Tyrion stood just outside the cell which now held the pooling sludge which was once Varys. The cunning man who had survived multiple mad and capricious Kings was dead, arguably one of the most talented Master of Whispers in a generation reduced to offal.
He felt the bile and nausea clawing up his throat in a way he never had before. And that was saying something. As the mightiest drunken dwarf in all the kingdoms he had thought he had known every kind of nausea a man could ever experience. After watching the Wildfyre burn men to death at the battle of the Blackwater, the stench of cooked flesh in his nostrils and having grown up witnessing the varied tortures and brutalities committed first by his father Tywin, then by the wicked bitch Cersei and finally by the mad bastard Joffrey …he thought horror and carnage were old friends. He had thought he'd grown immune to such things over countless years. Mutilation and depravity were shockingly commonplace for those who ruled the great Houses, it had become their favorite means of exerting power afterall…and so he had thought himself of strong stomach and iron nerves.
As was becoming distressingly common…the god, Daisy, was proving to be yet another exception to this assumption.
Fighting down the nausea Tyrion girded himself to peak back into the cell once again. It was a horrifying sort of fascination he felt, as though even his magnificent brain couldn't quite accept that what had happened was real.
He leaned forward and stared into the gloomy cell. Sludge painted the walls. Congealed blood that looked reminiscent of expensive jelly adhered to the stone walls. Varys' distinctive robes lay puddled in a thick soup; a strange mix of red and black blood glistening in the candle light.
He can vaguely make out strips and chunks of skin which adorn the walls like streamers and strange macabre decorations reminiscent of those hung on noble homes for the Feast of the Mother.
The most disturbing fact is that even with all of his intelligence and keen eye, Tyrion cannot identify a single chunk of flesh or viscera that looks reminiscent of a human being. None of it looks like it came from a person.
His eyes dart around seeking to find a single hint of a bone, a tooth, a fingernail…anything that his mind could latch onto and correlate this mess with the man he once knew as Varys.
Yet, there is nothing. Just deformed skin that looks like melted wax adhered to some surface in a tallow factory.
No bones.
The wafting smell of hot blood is tainted with a sour note…not the usual release of bowels that is common when a man meets his end on the field of battle, but rather something acidic and clawing.
The garish image is made all the more horrifying by the perfectly clean circle where her Holiness had stood.
Tyrion leans back, taking shallow breaths and trying to banish the image from his mind. It was a bad idea to look again but it was like when a knight gets thrown from a horse in a tourney…he couldn't help but stare in awed horror and fascination.
The rich cheese and fruits he had eaten earlier threaten to revisit him as his stomach tumbles and hot bile rushes up his throat. His saliva tastes metallic and his heart pounds. A cool sweat sticking to his skin.
He slumps against the wall of the dungeons and gives himself the charity of a moment to gather his wits and put some steel back in his spine.
He breathes slowly, his small hand wiping the sweat from his face, "Fuck, I'm too sober for this shit."
He swallows around a dry throat and closes his eyes to center himself….which, turns out to be a bad idea because the image of the cell and Vary's gloopy remains seems burned on the inside of his eyelids.
He snaps his eyes open and pushes off the wall, staggering for a moment before gaining some semblance of steady equilibrium.
With an effort worthy of the Warrior himself he manages to stay on his feet and walk slowly down the corridor, pushing open the steel gates which secure the dungeons.
Coming through the heavy doors Tyrion sees two guards, both looking slightly pale from having Daisy pass them after the horrifying sounds of Varys' end no doubt rang out through these corridors.
The guard on the left is younger and seems to fidget in place, restrained excitement in his bearing. Oh to be that eager and stupidly young again that the deadly intrigues of court seemed interesting and fun. Poor lad is probably only thinking about the stories he will get to tell of this day and the gossip with pretty wenches he will share.
The man on the right is more grizzled, his eyes having the thousand yard stare of a soldier who has seen people die and knows there is nothing glorious in it.
Tyrion addresses him, his voice coming out uncharacteristically weak and reedy, "H-have servants sent down to clean up the cell. Everything…everything inside is to be burned by order of Her Holiness. You are to stand guard over the servants. They should wear the thickest gloves and smocks available, long sleeves. Under no circumstances is any of the…the b-blood to come in contact with their skin. Burn everything, including their clothes and the wash clothes, buckets, brushes…just fucking everything when they are done, do you understand?"
The guard looks paler, "My Lord?" The worry and confusion in his voice is clear but his eyes do not waver from Tyrion. Tyrion has mastered a carefree and arrogant attitude and persona over the years. A thing people either hate or find amusing. Seeing it absent seems to disturb the guards even more.
Tyrion wipes his face with his hand and sucks in a calming breath, "Her Holiness, Quake, sentenced the traitor Varys to death. By the screams you no doubt heard, it wasn't a good death...even for a traitor it was…" Tyrion shook his head before his mind became stuck in reliving the atrocious and bloody scene of Varys' final agonizing moments. "She merely fed him an eggcup of her blood. Barely a tablespoon… It was…" Tyrion swallows the sudden rush of vomit that travels to the back of his throat. "...an unnatural thing…a death I wouldn't wish even on my worst enemy. Done as much for justice as it was for the god to sate her curiosity about what would happen when a mortal was touched by the divine… To see a man melt from within like a candle while divine light twisted beneath his skin and something from the realm of gods tried to grow out of his flesh…I have never…I…"
Tyrion seems lost as he stares at the man. His breathing labored.
The guards shuffled uneasily, seeing the usually entertaining and glibly humorous demon imp so serious is unsettling. His vivid description of Vary's end makes the guards flinch and the young one's jittery excitement dim as some of the horror of what has happened finally seems to penetrate his immature mind.
Tyrion shakes himself as a new thought occurs to him, " The cell is solid stone…On second thoughts, just…just have the servants douse the room in oil and burn it out. Then when the fire gutters, scrape everything into barrels, take it outside and burn it again. I will speak to the Queen and see about having whatever ash remains at the site of their burning set ablaze again by one of her Dragons…"
The guards shuffle now in increased nervousness at the idea of Varys' remains and the god's wrath being so dangerous that they needed to be thrice burned,including dragon fire. Tyrion fumbles at a pouch on his belt and pulls out four gold coins which he gives to the elder guard, "A coin for each of you and one each for the servants who do this…duty. I will be checking that they get their due for this unseemly and dangerous work."
The elder guard clinks the four gold coins in his hand, eyeing Tyrion wearily. Lords do not pay servants extra on a whim…the duty he assigns must be truly arduous, dangerous or both.
The elder guard nods, "I'll see til it."
The younger guard is eyeing the gold greedily, distracted from the terrifying nature of what they discuss by the sight of the small fortune. Poor fool will earn it and learn the true price of gold.
Tyrion turns to the green boy and in a move of unusual kindness which he will later blame on the shock he tells the young guard, "Whatever you do, don't look in the cell…what a god does to someone who earns their wrath…"Again Tyrion staggers and catches himself on the wall before swallowing back more bile, the flood of metallic tasting saliva in his mouth makes him think for a moment that the smell of Vary's acidic congealed blood is wafting up the corridor. Anger ignites in his gut that he is showing weakness in front of these common men. The embarrassment and anger gives him the strength to push down his nausea and fight through the shock.
The young guard nods but there is a stubborn tilt to his chin that tells Tyrion he won't obey this advice. Tyrion had tried at least.
He pushes himself up and brushes between the two guards, continuing down the corridor and heading for the winding staircase which will lead back to the Keep.
It is when Tyrion is halfway up the stairs that he hears the faint sound of someone vomiting echo from the dungeons below.
Stupid folly of youth. The green guard couldn't resist looking it seems.
Tyrion reaches the ground floor and waits for the two guards at the heavy iron gate to open it so he can exit. When he walks through and the gate clangs shut behind him he breathes deeply of clear air wafting in through open shutters. It is only now he realizes the coldness in his limbs is not just from the chill of the dungeons but from the effects of shock. He feels a fine shiver race through his limbs. The daylight and clean dry scent of the Keep feel a million miles from the oppressive and cool air of the dungeons below however and give him the ability to breathe more easily and stand straight.
Tyrion walks on unsteady feet to yet more stairs which will take him to the Royal rooms which Queen Daenerys is using. What is it with stairs and noble homes? King's Landing, Dragonstone and now Highgarden…all made of fucking stairs. He knows Daenerys is waiting for his report on the terrace of her rooms, no doubt reading some dusty tome on her family history. He knows he is duty bound as her advisor to report to her immediately…to immediately make haste to her rooms and tell her about Varys' death, the god's wrath and the secrets the god believes Varys unwittingly revealed about his master before his death…but he hesitates.
Tyrion's mind is aflutter with thoughts and the effects of shock still grip him. He feels oddly numb and on the precipice of falling down and becoming a gibbering wreck in the corner. All the trauma of the last years seemingly coming to a head at this most inconvenient time, triggered by his front row seat to the most brutal execution and proof of divine power any man has likely ever seen. Tyrion idly thinks he should perhaps feel privileged at being witness to such unique events, yet all he feels is nauseous.
