— Power is a curious thing, my lord. Are you fond of riddles?
— Why, am I about to hear one?
— 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?
— Depends on the sellsword.
— Does it? He has neither crown nor gold nor favor with the gods.
— He has a sword, the power of life and death.
— 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?
— I've decided I don't like riddles.
— 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.
Some doors close forever... others open in most unexpected places.
Information is the key. You need to learn your enemy's strengths and strategies. You need to learn which of your friends are not your friends.
— What madness led you to tell the queen you had learned the truth about Joffrey's birth?
— The madness of mercy. That she might save her children.
— Ah, the chiIdren. lt's aIways the innocents who suffer. It wasn't the wine that killed Robert, nor the boar. The wine sIowed him down and the boar ripped him open, but it was your mercy
that kiIIed the king.
— Most men like what they see.
— I'm not like most men.
— That's what most men say.
I choose my allies carefully, and my enemies more carefully still.
But he would see this country burn if he could be king of the ashes.
I suppose it's hard for a fanatic to admit a mistake. Isn't that the whole point of being a fanatic? You're always right.
— Tell me something, Varys. Who do you truly serve?
— The realm, my lord. Someone must.