Chapter Text
“I just wonder, of course, as to his reasons.” Varys’ voice was overly servile and unctuous; he really was laying it on with a trowel. “I had thought, since you are of course Queen, and have been very clear that it is you who holds the power, that perhaps he had shared his reasons for, ah, taking such very final action against some two dozen members of the Gold Cloaks who keep this city sa…”
“Don’t give me that.” Systlin said, pleasantly. “And drop the ass-kissing tone, Varys, it annoys me. Speak plainly. Threw them out the window, hm?” She flipped a page in the sheaf of notes that Mace Tyrell had provided her regarding the Books of Law as codified by King Jaehaerys. “The Goldcloaks don’t keep anyone safe. They are a private army currently. One of negotiable loyalty, who follow whoever has managed to put their people in control of them or whoever pays them.”
Varys narrowed his eyes at her for an instant. “And you have put your own husband in command of them, and through him will disburse all pay personally, having cut from your Council the position of Master of Coin.”
“Yes.” She said, simply.
“Hmm.” He tucked his hands into his sleeves, a habit that served to put his hands near where he often kept knives sheathed on his forearms. He did not at the moment; she’d had him roll his sleeves up to prove as much. “And yet your husband the King has seen fit to put to death some two dozen of them. So far. He is still interviewing Goldcloaks, and I expect more will have to be scraped off the paving stones in the small courtyard.”
“I’ll have to pay the maids a bonus.” Systlin said, blandly.
“Has he consulted you as to the reason behind this?”
“I’m sure he has a good one.” She flipped another page.
“Your certainty is touching.”
She looked up. Considered Varys for a long moment. “I still don’t have that report I ordered you to put together. You’re running out of time.”
Varys wasn’t an idiot. He knew a dismissal when he heard one. He bowed, and backed out of the room. The Dornish men at arms standing at the door watched him go with distaste.
“I should visit Foicatch.” She said aloud.
The Dornish guards looked at her with mild alarm. “Your Grace.” One said. “That one is a worm. I would not put much stock in what…”
“Oh, I don’t. But it sounds like ‘Catch could use a break, and so could I.”
Sure enough, five minutes later when she pushed the door of the room Foicatch had claimed as his office open, he looked frustrated and tired both. His eyes lit up when he saw her, though, and he leaned back in his chair with a sigh as she glanced over the papers spread out in front of him.
“Making progress?” She brushed an obstinate curl out of one of his eyes.
“Slowly.” He sighed again, a frustrated little huff. “There’s pitting little to work with by way of raw material here. They’ve been hiring thugs and cutthroats for…balls. A century, probably.”
“Ought to make it easy to cut down on the numbers, at least.”
“That won’t be a problem. Out of every five I see, there’s maybe one or two lads who might be salvageable, and usually because they joined up recently in hopes of decent pay. Rest are hopeless. There’s a fair few in the dungeon now, to be honest.” He shook his head, a brief little motion that oozed disgust.
“Fair few in the courtyard too.” She said, dryly. “Varys is trying to convince me that you’re conspiring to take power for yourself, since you took the initiative to put some to death.”
He gave her an openly appalled look. “Some of them were raping children! Girls of fourteen, fifteen! Bragged of it! Laughed about it, some of them!”
She scowled. “I knew you had a reason, love.”
“Why are there so many here who like that sort of thing? That isn’t bloody normal!”
She shook her head. She didn’t have an answer for that. “They just…told you?”
He scowled. “They’re more than happy to talk, most of them. Particularly to an old guardsman, who says a few of the right things to make them feel comfortable.”
“Ah.”
“Perks.” He said, darkly. “Perks are something like a certain tavern where the owner gives you a discount. Not what these shits have been doing.”
She laid a hand on his cheek. He leaned into the touch with a tired sigh.
“I knew you’d do well at it.” She said. “However much you hate paperwork. Thank you, love.”
