POiSON WORLD

Lord Varys : You will be pleased to know our mutual friend is doing quite well in Lady Sansa’s service.

Tyrion Lannister : Good. One of my better ideas.

Lord Varys : And it seems the Grand Maester has found his way into a black cell?

[Tyrion shrugs]

Lord Varys : Well played, my lord Hand. But should I be worried? Janos Slynt, Pycelle… the small council grows smaller every day.

Tyrion Lannister : The council has a reputation for serving past Hands poorly. I don’t mean to follow Ned Stark to the grave.

Lord Varys : Power is a curious thing, my lord. Are you fond of riddles?

Tyrion Lannister : Why? Am I about to hear one?

Lord Varys : Three great men sit in a room: a king, a priest, and a rich man. Between them stands a common sellsword. Each great man bids the sellsword kill the other two. Who lives, who dies?

Tyrion Lannister : Depends on the sellsword.

Lord Varys : Does it? He has neither crown, nor gold, nor favor with the gods.

Tyrion Lannister : He has a sword, the power of life and death.

Lord Varys : But if it’s swordsmen who rule, why do we pretend kings hold all the power? When Ned Stark lost his head, who was truly responsible? Joffrey? The executioner? Or something else?

Tyrion Lannister : I’ve decided I don’t like riddles.

[pause]

Lord Varys : Power resides where men believe it resides. It’s a trick. A shadow on the wall. And a very small man can cast a very large shadow.

“Oh, I think not,” Varys said, swirling the wine in his cup. “Power is a curious thing, my lord. Perchance you have considered the riddle I posed you that day in the inn?”
“It has crossed my mind a time or two,” Tyrion admitted. “The king, the priest, the rich man—who lives and who dies? Who will the swordsman obey? It’s a riddle without an answer, or rather, too many answers. All depends on the man with the sword.”
“And yet he is no one,” Varys said. “He has neither crown nor gold nor favor of the gods, only a piece of pointed steel.”
“That piece of steel is the power of life and death.”
“Just so… yet if it is the swordsmen who rule us in truth, why do we pretend our kings hold the power? Why should a strong man with a sword ever obey a child king like Joffrey, or a wine-sodden oaf like his father?”
“Because these child kings and drunken oafs can call other strong men, with other swords.”
“Then these other swordsmen have the true power. Or do they?” Varys smiled. “Some say knowledge is power. Some tell us that all power comes from the gods. Others say it derives from law. Yet that day on the steps of Baelor’s Sept, our godly High Septon and the lawful Queen Regent and your ever-so-knowledgeable servant were as powerless as any cobbler or cooper in the crowd. Who truly killed Eddard Stark, do you think? Joffrey, who gave the command? Ser Ilyn Payne, who swung the sword? Or… another?”
Tyrion cocked his head sideways. “Did you mean to answer your damned riddle, or only to make my head ache worse?”
Varys smiled. “Here, then. Power resides where men believe it resides. No more and no less.”
“So power is a mummer’s trick?”
“A shadow on the wall,” Varys murmured, “yet shadows can kill. And ofttimes a very small man can cast a very large shadow.”
Tyrion smiled. “Lord Varys, I am growing strangely fond of you. I may kill you yet, but I think I’d feel sad about it.”
“I will take that as high praise.”

― George R.R. Martin, A Clash of Kings