Tyrion
"Is there anything else you require of me, Lord Tyrion?" the assistant cook asked, looking up from the parchment she'd been making notes on. It was clear from her expression that she wasn't quite sure what to make of her lot in life; on one hand she was servicing the evil demon monkey of House Lannister. On the other hand the evil demon monkey was currently the most popular member of House Lannister.
'Of course it is easy to be the best turd in a pile of shit.'
"Could you provide me better dining companions?" he asked glibly. Seeing the startled and conflicted look on the poor woman's face Tyrion sighed and waved his hand dismissively. "That will be all."
"You almost sound as if you don't want to dine with your family," Clynt said, leaning back upon the long padded bench him and Bronn had claimed as their own. He glanced at his partner and seeing him twisting to stare at the assistant cook's ass he extended his arm and smacked him across the back of his head, getting a curse for his trouble. "She can't cook for us if she can't reach the pot because of her belly."
"True," Bronn admitted. "Still, Clynt has a point. I'd almost think you weren't looking forward to this."
"Almost? Then I'm not trying hard enough," Tyrion stated, sliding down out of his chair and waddling away from the table he'd been sitting at. He eyed up a bottle of Arbor Red sitting on a low table, practically singing to him to grab her by her neck and taste her juices, but in the end he merely shook his head. "I need to get laid and I need a fucking drink. Get Sam in here."
"…no!" Bronn said, horrified.
"No for that you idiots!" Tyrion snarled. The sellswords glowered at him and he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "My apologizes. I am not at my best."
"That's because you need a woman," Clynt pointed out before standing to go get Sam.
"Yes, woman," Bronn said, still a bit too pale for Tyrion's tastes. He fought the urge to command Clynt to come back and smack the man again. Once he'd seemed to have gathered himself Bronn stated, "You're getting all backed up. Not healthy."
"I'll manage," Tyrion said. Truth be told it had been far too long since he'd felt a woman wrap herself around his cock. Jaime would never leave his sword out to rust and Tyrion was loathe to leave his cock unsheathed for too long. The only time he'd gone so long without had been when Lady Stark had captured him and he'd been a bit too concerned with not dying to care about that. But now it was almost painful, his forced abstinence. He woke up every morning painfully hard and the oddest things would cause him to swift about as he went through his day. Shapely peaches sitting next to each other. A septa leaning down and showing him a hint of her 60 year old rear. Cracks in the walls. He wondered if he'd burst before he got relief. He'd tried taking matters into his own hands but found it to be a poor substitute and only made it worse, like teasing a starving man with a single forkful of chicken.
"So long as you don't begin eyeing me up," Bronn scoffed, reclining back on the bench as Clynt showed Sam in. Tyrion gave the sellswords a slight nod and the two of them left to take care of other matters. Tyrion wasn't concerned with his safety in the Red Keep anymore and didn't need them acting as overpriced guards for all hours of the day and night. When they'd first arrived Tyrion hadn't been foolish enough to go places without them; he knew the stories of men and women who had went down one hall of the Red Keep and were found dead hours later someplace else… or never found at all. The Red Keep had a habit of eating up lost souls and Tyrion had not been in the mood to be on the menu. But now he had been able to assemble his own guard, selected personally by him and loyal to him (or enough to not gut him without a grand reward), and had made it clear to Cersei that should he die their father would know it was her or Joffrey's doing and would come to King's Landing with the Lannister Army… only it would be to lop off both their heads, hand them to the Starks, and place Tommen on the throne.
Tyrion looked over and saw the way the curtains in his room were folded and cursed as his horrid little mind envisioned something else.
He knew, of course, that his father had only commanded him not to bring a whore to the Tower of the Hand and he could have easily just gone to a brothel. He'd even begun to make his way to one of them early on, when the frustrations of ruling had ripped away the polished gleam of power and left him ruing not simply fleeing to anywhere but the Capital. But every time he'd gotten near one he'd imagined his father's face and while that was enough to kill anyone's erection it was the knowledge that this was probably his best and only chance to finally prove himself worthy of the Lannister name that made him turn away. Cersei had proven herself an idiot unable to control her son; Jaime had been captured after falling into a green boy's trap. Tyrion saw the crack in the great wall his father had built up and would not waste his chance to receive validation purely because he wanted to plow some whore who was paid to pretend she loved him. His father would see that he had willpower and could handle his trust; he would do away with the jokes of the Imp of Lannister and just be Tyrion. At this point in his life he'd be happy with that.
