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The Kingsroad


Robin Arryn never left the Vale.

Until his mother's death, he had never even left the Eyrie. After all, why would he? All he had heard, since he could remember, was that the Eyrie was the only safe place in the world for him. Within those stone walls, in his mother's arms, no one could hurt him. And as for anyone who tried…well, that's what the Moon Door was for. Even before any one of the thousands of "bad" people in Westeros-the Lannisters, the Martells, the Greyjoys, and all the rest-made it to the High Hall, there were the Bloody Gates, the Mountains of the Moon, and hundreds of Vale knights who were absolutely devoted to his family to protect him. Every one of these defences were like vast oceans, separating to the impregnable fortress Robin called home from the rest of the world. No one could touch him. Not ever.

But then-everything had changed.


Tyrion had been going to take a long drink of wine from his flask, but when he upended it into his mouth, only lukewarm droplets splashed onto his tongue. Oh Gods. He had run out. And never, in his whole life, had wine been more necessary.

"What does the Red Keep look like?"

Opposite him in the cramped carriage, so close their knees were almost touching, slouched Robin Arryn, who had not stopped asking questions since they had left the Eyrie. As if this was not irritating enough, the lord of the Vale still stared openly at Tyrion, like young children did in the streets. In his dark eyes, there remained a disquieting blend of intrigue and distrust.

Tyrion hid a grimace. For the sake of the realm, he must keep up the pretence. Robin had not yet mentioned their first meeting, so long ago, when he had not quite managed to sentence him to death. And the Hand was certainly not going to be the first to bring it up.

"Well…it used to look magnificent. It was made of stunning red-coloured stone, with more towers than the eye can count, stretching up to the sky like the arm of a god…" Tyrion was silent for a moment, contemplating the home he had known for so many years. "…and then dragons happened."

Robin looked enraptured. "I was sorry I didn't get to see one."

Tyrion shot him a knowing glance. "Don't be too sorry, my lord. A dragon is a beautiful and terrible thing. They are a relic of a world long, long turned to ash…"

There was a short silence, as Robin took in this peculiar statement. Then- "So what does the Red Keep look like now?"

Tyrion's patience was being severely tested. He loathed acting as a personal guidebook for such an objectionable creature as Lord Arryn. And yet, he knew, he owed it to his king to be professional. Only a week's ride, and he would be back in Kings Landing…a week…almost seven days…Tyrion wasn't certain he could last seven hours. Desperately, he envied Podrick, who rode peacefully behind them, untroubled by the pestering of pampered (soon-to-be) princes.

"Different," he began. "Over the last few years, I have been using what remains of the Lannister gold to restore the castle to its former glory. It is a heritage site, after all, as well as the residence of the king. However, there is only so much I have been able to recapture. There are things that no amount of gold will ever be able to replace…"

"Like what?" Robin asked blithely.

Tyrion bit his tongue, fighting back the image of his dead siblings faces that was burned forever onto his memory... "Like…the dragon skulls. Even Balerion the Dread was ground to dust under the rubble."

"Oh…" Robin nodded, seemingly satisfied. But weary Tyrion counted in his head: five…four…three…two…

"Was the Moon Door destroyed too?"

Ah. There it was. Tyrion absent-mindedly raised his flask to his lips again, before remembering that it was empty. Shit. "There is no Moon Door in the Red Keep, my lord."

"Really?" Now, Robin looked truly bemused. "But…what do you do with people you don't like?"

Tyrion sighed heavily. "What indeed…" Make the bad man fly. "Well…I served a queen who burned her enemies. I served a king who beheaded them. They all seem to have their preferred method…"

Robin raised an eyebrow-then, his face took on a rather superior air. In that moment, he was the image of his mother. Ah. Dear Lysa. Poor Lysa, Tyrion thought, more kindly. He had no idea that he could have so much compassion, especially for a woman who would gladly have seen him killed…

"Our way is much better." Robin was saying, smirking. "No fire-fire's too dangerous. And no cutting people up. The ground does that for us."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "The point of burning someone to death is that it is "dangerous"…"

But Robin did not acknowledge the sarcasm. He either ignored it, or, more likely, did not understand it. Oh Gods. How could Tyrion possibly work with someone who did not understand sarcasm? The Small Council would be hellish…"What does Brandon the Broken do?" Robin was asking, having already moved on. He spoke the king's name with some distain, as if it were the name of a particularly mangy dog.

"Well, it's interesting that you should say that," Tyrion leaned back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest. He stared distractedly out of the window at the fields and farms that surrounded the Kingsroad. "Swords and axes are notoriously unreliable. It just so happens that we are working on a new invention as we speak. Long ago, a disgraced maester conceptualised a device that would remove heads quickly and efficiently, every single time."

