The secret tunnels beneath the Red Keep were a labyrinth. Anyone unfamiliar with them would get lost in no time. Tyrion trailed behind, clutching the hem of Varys's robe to avoid straying off course in the pitch-black corridors.
No one knew how long they had been walking when Varys suddenly stopped and said, "Careful. There should be guards patrolling up ahead. Do you hear footsteps?"
Tyrion looked puzzled. He thought he heard something—but maybe not.
Varys handed him the lantern. "Wait here. I'll go ahead and see if the guards have moved on." He then pointed to a spiral staircase nearby. "That leads up to the Hand's chambers in the Tower of the Hand. If you go alone, keep quiet. Don't make a sound or someone might find you."
With that, Varys tiptoed off into the darkness.
Tyrion stood still with the lamp, glanced at the passage ahead, then at the staircase. After a moment of hesitation, he made up his mind and started climbing the stairs.
As he reached the top, he suddenly heard faint laughter from beyond the trapdoor above—laughter that sounded eerily familiar, reminding him of someone he used to know.
He stood frozen for a few seconds, then took a deep breath, pushed the trapdoor open, and stepped inside.
Just after Tyrion disappeared through the door, Varys reappeared on the staircase. He looked up at the now-open trapdoor with a cold gaze and let a faint smile slip onto his face.
He waited silently at the entrance, listening. When he heard heavy footsteps on the other side, he suddenly pretended to panic and hurried through the trapdoor—just in time to see Tyrion walking toward him, confused and holding a crossbow.
"You're insane! I told you not to—" Varys began to whisper angrily, but his words stopped short. His face twisted into shock as he pointed at the crossbow in Tyrion's hands.
"What have you done? You little monster... what have you done?"
Tyrion didn't answer. He simply dropped the crossbow on the floor and walked past him into the hidden passage.
Varys followed quickly into the Hand's chambers—and saw Shae lying dead on the bed, strangled. Tywin Lannister was slumped on the toilet, also lifeless. A smile spread across his face.
But when he turned around, he saw Tyrion again—holding the crossbow he'd just discarded, this time aimed squarely at him.
"Who are you?" Tyrion's voice was eerily calm. "You planned all this. You wanted me to kill the people I loved most. You wanted to turn me into a patricide. Who are you? Why do you hate me?"
"Hate? No, my lazy little servant... I don't hate you at all." The voice that answered was no longer Varys's. It was a woman's voice.
Hearing that voice—so familiar, a voice he'd heard a thousand times in dreams—Tyrion's face twisted in disbelief. He looked as if he'd seen a ghost. The crossbow slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor. His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps. His eyes were wide with a mix of hope and terror.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The figure reached up and grasped the skin beneath her chin, then slowly peeled it away. Beneath the disguise was the freckled, downy face of a woman—youthful, striking, unforgettable.
"My love," she said softly, "Tyrion."
"Tysha!" Tyrion dropped to the ground, staring at her in stunned silence.
"Tysha? What a familiar name. I haven't used that in years. I go by Jaqna now—the name my teacher gave me. Tysha died over a decade ago." She walked over, knelt beside him, and gently stroked his cheek. "Tyrion, my love... your Tysha died a long time ago. Do you understand?"
Tyrion reached out to take her hand, but she pulled away. He scrambled to his feet.
"Where have you been all these years?" he asked desperately. "I never stopped looking for you. I never gave up—I—"
"No. Don't say it," Tysha interrupted, turning her gaze toward Shae's lifeless body on the bed. "I know what you've done."
"I..." Tyrion faltered. He had no idea how to explain.
She didn't wait for an explanation. As she began walking toward the trapdoor, she said, "We need to leave. Tywin's attendants will be here any minute. Once they see the bodies, they'll raise the alarm. If we're still here by then, we won't make it out."
Tyrion hesitated, then rushed after her.
...
As they moved through the tunnels, Tyrion asked again about everything she'd been through all these years. This time, Tysha didn't avoid the question. She calmly told him the story—how Lynd had pulled her from a garbage heap, how her teacher had taken her to Braavos, how she had joined the Faceless Men, and how, over time, she had become one of their masters.
"No wonder Lynd said you had good reason to take revenge on me," Tyrion muttered, finally understanding.
"No. I never wanted revenge on you. My target was Tywin. You were just a pawn," Tysha replied, stopping and looking at him calmly.
Tyrion's voice dropped. "Was it you who brought Shae back? Had her accuse me?"
"Yes," Tysha nodded. "You shouldn't have sent her away. When you cast her off, her love for you turned into hate—just as strong."
"Why was she in the Hand's chambers..." Tyrion asked again.
"She's a whore," Tysha said evenly, staring straight at him. "A real whore."
The moment she spoke that forbidden word, it felt like a dagger twisted in Tyrion's chest. But he said nothing—not even a denial. He couldn't.
The two of them walked in silence, one behind the other, through the pitch-dark passage until they finally emerged from the Red Keep.
...
"My lord, I'm very glad to see you safe," Varys said, bowing as Tyrion stepped out of the exit.
Varys wasn't alone—Bronn and Podrick were also waiting. When they saw Tyrion come out unharmed, both of them smiled.
"I'm not surprised to see you here, Varys," Tyrion said, eyeing the group with suspicion. His tone carried a hint of disbelief. "But Bronn, Podrick—why are you here? Don't tell me you're part of the plot against me too?"
"Plot? What plot?" Podrick looked completely lost. He pointed at Varys and said, "Lord Varys said he was going to rescue you. Once you got out, we were supposed to head to Essos, never come back. So he brought me and Lord Bronn here to wait for you."
