Jorah sent my secrets to Varys. For twenty years, the Spider oversaw the campaign to find and kill me.
He did what he had to do to survive; he did a lot of other things as well, things he didn't have to do. I suspect he's the main reason you weren't slaughtered in your crib.
But you trust him?
Yes, oddly. He may be the only person in the world I trust, except my brother.
The brother who killed my father?
That's the one.
Perhaps I will have you killed, after all.
Your Queenly prerogative. I'd given up on life until Varys convinced me you might be worth living for. You chop off my head? Well...my final days were interesting.
I'm not going to kill you.
No? Banish me?
So, if I'm not going to be murdered and I'm not going to be banished...
You're going to advise me. While you can still speak in complete sentences.
Advise you on what?
How to get what I want.
The Iron Throne. Perhaps you should try wanting something else.
If I want jokes, I'll get myself a proper fool.
I'm not entirely joking. There's more to the world than Westeros, after all. How many hundreds of thousands of lives have you changed for the better, here? Perhaps this is where you belong, where you can do the most good.
I fought, so that no child born into Slaver's Bay would ever know what it meant to be bought or sold. I will continue that fight here, and beyond. But, this is not my home.
When you get back to your "home", who supports you?
The common people.
Let's be generous, and assume that's going to happen. Here, in Slaver's Bay, you had the support of the common people and only the common people. What was that like? Ruling, without the rich? House Targaryen is gone. Not a single person who shares your blood is alive to support you. The Starks are gone, as well; our two terrible fathers saw to that. The remaining members of House Lannister will never back you, not ever. Stannis Baratheon won't back you, either; his entire claim to the throne rests on the illegitimacy of yours. That leaves the Tyrells: not impossible, not enough.
Lannister, Targaryen, Baratheon, Stark, Tyrell. They're all just spokes on a wheel. This one's on top, then that one's on top, and on and on it spins, crushing those on the ground.
It's a beautiful dream: stopping the wheel. You're not the first person who's ever dreamt it.
I'm not going to stop the wheel. I'm going to break the wheel.
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