"My lord?" Sam said awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other. Tyrion shook his head, realizing that he'd been lost in thought. "Have I done something wrong?"
"Not at all, Samwise."
"Samwell."
"Whatever," Tyrion said, waving for Sam to join him by the window. He once more glanced at the wine bottle but fought the urge to take a drink; while he hadn't sworn of drinking he'd be guzzling enough of the stuff at dinner and it wouldn't do him any good to already be drunk when he dear family showed their scowling little faces. "You are in a unique position, do you know that?"
"Yes, my lord," Sam said.
"Do you know why?" Tyrion asked, raising an eyebrow. When Sam awkwardly shook his head Tyrion let out a half chuckle, half sigh. "There are only two people who are going to be at this meal who aren't Lannisters or sworn to them."
"You mean me and the whore pretending to be the dead girl?"
"Try not to call her that, will you?" Tyrion said, though he did mentally chuckle at the thought of Sam doing just that. He would enjoy seeing his sister's reaction to that. "My point is that you are the only neutral party I have and thus will be able to see things I will not."
"What about Podrick?" Sam asked, trying to keep his voice light and failing. There had been a small rivalry between his squires and Tyrion had done his best to keep it manageable. His father had shown him how competition could aid in getting the best of out of people but he'd also seen it promote the worst. He let the two young men compete to see who was his 'favorite' but he'd made it clear that they would be polite to each other. His hope was that it would evolve into a friendly rivalry, one of equals, and not one that ended with Tyrion finding a squire dead in the hallway.
"Podrick is a Payne," Tyrion pointed out. "They have been sworn to House Lannister for nearly 200 years. They are some of our most loyal bannermen." What he did not say, for he did not trust Sam not to blurt it out later one, was that he did not know just who Pod was loyal to just yet. He hoped the boy was loyal to him, of course, but he couldn't discount that he might be loyal to another Lannister. His father perhaps, or even Cersei (as he doubted that she'd be cunning enough to focus on having spies outside of King's Landing… she was short-sighted like that; but drawing young Pod to her side after their arrival was something he could see her doing). He was less frightened of what would be said of him but more of what would be said to him. In the den of vipers, spiders, scorpions, and rats an honest opinion was golden. He was working to surround himself with such people and Sam was the perfect person to tell him what he needed to hear and not what others wanted him to hear.
"I don't understand, my lord. What exactly is it you wish me to do?"
"I want you to watch," Tyrion said.
"Watch… who?"
"Everyone. I want you to look at each of us and tell me what you think of us all. Pretend you'd never met me, that this was the first time you'd ever laid eyes on any Lannister. I want to know what you make of each of us, from my sister to the king to…"
"The whore pretending to be Sansa Stark?"
Tyrion opened his mouth only to snap it shut and finally nodded. "Yes." To himself he muttered, "Need a better name for that one."
"But… why? Why would you care what I think?"
Tyrion sighed. "Because, believe it or not, I believe that the lion should concern himself with the opinion of the sheep. Because you never know when a sheep will turn into a wolf or a dragon and tear out the lion's throat."
"…so the-" Sam pursed his lips, brow furrowed. "That metaphor seems rather convoluted."
"…works though," Tyrion said before heading out to take a bath and get ready for the nightmare dinner.
Hours later Tyrion, freshly scrubbed and dressed in one of his finer outfits, greeted his guests with a pleasant smile and annoyance in his heart. Oh, there were some he was quite thrilled to see, namely his niece and the nephew that wasn't a little sociopath; he greeted both of them with warm welcomes and honest compliments. Cersei was an odd conundrum for him, as he so enjoyed egging her on but found her as-subtle-as-a-brick tactics tiring and draining. Still, he showed the proper manners and she managed to keep a sneer off her face as she breezed through the room and made her way to the table, sitting down and pouring herself a glass of wine.
"Dear sister, I would have thought that you, of all people, knew that proper decorum sees the guests wait for their king to arrive before they settle themselves at the table."
Cersei lazily glanced at him, her eyes narrowed in annoyance. "I think we can ignore such formalities. Robert never concerned himself with such things-"
"But I believe it a wise idea, your grace," Not-Sansa said as she and Joffrey entered. "So many horrible falsehoods are being told of about our king. So many disrespect him. What does it tell the smallfolk when even those closest to him fail to show him the respect he is due."
