"How I wish they would fight until neither side could break free, and then be dragged away by the Others," Cersei Lannister said. There was sorrow in her expression, even a hint of helplessness, nothing like the aggressive Cersei of old.
Tyrion and Cersei had reached a tentative understanding. Whatever happened with Tommen, Myrcella had to be sent out of King's Landing for the girl's safety.
Is this the Cersei Jaime loves? When Cersei smiled, you realized just how beautiful she truly was. I loved a maid as fair as summer, sunlight shining in her hair.
A pity Jaime never saw Cersei's other face, Tyrion Lannister thought. One side a beautiful lady, the other a wanton whore. Tyrion had already decided to make good use of this secret and keep Lancel Lannister under control. He would have to apologize to Lancel. The boy was too young and too arrogant, and he had stepped right into the game himself.
Tyrion left Maegor's Holdfast with a trembling heart, and almost felt guilty for drugging Cersei. But he had no choice. Everything he had done was for the honor of the family. If Father knew, he would understand his difficulties.
...
The next morning, Cersei did indeed claim illness. Tyrion's little laxative had done its work. Tyrion sent word telling Cersei to rest well. He felt great sympathy for her, but now he had to personally see off Cleo Frey, the envoy from Riverrun, as well as that detestable messenger from the Wall in the North.
Cersei had been sent running to the privy, while dismissing Joffrey was even easier. All it took was a heavy Myrish crossbow, the kind that fired three bolts at once. The moment he saw the thing, he forgot everything else. Joff was busy testing the power of his crossbow, and Tyrion could only pity the cats and dogs.
In the throne room, Tyrion wore brocade woven in gold and red, with buttons shaped like golden lion heads. The badge of the Hand was pinned to his chest as he entered the vast hall. All the tapestries favored by the late King Robert had been torn down, leaving the throne room bare-walled, desolate, and far too cold.
I am the third, Tyrion suddenly thought. His father and his brother had both sat upon the throne before him, and now it was his turn to feel it. Tywin had served as Hand for many years, while Jaime had sat there once after killing the Mad King.
Only when I climb these steps do I better understand the weight of the crown, Tyrion thought. As he climbed the steps to the Iron Throne, his malformed legs cramped again and again. It must have looked ridiculous, but fortunately the Iron Throne was tall enough that people forgot the height and appearance of the king or the Hand who sat upon it.
Tyrion felt deeply uncomfortable in the seat and had to be careful. Aegon the Conqueror's Iron Throne was an iron monstrosity covered in spikes, sharp edges, and twisted metal. Its back was bristling with points as well. Sitting on it brought only discomfort, and no one could lean back against it. Aegon the Conqueror had said a king should never sit easy, and so he had deliberately ordered the Iron Throne made this way.
The throne room looked very formal today, with Gold Cloaks and Red Cloaks standing opposite each other.
The Lannister guards stood grimly at one end of the hall, wearing crimson cloaks and lion-crested half-helms. Ser Jacelyn's Gold Cloaks stood at the other end, facing them. Bronn and Ser Preston of the Kingsguard flanked the steps leading to the throne. Courtiers lined the hall, while petitioners gathered beside the towering doors of oak banded with bronze.
Tyrion felt excellent at that moment. Everything would have been perfect if he could have ignored Lord Gyles's deathly gray face and constant coughing. Two others were missing as well: that lovely, pitiful, beautiful Stark girl, and Littlefinger with his smiling, harmless face.
Tyrion looked down on everyone.
It felt quite good.
Too few ministers, Tyrion thought, glancing down at the council table below and shaking his head. Now only the white-bearded Grand Maester remained, along with Varys, the Master of Whisperers.
Renly, the former Master of Laws, and Stannis Baratheon, the Master of Ships, had both fled and gone to war for themselves, one occupying the Stormlands, the other Dragonstone. But now Renly had been sent to the Wall, and Stannis had surrendered to his nephew. Petyr, the Master of Coin, had already flown high from The Eyrie. Ser Barristan, the former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, had crossed the Narrow Sea and joined the Storm. As for the current Lord Commander of the white knights, Ser Jaime was still in the Westerlands. The Small Council had lost far too many hands. The situation was truly wretched.
"Summon Ser Cleo Frey," Tyrion called, his voice ringing through the hall. Tyrion wanted Shae to see this display of power, but he knew very well that it was impossible. If his father discovered he had brought a whore inside, he would surely go mad.
Ser Cleo Frey crossed the hall, came before Tyrion, and dropped to his knees with a thud.
Cleo was the eldest son of Ser Emmon Frey, second son of Lord Walder, and Genna Lannister, Tywin's sister. Since Emmon had lived at Casterly Rock with his wife and children after his marriage, they had followed the Lannisters in the war. After Jaime Lannister escaped at the Battle of the Whispering Wood, they had been captured.
Ser Cleo had a thin face and a narrow chin, and his brown hair was growing ever sparser. He bore a quartered shield, marked with the twin towers of House Frey and the golden lion of House Lannister.
