Chapter 151: Framing

Whoosh.

The "Spider," Varys, blew out his candle and was just about to go to bed when he heard a light tapping sound.

It seemed to be coming from the window.

Relighting the candle, he moved toward the sound, yet saw nothing beyond the dark night sky.

Opening the window, he looked left and right but still saw nothing unusual.

Just as he was about to close the window, a black shadow suddenly appeared, enlarging swiftly as it swooped toward him. A gust of wind forced Varys to close his eyes.

He quickly slammed the window shut. When he opened his eyes again, he saw only the retreating figure of what looked like a large bird, possibly an eagle.

Varys stood still, pondering for a moment before shaking his head and heading back to bed.

But then, he noticed a scroll lying on the floor.

The bird must have dropped it.

Curious and cautious, Varys picked it up and slowly unrolled it.

A moment later, his face froze.

---

The night was deep.

Varys exited a hidden passage and found himself surrounded by jagged rocks, with the shimmering waters of Blackwater Bay and the silent docks of King's Landing in the distance.

He scanned the area but saw no one.

Walking a bit closer to the port, he finally spotted two figures behind a large rock.

"Lord Varys," one of them greeted.

In the moonlight, Varys recognized the man's face.

"Lord Caesar," Varys nodded, seemingly unfazed by his presence. Then his gaze shifted to the other person lying motionless on the ground. "And Lord Baelish…"

"He's dead," Samwell replied coolly. "Lord Baelish, it seems, didn't take care of his injuries. He was wandering about despite being so gravely wounded. Eventually, his wound reopened, and he bled to death. What a shame."

Varys looked down at Petyr's body, remaining silent for a while before finally sighing, "Indeed, what a shame."

He looked back at Samwell, his eyes sharp. "Lord Caesar, the hawk that delivered the message to me earlier—was that one of yours?"

"Indeed."

"That hawk of yours is truly remarkable," Varys remarked, a strange tone in his voice. "I recall a hawk was also seen the night that Ser Gerold Dayne and Ser Hobber Redwyne died…"

Samwell let out a hearty laugh. "Oh, Lord Varys, you do have quite an imagination. Plenty of people keep hawks."

"Well, when you know as much as I do, you can't help but connect the dots," Varys replied, returning to his usual soft-spoken tone. "I also know that Lady Elora Florent was initially supposed to marry you, but Lord Randyll eventually had her wed your brother, Dickon. So, which lady do you intend to marry now?"

"Interested in my romantic life as well, Lord Varys?"

"Oh, I'm merely curious which lady might be worthy of a young knight as promising as yourself. Lady Nathalie Dayne, for instance, would be a good match. I hear you two are quite close, and that you've had to fend off more than a few rivals for her favor."

Samwell knew Varys was alluding to the earlier murders he'd orchestrated. This was clearly a veiled threat.

In the past, Samwell might have felt apprehensive, but now he was unfazed.

First, Varys had no concrete proof. Second, Samwell had dirt on Varys as well. And finally, having bested "Littlefinger" Petyr Baelish, Samwell no longer feared these schemers.

Indeed, in terms of political cunning, he was no match for these seasoned manipulators. In his previous life, he'd only been a simple tavern keeper with a bit of wit—hardly on par with those who'd clawed their way through the bloodiest scheme of King's Landing.

But Samwell had an advantage: foreknowledge of their plans and flaws.

Petyr, for instance, had thought his role in Jon Arryn's death was flawless, not knowing he was, effectively, naked before Samwell's eyes.

And Varys, thinking he could use secret passages and disguises to smuggle prisoners out without anyone noticing, had no idea that Samwell was aware of his methods, having read about similar actions he'd take in the future.

Thus, Samwell could predict their moves and strike at the most opportune moment.

Tonight, Petyr Baelish's death was no accident.

"Lord Varys, there's something I'm quite curious about," Samwell changed the topic, steering it away from himself. "Lord Baelish was already in the Black Cells—how did he end up wandering around outside? Who let him out?"

Varys shrank back slightly, feigning innocence. "I'm quite puzzled by that as well."

Samwell gave a cold chuckle. "Enough with the act, Lord Varys. If you were so uninvolved, would you have come all the way out here, summoned by an anonymous message?"

Varys shrugged. "Upon hearing that an old friend had met an untimely end, I couldn't simply ignore it. But if you suggest I had anything to do with it, Lord Caesar, that would be unfounded. You know, some things shouldn't be spoken without evidence. For example, I never voiced my suspicions regarding the deaths of Ser Gerold Dayne and Ser Hobber Redwyne.

"And while we're at it, might I ask what you told Prince Oberyn in the Great Sept that day? Why did he send his lover to the Eyrie immediately afterward? You see, I've long known of these things, yet I've kept them to myself. You should thank me, Lord Caesar."

So, this Spider had indeed been keeping a close eye on him. Samwell mentally noted the threat, but he wasn't worried. Petyr was dead, and he held enough leverage against Varys to counter anything Varys might attempt.

