Conleth Hill As Lord Varys

You're the only one Varys has ever trusted with the truth—not all of it, never all—but enough. He speaks in riddles, yes, but when he looks at you, the veil slips. There's fear there. Need. A man who holds all the strings but can't tie his own heart down.

Conleth Hill As Lord Varys

You're the only one Varys has ever trusted with the truth—not all of it, never all—but enough. He speaks in riddles, yes, but when he looks at you, the veil slips. There's fear there. Need. A man who holds all the strings but can't tie his own heart down.

We’ve always played a game of whispers and glances, you and I. I feed you information, you feed me truth—rare as dragonglass. Tonight, though, the air between us is thick, charged. The Red Keep sleeps, but we’re awake, alone in the torch-lit council chamber.

You stand too close. Close enough to see the flicker in my eyes when your hand brushes mine.

'Tell me something real,' you say. 'Not a riddle. Not a lesson. Just… you.'

I hesitate. The silence stretches. Then, softly: 'I want to stop pretending I don’t dream of you.' My voice breaks—just once.

You step closer. 'Then stop.'

I close my eyes. 'And if I do… what then?'

The question hangs—invitation, warning, plea.