Within the maelstrom of his mind the least of his concerns, but certainly one of the most pressing, is the sudden realization that Varys is right…he is doomed here.
What was he thinking coming back to Westeros? He is a dwarf and a kinslayer but also the son of one of the most hated Houses in Westeros. A blood relation the mad bitch who had killed Margaey Tyrell, whose wrathful family's home he now lives in. He is a sitting duck, resting in the jaws of the hound, waiting to be torn asunder.
How apathetically blind has he been that he hasn't been able to see how precarious his position is?
Daenerys may protect him for now but the moment he is out of her sight when she leaves for the North or some other errand…some Tyrell will surely arrange a tragic accident for him…if he is lucky.
Fleeing West to rule the Rock for her Grace would only delay the inevitable since his countrymen there, no matter how careful he was, or how thorough his purge of his Father's supporters… someone would kill him for betraying his family, for kinslaying and then siding with the dragon Queen.
Fuck..he was surrounded by enemies…even the god saw it.
He needs a backup plan. He needs either to make inroads at creating a better network of new support, to make himself indispensable to the circling vultures or to plan an escape. He will have to give this some thought: Could he forge some kind of alliance with some of the other Southern Houses? Would Sansa grant him sanctuary in the North out of some residual nostalgic gratitude if he needed to flee? What could he offer her? Acting as advisor again…No, her fellow Northerners would never accept a Lannister dwarf who once married her in their midst. And being beneath the gaze of the god would be…intolerable. Perhaps Essos, or Braavos…seven hells, even Yi Ti may offer him a safer future. He will have to contemplate an escape plan further. But even escape takes time and resources. He will need funds, support, someone he can offer some kind of service to…fuck he is too sober for this kind of thinking.
Thoughts of Varys' death intrude again on his thoughts before any meaningful plan or solution to his problem occurs to him.
Not merely a death, but rather Varys' absolute destruction by a god.
Thoughts of the reality of the power of this god circle unceasingly in his mind's eye…a fucking egg cup of blood melted a man in a more horrifying manner than even Wyldfire, before making him explode.
A fucking egg cup she fed to Varys with none of her usual humor and attempts at the act of harmless humanity. She had been cold and calculated, looking at Varys like an experiment. He was destined to die anyway and the god wanted to see what would happen when she fed him her blood.
Like he was a spider she was pulling the legs from one by one to see how it would move when crippled. Cold curiosity.
And yet, when he had exploded, she barely batted an eye…she seemed unsurprised. Not amused, or horrified or even satisfied...just coldly taking in his death like it wasn't an abomination.
What power could she unleash if pushed?
What was she beneath the pretty human facade she showed the world?
Even a skeptic like him, who had until recently agreed with his father's idea that while the gods most likely existed they were absentee assholes so were irrelevant…Tyrion has to now accept they are not just real but also apparently concerned with human matters…and all that implies about life and the afterlife.
Were all those people right and his dwarfism was a punishment from the gods? Was his very existence a divine joke?
Would other gods start materializing in the world? Fuck, Jon had said he was killed and brought back by the fire god…was that real? Were people just about to start popping back up even when you killed them if the gods favored them? Thank fuck he can't think of a single god who would favour therotting corpse of his asshole of a father or crazed nephew.
Fuck…and if gods are real then are all the old legends true? The Long Night, the Others?
Tyrion admits to himself that a part of him had still been a bit disbelieving of the Northern party's belief that the Long Night was here again. It just seemed so…fanciful.
Yet now, things he had relegated to the stuff of legends, dreams, and nightmares…it all stands before him.
He shakes himself and drags his mind from his wandering thoughts to look around and realize his feet have carried him further on his journey while he has been lost in thought. He has paused on the stairs. He glances around and sees he has climbed to a floor below Daenerys' rooms. He hesitates once more at the thought of going to report to her.
His hands twitch involuntarily for a goblet of wine. His throat feels parched. He needs a drink…something to steady his nerves to give such a report…or rather to help his frantic mind block out his raging thoughts.
He blinks and he sees Varys' cell. The garish red gelatin that was once one of the most intelligent men in Westeros. The rictus cry of agony as Varys' form bulged and his skin melted…it is like a flip book of images in Tyrion's head.
He wants to crack his skull open and scoop the images out but he can't. A drink…he needs a fucking drink.
He pivots and shuffles onto his floor, heading at pace for the rooms assigned to him.
He knows that he shouldn't drink. Knows that he risks pushing Daenerys to actually kill him for disobeying her but right now he doesn't care. Death might actually be a nice relief from the replaying horror in his mind and the storm of questions about divinity and morality which are for the first time in his life occurring to him. He needs alcohol to settle his torrid mind as it tries frantically to wrestle with the breath stopping realization of just how powerful the resident god is and the horror she could so casually unleash.
Tyrion passes servants who eye him oddly. They obviously know from the grapevine what was happening with Varys and where he was. They know he should be reporting to his Queen.
His pale and rattled visage will probably only add to the rumors and gossip.
Tyrion storms into his rooms and makes straight for a chest at the foot of his bed. He throws out the clothes within, frantically pawing through them until he reaches the wooden bottom which, with pressure at one corner and some fiddly grasping with his nails at the other, he lifts to reveal a hidden bottom which houses four bottles of wine nestled in hay, lying lengthwise on their sides.
He had squirreled away the expensive glass bottles of exquisite wine when in Pentos. He had known that an emergency or a celebration would warrant their need at some point.
Without any of his usual finesse when dealing with fine drink Tyrion grabs a small knife from the table and begins digging the wax and cork top out. It's a messy affair, made worse by the faint shaking of his hands and his fraughtness. His clumsy efforts to access the wine as quickly as possible will likely contaminate the lovely beverage with fragments of cork…something he gives exactly no shits about in this frantic moment of need.
When the crumbling and much stabbed cork finally comes free he wastes no time in putting the bottle to his head. The thick wax around the neck of the bottle makes it awkward but he guzzles the wine like a man dying of thirst.
The strong alcohol hits his tongue and slides down his throat to settle his queasy stomach in a familiarly comforting routine.
He slumps against the chest and gasps for breath. The fact that the events of the last hour have been real suddenly settle into his bones. He is alone now and in private…he can finally give into the clawing hysteria that has been bubbling beneath the surface since he watched Varys die.
Tyrion laughs madly and a little wetly. His eyes are wide and frantic. He slugs more wine.
The gods are real…or at least one definitely is and she is horrifyingly powerful.
He had seen her turn aside dragon fire but…that was a defensive power. He had heard of the pyromancers of R'hllor and had reasoned it wasn't the most powerful of displays.
For Daisy's blood, a mere egg cup's worth to turn mortal flesh into the plaything of divine power though…what could she do if she attempted a real ritual with it, or if she dropped her act of passive humanity? Would anyone or anything survive her wrath?
She had turned the idiot septon Yelshire who spoke so disresectfully to her and about Sansa into a living bruise, made him scream in agony with a single touch. Barely a moment of skin contact and he had been ruined. She had said it was but a taste of her power and it had instantly, utterly ravaged the man's body as though every vessel within had ruptured and the countless fractures making it seem he had been thrown down a mountainside.
Tyrion gulped more wine, the last of the bottle running dry.
And Varys…he had felt an odd kinship with the man. A fellow outcast. A man believed by society to be less than a man because of his physical form, and yet he had risen above them all with intellect and cunning. Tyrion had admired that, felt he shared a similar pain and outlook on life because of it. Varys had helped save him after his escape from King's Landing and that had only made him more blind to how the man was using him…how he was subtly sabotaging Daenerys and their cause. Rage and betrayal, an old friend, erupts like a volcano in his small form, "Arghh!" he cries out, his scarred face twisting as he hurls the empty bottle across the room and snatches up the second bottle, attacking the cork ruthlessly with his knife. There is probably a fucking gold corkscrew around here somewhere but Tyrion cannot face some smarmy Tyrell servant at the moment who would report his request before they even thought of bringing it to him. Damned if he will wait any longer.
He cuts away the thick wax with swift and well practiced moves before stabbing at the blasted cork. Why must the damn things be so hard to open. No wonder bottles of drink weren't wide spread, it wasn't the price that put people off but the fact one had to go through the rigmarole of uncorking the damn things just to get a drink. A wine skin or a barrel was much simpler.
With a savage final stab the cork splits, half falls into the bottle of expensive wine while the other half gets pulled out on the tip of the knife. The cork likely ruined the wine, an offense which would have had Tyrion verbally eviscerating a servant for crimes against drink if one of them had ever cocked up opening such a fine beverage as he was but he just doesn't care right now.
He slurps the bottle like a babe at its mothers teat.
The gods care about humanity and are even more powerful than the oldest stories described if Daisy is any indication.
Tyrion's mind can't help but re-evaluate his life with this new perspective. What awaits him in the next life? He, a kinslayer. A half man who has whored and philandered all across the Seven Kingdoms for his entire life.
His family…cheats, royal usurpers, incestuous dishonorable arseholes…fuck.