"My lady is quite correct, mother," Joffrey said, his annoying little voice sounding in Tyrion's ears like a chipmunk who'd just been kicked in the groin. He wondered if the playwrights would include that in stage instructions. 'Before the actor playing Joffrey goes on stage kick him between the legs so the shrillness might be correct'. "We have found ourselves in this mess because too many in the Seven Kingdoms believe they can do as they wish. The Starks, my uncles, the Tyrells… they all fail to show me the respect I deserve. It is time for that to change."
'We are in this mess because you killed the real Sansa Stark, you stupid little prick,' Tyrion thought to himself even as he fought a smirk as Cersei, with barely concealed rage, stood up and set her wine glass on the table before returning to great Joffrey and Not-Sansa. 'And as for respect you get exactly what you deserve.'
Looking at Joffrey and his future queen standing there Tyrion found the portrait they made to be utterly ridiculous. Joffrey was trying to look like some grand king but he only came off as a squinty faced little twit. He was still desperately trying to grow his hair out to hide the damage done to his face and while it no longer looked like he'd rolled out of bed with tuffs of it sticking out that didn't mean it looked good. Joffrey resembled some of the dogs he'd seen that got lost for several months only to return with their coats a tangled mess. Robert's beard had been better groomed than Joffrey's ugly riot of blond hair and Tyrion had once seen Robert pluck a piece of chicken from a meal three days beforehand out of that mess. The boy king was also twitchy, shifting like a child half his age who needed to take a piss, and couldn't decide if he wanted to stick his nose in the air or look down at the all.
What made him look even worse was having him stand next to Not-Sansa. The mummer whore made Joffrey look younger than he was, towering over him and probably outweighing the scrawny king easily. She was wearing a dress that he'd learned was a favorite of Sansa's; on the young Stark girl it would have looked elegant but on her it was almost obscene. The front could not be switched up all the way and thus her pale tits were on display for all to see, with a hint of the top of her nipples visible, while the sides clung to her wide and ample hips and pert round ass. The hem had been taken in, at least, so she wasn't exposing her feet and ankles like a Summer Islander, but still it was a dress better suited for a Dornish madam than the future queen of Westeros.
'By the Seven this is our future if Joffrey doesn't end this charade.' He glanced at Cersei and wanted to scream, 'You are going to make a whore Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!' She was still insisting that Not-Sansa was real and that it was some miracle of the gods and Tyrion was still waiting to hear from his father if he should take the whore's head now or wait and allow Tywin the pleasure himself.
The beginning of the meal had gone pleasantly enough, with Tyrion focusing on Myrcella and Tommen and politely ignoring his sister, king, and the whore. Only Not-Sansa tried to draw him into conversation and he supposed that had he met her anyplace else and in any other life he would have found her interesting (and, he could admit, mouth-watering beautiful; he feared what dreams he would have that night concerning her snow-colored flesh). Still, he refused to let her believe that she had an ally in him; Tyrion quietly hoped that his father wouldn't hold it against him that it was Cersei and Joffrey that brought the whore into the Tower of the Hand.
Probably not.
So he'd focused on his young niece and nephew and ignored Joffrey's japes as he told the prince and princess of the Wall and the North. He'd kept his stories clean and polite and he could tell that Cersei, while not please (because she would only be pleased if all scraped and bowed to her while his head rotted on a spike) wasn't filled with wrath over the tales as she sometimes was. Perhaps because he was trying for once to act his age. Mycella had wanted to know about the Vale and the lovely knights there ("Very nice from what I saw… I'd suggest that you avoid the cells though") and Tommen had demanded more stories about the Night's Watch ("Let me tell you of a battle where your brave uncle took on a vile man named Alliser… I call it 'The Flail and the Lion'). It was when he spoke of standing on top of the Wall that Not-Sansa had given the barest of starts and for a moment he wanted to break his polite silence towards her and question why she stared at him so intently when she heard of the Wall itself; not the Night's Watch but the Wall. But the moment passed, the next course came, and dinner continued on.
