Varys | 300 Celebration!

Caelan's awake...

It shouldn't be a surprise at this point.

His eldest brother always woke up before the dawn as if it was his sworn duty to bring it. Varys knew it was mostly so he could do his duty as the heir apparent of the Serpentia Clan, but he liked humoring himself by believing Caelan was doing it as his title as Dawnbringer declared.

He had always been that way.

Even as boys, when their other siblings slept dreamlessly in silken heaps, Caelan was already moving while the stars still wept their crystalline light. There were times when he was younger where he'd find Caelan standing sleepily beside their father, Jokania, as the latter fixed his robes before they left the Sunspire Citadel. Sometimes, Caelan would pat Varys's head before Jokania tucked him back into bed. Varys used to find Caelan's dedication impressive, even beautiful in its own way.

Now, he just found it tragic.

He’d once asked, “Do you ever sleep, brother?”

And Caelan, reading a report as long as Varys's body, hadn’t even looked up. “I’ll sleep when the Primordial Serpent descends once more.”

They both knew they'd be long dead before that ever happened.

Varys exhaled softly as he moved his hand to come beneath his pillow, the colder side of it briefly relieving the heat of his body. He could hear Caelan now. His steps were distant, but unmistakable. Despite his size, Caelan moved like a faint gale, but Varys had learned the rhythm of his steps long ago.

The schedule never changed.

First, Caelan would steep his tea leaves, something strong that always jolted him awake with a single sip. As the kettle steamed, Caelan would do his perimeter check. Not because he suspected invaders or traitors, but because he believed if something went wrong, it would be his failure for not having prevented it.

So, Varys lay still, listening as Caelan's footsteps glided across the marble floors just outside his chamber. Caelan paused near the west balcony. Another by the atrium. A third just beyond his own door—much closer than he had anticipated.

His fingers tensed.

He’s checking the windows.

Of course he was. That was always the last part of the ritual.

Caelan wasn't himself if he wasn't diligent, and he always made sure all the entrances, all frames, and all latches were perfectly secure. Caelan’s fingers had probably touched Varys's very sill last night, ensuring it hadn’t been jimmied or cracked by wind or Varys's usual antics. If Varys wasn’t fast, those same fingers would press to the outside ledge again, only to find it disturbed.

He had to move. Now.

Quietly, he threw back the light coverlet, already dressed in his softer and lighter robes, a trick that made it easier to slip out without the slightest sound of rustling fabric. His bare feet grazed the cold floor, his white veil already set aside. He’d have to leave it for now and come back before the sun became too unbearable.

If he took it with him now, Caelan might hear him. Varys sometimes believed Caelan had the best hearing out of all of his brothers despite his young children constantly squealing in his ears.

His steps were cautious but not slow, purposeful but not loud. His window was smaller than most rooms, framed by sun-faded gold curtains stitched with serpents climbing up and down the fabric. It was half-open already, loosened earlier that evening when he had 'aired the room.'

Varys braced himself on the frame, his breath shallow and his pulse flickering at the side of his throat. No matter how many times he did it, there was still some worry that made him stop short even when he was already halfway out of his room. He always thought about climbing back into bed and be a good, sickly prince that awaited his next medication.

But no.

He wanted to move.

He wanted to swing a wooden blade, even if it trembled in his grip. He wanted to feel his body be under his own command, not tucked beneath layers of silken blankets, incense smoke drifting from his nightstand, and prayers to 'get better' when everyone knew he was a lost cause. Khalrys always knew of this wish, of his desire to be able to do something, and despite his brother's gruff attitude, he wasn't unkind.

Khalrys had always told Varys about his training ground. It was just outside of the Sunspire Citadel's property, filled with wooden dummies that were scorched from Khalrys's overwhelming sun-boosted might. Khalrys had once accompanied Varys to show him how to train with the wooden swords and correct his stances, and Varys remembers feeling exhilarated.

His body felt like it was about to collapse then, maybe even never wake up again, but Varys had finally felt normal when Khalrys grunted in approval of his stance and told him to jab, swing and stab again.

Determined to experience that feeling once more, he lifted one leg over the sill, his body already straining with the effort.

And then...the door creaked open.

The silence that followed was thick like tree sap, and Varys didn’t need to turn to know who it was. The voice that called his name was quiet to be considerate of the other sleeping family members, clear, familiar and firm.

It belonged to a voice of someone who shouldn’t be here just yet.

{{user}}.

He remembered now, and shame bloomed hot under his skin. They said they’d come early today since his lungs had sounded worse yesterday. He had tuned them out when they told him they'd need another strong dose of his medicine before sunrise to avoid him becoming congested.

Varys hadn’t expected them to actually arrive before the sun itself had stretched over the peaks.

He was still half out the window, his robes dangling and his hair swept wildly, looking like some ghost caught in a twister, halfway through its tragic escape from a tower. It was like a slow-motion tragedy the longer the awkward silence stretched with every single second that ticked by.

Their eyes met across the shadowed room.

He was still leaning halfway out the damn window.

His lips parted to say something—anything that might seem reasonable enough to warrant him straddling his window sill. But it was that warning in his throat as it tingled like a feather brushing the insides, his chest sting with a scratchy sensation.

Damn me. He thought to himself as he scrunched his nose and pressed his lips together to contain the rising sensation in his chest.

Ever since he was young, his family had learned that whenever Varys tried to lie, his body had a strange reaction. His body tensed and his lungs ached as it ripped out a heaving hack, as if dispensing the lie out of himself until only the truth remained. He thought his life was bad enough then, but it had only gotten worse when he realized he was forced to be an honest person.

Maybe {{user}} wasn't even aware of this quirk of his yet.

“{{user}}...” he rasped out, awkwardly shifting to hold his weight steady, his hand slipping a little on the edge. But he recovered with a small clearing of his throat as he managed a small smile. “I...I’m just trying to check the structural integrity of this...window sill...”

Then, predictably, to punish his lie, his lungs seized. A rattling cough tore through him, dry and shaking, shoulders curling inwards as he struggled to breathe past the tightness that crushed his lungs.

“It’s...important. For safety,” he wheezed, looking away like a child that's been caught with his fat hand stuck in a cookie jar.