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Varys
did
not
look
at
all
like
himself
.
A
scarred
face
and
a
stubble
of
dark
beard
showed
under
his
spiked
steel
cap
,
and
he
wore
mail
over
boiled
leather
,
dirk
and
shortsword
at
his
belt
.
"
Was
Chataya
’
s
to
your
satisfaction
,
my
lord
?
"
"
Almost
too
much
so
,
"
admitted
Tyrion
.
"
You
’
re
certain
this
woman
can
be
relied
on
?
"
"
I
am
certain
of
nothing
in
this
fickle
and
treacherous
world
,
my
lord
.
Chataya
has
no
cause
to
love
the
queen
,
though
,
and
she
knows
that
she
has
you
to
thank
for
ridding
her
of
Allar
Deem
.
Shall
we
go
?
"
He
started
down
the
tunnel
.
Even
his
walk
is
different
,
Tyrion
observed
.
The
scent
of
sour
wine
and
garlic
clung
to
Varys
instead
of
lavender
.
"
I
like
this
new
garb
of
yours
,
"
he
offered
as
they
went
.
"
The
work
I
do
does
not
permit
me
to
travel
the
streets
amid
a
column
of
knights
.
So
when
I
leave
the
castle
,
I
adopt
more
suitable
guises
,
and
thus
live
to
serve
you
longer
.
"
"
Leather
becomes
you
.
You
ought
to
come
like
this
to
our
next
council
session
.
"
"
Your
sister
would
not
approve
,
my
lord
.
"
"
My
sister
would
soil
her
smallclothes
.
"
He
smiled
in
the
dark
.
"
I
saw
no
signs
of
any
of
her
spies
skulking
after
me
.
"
"
I
am
pleased
to
hear
it
,
my
lord
.
Some
of
your
sister
’
s
hirelings
are
mine
as
well
,
unbeknownst
to
her
.
I
should
hate
to
think
they
had
grown
so
sloppy
as
to
be
seen
.
"