He had quietly hoped that with the night drawing on Cersei would see Tommen's yawns as an excuse to end the dinner and Tyrion could claim the dinner to be a short but sweet success. But his dear sister seemed to have much on her mind and so had sent off her youngest two with a member of the Kingsguard; Tyrion didn't know the man's name. With Jaime dead, Selmy dismissed, Trant dead from, of all things, a blow to the head, and the rest too injured to do much else but make appearances at court Joffrey had gone on a knighting spree, throwing a White Cloak on anyone who he could find… and then dismissing half of them within days when they failed to live up to his expectations. The only one he did know was Sandor Clegane, who had refused to leave the doorway until Not-Sansa said she was ready.
And it appeared both her and the King wished to stay and listen to the Lannister siblings talk.
Cersei slouched in her chair, her wine glass hanging lazily in her fingers, trying to affect a look of boredom but her eyes gave her away. She was scheming, that was clear, and Tyrion wondered how long her patience would last before it finally gave out.
"You have made a wonderful dinner for us."
"Honoring our king, of course," Tyrion said, Joffrey puffing up at that.
"Quite," Cersei said dryly. "It just makes me wonder though exactly what you are doing if you have time to plan such meals."
'Ah,' Tyrion thought, 'going for that route.' He merely smiled and picked up his own glass. "Oh, I have been doing many things, dear sister. Unlike some the Hand must always be working."
"Just like a King," Not-Sansa said, taking hold of Joffrey's hand.
'No, not like a king you twit,' Tyrion thought. 'People just think that.' He chose instead to say, "Quite. Though with different tasks, of course."
"And just what are you working on, uncle?" Joffrey asked.
"Many things, your grace," Tyrion said with a weary sigh, trying to get Joffrey to believe that his work was boring and thus of no interest. But the little shit had decided he was actually interested in what it took to rule the Seven Kingdoms and thus, against his better judgment, Tyrion began to speak. Not of everything… he didn't trust Not-Sansa not to go to a tavern and tell the tales to all that would listen, but it wouldn't hurt to give out a taste, if only to shut his sister up. "I have promoted a new commander of the Gold Cloaks."
"Such a shame about Jonos Slynt," Not-Sansa cooed and Tyrion found his patience shattered.
"He was a fool."
"He helped stop that traitor Eddard Stark," Joffrey snapped.
"And he would have sided with him had he offered more coin."
"But he didn't," Joffrey complained. "He sided with his king."
"Again, your grace, because of the coin, not out of loyalty." He paused, taking a sip of his wine while Sam hurried over and refilled Cersei's glass once again. Pod stood at the ready in case any of them wanted more food. "Do you know what happens when a city is under siege? People reveal their true colors. Some stand and fight and others turn their cloaks and aid the invaders. I am rooting out the invaders and to do that I must have men I can trust."
"That we can trust," Cersei reminded him.
Tyrion refused to agree with her and she soon realized that but before she complained Tyrion turned his focus onto Joffrey. He'd come to bring the boy to heel and it was time to begin his education, to see if Joffrey could be saved. "Commander Stacy is an honest man, your grace, and of high value. The small folk speak well of him and the only ones who complain are the criminals. He is also painfully honest, which is what we need. He won't lie to you and claim the situation is fine. There are too many men in the Capital who tell you what they think you want to hear and not actually what you must hear."
Joffrey nodded slowly in agreement. "Yes… how can a king rule if he is lied too?"
'Now we just need you to listen, you ignorant shit,' Tyrion thought.
Not-Sansa smiled and took a sip of her own wine, which had been chilled at her request. It must have been a Northern thing. "Perhaps we should have invited him, Lord Tyrion. It would be good to get to know him."
'And let you wrap him around your finger while you wrap your lips around his cock? I think not.'
"I hope your Commander can bring the city to heel," Cersei said, watching Tyrion carefully. "I grow tired of being trapped here."
"I imagine so, what with your new accessory to show off to all." He smirked as his sister set her glass down and, with no subtly, reached down and tugged at her sleeve to try and cover up the straps that held her diamond-encrusted false hand to her wrist. "I am also working to wipe away once and for all the horrid rumors about you, your grace."
"Good," Joffrey said with a firm nod. "I want any man caught speaking them to have his tongue ripped out. I won't have anyone talking about me being a bastard."
"Other than yourself, right now," Tyrion quipped. Joffrey stared at him, befuddled, while Not-Sansa fought to hide a smirk. The whore had some brains after all, or at least more than Joffrey it seemed. That was telling. Cersei was too focused on trying to hide her deformity to call him out for daring to threaten her sweet Joffrey.
