Chapter 76 — The Burning Brazier
The damp, freezing underground prison looked exactly the same as ever.
A moldy wooden table lay across the room, and an assortment of torture implements rested silently upon it.
The only difference—
There was no one else here anymore.
Once again bound to a wooden stake in a painfully familiar fashion, Charles looked at the man standing before him and sneered.
"I think what you're doing right now is completely unnecessary."
"Yes, I completely agree with you, Black Wizard," the man replied cheerfully. "But what can I do? Not a single one of those people dared to lay a hand on you. And unfortunately, I can't exactly take the stage myself."
"Aren't you doing exactly that right now?" Charles asked coldly.
"Right now?" The man chuckled. "Oh, pardon me, my lord. At this moment, my name is Logan—a nameless jailer under King Stannis's command. A name that's about to disappear."
With that, the prison guard flashed him a wide grin.
Short and stocky, unshaven, dressed in the leather armor of a dungeon keeper—he looked like nothing more than a shabby, ordinary man.
But the Eye of True Sight told a very different story.
[Varys, known as the Spider, Master of Whisperers of the Seven Kingdoms. Age: approximately 35–45]
[Currently disguised as an ordinary jailer]
[Harbors intense hatred toward you]
…
"Having you arrested wasn't easy," 'Logan' continued casually. "I had to keep it from Stark, lure away your guards, and end it swiftly. Fortunately, nothing slipped beyond my control."
"And the reason?" Charles asked.
"The reason?"
Varys smacked his lips thoughtfully.
"Conducting experiments on living people. The deliberate murder of Lady Whent. How does that sound? Of course, I know you've never even met the poor woman—but in the face of 'conclusive evidence,' who would believe you?"
He glanced around the dungeon, amused.
"Does this place feel familiar, Wizard? Ah, those poor Lannisters. All their careful schemes ruined by a reckless upstart who came out of nowhere. Now they've had no choice but to scurry back to their den and lick their wounds."
His gaze lingered on Charles.
"The Lannisters always pay their debts. They ought to thank me—after all, I'm about to eliminate a troublesome thorn for them."
"You plan to kill me," Charles said flatly.
"Of course. Everyone's busy attending the war council—this is the perfect moment. And the incident at the Dragonpit proved something rather important, didn't it?"
"You can be hurt."
Charles narrowed his eyes. "That attack—you were behind it?"
"Yes. The Dragonpit, the horned zealots—they didn't lie. But how could pawns possibly understand the truth?"
"You thought it was Littlefinger?" Varys sighed and shook his head. "Watching all of you get played so thoroughly—it almost made that cunning little imp seem adorable. Especially when he fled. Truly precious."
Charles fell silent.
Varys continued unprompted, "From the moment you entered King's Landing, I never stopped testing you. Your habits. Your temperament. Your repulsive sorcery…"
"That mad girl? Whisper a word in her ear and she'll do precisely what you want."
"The Red Keep seems secure, but who knows that nearly every wall hides a secret passage?" He smiled faintly. "The King and his wife haven't shared a bed since arriving here. I know that—and much, much more."
"And former assets abandoned by old enemies are laughably easy to reclaim." His eyes flicked toward Charles. "As for your guards—true, they don't wish you harm. But for certain… insignificant matters…"
"You're agitated," Charles interrupted suddenly, frowning. "Why?"
Varys paused.
"We've never directly dealt with one another. Why are you so worked up? Just because you're about to kill someone? Because I'm a wizard?"
The Spider fell silent.
For a moment, Charles thought he wouldn't answer. Then—slowly—Varys dropped the falsely reedy tone of a eunuch.
Turning his gaze toward an empty corner beside the wooden stake, his voice lowered, heavy with something eerily sincere.
"Do you know what life in a traveling troupe is like?"
The sort that juggles and performs tricks. Plays the fool. Always moving.
Always running."
Charles didn't reply. Varys didn't seem to require one.
"Busy. Noisy. Exhausting. Enduring beatings and curses from the troupe master. But for an orphan…" He exhaled softly. "It was a good life. I even loved it, once."
"Our troupe wasn't small," he went on calmly. "The master owned a ship. We sailed between Braavos and the Free Cities. Sometimes we came here—to King's Landing. Sometimes to Oldtown."
A smile crept onto his face without him noticing.
"I remember the first time I sailed," he said softly. "I threw up all over the deck right after it had been scrubbed clean. Old Tombi, the man who shared my bunk, cursed me out terribly—yet when the troupe master came to investigate, he covered for me. That saved me from a beating."
"And Romy. Pash. Little Bells. Those days…"
He sighed. "They were unforgettable."
