Resolved at last, Varys tossed the parchnt in his hand into the brazier, along with the previous intelligence scrolls, watching every sheet curl and blacken in the flas.
From the treetop across the courtyard, Drogon observed him quietly.
The Master of Whisperers' face shifted through shock, fear, anger… and finally, calm.
Even Drogon had to admire his composure — whatever Varys was thinking, it was impossible to tell.
But none of that changed Drogon's next step.
He glided to a rooftop no one paid attention to and spread out another piece of parchnt, continuing to write:
"King's Landing will soon face great upheaval.
Daenerys Targaryen will unite the Slaver's Bay.
The White Walkers have already appeared beyond the Wall."
"When Daenerys unifies Slaver's Bay, she will lack capable advisors, lack eyes and ears on the ground, and lack talents like Tyrion Lannister."
"Since you intend to defect eventually, make the decision early.
You do not need to travel to Slaver's Bay.
You are far more valuable in King's Landing.
Expand your little birds in Slaver's Bay.
When the Queen needs information, you will provide it."
"If you agree, place a clay jar on the courtyard wall — one like the jar you use to feed your 'treasured guest.'"
Signed: The Mysterious One
It was a long ssage. Drogon's tiny claws cramped midway, but he finished it.
He gathered the pen and ink, glided back to Varys' residence, and dropped the parchnt on the stone table — then darted away like a shadow.
Only once he settled back in the treetop did the door swing open.
Drogon nearly swore out loud.
The noise from his wings — normally insignificant — had been enough to make Varys suspicious today, when paranoia was high.
Varys scanned the courtyard.
His eyes landed on the stone table.
Another parchnt.
He froze.
For a full second he simply stared, unable to process it.
He had just burned the previous ssage — and yet here lay a new one in the exact sa place.
If he hadn't been absolutely certain the first letter was reduced to ash, he'd have wondered whether he'd forgotten to bring it inside.
He strode to the table ― his hands almost trembling.
The more he read, the wider his eyes beca.
He had misread everything.
This wasn't Littlefinger's trap —
The ssage ca from Daenerys' side.
Which made no sense.
Sohow, this mysterious person:
• knew his secret residence,
• knew of the sorcerer trapped in his cellar,
• had followed him the entire day,
• and Varys had not noticed once.
A chill crawled across his skin.
Who?
Who on Daenerys' side could shadow him — the most cautious and paranoid man in King's Landing — without detection?
When had the Mother of Dragons acquired such a terrifying ally?
He dismissed the thought that Littlefinger was pretending — there was no benefit in fabricating such a ploy.
And the letter's goal was crystal clear:
Encourage Varys to defect early to Daenerys —
and bring Tyrion with him.
Those were indeed urges that Varys would feel in the future, but even he had not consciously admitted them yet.
So how could soone else know?
His hands tightened on the parchnt.
"A great upheaval is coming to King's Landing."
What upheaval?
Had Daenerys already grown powerful enough to shake the capital?
Conquering all three cities of Slaver's Bay with eight thousand Unsullied was not difficult.
But governing them?
With only Daenerys and her current companions?
That would be nearly impossible.
Varys knew the region well.
He had little birds even there — not many, but enough.
The slave system had lasted thousands of years.
Ending it would be a storm of blood and chaos.
Then another line chilled him further:
"White Walkers beyond the Wall."
Varys had no eyes beyond the Wall — that entire territory was a blind spot.
The White Walkers had been gone for a thousand years.
How could they return?
If every line in this letter were true…
Then whoever wrote it had sources far beyond anything he possessed.
And if the upheaval was driven by them — rather than predicted — then the mysterious individual was even more dangerous.
Until this mont, Varys believed that when he eventually swore loyalty to Daenerys, he would be indispensable — the right hand she needed most.
But now?
Now he realized there was soone else. Soone who saw what he saw, knew what he knew, and predicted what he would one day decide.
Soone he could not track, could not outthink, could not hide from.
For a mont, despair threatened.
But then — a thin thread of relief.
Whoever this mysterious figure was,
they still needed him.
After a long mont of paralysis, the Master of Whisperers inhaled slowly.
The panic faded.
Reason returned.
Staring at the parchnt in his hand, Varys suddenly rembered sothing—the way the first letter had appeared silently on the stone table.
He walked to the courtyard wall.
The wall was more than two ters high.
An ordinary person would need effort to climb over it.
More importantly, there were no signs of climbing at all.
So how had the parchnt been placed there?
A ridiculous thought flickered through his mind:
Could it have flown in?
A person couldn't fly.
A bird could fly, yes—
but what bird could precisely place a letter on a table… twice… in the exact sa spot?
Unless…
"…a skinchanger?"
The idea should have been absurd, yet it refused to leave.
Ever since the day he was mutilated and thrown into a brazier, hearing the voice from the flas, Varys had made it a mission to understand every dark and strange power that walked the world.
He knew of wargs—those who could slip their minds into birds and beasts, seeing through their eyes, hearing through their ears… and the strongest could control them outright.
If such a being was involved…
Then the ssenger might not have left at all.
His eyes swept the courtyard again and finally locked onto the distant cluster of tall trees.
If a flying creature were hiding sowhere, it would be there.
But before Varys' gaze settled fully on the branches, Drogon slid behind the tree trunk, perfectly still and unbothered.
After a long mont of studying the trees, Varys found nothing.
Still unwilling to concede, he picked up a handful of gravel and hurled it toward the branches.
A flurry of small birds shot out in panic.
Drogon: "…"
Varys sighed, expression helpless.
Those birds clearly ant nothing.
He had only heard a faint shift of air before opening the door.
A sound so subtle he couldn't even be sure he hadn't imagined it.
After thinking and getting nowhere, he surrendered.
There would be no answer today.
As for the mysterious request—
he had already decided.
With soone like this assisting Daenerys, refusing now would make him irrelevant very soon.
Better to bow early than too late.
He went inside, fetched a brown clay jar, and placed it on the wall beside the gate — the sa kind he used to feed the sorcerer.
Watching from the treetop, Drogon nodded in approval.
So a little display of strength really does speed things up.
He hadn't intended it, but the show of power had nearly crushed Varys' lifelong confidence.
Varys returned indoors.
Drogon flew back to the rooftop and continued writing the next phase of instructions.
Gods, not being able to speak is such a hassle…
He grumbled internally while scribbling with his tiny claws.
Once finished, he dropped the parchnt onto the table again and retreated to the roof.
Monts later Varys stepped out, saw the ssage, and—this ti—didn't even look surprised.
He no longer tried searching for the courier.
He simply picked up the parchnt… and read.
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