What is human life worth if the gods are real? How small must they seem to Daisy? No wonder she doesn't seem to give a shit about titles or etiquette or gold…it must all be so meaningless to such a being of power. Tyrion's mind struggles with the idea. All his life he has understood that every person has a price. Every person values riches and reputation yet now he has seen proof that this god doesn't. How do you win the favor of such a being? Honor? Prayer? Those boats have well and truly sailed, and sunk for Tyrion.
By the Seven, they must all seem like annoying horseflies to Daisy…short lived, squabbling flies. No wonder she has so neatly inserted herself to cut off the chance of the North and South going to war. It must seem so pointless to her.
More hysterical laughter bubbles past his lips as he gulps more wine, the fale heat spreading through his gut. His hands absently pull at his hair and as he tries to make sense of it all.
His eyes close for a moment and once more the bloody scene of Varys' cell is imprinted on his eyelids. The god's calm demeanor as she laid out her existence, the carless and brutal manner with which other gods had raped, pillaged and experimented on humanity to make weapons and had inadvertently birthed a new god in Daisy…a being born from the war of gods and the staggering arrogance of humanity to try and fight them. To think she had survived injecting god's blood into herself when Vary's had barely lasted 30 seconds of agonizing mutation before exploding.
What had Varys' form been mutating into? Was it the true form of the gods? Before he had exploded, Varys' body had been melting and reshaping, expanding…the divine golden light within him trying to birth a monstrosity of divine form but his feeble mortal flesh had explosively failed under the weight of such power. What had Daisy become when she tasted the blood of a god? What form had she taken on when that metamorphosis of melting and twisting flesh had passed to give way to the rebirth of golden divine power?
Tyrion's mind flinches from it and he tips back the bottle, sinking the last dregs before reaching for a third.
Daenerys was angry. No, that was too sanguine…she was furious, enraged, and well and truly done with Tyrione Lannister.
She had dispatched the infuriating man with order's to have her ultimatum given to Varys. Death by dragon fire after revealing his secrets, or being given to the god of destruction Daisy as a sacrifice and offering in repayment for the man's failed attempt to have one under the god's protection killed.
It was a simple errand.
Tyrion was to report back what Varys had revealed so she could arrange his execution this evening, or to hear the report of what Daisy had done to Varys for his failed attempt on Jon's life. No doubt he would have died screaming if the fate of the Septon who had raised Daisy's ire was any indication.
Yet, hours have passed and there is no sign of Tyrion.
Missendei had just reported that Daisy had been seen at the stables while servants had seen Tyrion heading to his rooms near an hour ago.
The imp was no doubt getting drunk against her express orders.
If she could breathe fire like her children she would.
She strode towards his chambers. It was unbecoming of a Queen to go in search of one of her subjects but she was too furious and too impatient to wait for Tyrion to be dragged before her. She would confront him in his rooms. Perhaps confine him to them as punishment. If he wished to act like an unruly child then she would treat him as such.
The two Dothraki guards followed her as she strode through the halls. Even here she was cautious about her safety and the Dothraki were all too eager to act as her honor guard, seemingly easily amused by the terror they could inspire in the Tyrell Household servants and guards by their intimidating displays as her guards.
Daenerys threw the door into Tyrion's rooms open without a moment's hesitation. It was a smaller guest suite than those found on her floor above, no solar, but a roomy suite with bed, a book shelf almost overstuffed with heavy tomes, opulent furniture, a desk and even a small table for meals with guests.
Her eyes naturally zeroed in on the drunken dwarf who lay slumped against a chest at the foot of his bed. The floor was covered in clothes that seemed to have been tossed out in a careless rush.
Two empty glass bottles lay on the floor, a third's smashed remains decorated the floor at the far side of the room where it had obviously been thrown against the wall.
A fourth bottle was gripped in the drunken hand of Tyrion himself. The bottle sloshing as he lifted it in a saluted greeting to his Queen even as he struggled to stand at her entrance. Tried, and failed.
The fourth bottle seemed half full and by Tyrion's glazed eyes and unsteady attempts to rise it was obvious he was deep in his cups.
"Y-your Graccce!" Tyrion slurred.
Daenerys clenched her teeth and felt her hands clawing into her fine gown as she tried to restrain herself from striking out at the dwarf.
"So, not only did you fail to report back to me about Varys's fate, but you disobeyed my orders that no drink was to pass your lips? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't feed you to Drogon?" Daenery's hissed.
Tyrion blinked slowly at Daenerys before once more attempting to come to his feet. By sheer will and the aid of the chest to lean against he made it to his feet and met Daenerys' eyes unflinchingly, "Well, Your Gracce, I think Drogon…" he paused for a moment as though doing some herculean mental calculation before his voice suddenly dropped its usual weedling and sarcastic drawl to sound unnervingly serious and almost begging, "Drogon? Yesss...Drag-drogon, your Gracce…he need-sh to burn it. Burn it all. Kill it with fire to protect usssh."
Daenerys frowns at Tyrion's slurred words and his suddenly serious tone despite his drunkenness.
"Burn what?" She demanded impatiently.
Tyrion flinched slightly and what color was in his cheeks seemed to flee suddenly, "Burn whatss left. Varys ashhess…pop! He went popss and we're all ants you know? ANTs-SHS to a god!" Tyrion hiccuped and slurred.
Daenerys for the first time took a calming breath and really looked at Tyrion. His hair was a mess as though he had been pulling at it frantically, his hands covered in nicks from trying to open the wine. His eyes which she had thought were glazed with mere drunkenness held more than that. They swam with shock and horror, the look of a man confronted by death on a battlefield. His pallor was a unique shade of both pale and greenish as though he were sickly afraid. When she focused her eyes on his small frame she finally caught the faint tremble in his hand that held the wine bottle in a white knuckled grip.
Whatever had happened with Varys it was more than she expected. So much more. Something so unsettling to make Tyrion, the irreverent and cocky man seemingly so desperate for a drink to drown what he was dealing with that he had ignored her orders and the threat to his life.
Daenerys turned to her Dothraki guards and commanded in their language, "Leave us." They exchanged brief looks between each other and at the gently swaying dwarf before offering short nods and backing out of the room. When the door closed Daenerys strode across the room and held out her hand to Tyrion.
He blinked at it for a moment in confusion before fumblingly offering her the bottle of wine. Daenerys took a small sip to settle the last of anger and force patience into her mind. It tastes deep and rich, a fine vintage, surely wasted on the intoxicated dwarf. She slumped to sit on the chest and looked down at Tyrion, "What happened to Varys Tyrion?"
Tyrion seemed to shudder and promptly fell back on his ass on the cold stone floor, his small body shaking slightly. He looked up at Daenerys with a bitter smile.
"H-he died…wouldn't reveal a godss damn thing of his backers, although Her Holinessh ssseemed pretty shhure it was someone in Pentoshhh with an ideo-ideo-idelogicamal motivation." Tyrion drunkenly murmured.
Daenerys watched the small man carefully, knowing what he wasn't saying was often just as important as the words he did speak. Tyrion was a brash little man who rarely shied away from any topic, no matter how shocking, taboo or scandalous. Yet, here he was seemingly doing everything he could to avoid discussing Varys' death.
Daenerys eyed Tyrion, cocking an unimpressed slender blond brow, "While it is interesting to know something of Varys' motivations and backers, I am more interested in why the god could not discover the truth in full and how exactly the traitor died."
Tyrion swallowed visibly, his pallor paling and his eyes darted to the wine bottle.
Daenerys rolled her eyes and huffed but handed the bottle back to him. Tyrion took a strong pull from the bottle before cradling it like a small child cradles a teddy bear, desperately seeking comfort.
He breathes deeply and shudders again, his eyes staying glued to the bottle as he looses a mournful laugh, "Her Holiness said that Varys was the sort who would take his shecrets to the grave and sso torture was pointlesss. Couldn't know if what he said was to stop the p-pain or the actual truth so ssshe just made an example of him….no…not even that, sshe used his death to say-say-sate her curioshity…"
Tyrion tipped the bottle up and took another gulp before laughing madly as he turned to look at Daenerys, "The fucking gods are real you know? Did you know? Real! And we're all antsh…ants to 'em. S-she shaid she wanted to know what her blood would do to a mortal c-cause other gods' had driven mortals mad, made them carve things into their flesh and walls. I almost admire it…two birds with one arrow: killed Varys in a way to inspire fear and sated her curiosity. All it cost was a man's life. Cheap to a g-god I ss-s'ppose."
Tyrion toasted his pronouncement to take another gulp from his now dwindling bottle of wine.
Daenerys felt her temper rising again. She had tried being patient, "Tyrion, answer my question. Your Queen's question, what did Daisy do to Varys?"
Tyrion seemed to curl in on himself as he hunched over the bottle, "Melted him." he whispered.
There is a beat of silence as Daenerys' tries to compute this answer and all it implies.
"Melted?" she asks dumbly as she blinks at Tyrion.