"How are you going to do that, Lord Tyrion?" Not-Sansa asked, tapping her full lips with a single slender finger.
He thought about staying quiet but when he noticed that Cersei and Joffrey had perked up at her question he realized he had no choice but to answer. "I won't speak of the rumor itself, as it is rather foul and insulting to you, your grace," Tyrion said. Cersei scowled as she realized that he'd said nothing about not wanting to insult her and he merely raised an eyebrow before continuing. "Do you know how this all came about?"
"Lord Stark took it in his head he wished to take my throne," Joffrey said smugly.
"What I meant is what made him come to the conclusion you were not your father's son?" At that the boy king's brow furrowed and it was clear he'd never thought about the 'why'. And why should he have? Joffrey lived in a world where he'd never needed to think of the reasons behind people's actions. He merely assumed, because of the crown he wore both as a prince and now a king, that people were either loyal or traitors. There was no middle ground, no shades of gray. Tyrion held no such illusions. He'd brought into his employ a spy, a first son of a third son of House Westerling, Mikael, who had a favorite saying that Tyrion had taken to heart the moment he'd heard it: "In my business you get used to meeting men who do the right thing for the wrong reasons… and the wrong thing for the right reasons." Joffrey could never understand such a statement; for him you were either an ally who did as he commanded or you were a traitor.
"Why does it matter?" Cersei asked, revealing herself as the source of Joffrey's stupidity. "It is a lie. Had he not chosen that one he'd have chosen another."
"But don't you find it odd that he chose a lie that Stannis Baratheon has apparently been whispering for months now?"
Joffrey scoffed. "They were in league with each other."
"But Lord Stannis hated my father, your grace," Not-Sansa said. "I heard my traitorous father say that Lord Stannis felt that your father chose mine over his own kin."
Tyrion nodded slightly at that. 'The whore has done her research.' Out loud he stated, "I believe now that your uncle Stannis is the architect of the Stark betrayal." He leaned forward and motioned about the room. "When Lord Stark was captured-"
"Don't call him that," Joffrey said snidely. "He will be no lord. My lady is the only Stark of the North now and our second son shall take up as Warden of the North."
"-when Lord Stark was captured nothing was done with his room. As you know I have claimed it as my own and I spent much time here in my first days as hand examining it." He gave Cersei a sharp look. "Eddard Stark is not one to act on rumor and unless I am mistaken he is not one to scheme all that easily. One only has to look as how poorly he fared as Hand to see that." His sister stared at him before slowly nodding in agreement. "Thus he would only have acted as he did if he'd learned something… or been fed lies. Podrick, bring the Lineage and Histories of Great Houses, if you would?" His squire nodded and hurried off, allowing the foursome to drink silently until he returned with the heavy tome. "I learned from Grand Maester Pycelle that Eddard Stark requested this book… as did Jon Arryn. And I have discovered what they found inside."
"And what is that?" Joffrey demanded.
"This book lists the births of all the children of the Great Houses. And for the Baratheons it seems that you are the first… with golden hair."
"…that's it?" Joffrey sputtered in annoyance. "My hair color is why they insult me? Lie about me? Seek to steal my throne?"
"Of course not," Tyrion said quickly. "It is my believe that Stannis used that merely as a basis for his lie… one Jon Arryn helped him craft and that Eddard Stark fell for."
"That still makes him a traitor," Not-Sansa said and Tyrion fought the urge to roll his eyes.
Cersei had gone pale, not liking how Tyrion was dragging this all up in front of her son. He watched her, waiting for the white in her cheeks to turn red with rage before he ripped the rug out from under her. "But this will also give us a chance to defeat the lie and bring the Starks to our side."
"…what?" Cersei asked, Joffrey looking just as confused.
Tyrion sighed. "We fight the Starks because of a lie. We prove it as such and they will turn against those that fed them said lie. Imagine it, your grace… a mournful North, seeking to make amends for their terrible crime against you, sweeping through Dragonstone and defeating Stannis while our forces take no losses."
"…yes, yes," Joffrey said, rubbing his hands together, a vicious little grin flicking on his face. "They'll need to give me more… hostages, perhaps split the North into smaller kingdoms, maybe a few heads… but it will bring them all the heel and never again will the North dare rise up against us."