That little weasel. House Frey truly is ugly, Tyrion thought as he looked at his cousin. Not a trace of the lion's beauty or charm. No wonder Father never thought much of that upstart house.
"Lord Tyrion, I beg you to let me remain in King's Landing," Ser Cleo said. "Think on it. The Twins have been occupied by others. My relatives are either dead or locked away. What meaning is there in my returning? Besides, we are kin. I do not want to be with that wolf cub anymore, nor with that wild stag. The wild stag is a demon, a cold-blooded killer who has cut down countless men and hacked off Ser Jaime's hand. If that will not do, then send me back to Casterly Rock. I will go to my parents."
"Silence." Tyrion looked at the little weasel, then swept his gaze over the frightened faces around the hall. Mentioning the wild stag and the Storm would only make these dignitaries of King's Landing even more afraid.
Tyrion shook his head. "An envoy must be trustworthy. Besides, you are only carrying our words back."
Tyrion weighed Robb's terms. In truth, they had likely been ordered by the Smith, with House Stark given a little face. Robb demanded that the Iron Throne surrender to the Storm, along with a number of details, each more absurd than the last in Tyrion's eyes.
First, Cersei was to return Robb's sisters, and the marriage between Sansa and the bastard Joffrey was to be dissolved. Yet Sansa had fled, and no one knew whether Arya was dead or where she might have escaped to. Second, the bodies of the Northmen were to be returned to the North. That condition could be met. Third, Eddard's greatsword Ice was to be returned to House Stark. Fourth, all debts between the North and the Lannisters were to be canceled. Tyrion would not agree to those last two so easily.
"Ser Cleo," old Maester Pycelle said from beside the council table, "we thank you for bringing Lord Stark's demands. Now we hope you will carry back our terms for peace."
Cleo Frey wore a mournful face as he listened. He had no wish to serve as an envoy, but had been forced into it. He naturally knew something of what had happened in King's Landing. Sansa had already escaped, which made his journey here rather pointless, and he had no desire to go back.
Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat and continued. "The Regent Queen Dowager, the Hand of the King, and the Small Council have carefully considered the terms proposed by Robb Stark. Regrettably, Ser, most of these conditions cannot be accepted. We must consider them further. Please convey our answer to the Northmen."
Tyrion added helplessly, "Though we do not accept all of Robb's demands, and Robb has been misled by that bastard of the Storm, we still offer other gestures of goodwill. All Robb Stark need do is return to the North, lay down his arms, and swear fealty to the Iron Throne. His vassals must do the same. Then we shall pardon the northern lords for their treason."
The Lannisters' situation was far too poor at the moment, and Tyrion did not wish to provoke House Stark too harshly. Otherwise, Robb would have to return to the North alone, and his armies should be handed over to Lannister command. Besides, those rough northern lords should at least offer a hostage, a man first and a woman after. But now, with House Stark beyond his reach, he could only strive for the best possible result.
Cleo Frey said bitterly, "My Lord Hand, I fear House Stark is no longer willing to turn back."
"Hmph. The war is about to change greatly," Tyrion said. "The new army trained by my brother Jaime will soon take the field, and Lys and Volantis will strike at the Storm's rear. When my father advances from the east, no one can say who will win this war. Tell Robb that he should learn to become a true Stark and grow up sooner. He would do better to return north and prepare for his winter. Why insist on crossing the river and coming south?"
As soon as Tyrion said this, astonishment and delight stirred through the hall. The Crownlands lords were pleased to hear such news. No matter what, even the most overbearing house needed one or two allies for support.
And those kinsmen, my kinsmen, Tyrion thought. Willem Lannister, Tion Frey. I intend to exchange them back, but I have no better bargaining chip. Better not mention it.
"Take the bones of the Northmen back, along with the head of old wolf Rickard. Let them return to their homeland. This is my small sincerity, and the sincerity of Your Grace Joffrey."
"And the sword, Ice, House Stark's ancestral sword. The Starks want Ice back, and his sister as well," the little weasel reminded him.
Ser Ilyn Payne stood silently where he was, the hilt of Eddard Stark's greatsword rising above his shoulder.
"Sansa Stark has already fled King's Landing. As for Ice, when Robb is willing to listen to my peace proposal, the greatsword can be returned," Tyrion replied. The Stark girls were no longer in his hands. Robb must surely know the truth by now, and would be even less willing to let the matter rest. Tyrion only hoped Bywater could catch Arya before Robb or the Storm found her, and preferably catch the wolf girl alive.
"Here is a letter in my own hand. Make certain it reaches Lord Robb," Tyrion said. In any case, the Lannisters had likely written many letters of late, whether to Lys, Volantis, or House Tyrell of Highgarden. Since they needed support, what harm was there in writing a few more words?
The letter to Robb contained a secret known only to a few. Eddard was in the Black Cells. That was absolutely true. The man who had died had merely been an unlucky wretch. Littlefinger was already dead, and the butcher's son who had once commanded the Gold Cloaks had reached the Wall. Now even fewer people knew the truth. Tyrion did not expect Robb to turn his cloak and strike back. Even if Robb merely withdrew his army and went home, it would deal an enormous blow to the Storm's morale.
