"The King doesn't need us to prepare anything for him, Ser Karl. He never has."
Seeing Karl accept the glass of milk, Varys gently set down the silver tray in his hands. Then, with practiced ease, he picked up another glass of iced milk for himself.
"I am merely a eunuch," Varys continued with a light chuckle. "Surely someone like you understands better what His Majesty truly needs."
His round face carried that familiar, knowing smile—one that seemed to suggest he understood far more than he ever said aloud.
Without waiting for a reply, Varys raised the glass to his lips and drank deeply, finishing nearly half in a single gulp.
A satisfied sigh escaped him.
"Ah… how rare," he murmured, basking in the fleeting coolness. "A small comfort in such dreadful heat."
The summer sun beat down mercilessly upon King's Landing. Even standing in the shade offered little relief. Compared to the oppressive heat around them, the chilled milk in their hands felt like a blessing.
Karl glanced at him briefly, then raised his own glass.
Instead of drinking, however, he brought it closer to his nose and inhaled gently.
His brows furrowed.
"What did you add to this?"
There was a faint scent—something herbal, mixed with mint.
Varys smiled, unbothered.
"The summer heat can be quite vicious," he explained calmly. "So I had the servants add a few cooling herbs and a touch of mint."
He raised his sleeve and fanned himself lightly.
"It helps… or at least, it gives the illusion of relief."
He chuckled softly.
"After all, I am a rather… well-fed man. And we tend to suffer the most in such weather."
Karl gave a small nod but did not lower his guard.
"I hope there's no poppy in it," he said casually, swirling the milk in his glass. "I know what that does. Once you start, it's hard to stop."
Though his tone was light, his eyes remained fixed on Varys.
Sharp. Watchful.
Varys did not flinch.
Instead, he calmly took another sip, then licked a trace of milk from his lips.
"Your knowledge is impressive, Ser Karl," he said with a faint smile. "As for such substances… I prefer to keep my distance."
He tilted his head slightly.
"If my mind were dulled by such things, I fear I would be reduced to performing in some traveling circus."
A playful glint appeared in his eyes.
"And I very much doubt they would have any use for a foolish, overweight eunuch."
Karl couldn't help but laugh.
"In that case," he said, amused, "I'll make sure to pair you with a dwarf."
"That way, the two of you can form a popular act across the Seven Kingdoms—a clever dwarf and a cunning eunuch."
"People would love it."
Varys paused, as if genuinely considering the idea.
"Thank you for your concern, Ser Karl," he replied thoughtfully. "But I do hope the dwarf you speak of is not Tyrion Lannister."
Karl raised an eyebrow.
"And why not?"
Varys spread his hands helplessly.
"Because if it were him, every coin we earned would be spent on wine and women."
He sighed dramatically.
"And as someone who neither drinks nor indulges in such pleasures… I fear I would gain nothing from such a partnership."
Karl blinked for a moment—
Then burst into laughter.
Varys joined him, his laughter just as warm.
Even if, in this particular joke, he himself was the subject.
After a moment, Karl's laughter subsided.
"If the opportunity arises," he said casually, "I'll speak well of you before the King."
He lifted his glass slightly, gesturing toward Varys.
"After all, your talents are best suited for positions of real influence."
Varys's eyes flickered faintly.
"With your recommendation," he said softly, "it seems I may avoid sharing the stage with a dwarf after all."
Karl smiled faintly.
"No one knows what tomorrow brings," he replied. "I can't promise anything."
Varys did not respond directly.
Instead, his gaze shifted subtly toward the surrounding Gold Cloaks.
"You are quite right, Ser Karl."
Karl didn't fully catch the implication.
Or perhaps he chose not to.
He finally took a sip of the milk.
"…Not bad."
"I'm glad it suits your taste."
The two men—bound by cooperation, yet divided by caution—stood before the Gods' Gate of King's Landing, exchanging polite words layered with hidden meanings.
The sun burned overhead.
Heat shimmered across the white stone.
In the distance—
A procession approached.
At first, it was nothing more than a blur on the horizon.
But slowly, steadily, it grew clearer.
The atmosphere changed.
Even the restless murmurs of the crowd began to quiet.
