King's Landing, the Red Keep.
In a dim room, a candle burned in a bronze candlestick.
Its light divided the chamber in two: one half flickered a dull yellow, while the other sank into utter darkness.
The air hung stagnant, heavy with the mingled scents of parchment, sealing wax, and the ancient mustiness of the depths below.
Varys sat at the table, his quill poised above the paper.
The candlelight cast shifting light and shadow over his smooth, beardless face. He stared at the blank sheet for a long time, then began to write.
"I tried to warn them."
"But all they could hear was the clamor of their own ambitions."
The nib moved steadily.
"Robert Baratheon... the once-warrior king now had an interest in only three things: wine enough to drown his reason, the bloody thrill of the hunt, and voluptuous, enticing whores."
"Occasionally, a tournament that let him relive his glory days joined the list."
"I carefully nurtured his fear. News from across the Narrow Sea... of dragons, of silver hair, of conquered cities, I slipped into drunken conversation and whispers upon his pillow, feeding it into his ear."
"I nearly succeeded."
"There were moments, when drink went to his head or a hangover soured his temper, when instinctive wariness flashed in his eyes. He was on the verge of turning his gaze toward the dark clouds gathering in the east."
The writing paused.
"But Jon Arryn died, under unexplained circumstances."
"Robert's anger and suspicion were instantly dragged back to the Red Keep, turned upon the Lannister Kin he both loathed and relied upon.
"I tried to steer that anger, to connect it with the threat in the east. I even hoped to provoke a conflict between the Iron Throne and that young man rising in Essos who