The Hand and The Spider
“I don’t like it,” Tyrion stated sharply just as the door opened. A young man walked in, slim for his age with a mop of hair atop his head. He quickly moved forward and placed the Hand’s meal before him, lifting the metallic cover from the dish to reveal a mouth-watering selection of perfectly cooked goat, a spread of vegetables, candied yams, and buttered mashed potatoes. Just as soon as he set the food upon the table, the man offered an unpracticed bow and slipped away swiftly. Tyrion watched as he left, not waiting to raise the fork to his lips and enjoy a bite of the delicacy, releasing a small moan of pleasure at the taste. For just a moment, his troubles were forgotten.
Varys watched the Lannister eat as he enjoyed a glass of honey water. He had opted not to partake in the meal. “I’d hardly call it a problem,” he replied.
Tyrion grumbled, taking a sip of wine. He looked more put together than he usually did, having shaved his beard and dresses befittingly of the Hand of the Queen. “The Greyjoys remain in the pyramid,” he stated, leaning back in his seat. “Why?”
Varys shrugged, “Why not? This is not Westeros, nor is it the Iron Islands. Meereen is a strange, unfamiliar place with unusual customs.”
“Don’t play coy with me,” Tyrion retorted, slamming his cup on the table. Some of his wine spilled across his meal, but he paid it no mind. “Theon is a nervous pup – that I understand. But Lady Greyjoy’s choice to remain in the pyramid is concerning. You know as well as I do that it is out of character for her.”
“And how would you know that, my Lord Hand?” Varys asked, taking another sip of his honey water. He let the warmth run down his throat as he watched the dwarf simmer in his seat.
Tyrion shot him a fierce glare, but gave him no reply. When Varys realized he was not going to dignify the question with a response, an amused smile blossomed across his powdered face. “Yes, you are correct. Lady Greyjoy isn’t known to be much of a homebody.”
“What does she usually do in new cities?” Tyrion inquired, relaxing his glare and succumbing to his wine. He drank steadily, keeping an eye on the eunuch across the table. The Hand seemed pleased that Varys had dropped the taunting farce.
“My sources tell me she often visits a brothel on the first night, and sometimes continues to do so on subsequent nights,” Varys replied calmly.
“Meereen had plenty of brothels,” Tyrion noted. “I’m sure there are plenty of men she would enjoy.”
“Oh, my Lord Hand,” Varys shook his head, “That would not be her taste.”
Tyrion raised an eyebrow, curiosity playing in his gaze. He was not so thick as to not understand Varys’s meaning. He had heard rumors of the leather-clad leader of the Ironborn, and she had not been shy about her marriage jest before the queen. Even so, he had paid it no mind. Few people would admit to such preferences, let alone embrace them. Of course, he had to hold a certain amount of admiration for her openness, “Well, I’m sure there are plenty of brothels with women she would enjoy, then.”
“Undoubtedly,” Varys emptied his cup and placed it aside, sliding his hands into his sleeves as he observed Tyrion pouring a fresh cup of wine. “But she has not visited any of them. She hasn’t left the pyramid. Why do you think that is?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.” Tyrion stood now, pushing his plate away as he began to pace. Movement helped him think, and that’s what he needed now.
“Perhaps she is worried about her uncle,” Varys mused, watching Tyrion from the comfort of his seat. “Maybe she fears that he will send someone after her.”
“No, that isn’t the Ironborn way. He’ll want to kill her himself, should he ever have the chance. He would not send an assassin,” the Hand replied stubbornly, contemplating the possibilities. He paused his pacing and leveled his gaze with the Spider, “Perhaps her tendencies have changed since the time she spent in Winterfell. If the rumors hold any truth, it would be understandable.”
“A wise thought, my Lord Hand,” the bald-headed advisor replied, his tone unchanged from before. “But untrue. My little birds tell me that her tendencies have mostly remained the same.”
“Mostly?”
“Not a concern of yours, I assure you.”
The dwarf glowered at Varys for a moment, as though debating if he should press the topic. He quickly seemed to decide not to, and began to pace once again, turning his attention away, “So she isn’t concerned about her uncle, and she isn’t avoiding the brothels for any personal reason we might know of. There must be another reason she stays in the pyramid.”
“Maybe she prefers what she sees in the pyramid,” Varys suggested, considering the notion himself. “Our rather, whom she sees.”
That made Tyrion slow to a stop, his jaw tense as he thought. He shuffled his feet, and reached up to stroke his now-missing beard. He threw his hand down in annoyance when he recalled its absence, and then walked back to the table, finishing off his cup, “I believe you may have found the root of it, Lord Varys.”
“And if I am right?”
“Then it is no matter.”
“No?”
“Regardless of who she may have interest in –”
“You know who she may have interest in,” an amused grin played at the Spider’s lips as he interrupted Tyrion, a glint in his eye that made the Hand’s jaw tighten.
“The Queen can make her own choices,” Tyrion replied sharply, hoping that the eunuch had not noticed his uneasy reaction. “If she means no harm, then there is no threat.”
“And if she succeeds?”
“Who the Queen beds is not a concern of mine.”
“But who she falls in love with most certainly is.”
Tyrion looked at Varys, his eyes filled with questions. On one hand, he was confident that he had nothing to worry about. Daenerys was astute and understood the importance of marrying to foster loyalty and allegiance. On the other hand, Asha was a valuable ally to maintain… though not a partner that would be well received by the many lords and ladies of Westeros. After several moments of silence, he dismissed the idea. “This isn’t worth discussing.”
“Why not?” Varys leaned forward, his gaze fixed on Tyrion as he continued to probe, “If Lady Greyjoy finds her way into the Queen’s bed, and if the Queen enjoys her company…”
“Neither of those things have happened. Your little birds would know, I presume?”
“Most certainly.”
“Then this is useless talk. Nothing has happened.” Tyrion poured himself some more wine. “With luck, nothing will.”
“With luck?”
“This is a problem for another time, Varys.”
“Maybe it is no problem at all.” The Spider stood, gently replacing his chair. He bowed smoothly to the Hand of the Queen before taking his leave.