"I believed the entire troupe were good people—good enough to be the family I'd never had. Gentle old Tombi. Even the strict troupe master. So I worked tirelessly, like a child desperate for his father's praise."
His voice hardened.
"But how could a child possibly understand the rules of adult games?"
"Rules?" Charles asked calmly.
"Yes."
Varys gave a cold laugh. "I performed with all my strength, but when money entered the picture, the master sold me without hesitation—to a stranger."
"Men buying boys isn't unheard of," he continued. "I had heard many such rumors while traveling. I was terrified. But I couldn't resist."
"I had already prepared myself for… certain things. But the truth was far worse."
His teeth clenched audibly.
"He didn't want my body. Not my service. Not even my life."
"He wanted this."
"He made me drink something. I couldn't move a finger. I couldn't make a sound—but I felt everything. Then he took a long, razor-sharp curved blade and cut away my manhood—root and stem—while muttering incantations."
"I watched him throw it into a brazier and burn it. The flames turned blue."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"I heard a voice answer him. I heard it clearly before I lost consciousness—though I couldn't understand its words."
He turned fully toward Charles, eyes brimful with venom.
"When I woke, I was worthless to him. He drove me away. I asked what I should do. He said I should die."
A mirthless smile twisted his lips.
"So I chose to live."
"I begged. I stole. I sold what remained of my body. I did anything to survive. First I was a thief. Then I traded in information. Eventually, my name spread far enough that King Aerys employed me as his Master of Whisperers."
He paused.
"You all think he was mad… but—"
He stopped speaking.
The interrogation chamber fell silent.
Varys stared at Charles, his expression cycling—rage, regret, bitterness, laughter, emptiness.
At last, he exhaled and returned to calm.
"I became the kind of powerful figure my childhood self once looked up to. Yet that night still haunts my dreams."
"And in those dreams, it isn't the wizard, or the knife, or even my flesh burning in the fire that I see."
"It's the voice."
"The voice in the flames."
"Was it a god? A demon? A sorcerer's trick?"
He shook his head. "I know every trick there is. Except that one."
"The only thing I'm certain of is this: he summoned something—and it answered."
"From that day on, I came to hate magic. And all who wield it."
He offered Charles a faint smile.
"You know, I've carried this story for decades. You may be the first—and probably the last—person to hear it."
…
"Burning brazier. A chanting sorcerer…"
Charles didn't respond directly. He murmured instead, his tone faintly mocking.
So the red priestess hadn't been wrong after all.
This was his crisis?
What a pointless mess.
After staring at him for a long moment, Varys shook his head.
"Of course, it isn't only because of that. Hatred can cloud judgment—but it can't govern reason. Not when one's life goal is at stake."
"Your life goal?" Charles asked.
"Compared to the Lannisters, Stannis would make a better king. But he is cold. Ungiving. Not the ruler we desire."
"So if you die," Varys said evenly, "then he loses the Iron Throne."
Charles finally lost his composure.
"So let me get this straight," he said incredulously.
"You frame me, have Stannis arrest me, then kill me while disguised as his man—and that costs him the throne?"
"Yes," Varys replied calmly.
"A wizard dies. The Seven Kingdoms descend into chaos. Admirable influence, really."
"Admirable?" Charles laughed bitterly. "Ridiculous. You think this is a child's game? Kill me and he's no longer king? Are you insane?"
Varys blinked, genuinely surprised.
"You truly haven't noticed?" he said softly. "Stark protects you as if you were his own—and Stark is Stannis's greatest support."
"And outside the Red Keep, tens of thousands of desperate souls see you as a savior. What happens when such a savior is executed by a cold, unyielding king?"
"Division. Rebellion. Riots."
He smiled thinly.
"It would be… spectacular. A pity you won't be there to see it."
"I feel the same," Charles said, shaking his head with a chuckle.
Then he asked quietly, "Why tell me all of this? Why not act sooner?"
Varys hesitated.
"If someone you'd loathed for decades finally stood helpless before you," he said slowly, "you would understand how it feels. Even if you aren't truly him…"
He stopped mid-sentence.
In the blink of an eye, the man bound to the stake was no longer restrained.
No—
The stake itself was gone.
And something unfamiliar had appeared in Charles's hands.
"You—"
Varys' eyes widened, all mockery gone, panic flashing across his face.
"You've investigated more than enough," Charles sighed. "But it still wasn't enough."
Without waiting for a response, Charles pulled the trigger of the crossbow—a weapon utterly foreign to this age.
Thwip—
Blood sprayed as the bolt buried itself deep in Varys' chest.
"Villains always die because they talk too much," Charles said lightly.
"How would someone from your era ever understand that?"