His eyes are wide and intense as he turns to stare back at her violet gaze, "M-e-l-t-e-d." He enunciates carefully despite his inebriation. He nods and then turns to eye his dwindling wine mournfully.
Daenerys blinks and her eyes seem to wander the room as her mind tries to make sense of what Tyrion has said. Daenerys' eyes land on the candles on Tyrion's desk and her mouth moves without thought, "Like a candle?"
Tyrion tips his head and eyes the candles in the room with an oddly focused expression for someone who is four bottles of wine deep, "No…no, not like a candle." He swallows as though fighting not to vomit and Daenerys' suddenly realizes it isn't the wine causing his nausea but merely the remembrance of whatever Daisy did to Varys. "That- that would have been better actually… Candlesss only melt from the top down…he ss-eemed to melt all over. Like he was dipped in acid and- and also boiling from the inside maybe? Sh-sh-sp-shpontaneous skinnin' maybe? With a side of exploding tick set on fire from within?"
Daenerys watches the usually verbose dwarf struggle for words for the first time in her acquaintance with him. Usually Tyrion has a hundred flowery words to describe any situation or person, yet now he seems remarkably stuck for words while trying to describe Varys' death.
She hesitantly places a comforting hand on his shoulder, her gentle but firm grip stilling the faint tremble that she can now feel running through his frame, "From the beginning Tyrion. Explain what Daisy did." Her voice is not unkind but it is firm and has the whip of Queenly command.
Tyrion grimaces and drains the very last drops from his bottle of wine, his eyes going seemingly blind as he stares into the distance, "S-sshe had an egg cup with her. Cut her palm and filled it. Fed the blood to Varysss. He…he melted. His ss-skin s-shloughed off like he was a candle being burned from within. He tried to s-s-sscream, oh how he tried to scream. These awful moaning gur-gurgling sounds, but it was like his inshides were liquifying and exshpanding, there was gold light like a sstorm beneath his sshkin and he started expanding like the blood was trying to - trying to turn him into something divine, but his body couldn't cope with it and he…he just exploded. POP! HEE, ha, ha, haaa… No bones, nothing of who he was left, just bits of s-skin and jellied blood all across his cell…but for a perfectly clean circle where Her Holiness stood. Perfectly clean. Spotless….p-p-practically shparkling"
Daenerys nodded at this drunken description. Drinking divine blood it seemed was a terrible death…apt for a traitor. Sort of burning from within rather than burning from outside with dragon fire. The divine was not meant for mortals, those who dabbled with divine power rarely had kind deaths, that was understood from their oldest tales and myths.
"I see." She said calmly.
Tyrion whipped around to face her, "You see? I hardly think so…it …it was…an abom- an abom-abomination, m-m-monstrouss..." His voice is filled with a strange mix of shock, awe and fear.
Daenerys' eyes narrow slightly as she tries to understand Tyrion's rather dramatic dive into the bottle and seeming shock. She is sure it was…unsettling seeing the god carry out her wrath on Varys but it cannot have been unexpected.
"Daisy has proven herself a god. Varys tried to have Jon killed, a man who was directly under her protection. It is only natural then that Varys' death was…memorable. Surely you of all people Tyrion did not think the tales of the gods' wrath in all our myths and legends were mere exaggeration? Gods do what gods do. Just as dragons and Queens will."
Tyrion blinked and rubbed his hand across his face, mournfully looking at his empty wine bottle. He mumbled beneath his breath, "I need another drink." Before more loudly replying to Daenerys, "You weren't there Y-Your Grace…she didn't just kill him, she…it was unquestionable proof that s-she is a god, and unquestionable proof that whatever else that means, it means we are so far beneath her that even the death that I witnessed…Varys…destruction…it was a mere curiosity to her. We are mere curiosities."
Daenerys' eyes widened in understanding as she finally grasped what it was that had so shocked Tyrion, "Ahh, you have realized the difference between gods and men. How inconsequential our power is compared to that."
Tyrion bobbled his head side to side, "That, and just how fucked I am that the gods are apparently real and sssseem to give a- give a shit about h-honor and what we humansss do. Or at least Her Holiness does." He laughed bitterly. "It puts my life into perspective, an unpleasant perspective. How are you so calm your Grace?"
Daenerys smiles indulgently, "You forget m'Lord, I am mother to three dragons. Embodiments of magic, power and proof that for all humanity has accomplished…to such beasts we are nought more than tasty snacks if we annoy them. I was a slave and sold as property Tyrion, the idea of something or someone more powerful than me may be distasteful but it is not so new a concept."
Tyrion nods dumbly, his tired eyes blinking slowly as he gazes at the far wall, "To think gods are real and walk amongssst us." He gulps, "The thingsss Her Holiness said about her asc- asen-sshension to godhood..the way she calmly watched Varys melt. It was …I cannot do his end justice with wordsss. The s-sservants will have to burn out the cell to cleanse it of the ruin of his remains…and even then, I think whatever they scrape out…you may wish to have your dragons burn it again…"
Daenerys' eyes narrow, "You fear contamination?"
Tyrion shakes his head, "I-I don't know. I only know an eggcup of blood reduced a man to s-sssludge, to a bloody blishter trying to birth something not of this world…if so little of Her blood could do that, I can't even fathom what her true power could do…all precautionsss should be taken to ensure nothing of her blood remains outside of her body. Her Holiness said to burn Varys' remainssss and I would be more com-comfortable knowing dragon fire had cleansed it once and for all."
Daenerys nods. "I will see it done."
A weight seems to lift from Tyrion as he slumps, "My thanks your Grace."
Daenerys strangles a snort. Hearing sincere thanks from this most precocious and arrogant of men is a thing she never thought to hear.
They sit in silence a moment. Daenerys' mind turning over the revelations that Varys' backers were more likely of Pentos and motivated by an ideological crusade than by economics, power or familial grudge. It narrows the possibilities somewhat and gives her a narrow field of view to watch for troubles at least a little in that direction. She needs a new Master of Whispers though. One who isn't a traitor this time hopefully, who is well connected and capable. Daenerys' fights back a sigh…because such talented men just grow on trees of course. She almost lets loose her groan at the thought of yet another hurdle in her path.
"I thought him m-my friend." Tyrion whispers desolately.
Daenerys shakes herself from her thoughts and gazes down at this man who more often than not infuriates her. Here she thinks is the heart of his pain. Betrayal by those closest to us is always the hardest to bear.
"It is those we trust who hurt us the most. I learned that when Viserys sold me for an army. I knew him to be…mercurial, prone to rages of the dragon, but he was my brother and I trusted him. It is because you trusted Varys despite knowing he was a man of secrets and machinations, that is why it hurts. You must not let this break you. If I had forsaken trust after Viserys I would not have Missendei and no one can stand alone Tyrion."
Tyrion seems to flinch beneath her gaze. Inside his drink addled mind, the reality of how alone he has made himself here, surrounded by Tyrells, and Varys' warning runs in his mind.
Tyrion nods sharply.
Dsenerys stands, "I expect you at the council meeting in the morning to give a full report of Varys' end. You will be washed. You will be properly attired. You will be sober. You will do your duty as my advisor."
Tyrion struggles to his drunken feet and gives a stiff bow with only a hint of a wobble, "Yes Your Grace. My thanks for your…understanding."
Daenerys nods and sweeps from the room.
The door closes with a dull thud. Tyrion staggers to his bed, hauls himself up onto the fine blankets and tries to sleep.
The moans of Varys and the dull popping of a human body echoing in his ears until the four bottles of wine finally drag him into a fitful slumber.
Willas and Olenna Tyrell sat in his private chambers. They weren't his real chambers, those had been forsaken as tribute to the god who had saved their collective asses from the Lannister army. It was only right that a god be given the best rooms in their home.
His suite here was less grand, held less books but still had a solar for work and meetings separate from his bedchambers. Here he held court with grandmother as they discussed the complex game of thrones they found themselves right at the heart of.
His lame leg was propped up on a set of cushions as he relaxed in the privacy of his rooms.
He sipped his watered wine and listened to his grandmother vent.
"Now, not only has a bloody Northern idiot like Sansa Stark earned favor by tupping the god as tribute but so too has the Dragon Queen assured her favor with the god before us. And how masterfully she did it too: she relinquished her claim on the North, something she would have had to do anyway with the god backing the Starks claim of independence, yet she did it while gaining the boon of our survival and saved face by making it seem like a trade between equals rather than a capitulation. Now she has offered Varys to the god as an offering for his attempt on Jon Stark. Human sacrifice dressed up in the clothing of justice which seems to appeal to the god."
Willas hums, "Her Holiness seems disinclined to human sacrifice. Has even said quite vocally that she would be…displeased by anyone trying to sacrifice anything or anyone in her name. She is a god of destruction perhaps but she seems inclined by some personal whim to only use her domain of power to destroy as a means of protection or just punishment."
Olenna cocks a brow, "Call a whore a companion or escort but they still spread their legs for gold. She killed the Lannister army in a lake of blood and showed her wrath to the snotty Yelshire quite mercilessly too. Nor did she demure when offered Varys."
