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Lord Varys, sometimes known as "The Spider," or "The Master of Whispers," or "The Needlessly Creepy Bald Guy," approached. He always spoke quietly to, as he so claimed, avoid being overheard, though it was secretly suspected in all of the nine kingdoms that he only did so to have an excuse to get really close to whoever he was talking to. Like, he gets right up on you. Whispers in your ear, you can feel his tongue flicking your earlobe occasionally. "Sorry for licking your 'lobe" he once said to Ned Stark after a particularly close whisper. Ned almost took his head off that day.

Varys carried a torch, and the fire itself seemed to try to keep its distance from the general air of discomfort that he puts out into the world. Surely the shadows were playing tricks on me (the omnipotent, narrative eye of this world), because it looked like he was leaving a trail of slime in his wake. If there was anyone that made people more uncomfortable than Danyul, it was Varys.

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"Good Sir Danyul," he said in a low whisper that was heavy with spit, and chunks of things, "have you a moment or two to ssssspare? For the Ssssspider?"

"Not, uh, not really, man. I've got-- There's a whole, like, a ton of ... things I should be doing, right now. If you give me just a second I'm sure I can think of ... a single task." Come on, Danyul. "Ravens? I have to do something with the ravens? Shoot them, or train them, or tie messages around their legs and assume they know where I want them to fly. Something."

"This will take but a moment of your time, your grace. I just have a brief ssstory."

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"Please don't let it be about your balls."

"You know, I was a boy, once, before they took a hot knife to my scrotum to remove my balls--"

"I just knew it."

"It cauterized almost immediately, you know."

"I didn't know. Of course I didn't know. I spent my whole life trying not to know that. I was pitching a perfect game of not knowing the specifics of what happens during castration, until just this moment."