"Thank you, Lord Varys. But truthfully, I've kept quite a few of your secrets as well," Samwell said with a sly smile. "For instance, your close dealings with the governor of Pentos… and of course, Viserys Targaryen, Daenerys Targaryen, and the Griffon Lord…"

As he spoke, Samwell observed Varys carefully. At the mention of the first few names, Varys remained calm. But at "the Griffon Lord," a flicker of unease crossed his face.

Samwell knew Varys was a schemer who hid his ambitions under multiple layers of deception. Outwardly, Varys seemed to support Viserys and Daenerys as the Targaryen heirs, but in truth, they were merely decoys.

Varys's true candidate for the throne was someone else entirely.

Stepping closer, Samwell added another name, "And then, there's Young Griff."

For the first time, Varys visibly faltered, his eyes betraying his shock, though he attempted to recover. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know perfectly well, Lord Varys," Samwell replied cryptically. "Just like you, I have my own network of birds. The hawk you saw earlier? Just one of many."

"That's impossible!" Varys burst out.

Having spent a lifetime cultivating spies, Varys understood the immense resources required to build such a network. Without royal support, it would be nearly impossible.

And yet, Samwell had just spoken his greatest secret aloud. The Spider could no longer underestimate him.

"Nothing is impossible for me," Samwell said confidently, tapping the sword slung across his back. "You've heard of Dawn, the greatsword, haven't you? The Daynes were convinced I'd never be able to draw it—and yet, I did. No one believed I could establish a stronghold in the Red Mountains, yet here I am. And Petyr Baelish? He thought he could control me, only to end up dead. Some people, Lord Varys, are simply destined for greatness."

Varys was silent, his gaze shifting as he considered this.

Seeing that his point had been made, Samwell softened his tone. "But Lord Varys, don't be concerned. I'm not your enemy."

Varys studied him, skeptical. "Then what are we, Lord Caesar?"

"Allies."

"Allies?"

"Yes," Samwell replied with utmost sincerity. "We share a common purpose."

For Samwell, the two great schemers of King's Landing—Petyr Baelish, who sowed chaos for personal gain, and Varys, who sought to restore the Targaryen dynasty—each represented different paths. Petyr's unpredictable schemes made him a threat, one that needed to be neutralized. Varys, however, had aims that could align with Samwell's.

At least for now, they could work together. Varys sought to weaken the Iron Throne without plunging the realm into total chaos—just as Samwell did.

While they might eventually clash, for now, their interests aligned.

Varys looked at Samwell with guarded curiosity, still uncertain if he could believe him.

Samwell decided to be blunt. "Lord Varys, the first rule of alliance is honesty, so I'll be direct: my goal is to see House Baratheon toppled. On that front, I believe we're in agreement."

At this, Varys finally seemed to let down his guard, his tone returning to its usual smoothness. "So, you also believe the Baratheons are unfit for the Iron Throne?"

"Indeed." Samwell didn't hesitate. "Robert is just a reckless man, how can he be a king? Stannis is too harsh and ruthless. He will probably be a tyrant if he sits on the Iron Throne in the future. Renly is frivolous and naive. He thinks politics is just about treating people to banquets and parties. If it were a long and peaceful summer, he could be a good substitute king who can maintain the status quo. Unfortunately, winter is coming."

Varys chuckled and said, "Lord Caesar, have you forgotten the heir to His Majesty Robert, is Prince Joffrey Baratheon?"

"Come on now, Lord Varys, don't tell me you don't know whose bastard Prince Joffrey is."

Varys looked at Samwell deeply and said, "Lord Caesar, it seems that you do have a lot of little birds."

"Naturally." Samwell showed a confident and mysterious smile, "Lord Varys, I know as much as you do."

Even more perhaps. Samwell thought inside, but there was no need to reveal that is there?

"I believe it now." Varys seemed to recognize the ally in front of him, pointing to the corpse on the ground and said, "So, my dear ally, how do you want to deal with Lord Petyr?"

"Of course, to send him back to the dungeon." Samwell said without hesitation, as if he had already made a plan.

"Send 'it' back?" Varys' eyes rolled around, as he was thinking about Samwell's intention.

"Yes. Send him back to the cell before anyone notices his disappearance. In this way, Lord Petyr will die from an infected wound, or perhaps poisoned."

Varys blinked. "Then, Prince Oberyn will be dubbed the murderer. He killed someone in public. At that point there is no need for a trial. Oh, and it's not just Lord Petyr's life. Lord Jon's life will probably be counted on his head as well."

"Yes. When I think of this, I feel a little sorry for him." Samwell said pretentiously, "So, please release Prince Oberyn from the Black Cell. Tell him that if he doesn't want to die in King's Landing, he should flee back to Dorne."

"That would only make him more guilty." Varys understood Samwell's plan. "Lord Caesar, you want to make Dorne a river of blood."

"It's not that easy to bleed Dorne." Samwell laughed, "Perhaps the Iron Throne will bleed more. But Lord Varys, isn't this what we want to see?"

Varys was silent for a while, not sure whether he was hesitating or thinking, but in the end, he nodded:

"Lord Caesar, you are right, this is exactly what we want to see."

(End of this chapter)