His lips turned up, just slightly. “You know I’d do anything for you.”
“I know. But I don’t ask you to do things you hate unless I’ve no other choice. If I had someone else I could trust to put this on, I would.”
He turned his head and kissed the palm of her hand. She bent over to kiss him.
She’d intended it to just be a brief, affectionate sort of thing, but the solid warmth of him and the familiar slight scratch of his beard set a low, aching fire to burning, and somehow a moment later she had a hand in his hair and he had an arm around her, and she was in his lap.
There was so much to think of, to worry about, so much frustration she’d built up over the last couple of days. It was very good to focus all that pent-up energy at something, and judging from the way he was kissing her back he was feeling something similar.
She pulled at his hair as he bit her neck, not entirely gently. Ground her backside down against where he was quickly going hard in his trousers, pressing herself against him. She would never get over how well he was built, she really wouldn’t, and those Dornish robes showed it off so well that it should be criminal.
She shoved a hand between them and groped for the lacings of his trousers as he kissed her again, hard. It was awkward and didn’t really work, since she was sitting on him; she pried herself back and out of his arms with great reluctance, and went after her own trousers instead. He had his own trousers undone in moments, just as she got hers unlaced.
“How…” He was disheveled and panting and a little wild looking, and she wanted him right that fucking moment. She got her own trousers down, judged that his desk was about the right height and reasonably sturdy, and bent over it. “Ah.” He finished his own question, and was on his feet behind her.
He paused for a moment when he got her robes hiked up, and she hissed impatiently.
“Let me enjoy the view for a moment.” The complaint was teasing, and then there was that delicious blunt pressure. She moaned aloud as she rocked back against him, rolling her hips in encouragement.
They’d been together long enough that he knew her moods as well as she knew his, and he wasted no more time in doing his level best to fuck her right through the top of his desk, which was exactly what she’d wanted. It felt wonderful, and oh, fuck, she’d needed this.
She was heading fast for a promising climax and leaving fingernail marks in the varnish on the desk when the door opened; Foicatch froze mid-thrust, and she seriously contemplated setting Varys’ robes on fire. The look on the Spider’s face was priceless.
“Do you fucking mind?” She snapped, as Varys stared, clearly nonplussed. They hadn’t been being particularly quiet, which she’d thought would have been enough to get anyone with a shred of common sense to stay out. People on Gor had caught onto that quickly enough. “Ever heard of knocking?”
Varys’ face was doing interesting things. She supposed, given the general way people got themselves worked up over sex on this shithole, that most ladies would have reacted rather differently upon being caught in this position. But, pits, they were married, and this place seemed to consider that very important when it came to fucking, so she failed to see how this was in any way shocking, really. “I didn’t say stop, love.”
Foicatch obligingly shifted his hips, which distracted her for a moment. Varys, pits take him, chose to stand there and talk.
“I…” He swallowed. “You had asked for a report, your grace.”
Fucking… “Go put it on my desk. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He still blinked at them for a moment until she added, acidly, “Get out.”
He got. At some speed, slamming the door behind him. Foicatch, bless him, quickly resumed his previous pace, and she left a few more scratch marks on his desk before she finally climaxed hard enough to curl her toes. Foicatch swore, loudly, and groaned something incomprehensible, and then sagged against her.
“Fuck.” He said, after a moment, eloquently.
“Mm.” She agreed.
He finally straightened up and flopped bonelessly back into his chair, not yet bothering to fix his clothes. She pulled her trousers back up enough to not trip and sat on his lap for a moment, leaning against him. The beat of his heart was calming. He wrapped an arm around her; they sat like that for a moment.
“If you need anything,” she said at last. “Just tell me.”
“I need about six High Commanders of the Bloodguard.” He said. “I’d take a dozen commanders too.”
She sighed. “I’d take the whole Bloodguard, while we’re dreaming.” Reluctantly, she stood and began fixing her clothing.