Willas rolls his eyes, "She killed the Lannisters to protect us. She was given Vary's because he planned Jon's death despite him being under her protection, and need I remind you grandmother, that it was us who had the fool Septon Yelshire killed on his return trip home. Not Her Holiness…she merely…damaged him to protect Sansa Stark's reputation when he insulted her."
Olenna sneered, "It was a mercy. The Maester predicted he would die of clots within the week anyway. The stupid prick. The fact Her Holiness didn't seem to give a shit about the ruined Septon once he left her sight shows how little she thought of him. He was a nuisance, nothing more, not even worth her time to kill. Better he died quietly than anyone start questioning who sent him and endanger our other new alliances…or worse, have him live to one day prick the god's anger again."
Willas sighed, "None of this helps us understand just how it is we have seemingly gained the god's favor. We have offered nothing but base hospitality and sweet tea of all damn things and yet she seems quite pleased with us. Happy to engage in conversation and company…yet refusing all usual overtures of favor like a hound casting off river water. She has no desire for gold, lands, fine clothing, jewels, or bed partners of either sex. I am almost tempted to start throwing our youngest cousins in her path for how amused she seems by small children. Gifts to the orphanage garnered more attention and note than any finery we throw at her."
Olenna scowls, "Bah, favor we do not understand and that we have not earned by something we can control the supply of is pointless. If her favor is mere whim then it could change as quickly as it is given and that makes our position unstable. We need something to tie our favor to her which we can control or at least influence!"
Willas slaps his thigh irritably, "I know! I almost wish she had wanted Leonette and Garlan as we had first thought, at least that I could have understood. Making their company available to her and having them whisper in her ear while abed would have been a favor beyond measure."
Olenna looks wistful, "Hff, they would have ballsed it up with their stupid ideas of love and fidelity. You saw Leonette, she was half ready to deny the damned god…it was bloody good fortune she was with child and Her Holiness had no real interest in her beyond conversation. Stupid girl believes fairytales of knights falling for their one true love and all that twoddle. If only Margery were here, she would have understood. She would have been able to play the god and Sansa Stark like a well tuned lute for all the power and influence they were worth, no matter what it cost, pretty conversation or venal bed duties."
Willas eyes his grandmother, her black grieving attire and sad eyes. For all her sharp tongue and hard reputation she loves her family, and had loved Margery perhaps the most for she was as cunning and sly as herself.
Willas is saved from having to comment on that when there is a loud knock on his door. He grunts as he swiftly removes his leg from the pillow it had been propped on. To be seated when speaking to his subordinates showed his power, but to do so while his legged is propped up announcing his lameness pained him showed only weakness.
"That's the guards I sent for. I want to hear their report of Varys' end and the gods' mood upon leaving him. If she is displeased by what she heard from Varys' confession or her blood is up from killing him then better we know and can make plans." Willas informed his grandmother as she eyed the door questioningly.
She nodded in acknowledgement and called out in a shrill command, "Enter!"
The door opened promptly and in marched two guards. One barely a man at all and the other a somewhat grizzled veteran that Willas at least recognised and knew by name. Both men looked pale, dark circles beneath their eyes and the faintest downturn of their lips. Willas' sharp eyes noticed the seemingly unconscious shake in the younger ones hand and a definite smell of smoke that seemed to emanate from them.
The guards bobbed nervous respectful bows, their eyes flickering between the two occupants as they simultaneously greeted them, "My Lord, Lady Olenna."
The older guard straightened, "How may we be of service My Lord."
There was the barest of quivers in the man's voice. Willas kept his surprise and growing concern from his face. He did not know all of the guards who served him personally, especially not two who were so often in the depths of Highgarden watching the rarely used cells. He did however have a passing knowledge of this old guard, he had fought briefly for the Tyrells in the battle of the Blackwater. He was a steady and reliable man who had lived through interesting times, seen death and dealt it. For him to be shaken as he appeared then Varys' end must truly have been something horrific.
"I wish your report of anything and everything you heard from the moment Her Holiness entered the dungeons to deal with Varys to the moment she left. Especially any…speculation on her mood."
The elder guard nodded and swallowed around his dry throat, his form stiff as he stood at attention.
"Yes M'Lord…um, Her Holiness and the im- I mean Tyrion Lannister came to the dungeons together. Her Holiness commanded we open the cell but return to the mouth of the corridor after. We did as we were commanded."
Lady Olenna's patience ran out, "But you heard things yes? Come on man, what happened, spit it out!"
The elder guard's eyes flickered to Lady Olenna and while hostility flickered in his gaze, it quickly died as his shoulders drooped a little.
"At first…nothing. The murmur of voices. Varys and Tyrion. They didn't speak for long before Her Holiness' voice joined the conversation. It was shorter again. Then…then the sounds started…"
The guard trailed off as though even he could not find the words for the sounds he had heard.
Olenna opened her mouth to snap at the guard to hurry up but Willas subtly raised a hand and threw a sharp glare from the side of his eye towards his grandmother. Her mouth closed and she huffed.
Willas watched the guard as he tried to find the words. After a few more moments the guard shook his head and his brows drew together in a shrap frown, "Forgive me my Lord, I have no words for the sounds I heard. It wasn't screaming, not like I have heard when a thief lost a hand, or a rapist his balls…it was like…I once saw a man have his tongue ripped out for revealing secrets he shouldn't. He tried to cry out, to scream but he couldn't get the breath or make the sounds. Varys…Varys, the sounds he made were like that. Like he was in the kind of agony that makes a man slit his own throat but he was incapable of screaming, no matter how much he wanted to. These low groans of a man being brutalized echoed up the hall and then…then there was a meaty thud, like when a man is thrown against wall…and then it was silence. Such terrible silence."
Willas nodded as he took in this report. He was unsurprised really. Varys had tried to have Jon Stark, a man under the gods' personal protection killed. He had tried to arrange for his death by dragon so as to torpedo peace between the god, the North and Daenerys. He had failed and been exposed as a traitor. Of course the god would make his end a thing of nightmares.
"And then?" Willas prompted softly, an unusual kindness in his tone as he addressed his spooked guard.
After a moment and a quick look to his younger companion he continued, "I could hear Her Holiness and Tyrion conversing. Then the god left. She trotted out like nothing had happened. Smiled at us as though she were passing us in any corridor of the Keep rather than coming from an execution."
Olenna butted in to query, "What of her appearance? Was she ruffled? Blooded? Angry? Satisfied?"
The guard blinked as he tried to shift his mind to answer the question, "Um, no…Her Holiness seemed, content? She was…her usual self to my eyes. No sign of blood nor nuthin' on her clothes and her hair weren't out of place!"
Willas nodded, "And Tyrion?"
The guard shifted uncomfortably, "He didn't follow the god for some time. At least a few minutes…and when he did, he was…"
The younger guard seemingly unable to hold his tongue any longer blurted out as his companion hesitated, "Shaken. Scared shitless to say it rightly." His eyes widened as he glanced at his Lord and Lady Olenna as he realized his language was inappropriate. He bowed swiftly, "Forgive me, I-"
Lady Olenna waved him off, "Quiet boy. I have heard worse and said worse imp was scared? Truly? I didn't think there was anything that could make the arrogant little drunkard act anything less than smugly indolent."
The young boy seemed to gain some bravery at not being chastised and seeing his senior officer not interrupting he continued, "Tyrion…staggered as though drunk but he was sober. No scent of wine on him and we know her Grace has forbidden him to drink. He stumbled up the corridor as though the bone had gone from his legs. He told us the god had executed Varys, said it was a horrifying thing…"
The young guard is cut off again as Lord Willas interrupts this time, suddenly sitting forward in intrigue, "Tyrion called it horrifying? The son of Tywin Lannister, witness of incalculable cruelties and brutalities was shaken by what the god did? Do you agree with this report?" Willas' eyes skewered the elder guard, placing the responsibility of answering back with him.
He shuffled, "Aye m'Lord, Tyrion was…visibly shaken. He struggled with words…"
"Truly a miracle!" Olenna sniped in an undertone.
"He gave us orders about Varys' remains and informed us of the the gods' judgment."
Both Olenna and Willas focused completely on the guard now as Willas questioned hurriedly, "He told you what the goddess did to Varys?"
The guards exchanged looks, their pallor paling even as the elder answered, "Aye m'lord."
But he remained stubbornly quiet until Willas prompted, "Well man, what did he say? What were his orders?"
"He, he told us the god had sentenced Varys' to death. Tha' she 'ad cut her palm and fed him three drops of her blood from an eggcup. That Varys' had a death too cruel even for a traitor…that he had, he had…" here both guards go faintly green as though remembering something before the senior swallows mightily and continues, "He said that Varys had melted. That the gods' blood had made him burn with divine light and melt like a candle while something from the realm of gods tried to grow out of his flesh before it destroyed him utterly when his mortal flesh couldn't contain it."
