While turmoil swept through the Reach, the Vale had not been idle either.
In a tower of the Eyrie, cold wind seeped through the cracks around the window.
Petyr Baelish sat beside it, tapping his fingertips against the stone sill.
He had been confined for a full month.
Footsteps sounded outside the door.
It was not the servant bringing his food. The servant's footsteps were not that light, like a thief's.
The brass lock turned, and the door opened a crack. A plump figure slipped inside and closed it behind him.
Varys stood by the door, brushed his sleeves, and looked around.
"Castle doors are always so difficult to open, but fortunately, the guards understood the sound of gold." Varys's gaze settled on Littlefinger by the window.
"Confined to the Eyrie's highest tower, with the whole Vale spread out beyond your window," Varys said leisurely. "Lord Tywin's hospitality is hardly shabby."
Littlefinger did not rise. "Surely you didn't climb the towering Giant's Lance just to admire me in my cage, Lord Varys? I may have to disappoint you."
"Of course not." Varys sat down opposite him. "I'm here to help you."
Littlefinger raised an eyebrow.
Through his connection to Lysa, he had established himself in the Vale and even persuaded Tywin to grant him the title of Protector of the Vale.
Varys, meanwhile, the Spider who had wielded such influence in King's Landing, had no foothold in the Vale. He was like a fallen leaf settling on the soil without stirring a speck of dust.
Littlefinger had deliberately kept his distance and remained wary of him. They both played the game of power, and like repelled like. He had not wanted to become too deeply entangled with Varys.
Yet fate was unpredictable. Now he was a prisoner, and the eunuch