All eyes turned toward the road.
The Gods' Gate, carved from pale marble like the Great Sept of Baelor itself, stood as a symbol of faith and authority.
Its intricate carvings depicted the Seven—each face watching, judging, witnessing all who passed beneath.
From this gate, a straight road led into the heart of the city.
Toward the Great Sept.
Toward the Red Keep.
Toward power itself.
And today—
It would witness a triumph.
Golden banners bearing the crowned stag of House Baratheon came first, fluttering proudly.
Behind them marched armored knights in disciplined ranks.
Then came the direwolf banners of the North—House Stark, silent and resolute.
And finally—
The King himself.
Robert Baratheon.
King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men.
Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.
Protector of the Realm.
Mounted atop a massive warhorse, he rode forward slowly, his imposing figure commanding attention.
The crowd held its breath.
The procession stopped.
Just ten paces before Karl and Varys.
Karl immediately dropped to one knee, bowing his head.
"Your Majesty."
His voice was steady, his posture flawless.
Varys, however—
Knelt fully.
Both knees on the ground.
His forehead nearly touching the dust.
Though he was a member of the Small Council, he understood the weight of the moment.
King's Landing had nearly fallen.
And he, as Master of Whisperers, bore responsibility.
Silk and status meant nothing here.
Before the King, he was no different from a common man.
The crowd watched in silence.
Even the air felt heavy.
Robert said nothing.
He simply looked down at them.
And that silence—
Was far more oppressive than any shout.
Then—
Movement.
Hall.
Karl's attendant.
He glanced around quickly, then suddenly stepped forward.
With swift, decisive action, he pushed aside a nearby official and snatched the horse stool from his hands.
Without hesitation, he placed it before the King's horse.
Then stood ready, arm extended.
Offering support.
Eddard Stark, who had already dismounted behind the King, watched the scene with a faint smile.
Robert noticed.
Of course he did.
But he said nothing.
Instead, he dismounted using the stool.
Once his feet touched the ground—
He waved his hand casually.
"Reward him. Five gold."
Hall froze for a split second—
Then dropped to his knees.
"Thank you, Your Majesty!"
Laughter erupted from Robert's chest.
Loud.
Thunderous.
Then—
He stepped forward.
Toward Karl.
"Do you know what you've done?"
His voice boomed like distant thunder.
Karl remained calm.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Robert pointed at him.
"Stand up."
Karl rose.
Still respectful.
Still composed.
Robert studied him closely.
Then—
A smile broke through his beard.
"I'm satisfied."
Karl met his gaze.
"I did not disappoint you."
Robert laughed.
"Of course not!"
Then his voice rose—
So that all could hear.
"You've done something great."
"You've become a hero!"
Behind him, Eddard Stark sighed slightly, though a hint of amusement touched his expression.
Karl inclined his head.
"It was only through your trust that I was able to succeed."
Robert snorted.
"Since when did you become so smooth-tongued?"
"Planning to abandon your honor and open a brothel?"
Karl shrugged.
"Then I'll take it back."
A faint smile crossed his face.
"I'm simply glad I succeeded."
At that moment, Eddard stepped forward.
"We all owe you thanks, Karl."
His voice was sincere.
"You saved lives."
"You stopped Tywin Lannister's plot."
"You ended the war."
Karl placed a hand over his chest.
"It was my duty."
Eddard nodded.
"And you fulfilled it with honor."
"Enough of this," Robert interrupted impatiently.
He grabbed Karl's arm.
Then turned to face the crowd.
And raised it high.
"Look well!"
"Here stands your hero!"
His voice echoed across the city.
For a moment—
Silence.
Then—
An explosion.
Cheers erupted like a tidal wave.
"KARL STONE!"
"KARL STONE!"
"HERO!"
"BLOOD WIND!"
The sound shook the very walls.
Karl stood there—
Caught in the storm of voices.
He hadn't expected this.
He understood power.
Understood influence.
Understood the dangers of standing too high.
A tree that stands too tall is broken by the wind.
And yet—
In this moment—
He felt it.
The weight of recognition.
The roar of the people.
The pull of destiny.
Slowly—
He smiled.
Then raised his hand.
And accepted it.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)