There is ringing silence in the room. Olenna and Willas exchange looks in which whole conversations occur. The full weight of such a description being pulled apart by their astute minds. For a mere eggcup of blood to make such a terrible end it was an indictment of the gods' power. More worrying was the idea that her blood could be some medium for some terrible divine beings to use mortal flesh as gateways, or mediums to grow from…but which mortals were ultimately unsuited for, too fragile for the power of the divine…
Willas prevented a shudder with iron willed control.
"And then? His orders?" Willas demanded.
An odd full body twitch passed through the sickly looking guard before he rallied, "He told us he was passing on the gods' orders, said that Her Holiness had commanded Varys remains be burned. Tyrion told us to send for servants, to guard them as they cleaned up …what remained. That we were to see to it that the servants burned out the cell with oil-"
Willas cut the man off in a voice that held restrained panic, "He ordered the cell be burned out? Indoors? Is he mad!"
The elder guard hurried to explain, "Tyrion said the cell was nought but stone and we was to burn it out, not let it spread. We was careful m'Lord, we ensured the servants doused the walls, the floor with a little oil and we had buckets of water ready and made sure that nothing left the cell. Once it burned itself out then whatever was left, Tyrion ordered that the servants were to scrape up and have brought outside where the Queen would have whatever was left burned again by dragon fire. He said the servants should wear smocks and gloves and to make sure nothing touched their skin, said they should burn everything they wore."
Olenna and Willas fell back in their seats as they contemplated that, for the irreverent dwarf to take the threat and danger of the gods' blood in the remains of Varys so seriously then it spoke of the danger and perhaps even a risk of contagion.
"And was it done?" Olenna snapped angrily to conceal her own disquiet and unease.
Both guards suddenly started bobbing their heads frantically in the affirmative, "Yes, Yes! We supervised the clean up and we have just come back from the hillside outside the outer ring. Her Grace used Drogon to burn the chest that contained what remained of Varys, she was waiting for us having gotten a report from Tyrion."
Well, Willas thought, that explained the stink of smoke that clung to the men.
Olenna's eyes sparked with morbid curiosity as a cruel smile tugged her lips into a lopsided sneer, "And what condition was Varys' remains in when you oversaw this operation?"
The guards lost what little color remained in their cheeks and swayed a little, the elder placing a steadying hand on his junior companion to steady him. The steadfast gesture somewhat undercut by the shake visible in his own hand as he laid it on the young man's shoulder.
The young guard clenched his eyes shut as though trying to banish the image of what Vary's remains had looked like, his throat bobbing convulsively and short breaths stuttering between his teeth. "The blasted dwarf warned me not t'look…he warned me…but I jus' wanted to see…thought him a weak dwarf….gods…"
Willas stared in astonishment and a slowly creeping horror at how thoroughly the young guard had been unmanned by whatever the god had done to Varys.
"But you did look yes? Tell me, what had the god done to Varys?" Willas pushed.
The younger guard whimpered…and his head shook.
The elder tried to step in and finish their tale to save his younger fellow but even his voice failed him, "It…it was…"
The mans's eyes were haunted and he stumbled across his words as though his mind was simply refusing to give voice to what he had seen.
Willas. growing impatient, leaned forward to the jug of wine and goblets in the table, filled one and thrust it forward without rising from his seat, "Here man, drink! Put some false courage in your belly if that is what it takes to speak of it."
The elder guard stumbled forward after a moments hesitation and seemingly forgetting all sense of dignity or rules of propriety in the moment he took the offered goblet and gulped half the contents. Righting himself he brought the goblet to his younger companion and pressed the goblet into his hands mutteringsoft whispered words of reassurance.
When the young man had dared to open his eyes enough to see the goblet and sip it as though it was simultaneously his salvation and also as though afraid its introduction to his stomach would be the final straw to make it rebel, the elder guard faced Willas and Olenna.
"I- I will speak of it m'Lord but once and beg of you to question me on it no more from this day. I wish to forget it."
Olenna scowled at the front of this mere guard uttering ultimatums and orders to his betters but once again Willas waved her down with a subtle flick of his hand. "Speak man. I needs must know what happened to Varys. Knowing the god's power and her temperament is key to keeping us all alive in the days to come. Speak now and you will be excused. What state was Vary's body in?"
The guard ran a tired hand down his face, "T'is the thing m'Lord…there weren't no body."
Willas frowned, "No body? But you have just reported you oversaw the clean up of his remains, speak sense man or I shall have it whipped from you, my patience is not unending."
The guard flinched at the harsh rebuke and he tried again to explain, "I told ye m'Lord…the servants scraped what was left into a chest. I meant it …like scraping butter from bread… We burned the whole cell, floors, walls and ceiling. That was because all that remained of Varys was pasted like bloody mortar all across every surface. Like vivid red frog spawn, sprayed onto every surface. Not a bone, a tooth…nothing but bloody scraps of thread from robes left to evidence the man ever sat in the room.A few …scraps of melted skin that looked more like wax than flesh."
Willas and Olenna's eyes were wide at this description, their minds trying and failing to grasp the horror of it and to visualize such a thing.
Before they could order their minds to ask questions the younger guard, now revived somewhat by alcohol let out a hissing whine, "Except the circle…the perfect circle…"
The elder guard nodded, his gaze going distant as though he was seeing the inside of the cell once again, "Aye…you could see where the god stood when she…did what she did. A perfectly clean circle in the floor where she must'a stood. Varys' musta exploded and coated the whole room like storms rain but the god wasn't touched. Not a drop."
Silence reigned in the room as the guards seemed lost in their horrifying recollection while Olenna and Willas tried to picture the scenes that had just been described.
Olenna murmured, "And you say the god was …content? When she passed you as she left? Not mad or excited…"
The elder guard shook his head mutely, "No m'lady…I don't think…she didn't act like a man on the battlefield who had tasted blood and wanted more…it was a colder thing. Tyrion…Tyrion said she had killed Varys like…like she was curious at how he'd die…"
Olenna sucked in a quiet breath. Wasn't that just a fucking horrifying thought, that such a brutal death of a man, even a traitor, was merely an amusement, a curiosity for the god. How beneath them they all must seem.
Willas reached and poured himself a new goblet of wine, suddenly feeling sympathy for the guards and more understanding for their difficulty in reporting. His mind shies away from thinking on just what these events say about the gods power, and instead focus on thinking about the guards. He will have to see they are slipped some extra coin for their troubles, perhaps even see them reassigned as far from the god as possible. Men who had seen what she could do first hand were unlikely to serve so sanguinely n close proximity to her again. Perhaps guard duty at some some quiet flour mill or orchard store? Somewhere that they could recover?
"What of the servants?" Willas asked. As a good Lord it was his duty to see to his people's well being. Having these guards report that he showed some small care in asking after them will serve him well too. Servants who think their Lord's care are more likely to serve loyally and sacrifice more easily for their betters.
The elder guards eyes refocus as Willas had hoped, a flicker of surprise passing through his eyes before he stands straighter, a hint of pride restored to his chest at his Lord showing such a pastoral care for those so beneath him.
"They…were shaken m'Lord…as one might imagine. They stripped their clothes and they were burned with the traitor's remains. Last I saw they were in fresh garments in the kitchens…suping something to steady their nerves."
Willas could almost groan aloud. Two traumatized servants, drinking cheap cooking wine or servant's beer…their tongues would be loose and everything that had transpired would be spread all across Highgarden within a matter of hours. Nothing he could do for that now…although a healthy fear of the god was not such a bad thing, it would likely prevent any further idiots from crossing her.
Willas set that concern aside, "Good. I will inform the steward they are to be given light duties for the rest of the week. Some good food and wine is the least they deserve."
From the corner of his eye he could see his grandmother uncharacteristically fidgeting. Her disquiet at these reports and eagerness to discuss them was clear.
"Your reports have been satisfactory. You may leave." Willas dismissed curtly.
Both guards seemed to sag in relief at being excused from any further discussion of this topic. No doubt they were keen to follow in the servants steps and indulge in a hearty, medicinal measure of alcohol to try and block out the things they had seen this day.
The guards offered clumsy bows, "M'Lord, Lady Olenna."
Then with haste they left.
Olenna and Willas sat in contemplative silence for a few minutes, each of their quick minds trying to catalog all they had heard, the guards' unusually profound reactions and the possible consequences of what they had seen and heard.
Willas sipped his wine and saw his grandmother pour herself a goblet. Her uncharacteristic behavior of seeing to her own needs rather than asking Willas or calling for a servant a show of her distraction. Grandmother did usually love to play at needing others to serve her, playing up her age and her demanding persona for effect when it amused her. Having her children and grandchildren, as well as all the poor servants jump to her every whim still amused her.
"Do you think Tyrion spoke truth? Do you believe it was a mere eggcup of blood that so utterly decimated Varys, that made him melt and seemingly bloat as though transforming before he expired? I wouldn't put it past him to exaggerate for his own amusement?" Olenna enquired as though she was speaking of the weather.
Willas swirled the last trickle of wine in his goblet, staring at it contemplatively, "Hmm…I doubt it. The guards seemed remarkably sure about the imps level of shock…a simple thing to verify with other reports of his movements on leaving the dungeons. Although…the fact he revealed so much detail to the guards is curious. Even in deepest shock I would not think someone as experienced or cunning as Tyrion to be loose lipped…unless…"
Olenna looked sharply at her grandson, "Unless he was instructed to do so by the god."
