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“Robert must be told,” Ned said. “If what you say is true, if even a part of it is true, the king must hear it for himself.” “And what proof shall we lay before him? My words against theirs? My little birds against the queen and the Kingslayer, against his brothers and his council, against the Wardens of East and West, against all the might of Casterly Rock? Pray, send for Ser Ilyn directly, it will save us all some time. I know where that road ends.” “Yet if what you say is true, they will only bide their time and make another attempt.” “Indeed they will,” said Varys, “and sooner rather than later, I do fear. You are making them most anxious, Lord Eddard. But my little birds will be listening, and together we may be able to forestall them, you and I.” He rose and pulled up his cowl so his face was hidden once more. “Thank you for the wine. We will speak again. When you see me next at council, be certain to treat me with your accustomed contempt. You should not find it difficult.” He was at the door when Ned called, “Varys.” The eunuch turned back. “How did Jon Arryn die?” “I wondered when you would get around to that.” “Tell me.” “The tears of Lys
