Chapter 450: A Secret Escape

Tyrion Lannister was jolted awake by the creaking sound of the cell door opening.

"Come to kill me, have you?" he asked, his voice dripping with mockery. The torchlight momentarily blinded him, but he refused to show weakness. "Couldn't my merciful father even let me stand trial? Or is he afraid I'll reveal all his scheming?"

"Lord Tyrion, you're far too quick to misunderstand me."

"Varys?" Tyrion immediately recognized the voice.

As his eyes adjusted, he saw the familiar figure of the "Spider" standing before him. Varys wore a simple brown robe, reeking of cheap wine. His usually smooth, round face was now adorned with a scruffy beard.

"Your disguises never cease to impress me," Tyrion quipped. "So, tell me, what brings you here in this ridiculous getup? Surely you're not here to sneak me out of this dungeon?"

"Precisely that," Varys replied with a sly smile. "Come, the night is our ally. I've arranged passage for you aboard a ship leaving for Pentos."

Tyrion, far from overjoyed, narrowed his eyes at Varys. "Why would you help me?"

"We've worked together for years, my lord. Saving your life is the least I can do. Besides, I know the grain shortage wasn't your fault. Nor were those sacks of sand."

Tyrion crossed his arms. "If you're so sure, why didn't you speak up in the throne room?"

Varys sighed heavily.

"How could I, my lord? King's Landing's fragile stability rests entirely on your father's shoulders. If the northern lords discovered Tywin's deception about the grain, the consequences would have been catastrophic."

Tyrion smirked. "I didn't realize you were so loyal to my father."

"It is my duty to serve the Hand of the King."

Tyrion scoffed. "And now? Did Tywin himself order you to sneak me out?"

Varys adopted a look of exaggerated helplessness. "My dear Lord Tyrion, I am risking much to save you. Must you question my every motive? If you distrust me so deeply, you're welcome to stay here and face tomorrow's trial."

"I'll come with you," Tyrion said abruptly, pulling himself to his feet and stumbling out of the cell.

Varys smiled faintly and began leading the way.

The dungeon was dark and oppressive, the silence broken only by the faint scrape of shoes against the rough stone floor.

After a while, Tyrion broke the silence. "How exactly do you plan to get me out of King's Landing?"

Varys paused to unlock a small iron door beneath an arch. "Trust me, my lord. I'll get you beyond the city walls without raising any alarms."

"A secret passage beneath the Red Keep?"

"Precisely."

They reached a circular chamber with five iron doors. Above was an open shaft, with iron rings embedded in the walls for climbing. In one corner sat a once-lavish brazier, its embers reduced to ash but still faintly glowing.

Tyrion suddenly had a realization. "You helped the 'Red Viper' escape, didn't you?"

Varys neither confirmed nor denied the accusation. He merely chuckled. "Lord Tyrion, with your life on the line, do you really have time to dredge up events from three years ago?"

Tyrion studied Varys closely, and in that moment, many pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place.

Oberyn's escape. The mysterious deaths of Jon Arryn, Petyr Baelish, and Grand Maester Pycelle. The Dornish War...

All of it pointed to someone pulling strings from behind the scenes.

And that someone—

Was not Varys. If it were, the Golden Company would have landed long ago.

Only one face emerged in Tyrion's mind.

The man who stood to gain the most. The one with the strongest motive and the cunning to orchestrate it all. The man who had risen to the heights of power after the Dornish War.

Caesar.

"It's Caesar, isn't it? He sent you to free me."

A flicker of surprise crossed Varys's face, but it quickly vanished. "You're overthinking things, my lord."

"Tell me, Varys. What's Caesar's plan? Why does he want me free?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"No?" Tyrion folded his arms. "Fine. Then I'm staying right here."

"You're being foolish," Varys warned. "When they discover your cell empty, you won't have another chance to escape!"

"Perfect. I'll wait right here for Caesar to arrive. He'll march into King's Landing soon enough. I'll ask him myself what game he's playing."

Varys grew visibly agitated. "You'll get me killed, Lord Tyrion!"

"Then tell me the truth."

"I am telling the truth. You simply refuse to believe it."

"Ha! If a spider told no lies, I'd be the finest knight in the Seven Kingdoms." Tyrion leaned casually against the wall. "But if you won't talk, let me hazard a guess. When Oberyn believed your lies and fled King's Landing, he was saddled with the blame for Jon Arryn's death, Baelish's assassination, and Pycelle's murder.

So, if I escape, what crimes will you pin on me? The sandbags, of course, but what else? Surely Caesar and his conspirators have something even juicier planned..."

"There's nothing like that!" Varys nearly shouted, desperation seeping into his voice. "Please, my lord. If we delay any longer, we'll miss the ship!"

"You want to kill my father," Tyrion said with quiet certainty.

Varys froze.

"So it's true." Tyrion whistled softly, his tone almost playful. "You mean to assassinate Tywin. And what better scapegoat than me? The disgraced dwarf, burdened with guilt and fleeing in the dead of night."

Realizing he'd been caught, Varys abandoned pretense.

"Caesar has left you a path to survival, my lord. Flee across the Narrow Sea. Disappear in some forgotten corner of Essos. It's a better fate than staying here and facing Tywin's wrath. I promise you, if you stay, you won't live to see the trial's end.

The grain shortage has already enraged the northern lords. Tywin will not hesitate to sacrifice your life to appease them."

"That much, I believe." Tyrion shrugged. "But since we're being honest, there's one matter I can't leave Westeros without settling."

"And what's that?"

"Do you know of Tysha?"

"Yes, your first wife."

"Do you know whether she was a crofter's daughter or a hired whore?" Tyrion asked, his voice tinged with fragile hope.

Varys shook his head. "I'm sorry, my lord. I don't know the answer to that."

"So you're not all-knowing after all." Tyrion gestured upward. "We're beneath the Tower of the Hand, aren't we?"

"Yes."

"Then tell me how to reach my father's chambers." Tyrion's lips curled into a grim smile. In the dim firelight, it looked almost menacing. "Perhaps I can lend you and Caesar a hand."

(End of Chapter)