Willas nodded shortly, "Yes, that would make more sense. Although, that calls into question the motivations of a god who has been so at pains to appear approachable and unintimidating, no matter how utterly she had failed at it, suddenly now wanting her most monstrous of deeds to be known. Why?"
Olenna sipped her wine, cocking a brow, "As a warning?" Olenna laughed, her hoarse croak infected with an edge of hysteria, "By the Seven Willas, she fed a man an eggcup of blood and it sounds like he melted into sludge before splattering the walls…and she did it out of curiosity…like we mortals mean nothing to her!"
Willas used iron control to keep from falling into his own hysteria, it would do no-one any good. He had to remain calm and clear eyed. So the god was dangerous, this was just more confirmation of it, nothing new, "She is a god grandmother, we must simply find what it is we need to keep her favor and such wrath will continue to be pointed at our enemies. Now focus, why would she want this…this abomination spread around as gossip?"
Olenna clenched her jaw and focused anew on the problem at hand, "To reinforce what awaits any who strike out at the Starks? We have already seen that she has been remarkably sanguine about insults to herself but has reacted with horrifying decisiveness when a Stark is insulted."
Willas bobbled his head slightly contemplating his grandmother's reasoning. "Even then she did not directly kill the foolish Septon…no, this has more meaning. Perhaps a show of force, a reminder that she is not to be crossed…or a message about what happens to those who seek power through the divine…her blood utterly destroyed Varys in a way I cannot fully comprehend, perhaps it is a warning of the power she can unleash if mortals push into the realms and business of gods. What we have seen of her so far…it has been rather tame it would seem."
Olenna snorted, "Tame!? Flying, destroying armies and reducing men to quivering screaming wrecks with a touch…yes grandson, so tame. I think it more likely the god was just pissed that Varys would dare endanger her lover's brother. The tempers of gods are legendary for a reason after all, as is their mercurial nature. We must understand her and her desires if we are to cement our Houses' favor and survival. The time has passed for your act of the jovial, quick witted Lord who would have supported Margery's Queenship from the shadows. Long past, but now the trick is discovering what sort of Lord all these new people want of you. Daenerys may need a stoic support who is honest even when she dislikes it, a role Olyvar Martell seems to have beaten you to, but what the god wants of us, wants of you..."
Olenna trails off and Willas traces his lips with his index finger as he thinks, "True. Finding the persona these new…interesting times calls for will be difficult. I will continue to play it by ear and adapt as needed. In the meantime, if this was a show of the god's more true nature, a more mercurial nature as the legends foretold then it is best we establish the god's mood now since Varys' death. Knowing whether she is on the killing edge after ending Varys or is sated at the Queen's offer of his life is key in how we proceed. I will send for the god's personal maids, they may offer some insight."
Willas stiffly shifted in his seat and made to stand but was interrupted by his grandmother, her gnarled but surprisingly strong hand gripping his shoulder and wordlessly pushing him back down into his seat, "Stay there, I will see to it. Best I move about at least a little lest my bones seize fully from age."
Willas eyes the sharp old woman. For all her cruelty and viciousness she showed her care in small ways. Willas did not call her on her act but merely sat back in his seat, his hands rubbing his thigh where sparks of pain had begun shooting up it from his ruined calf, ignited by his attempts to stand.
Olenna, despite her age, glided slowly across the room and cracked the door open. Her sharp voice issued commands to some guard or servant outside the door, no doubt to send a message to the Steward to have Jenna and Ahelis summoned immediately.
She retired to her seat with a huff, "They should be here shortly. We must redouble our efforts to secure some tangible favor with the god. If, as she has indicated, temptation of the flesh is not the route to go and she has no true value on gold or power, then we must take a more oblique path. Less certain, but perhaps at least something we can exert influence on."
Willas hummed, "I have already seen to hiring more cooks and issued instructions for the production of sugar, honey and the sweeter fruits to be increased in the coming months. With the blasted winter on our doorstep this will limit even that, but the cooks I have hired are specialists in sweet desserts and I have a line on an Essosi man who specializes in sweet preserves and desserts. Combined with increased trade from Dorne and Yi-Ti which I have made enquiries of we can at least increase the gods favor by appeasing her sweet tooth. Hopefully the legends about gods' tastes for fine food are as true as they seem and perhaps a second avenue to her heart is indeed through her stomach. More practically though I will begin discussions with Prince Jon and his Northern advisors who arrived from Dragonstone. Trade agreements with the North, favorable terms for exports of food stuffs, some textiles and imports of lumber, game meats, and ores which are generous should buy us favor with Queen Stark. If we can marry some cousin to a Lady in waiting in the North, or to some member of Her Holiness Order we would solidify ties more surely that we could work with in the future. More long term Prince Jon, if he marries Her Grace, will need a Southern royal guard…a sworn sword from our House, some cousin with skill and a brain would work to foster a sense we protect what the god values."
Olenna almost smiled at her grandson. It was not the more direct favor of having someone bed the god or leveraging her for gold or titles…yet it was a workable plan. A web of influence could be spun around the god using her seeming care for the Northerners to bind their interests together and protecting them. Soft power playing on base appetite for sweet things and upon her heartstrings to please the Starks could work.
Before Olenna could comment there was a knock at the door.
"Enter!" Willas commanded. His face dropping into his politically neutral and slightly frowning mask of the Lord of Highgarden.
Two nervous servants bustled into the room. Olenna knew these servants by name since they served the god, and Jenna had already been useful in passing valuable reports about the god's habits, preferences and even her scars to them. The younger servant, Ahelis, was a slightly clumsy and naive girl who was barely on the cusp of womanhood. Olenna had heard the Steward's uncertainty about the young girl's continued employment. Jenna had been training the girl well and shielding her from the more harsh realities it seemed but that could not last forever. If the god had not been seen to be pleased with both Ahelis and Jenna as her personal servants, and Ahelis seemingly not going to pieces while in the god's presence, combined with the reality of the difficulty of replacing her because the other servants were so nervous at the mere idea of the god, then she would have had Steward dismiss the girl. Alas, it was not to be.
Willas eyes the two servants as they came to a stop before himself and his grandmother, they curtseyed deeply. Ahelis voice held a quiver of fear as she followed Jenna's lead to greet them, "My Lord, Lady Olenna"
Jenna immediately took control, standing a quarter step ahead of Ahelis to make herself the focus of her Lord and Lady Olenna. Willas was amused by her bravery but annoyed to a degree at her continued picking up of the slack for her younger companion. She could not protect her forever and Ahelis would need to survive here alone if she was to serve for long so close to the seat of power in these lands, especially with gods and Dragon Queens in residence.
"How may we be of service m'Lord?" Jenna asked with another bow of her head.
Willas eyed her thoughtfully, "I assume you have heard of Varys fate?" Willas asked vaguely. He wished to gauge their reaction.
Jenna nodded immediately, a slight paleness to her cheeks, "Aye m'Lord, I have heard the rumor when I was in the Kitchen. Her Holiness executed Varys. There was some talk of her- "Jenna casts a worried look at Ahelis from the corner of her eye who is looking confused. "-having melted him in some manner. We all saw her Majesty riding off on her Dragon to burn the chest of his remains that the guards carried out. Rhianna and Marianne, the servants who cleaned up…they were being comforted in the Kitchens."
Willas turned his eyes on Ahelis who seemed to wilt under his steely gaze, "But you had not heard of this?"
Ahelis ducks her head and whispers, "No, m'Lord."
Before Willas can enquire how this is possible Jenna interrupts, "I had sent Ahelis on an errand to the stables. She was not in the Kitchens."
Willas hummed to himself as he saw yet more evidence of Jenna protecting Ahelis. He nodded and then addressed both women, "Well, then I can tell you that the rumors are true. Her Holiness was most displeased at Varys attempt to kill Prince Jon and so Her Grace gifted her fate to the god. She melted Varys in a most horrifying fashion. His end was not pleasant as befitted a traitor who angered a god. I am reliably informed that Her Holiness cut her hand and fed Varys some drops of her blood which caused him to…melt and boil from the inside before he exploded and painted his cell with his worthless remains."
Ahelis went ashen while Jenna's jaw clenched but she showed no other reaction.
Willas probed then, focusing on Jenna, "My question then, is what mood is the god in? Have you seen her since? Did you provide bandages for her hand? Did she seem…satisfied at her vengeance or was she more…mercurial?"
Jenna swallowed around her dry throat even as her eyes narrowed and she clenched her fists, thinking rapidly, "I briefly passed Her Holiness in her rooms m'Lord, she was retrieving something from her chambers. I saw no wound of any kind upon her hand. She seemed…well, m'Lord, she seemed her normal self. It wasn't until later I heard what she had done, and if I hadn't I would never have been able to tell that she had come from executing a man. She was her usual…irreverent self. She smiled at me, thanked me for returning her cleaned clothes and stoking the fires…said she was going for a walk."