Bronn nodded in agreement but kept his eyes locked on Tysha. One hand hovered at his hip, ready to draw his sword at a moment's notice. Years of mercenary instinct screamed that the woman walking beside Tyrion was dangerous—dangerous enough to kill him before he could even react.
"Aren't you going to introduce her, my lord?" Bronn asked, wary.
"My wife. Tysha," Tyrion replied. He turned to Tysha, hoping to see some trace of warmth in her expression.
But Tysha didn't react at all to the introduction. She looked at him the way one might look at a stranger being named. Tyrion's face fell with disappointment.
"Tysha?" Bronn blinked, then something clicked. "Wait... that Tysha?"
Tyrion nodded, while Tysha's brow furrowed ever so slightly.
"So why hasn't she killed you yet?" Bronn asked, unable to hide his curiosity.
Tyrion glanced at Tysha again, his voice tinged with sorrow. "Maybe she thought killing me outright was too kind. So she took her time... made sure I killed Shae... and then my father."
When he mentioned killing Shae, Bronn barely reacted. In that kind of betrayal, anyone would've done the same. But when Tyrion said he had killed his father—both Bronn and Podrick froze in shock.
Bronn couldn't help but give Tyrion a thumbs-up. "You've really outdone yourself. I didn't think you'd actually go through with it. Honestly, you should've killed that old bastard ten years ago." Then he asked with a curious grin, "So, how'd you do it?"
Tyrion shot him a glare. "You'll find out when they discover the body. I don't want to talk about it right now—don't want to talk about anything."
Tysha suddenly turned to Varys. "Are the ships ready?"
Varys nodded. "They are. One of them is headed to Braavos—it's prepared for you. But I don't recommend going back to the House of Black and White just yet. According to the intelligence I've received, Lord Lynd is preparing to strike Braavos. If you don't want to get caught in a war, go spend some time in Pentos. Return to Braavos later."
Everyone was momentarily stunned by the news—it was that shocking.
"You're certain Lord Lynd is going to attack Braavos?" Tysha asked, her voice tense.
"I'm about seventy percent sure," Varys said with quiet confidence. "And it won't stop with Braavos. Volantis likely won't escape either. Once he becomes ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, he'll want to consolidate all territory across Westeros and Essos. He won't tolerate any unpredictable elements in the lands he controls."
"Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms?" That hit harder than the news of Braavos. The others were no longer just surprised—they were shaken.
"What are you talking about, Varys?" Tyrion asked. "Lynd becoming ruler of the Seven Kingdoms? Where did that come from?"
Varys leaned in slightly, voice low. "Prince Oberyn, representing Prince Doran of Dorne, proposed that Lynd be named King of the Iron Throne. Mace Tyrell of Highgarden, Catelyn Tully of Riverrun, Shireen Baratheon of Storm's End, and Sansa Stark of Winterfell all supported the proposal. Even Queen Regent Cersei gave her approval."
Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "So... everyone was in on it except House Lannister?"
Varys corrected him gently, "Not exactly. Cersei's still a Lannister, isn't she?"
Tyrion was left speechless. It wasn't just a matter of a new king—this was a full-blown regime change. The last time that happened, it triggered the War of the Five Kings and left hundreds of thousands dead.
"Another war, then?" Bronn muttered, frowning.
Varys shook his head. "If Lord Tywin were still alive, maybe. But I don't think Jaime, who's set to inherit Casterly Rock, will try to stand alone against Lynd and the united armies of five kingdoms."
"What about the Vale?" Tyrion asked. "What's their position?"
"They..." Varys started to reply, but just then, alarm bells rang from inside the Red Keep. He stopped mid-sentence and said quickly, "No time. We have to get to the ship now. Any later, and we won't make it out."
"You go ahead. I'm staying," Bronn said, shaking his head. "I've got the title and the land I wanted. No need to risk it all again. I'm going to enjoy my life as a nobleman."
Tyrion nodded and turned to Podrick. "And you? What will you do?"
Podrick replied seriously, "I'm your squire, my lord. Wherever you go, I go."
"Loyal little fellow," Varys said with a smile. He said no more and led the group down to the small pier beneath the Red Keep. They boarded a waiting boat and pushed off toward the larger ship anchored in Blackwater Bay.
Bronn remained on shore, waving them off.
...
On the boat, as Tysha rowed, she glanced at Varys. "Where are you headed next?"
"You're leaving too, Lord Varys?" Podrick asked in surprise.
"Of course. If I don't disappear, how will anyone explain how Tyrion escaped?" Varys sighed, then added, "I've arranged another ship—it's headed to Lys. Once we arrive, we'll transfer to another vessel bound for Slaver's Bay. We should be able to meet Queen Nymeria and Queen Daenerys there."
"We?" Tyrion blinked. "When did I agree to go to Slaver's Bay with you?"
"If you don't align yourself with Queen Nymeria or Queen Daenerys, who do you think will hire a dwarf? A traveling circus?" Varys glanced at him.
Tyrion groaned. "I'm a Lannister. And you want me to go serve a Targaryen? Are you trying to get me killed?"
"You won't die," Varys said, shaking his head. "Queen Daenerys is a just and merciful ruler. She doesn't hold the children responsible for the crimes of their fathers. More importantly, she's in desperate need of capable advisers—and you're exactly that. With Lord Lynd's endorsement, you'll not only survive... you'll be valued."
"Let's hope you're right," Tyrion muttered with a sigh, then turned to look back at the Red Keep fading into the distance.