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Varys: âThree 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?âèèï¼âä¸ä½è´µäººåå¨ä¸ä¸ªæ¿é´ä¸ï¼ä¸ä¸ªå½çï¼ä¸ä¸ªå§ä¾£åä¸ä¸ªå¯ç¿ãä¸äººä¹é´ï¼ç«çä¸åæ®éä½£å
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Tyrion: âDepends on the sellsword.âå°æ¶éï¼é£è¦è§é£ä¸ªä½£å
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Varys: âDoes it? He has neither crown, nor gold, nor favor with the gods.âèèï¼æ¯åï¼ä»æ¢æ²¡æçå ï¼ä¹æ éé¶ç å®ï¼æ´æ²¡æç¥æçç·é¡¾ã
Tyrion: âHe has a sword. The power of life and death.âå°æ¶éï¼ä½ä»æå©åï¼æå³å®çæ»çåéã
Varys: âIf itâs swordsmen who rule, why do we pretend kings hold all the power? When Ned Stark lost his head, who was truly responsibly? Joffrey? The executioner? Or something else?âèèï¼æ¢ç¶çæ»åå³äºå£«å
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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."èèï¼æååäºäººå¿ãä¿¡åæï¼ä¸ä¿¡åæ ãæ人çææï¼å¦æµ®å½±æ¸¸å¢ãå³ä¾¿æ¯ç®å°ä¹äººï¼ä¹è½æå°åºå·¨å¤§çå½±åã
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