Bronn descended the steps. The letter bore a red wax seal, a roaring lion.
Grand Maester Pycelle saw it clearly, but the Imp had never mentioned such a letter before. That made Pycelle especially eager to see what was inside.
"I will deliver your letter, my lord," Ser Cleo said, carefully putting the envelope away. Tyrion did not quite trust anyone else with the letter, but this cousin of his was timid and cowardly. He would surely guard it well.
Tyrion carefully brushed his fingers over one sharp spike beside his hand. The next step. There was still a more important next step.
Tyrion was still thinking about how the Red Cloaks, without any order from him, had obeyed Cersei and gone off to arrest superstitious wild prophets and slanderers. These men had, after all, served Cersei for too long. No matter how he looked at it, that was a dangerous sign. And a letter like this, meant for Robb, was far too important.
"Vylarr," Tyrion called.
"Here, my lord."
"It is no great concern if Stark men escort the remains of the Northmen, but a Lannister's worth is different," Tyrion announced. "Ser Cleo is kin to Queen Dowager Cersei and to me. You will be responsible for escorting him safely back to Riverrun, so that we may all rest easy."
"As you command. How many men should I take?"
"Twenty. The situation is urgent, so caution is best," Tyrion said.
Tyrion's guess was correct. The old man soon stepped forward to object.
Grand Maester Pycelle rose, panting as he said, "My Lord Hand, this will not do... These brave men were personally sent to the capital by your father, Lord Tywin, to protect Queen Dowager Cersei and her children..."
"The Kingsguard and the City Watch are fully capable of that duty. Besides, I am not asking all of them to leave. Vylarr, may the gods grant you success," Tyrion declared.
"As you command!"
The old maester was somewhat flustered and did not know how to interpret these orders. With King's Landing in its current state, how could soldiers still be sent out? Varys, however, only smiled without speaking. What a clever little lion. In troubled times, the greatest danger was divided authority. He could see clearly that Cersei was absolutely intent on making trouble.
The herald stepped forward. "The Hand of the King will hear the petitions of those present. Speak if you have business. If not, this court is dismissed."
Tyrion had no intention of continuing. If they truly came demanding that he find them food, that would be dreadful.
"I have something to say!" A tall, thin man in black pushed out from between the ugly Redwyne brothers. Alliser Thorne, a knight of House Thorne, now served as the Night's Watch master-at-arms at Castle Black. His tone and the contempt in his voice were enough to make the Night's Watch recruits hate him.
The Redwyne brothers were plain, with orange hair and freckled square faces. They were the twin sons of Paxter Redwyne, Lord of the Arbor, and Mina Tyrell. These two were honored guests Cersei had forcibly kept, and Tyrion had to admit they had some value. The twins had also tried to flee King's Landing. If Varys had not reported it, the situation would have been worse.
For a moment, Tyrion could not understand how Thorne had squeezed his way in. But Tyrion had spent time on the Wall before, and quickly realized what was going on.
"Ser Alliser!" Tyrion exclaimed. "Ah, I did not expect you to attend court. Why did you not send word sooner?"
"Do not play the fool with me," the Night's Watchman said angrily. Ser Alliser Thorne was about fifty, solidly built, lean, and severe, with black hair already streaked with gray and eyes bright as agate. "You avoided me, ignored me, and threw me into a guest room like some lowborn servant, then left me there without a word."
Tyrion looked at the Night's Watchman. Thorne had always been cold and unpopular, but Tyrion was still willing to hear him out.
Tyrion pretended not to know, while Varys complained that the Hand of the King was swamped with affairs and that countless people wished to see Your Grace.
"I fear the news I bring is far more troublesome than you imagine, eunuch."
Tyrion did not dare laugh aloud. The Lord Commander truly knew how to choose an envoy. With a tone like Thorne's, it would be a wonder if he could find any friends in King's Landing.
...
Ser Alliser was furious. The Lord Commander had sent him to meet Your Grace because he was of noble birth and had once served in King's Landing, with a few old acquaintances at court. Old Bear had warned him again and again that the matter was urgent, yet no one had received him.
"Oh, at this moment Your Grace is busy playing with his new crossbow," Tyrion said. "What can be done? Either you tell us, his servants, or else you will have to keep silent."
"Very well," Ser Alliser said resentfully. "I came here to report to Your Grace Joffrey that we found two rangers who had long been missing. When they were found, they were dead. But after their bodies were brought back to the Wall, they rose again in the night. One killed Ser Jaremy Rykker, and the other tried to murder the Lord Commander."
Whispers and laughter began to ripple through the throne room. Tyrion felt it was rather improper. He disliked mockery, especially when it happened in front of him. For a dwarf, nothing mattered more than that fragile dignity.
Still, Tyrion resolved to speak with him properly. After all, the Night's Watch had once placed high hopes in him.
"Who saved the Lord Commander?" Tyrion asked. He had no interest in dead men walking or any of those uncanny things.
"Samwell Tarly. Sam the Slayer," Ser Alliser replied.
***
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