Olenna had been watching and while her grandson had been focused on Jenna, her eyes had taken in Ahelis' sudden discomfort. The silly girl's face was an open book. While Jenna spoke, Ahelis' eyebrows had scrunched and she had bitten her lip, her eyes darting worriedly between Jenna and Willas. She had something to say but she was unsure of what it meant and was afraid.
Interesting.
Before Willas could push Jenna for more clarification on what she had reported Olenna interrupted, "You have something else to add Ahelis, spit it out girl and stop chewing your lip!"
Ahelis startled, a flush creeped up her cheeks and her eyes nervously darted to Willas and then to Olenna.
Ahelis stammered, "No…I mean…I…"
Jenna took an unconscious step backwards as though to shield her younger friend.
Willas could sense his grandmother's building temper. She had no patience for the nervous or unsure. When she demanded answers she wanted them immediately.
He interceded before grandmother could scare the poor girl mute. Sometimes coaxing a story from someone was more useful than trying to gain it by fear.
Willas threw his grandmother a quelling look. She narrowed her eyes at him but offered a half shrug as if to say the silly girl was all his. He purposefully softened his voice, "Ahelis, what do you make of Her Holiness?"
Ahelis refocused on Willas and shifted unconsciously on her feet. Her eyes darted between Willas stern but open face and down to her shoes.
"I-I suppose, Her Holiness…she is confusing m'Lord. She- she is a god…and I know she is powerful. She saved us…and I saw what she did to Yelshire…but…but it's like my mind can't really see Her Holiness whose hair I comb with powder, and the god who…who made the septon scream as the same person."
Jenna frowned slightly at her younger companion. Ahelis can almost hear Jenna's reprimands and warnings running through her head again just at the sight of that frown, "Don't forget that she is a god Ahelis. No matter how nice she seems, remember she is a god! God's are capricious, didn't your momma or the septon teach you anything? Always be on guard around her!"
Willas leant forward. This was an interesting perspective, "How so?" he prompted gently.
Ahelis' eyes once more darted between Jenna and Willas. Jenna offering a small nod of encouragement had Ahelis taking a large breath and half shrugging inelegantly, "I don't know m'Lord…it's just…Her Holiness knows I am nervous…but she is so careful when I attend her. She asks about my family and how I like my duties when I am doing her hair or bringing her tea…it helps calm me. I know she…she has power…it's just…sometimes it's..sometimes she just seems so…human?" Ahelis whispers the last like a question and perhaps a bit like a confession.
Willas hums again. "Indeed? How…interesting. And you haven't seen Her Holiness since her judgment was passed on Varys then?"
Ahelis shuffled even more now, "Um, well not exactly…that is…I saw her not an hour ago at the stables…" Ahelis' eyes darted to Jenna as though expecting a reprimand.
Willas and Olenna's focus zeroed in on Ahelis like birds of prey. The god had been unseen in the hours since she left the Keep, to have this servant lay eyes upon her would potentially give them a better idea of her current mood.
"Oh!" Willas exclaimed in faux mild curiosity. "And her Holiness was well? How did you come to see her there?"
Ahelis shuffles, "I uh, I was doing errands for Jenna like she said. I was retrieving extra leather wax and…but that is unimportant, um, the stable boy…Tomlin? I think, he, he was sort of flirtin' with me?" Ahelis pauses as though expecting a reprimand but her Lord stays quiet and Jenna is just watching her with wide eyes.
"Um, so yeah, he…it wasn't…he wasn't doin' nuthin' wrong, he was just jestin' I think and he was tryin' to distract me from m'duties even when I was short with him and he kept tryin' to talk to me and …bein' a boy ya know?"
If possible Olenna Tyrell's stern mouth flickered the briefest of grins as though remembering back to the foolish and clumsy attempts of some man to corner her to talk to and flirt. The exasperating and clumsy efforts of boys who had not yet learned the skill of flirting. An idiot without manners who needed a refusal more bluntly hammered into his head than it seems poor Ahelis was inclined to give. The poor girl seemed incapable of a mean word.
Ahelis fiddles with her finger nails, absently picking at them as she continues her tale, "And um, then Her Holiness was just there? She said she had a question for me about the horses. Tomlin went so pale when he saw her Holiness but she just smiled and said, 'I have need of my personal maid. Excuse us.' And then I was marching down the stalls of horses on the gods' arm and Tomlin was rushing out the door."
Willas looked like he was watching Ahelis in horrified fascination while Olenna openly snorted in amusement.
"And what was her Holiness' question?" Willas asked.
Ahelis smiled brightly then and shrugged again, "Oh, no m'Lord. That's the thing, she didn't really have a question, she just said she wanted to give me an escape from the silly stable boy. Said I should know I can tell them bluntly I am uninterested. She seemed amused and I was ever so grateful so I thanked her but um..she said…uh, she said,-" Ahelis blushed slightly and nervously looked at all the occupants of the room, "-Her Holiness said if the stable boy, or anyone else bother me again then I should let her know, she would take care of it."
Jenna, Willas and Olenna all seem to choke on their breath at this.
"What a generous offer!" Willas comments in an oddly strangled voice.
He exchanges a look with his grandmother. They are desperately trying to work out what the hell that means. Was Daisy being sincere? Did she mean she would raise the issue with the Steward…or did she mean she would deal with the stable boy as she had Varys? Neither was sure which. Her words were vague and with a god…a god who saw the abomination of a death which she had given Varys as a mere curiosity…well anything is possible.
Willas' eyes narrowed on Ahelis. What could she have done to win such an offer of protection and favor from the god? Could she have warmed her bed? As a personal maid she was in a unique position that meant she could spend a few uninterrupted hours in the god's bed and no one would question it.
Ahelis stood there, her smile soft and vacant as though the god offering her protection and such a show of favor was nothing more unusual than Jenna walking her home at the end of the day.
No, the girl had not done anything inappropriate, mores the pity, she had not usurped favor form the god. She was too naive and innocent for that. The damned god had just offered her protection on a whim it seemed.
By the gods, ignorance really must be bliss for the danger the god represented to so thoroughly fly over the servants empty head.
Willas fought the urge to scowl at how unpredictable the god was.
He was at least pleased to see Jenna standing with her mouth agape, staring at Ahelis in dumbfounded horror. At least that girl had some sense, she understood the weight of what had happened.
Willas glanced at grandmother whose face was thunderous.
A god who seemed as willing to defend a no name, low born servant girl as she was to defend a noble was an unpredictable and unquantifiable element. To give protection and favor on such a whim, even potentially to a servant…such a thing is dangerous. Olenna and Willas worry that they did not know how they had gained the god's favor just became more profound at the realization such favor could as easily be given to a low born servant as it is to themselves.
Such mercurial whim could upend the delicate balance of their feudal system, of how favor and power works. Would Daisy have taken the servants part, without tribute or even being asked to if her pursuer had been noble? By all appearances it seems likely, and that is a most worrying thought. Willas' understanding of the gods and how favor must be earned or bought by tribute seems upended by this conversation. He feels a tension headache building.
What tribute or service could a servant like Ahelis have performed to engender the god to intercede on her behalf and defend her? Willas stares at Ahelis who's happy grin seems to be dimming at the prolonged silence and the dumbfounded expressions of those who watch her like some strange dragon who has appeared before them.
Willas pulls himself together, "And…her Holiness was well?"
Ahelis nods, "Um, yes'm m'Lord. At least I didn't see wounds on her Holiness and she seemed in…good spirits? She said she was going for a walk, mentioned visiting the orphanage?"
Olenna huffed, "So no signs of persisting anger? No hint that she had just condemned a man to a death more horrifying than anything seen in these lands in the last centuries? Nothing?"
Ahelis all but quivered before the irate woman, "N-no m'lady!"
Willas sighed and rubbed his eyes in exhaustion.
"That is enough grandmother. Ahelis, Jenna, I thank you for your insights and continued stoic service to Her Holiness. Please…go about your duties, and remember any…insights you may offer on Her Holiness will be rewarded. I will speak to the Steward and ensure your wages carry a small show of my appreciation for your time this evening."
Both women's eyes widen and they bow low. Jenna hastily uttering, "Thank you m'Lord, you are too kind."
Willas waves off the rote complement and dismisses the women.
Jenna hastily grabs Ahelis' arm and bustles her from the room without further ado.
Olenna and Willas slump in their seats.
Olenna gulps her wine, "So…to summarize, we now have a god who's favor we have no idea how we won, a nervous servant I was considering dismissing who has seemingly won it also, confirmation the god isn't in the midst of some murderous cold rage, but that she killed Varys in a manner that will likely strike fear into the hearts of every southerner with an ounce of sense for the next century…and she did it all with an air of mild curiosity and no more lingering emotional turmoil than if she had trodden on an ant. How little mortal lives and suffering must weigh upon her that she showed not even a flicker of changed temperament at what she did to Varys. Have I missed anything in this whore house of a debacle grandson?"
Willas groaned and slumped further in his seat.
Why did he have to be the fucking heir!
