were first made in forever within them. That made them a grand weapon against the Others for, according to the Council records, only the Court could stand to be near someone that held Fire Valaryian. The cost though… she'd seen the men who had held onto blades forged of that accursed metal. The sores on their skin, the corruption of their blood. It was like they too take in the flames but it burned them. Forever.
"But the Court is…" Varys shook his head. "There are different beasts entirely. It is like comparing a serpent to a dragon. I imagine if you were to fire an arrow at the Night's Queen you'd enjoy seeing her rather bemused smile right before she lifted you by the throat then tore your limbs off like a naughty child might go after the wings of a fly."
"The Night's Queen dies but only after we rip her spirit out of Sansa," Natasha said firmly.
Varys sighed at that. "Jon?"
"Jon," she said, knowing he would disagree with that choice.
"Natasha, my dear," Varys said, "I examined the poor girl's body. She is dead. Gone. What walks is a corpse."
"With Sansa's soul inside it," Natasha said. "Or do you deny that?" He didn't say a word. "She has been imprisoned by the Night's Queen and I'm not going to erase her from all of existence along with the Queen. We'll separate them."
"Then… you know that she can't be saved," Varys pressed.
"I do."
"Does Jon?"
"…what's one more lie at this point?" she asked sadly.
Clynt shook his head. "He thinks he's here to save his sister, doesn't he?"
"He admitted that if we had to we would send her on to the Seven Heavens. But that will be a last choice for him. Sansa and him weren't close but they were still raised as siblings and that means something to him."
"It is foolish to give him that hope," Clynt said, agreeing with Varys. "He should know the truth so he can prepare for what will happen. Giving him bad intel… he won't be going into the fights to come with the proper knowledge."
"I'm not going to snuff out his hope," Natasha said firmly. "And we have no proof that he can't save her."
"Yet you just admitted you know there is no hope."
"I have thought many things," Natasha challenged them petulantly. "And been proven wrong. Why not this one?"
"Because this isn't a mere mission. This is the end of the world."
She shook her head. "Where is the Night's Queen?"
The discussion was over and the two men had known her long enough to understand that she wouldn't put up with them pressing the issue any more. So Varys sighed, leaning back in his chair as he picked up his wine goblet, filled with the cream and alcohol, and looked at the mix of white and black within his cup. If she were poetic she'd say there was something symbolic in her choice of drink for the three of them to share.
"That is another failure on my part," Varys admitted. "When he first arrived at the Red Keep Lord Tywin demanded that the Night's Queen be brought to him. Of course he only thought her to be a whore that Jofrrey was parading about as Sansa Stark; something he would never allow considering his own… history… with such women. What became of her after that I do not know but it is clear she isn't dead."
"There's no chance that she fled?" Clynt asked.
"Why would she? Here she is in the heart of power within Westeros. Even with the War of the Five Crowns the Iron Throne is a symbol of strength, one that Others would very much like to hold." He paused. "And then there is the matter of the weather."
"The weather?" Natasha asked.
"Surely you have noticed that it is cooler in King's Landing than it was on the road."
"Fall has begun to come to the Seven Kingdoms," she pointed out. "The Citadel has sent out the White Ravens to make clear that Winter… will soon be here." She'd nearly said, "Winter is Coming" and wasn't in the mood for the jests that would come with that comment.
"But not this quick. There are ways to measure the temperature, did you know that? Certain liquids left in glass tubes will expand in the heat of the day, allowing us to judge the warmth of the world around us." He held out his hands for a moment, an innocent smile flashing on his features. "I commissioned several such devices and had them placed about King's Landing, the Red Keep, and the lands beyond. And per my little birds the city is cooler than the Kingswood. And the Red Keep cooler than many areas within the city proper."
"So the Night's Queen is radiating cold," Clynt said, considering that. "Could we use that to track her and the others?"
"It would take far too many of the devices to do so." He sighed. "A clever idea but simply not practical, I am afraid."
"So we're left waiting to see what her next move is," Natasha summarized.
"Very much so." He suddenly smiled. "On to more pleasant news: the Tyrells are plotting."
"That's… pleasant news?" Clynt asked.
