The Schemer and the Madman

Pentos, the mansion of Illyrio Mopatis.

The air was thick with a sickeningly sweet fragrance.

Governor Illyrio Mopatis was carefully tearing apart a honey-glazed venison haunch with hands as fat as steamed buns.

Grease ran through the gaps between his fingers and dripped onto his silk robe, but he did not care in the least.

"Try this, my friend."

Illyrio Mopatis offered the still-dripping piece of meat across the table.

The man seated opposite him did not move.

Jon Connington's gray-red hair was somewhat disheveled.

He wore a plain linen tunic and tightly clutched a freshly delivered scroll of parchment.

"I have no appetite, Illyrio."

A soft laugh came from the shadows, accompanied by the faint rustle of fabric.

Varys emerged from behind the curtains.

He still carried that unpleasant scent of cosmetics. Wearing soft slippers, he moved without a sound.

"Lord Griff is always so serious."

Varys walked to the table and poured himself a cup of wine. His eyes, always carrying a false smile, swept over Jon Connington's clenched hand.

"It seems the winds from Westeros have blown some rather unpleasant grit your way."

Jon Connington abruptly turned his head and stared fixedly at the bald eunuch.

If not for Rhaegar's son, he would never have shared a room with someone like this in his life.

"You should already know, shouldn't you?"

Jon Connington snorted coldly and slammed the note in his hand onto the table.

"Do you still think everything is under your control, Varys?"

Varys's face twitched. A crack finally appeared in the mask of perfect false smiles he always wore, yet he still looked toward Jon Connington and spoke.

"Everything is under control. It will have no effect on our plan."

Illyrio Mopatis leaned closer and glanced at the note, spraying wine from his mouth.