"Oh?" Now, Robin was truly interested. He learned forward in his seat, his eyes sparkling with glee.

"Yes. Samwell Tarly calls it the…what was it? The Dropper? The Slicer? Oh, I don't remember…" He sighed. "As long as capital punishment is here to stay, we might as well be humane about it…"

Robin was practically bouncing up and down in his seat with excitement. "I've never seen anyone lose their head before!" He spoke of the idea as if it was some great treat. This, above everything else he had seen from the young lord, turned Tyrion's stomach…

"I'm sure you will soon, my lord…" he muttered. And if I have to spend another minute in this carriage, I hope it is mine.

"I still think you should just put a Moon Door in the Red Keep," Robin was saying enthusiastically, swinging his legs so hard they were in danger of crashing into Tyrion's. "Much better."

"Perhaps you can sing that song to the king." Tyrion hissed testily through his teeth. "We could empty our chamber pots through it."

"What was that?" Robin asked suspiciously, his thick eyebrows knitting together.

"Nothing, my lord." said Tyrion, giving him a very strained smile.

"Oh. Why-?"

"My Lord." came a soft, but firm, female voice. Tyrion almost jumped out of his skin to hear it. He had quite forgotten that they were not alone in the carriage.

"Perhaps you ought to get some rest," Alyssa Stone murmured, placing a practised black-gloved hand on Robin's shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, Tyrion swore she gave him the smallest wink. "Travelling is exhausting, especially when one's health is already rather delicate. You mustn't wear yourself out before you have even reached the capitol."

At this, Robin bristled. "I'm not delicate!" he whinged.

Then I am not a dwarf, Tyrion thought darkly, regarding the frail boy before him, with skin so white it looked as if the sun had never touched it. My father would have been delighted…

"Of course not, my lord," Alyssa Stone assured him quickly, an indulgent glint in those pale blue eyes. Her tongue seemed to cover every word she spoke in honey. "You are noble and strong. It is only your health which is delicate. And who could be surprised? With all your energy concerned with the higher pursuits of mind and government, it is little wonder that your health occasionally suffers as a result!"

After a moment of vacant gaping-Robin's face fell back into self-satisfaction. He smiled proudly back at his companion. "Yes. That's right. That's what Mummy used to say."

Mummy. Tyrion felt like vomiting. Still, he could not help but watch, spellbound, as this bastard girl of the Vale so expertly wove her words around Robin. He had been in politics for many years, and not since the likes of Littlefinger had he seen such masterful diplomacy…

"I know." Alyssa combed through Robin's floppy hair with her fingers in a rather maternal gesture. "You should listen to her. Rest now, so that you'll be the very best version of Sweetrobin you can be when you meet the king."

"Alright then. I will." Robin grinned. He stretched out his legs, and pulled his grey cloak tighter around his shoulders. But, before he settled, he cast Tyrion one last, apprehensive look. "You'll protect me, won't you, Alyssa?" he asked, as if Tyrion might attack him in his sleep.

"Of course I will, my lord," Alyssa assured him-shooting Tyrion an apologetic look as she did. "I always do."

Robin looked more than placated. "I'll rest now, then."

"An excellent decision, my lord." The dryness of Alyssa's tone was altogether lost on Robin. Blissfully ignorant, he settled himself down to sleep on the cushions of the carriage, resting his head in Alyssa's lap. Very gently, and slightly out of tune, the Dark Lady began to sing.

"High in the halls of the kings who are gone

Jenny would dance with her ghosts,

The ones she had lost and the ones she had found

And the ones who had loved her the most...

And she never wanted to leave...never wanted to leave..."

As she softly stroked his hair, Robin's breathing deepened and evened out in a matter of minutes. Like a child, he fell asleep quickly, and without a care in the world.

Tyrion watched this performance with fascination. Now he was asleep, the repugnant little lord looked altogether much sweeter…but then, Tyrion considered levelly, so had Joffrey. However, it wasn't Robin Arryn who so interested him at that moment. It was the young woman with dark hair, who had so easily manipulated her charge with the expertise of a Master on the Small Council. Tyrion took careful note of Alyssa Stone, this unknown daughter of Yohn Royce, who resembled her father as much as Tyrion resembled the Hound. Perhaps this girl, despite what she brought with her to the capitol, could be a real asset.

After all, Tyrion had always had a soft spot for cripples, bastards, and broken things…


Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to leave your thoughts below. More tomorrow! xxx

CHEEKY HINT: Stark and Arryn finally meet...