"As compared to the Queen of a race of ice demons that wish to slaughter us all? One as I saw tear apart several men with her bare hands without increasing how hard she breathed? Oh yes, far more pleasant to return to the standard schemes and plots of the highborn."
"Far enough," the archer stated. "What are they up to?"
Varys gave a half shrug. "The standard fare. They know that their power to influence the crown hinges on two facts: Margery Tyrell's ability to control Joffrey-"
"Which is most likely non-existent," Natasha muttered.
"You'd think that but it seems that Margaery has found a way to appeal to his grace," Varys said. "Joffrey is someone who wants all the world to bow to him and cheer his name. There is a Maester… Samson, I believe… who has forged most of his links in Arts dealing with the mind. He believes our experiences in our youth influence our actions later in life far more than we realize. Something I have looked into myself, I must admit, and I do believe he might be right, at least when it comes to Joffrey. Yes, the Queen spoiled him terribly and filled his head with nonsense that has created a rather horrid choice for King. But Robert's own actions didn't help. The way he brushed the boy aside… neither of you were in King's Landing during his reign so you didn't see how he behaved but he made no attempt to hide how much he scorned Joffrey. Briefly… when the boy was very small… he showed him attention and affection. But Cersei's coddling made Joffrey too prone to whining and with that Robert wrote him off. And that affected him. Greatly. Joffrey needs to be loved and respected because Robert didn't give him either."
"So it's Robert's fault we have Aerys Returns on the throne," Clynt groused.
"Indeed."
Natasha leaned forward. "You said Margaery had figured out how to influence Joffrey? Through love?"
"Not her own, of course. It is expected that she should love him. He would have taken her head if he thought she felt otherwise. But her charitable actions within the city… she says they are done in his name as well as her own and the small folk are willing to accept that because they have full bellies at the moment. So they cheer his name and Joffrey can bask in their love." Varys let out a sigh. "I don't know how long it will last but it works for now."
"You said that there was something else that would influence how long the Tyrells held onto power?" Clynt reminded him.
"An heir."
Natasha nodded in agreement. "The throne is suffering from instability. Even without the fracturing of the Seven Kingdoms-"
"Which can't be dismissed as it has caused massive problems from Lannister rule," Varys said, cutting in. "In a year we have gone from 7 Kingdoms united under the Iron Throne to three fractured kingdoms, four if you consider Stannis still a player in the game. And Joffrey's hold on the Reach and Dorne are incredibly weak."
Natasha shot him a dark look, not liking that he'd decided to interrupt her, before continuing one. "Even without the fracturing Joffrey is a young boy and Westeros remembers well how easily kings can die on the throne. How many only ruled for a few short years? History is not filled with many Jaehaeryses. Aegon II are more likely. The Tyrells are needed to produce heirs but once Joffrey has an heir and a spare they can be shoved aside, no longer needed. And they know that. Their power remains only until Margaery's belly swells. They will work hard to act as Unwan Peake did, filling King's Landing with their creatures."
"But Joffrey does have an heir," Clynt pointed out. "Tommen."
"And princes die far more often than kings," Varys pointed out. "And he is but a child still dreaming of fairies and cuddling his kitties. He is not suited to rule. A regent would be needed and that would be quite a danger as people would question just who wishes to remove Joffrey and place a weak boy king on the Iron Throne."
"And should he die then things become even murkier. If Myrcella isn't wed to my cousin…" Natasha trailed off, suddenly very concerned. "There… isn't a chance that's why my father is here, is it? Myrcella and Trystane wed, produce a child… and with Joffrey and Tommen eliminated…"
Varys' eyes widened at that. "I had not… I must admit that I never considered that. Your father seeking revenge for your Aunt's death, yes. But to make right the wrong against House Martel by seating one of their own blood on the throne as was originally desired?"
Clynt though shook his head. "No… no, Oberyn has made mention that he isn't pleased with the marriage agreement. I've heard him tell Ellaria he wishes to find a way to break it."
"Of course," Varys interjected. "Because the same danger for the Tyrells would then exist for the Lannisters."
"Myrcella is only valuable until she produces an heir. The moment she gives birth to a boy they no longer need her. Remove her, wed Tystane to a Dornish girl, and fill the head of his son with hatred for the Westerlands and you suddenly have a king who, despite his blood, would begin the Lion Hunts."
"I'll look into it," Varys said quickly, seeing the same danger Natasha did. While she loved her family such a move would only lead to more chaos and that was something they didn't need with the Others slowly stirring from their slumber. It was bad enough that the Seven Kingdoms feuded already but such a brazen move would only cause things to descend into further madness.
'And speaking of madness,' Natasha thought to herself. "What of Petyr Baelish?"
"Hmmm," Varys murmured, thinking that one over. "That is where things become far trickier."
"Trickier than everything else we've discussed?" Clynt asked.
"Indeed," the Master of Whispers stated. "Baelish is plotting. The problem is that he is always plotting. Stating that he is up to something, setting in motion some scheme, is rather like me telling you that I saw a bird take flight. It is as natural for him to plot as it is for you to breathe."
"Yet there must be something if you brought it up," Clynt pointed out.
Varys bowed his head at that, a gesture of respect for Clynt catching on. "He is behaving unusually when it comes to his scheming. He is talking to many people, as is his want. I know that he has had dinner with Mace Tyrell at least twice; of course he claims it is merely working to manage the wedding so it appears innocent but this is King's Landing and nothing is ever innocent. Not truly. Even newborn babes plot." He chuckled at his comment before continuing. "And when he isn't engaging in such conversations that must be done behind closed doors and with glances towards the shadows he is prowling the streets of King's Landing. Visiting this establishment or that. Some that he owns. Some that are owned by others but in reality he owns the owners. And some he has no connection with. All rather normal for him… except he seems to be in a grand hurry to leave King's Landing."
"Leave?" Natasha asked, interest piqued at that. "That is… strange."
"Yes it is," Varys agreed. "Why be so interested in expanding his network of contacts if he will have no need for them should he leave the city? And it isn't just recently either. First he offered to meet with Catelyn Stark, to try and convince her to make Lord Eddard see reason and end the war."
"That would have seen him dead," Clynt stated. "I've heard from the guards that Baelish himself drew a knife on Lord Eddard. He wouldn't have forgotten that any time soon."
"No he most certainly wouldn't have. Though I gather Baelish was more interested in getting his beloved Cat away from her husband. You know he still claims, even after the threat by Lord Tyrion to cease such gossip, that he took her maidenhead?"
"If the gossip I've heard is true the only maidenhead he took while at Riverrun was a pillow he drew Cat's face on," Natasha said dryly.
Varys merely smirked at that. "Remind me to tell you one day of why Hoster Tully was so willing to marry his daughter Lysa off to Jon Arryn rather than the likes of, say, Stannis Baratheon." Varys had no need to tell her the tale, as she instantly knew what he was saying and that made her at once begin to question just how deep the connection was between Baelish and Lysa Aryan. "But that offer from Baelish was of course rejected. He offered to visit the Tyrells and Lord Renly, claiming a friendship between him and Robert's youngest brother. That failed. He made mention several times he could bring the Knights of the Vale into the war on the side of the crown, if only he was allowed to journey to their lands. Denied first by Lord Tyrion and then his father Lord Tywin. The latest attempt to flee was to request to go to Braavos to treat with the Iron Bank but of course Lord Antony was assigned that task." Varys held out his hands in a gesture of confusion, seeking answers. "Quite a desperate need to flee for someone who loves dealing within this city and the power it brings."
"The question is why," Natasha said, already planning on setting some of her own chosen spies to keep watch on Petyr Baelish. The man bothered her greatly; everyone knew that he was a weasel that cuddled up to power and was willing to stab any and all in the back in order to climb further up in society. Everyone knew this. Yet no one actually DID anything about it because they all believed that they were smart enough to turn Littlefinger into their pawn. That where so many others had failed they would succeed. But not Natasha. She had no desire to try and twist him or make him an operative. All she needed was the right moment to kill the smiling bastard and pin it on someone else.
"Any word on Namor?" Natasha asked.
"None. The Lord of the Tide has been… silent… concerning what he will do now. He knows that he holds the keys to power. He merely needs to decide which door to unlock." Varys paused. "Strangely enough the King is the easiest one to keep track of. Joffrey is a monster but he may be the worst at playing the Game of Thrones. There is no subtly in him, nor cunning. And I do not see it ever developing. Even Aerys knew how to twist things to at least bring himself some amusement."
"Burning the Starks was his idea," Clynt pointed out. "He came up with Fire being the champion of House Stark."
Varys nodded. "Indeed. The only two schemes Joffrey has enacted were the killing of Robert's bastards and the attempted murder of Bran Stark. Both though were rather sloppy, with no show of grace. The murder of those children was so heavy handed that the blood will never be washed from his hands. Lady Margaery will do all she can to make the people love him, as I said, but they won't ever forget Joffrey Babyslayer. As for Bran Stark… had it not been for Lord Baelish deciding to use that plot to fuel his own schemes it would have been found out rather quickly. He hid his involvement less by his own actions and more by Catelyn Stark's foolishness and childhood memories of the relationship she once held with him."
Natasha nodded at all that, digesting it before motioning for Varys to continue, standing up and making her way towards the window so she might stare at the darkness that had fallen over King's Landing. "What of the city?"
"The people whisper of this new Vulture King who flies about the Rose Road. I know not his identity, only that he has people within the city. But whoever he is and where he makes his nest? That is unknown. I do, however, know of the goings on of the Faith. The Sept of Baelor prepares soon to elect a new High Septon. There were talks of trying to get it completed before the wedding but now it's been decided to wait."
"Why is that?" Clynt asked.
"Because of who they fear will claim the crystal crown… and shatter it upon the ground." He paused at that. "The name 'The Sparrow' is heard on more lips day in and day out."
"Who is he?" Natasha asked.
"A pious man, which is to say he is a fanatic. He believes that the Seven Kingdoms would be best served if the Faith ruled in full. The North should be burned for being heretics, the Dornish for lust, the Tyrells and Lannisters for their greed, the Riverlands… I don't think he actually has much issue with the Riverlands but only because he ignores them. He claims to wish to serve the poor but he is always found near this castle or that keep, accepting 'donations' from the lords that dwell within. For a while he made his home on Tarth, taking advantage of the Evenstar… but then he fled and the rumors of that night and some creature known as 'The Hulk' began to spread. Now he is here in the city, giving aid to the poorest of the poor, of course… while also courting the powerful and convincing them he is the only way."
"So another Shepherd," Natasha said, thinking of the tales of the one-handed beggar who had rallied King's Landing during the end of the Dance of the Dragons. "Or another Septon Moon."
"Indeed," Varys agreed. "And finally there are the whispers of the Spiders."
"Spiders? Some of your little birds graduate?" Clynt jested.
"Hardly," Varys said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "The Spiders are a group rumored to be fighting against all crime in King's Landing. A group with amazing powers. Strength. Speed. Agility. The ability to swing on-"
Natasha had no need to hear the rest.
Mostly due to the fact that at that moment she saw three lithe figures swing past her window on white threads, their bodies entirely covered in fabric, before The Centurion rocketed past in a dead chase.
~MC~MC~MC~
OMAKE
Robert had roped Ser Jaime, Thoros of Myr, and Littlefinger into playing some cards with him in the White Sword Tower. They were smoking Pentosi cigars and drinking and just overall having a good time.
"I'm in," Thoros said. "Let's see your cards."
"Aw, I was bluffing," Robert said sadly, setting down his hand.
"Haha!" Thoros said, going for the pot. "Come to papa… what…" He looked at Robert's hand. "You… you have a straight flush!" He growled in frustration. "You do this every time! Ga! Aargh! I'm… choking on my own rage here!"
"Hey, don't yell at his grace," Littlefinger said. "Just because he's a little slow."
Robert gasped. 'Something was said. Not good. What was it? Don't yell at his grace! No… that was okay. What was it? Slow… he called you slow!' Robert leapt to his feet. "How dare you-huh?" he looked around to find that it was pitch dark in the room and everyone was gone save for Ser Jaime, who'd walked in eating a sandwich and dressed in his sleeping robe.
"You're grace, you're still here? You really are slow."
Robert gasped. 'Something was said. Not good-'
"GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!" Jaime shouted.