Tyrion and Cersei shared a look and he was pleased that his sister at least had some brains to see the lie that Tyrion had spun. The North would never bend the knee, not after Joffrey had tried to kill Eddard and killed Sansa (despite what Cersei and the rest of the Small Council tried to claim). But that would be something they could deal with later; for now they needed to destroy the rumor. Rip it out by the roots so it could never grow again. Only then could they secure those that were loyal to them now. His father would deal with those that took to the field; Tyrion had to deal with those that might soon join them.
"And how will you prove that, my lord?" Not-Sansa asked. There was something in her eyes that gave Tyrion pause but he shook it off.
"This book only lists the members of the direct lineage. But there are plenty of second sons of second sons. I have men searching for a Baratheon of golden hair… when I find him it will prove that part of the rumor a lie and crumble all the rest." And, if he could not find one then he'd have Mikael and his small band of criminals and spies create a Baratheon out of whole cloth. It wouldn't be that hard, given enough gold.
"Can we not turn these rumors against Stannis as well?" Joffrey asked. He got a dark smile on his face. "What if we revealed that my ugly little cousin was not his child and thus he had no heir?"
"I think not," Tyrion said quickly. "We must prove we are better than them and people will see such rumors as us reacting out of vengeance." He also didn't want Jane Seaworth coming after him with her knives; he'd heard how protective the woman was of her charge and had no interest in waking up to find her carving him up like a Bolton's wet dream. Men still whispered in the Red Keep of how she'd cunningly gotten Joffrey lashed by Robert with the Jaime's belt; Tyrion had paid men to tell him the story several times and while he enjoyed it greatly he had no desire to face off with that woman. There were also the rumors of what she'd done to a man that had attempted to have his way with her… the woman was the Stranger's Daughter, in his eyes, and he didn't want to cross her.
"And what of the Iron Man, uncle?" Joffrey demanded. "What are you doing to see him captured? I want his armor for myself. I will wear it and fly to Dragonstone myself and kill my Uncle Stannis and then do the same with Uncle Renly and the Starks."
"You will look glorious, your grace," Not-Sansa cooed and Tyrion felt like gagging. No, Joffrey would look like a bloody nightmare if he suddenly learned to fly. He was sure his father would agree that the worst thing they could do was give Joffrey the armor of the Iron Man, should they obtain it. The brat would be the end of them all if he had that power. Tyrion wasn't sure if it would even be possible to capture the Iron Man, as the knight seemed more like a dragon to him and dragons were not captured but destroyed, their fires and power lost, but if he was taken the armor would never go to Joffrey. To be honest Tyrion didn't know who would gain the armor… not his father, as he simply couldn't imagine Tywin Lannister flying about. Jaime, before his capture perhaps, but that would never come about now… and not because he thought Jaime would die. Tyrion wouldn't allow that. He had already begun to form plans for when Eddard Stark sent terms that would let him slip men into his camp and reclaim Jaime and he hoped that within a month or so his brother would be back at his side again. "Is it true that another knight has been spotted?"
"Of course not," Cersei spat in annoyance, reaching to pour herself another glass of wine. "Just more foolishness from our enemies and the smallfolk."
"Not in this case, dear sister," Tyrion said. "I've received word from Antony Stark that a second knight, who calls himself Centurion, has been seen assisting the smallfolk in the Westerlands, the Riverlands, and even in the North. It is said his armor is silver and red and that he fights with blades and swords but still posses the magic of the Iron Man. He claims that the sightings have tapered off but it does not bode well that they exist at all."
"Red and silver," Not-Sansa said. "The Reynes?"
"They escaped my grandfather!" Joffrey declared. "Of course! It is all a plot to ruin the Lannisters again!"
"Perhaps, your grace," Tyrion said, which really meant 'No, you little twit, just someone wearing their colors'. Tyrion had been puzzling out the identity of the Iron Man and this Centurion and why he'd never speak his theories aloud without more proof he was sure he'd finally managed to stumble upon the answer. Clearly the Iron Man was the older of the two, as he was far better known than Centurion. The Iron Man had been spotted first in the Reach but then had focused on the RIverlands, where he had battled Ser Gregor. The Iron Man was clearly the more practical of the two, focusing more on defending the innocent, while the Centurion, who took his name from a Braavosi term if Tyrion was correct, sought to be a knight of legend. The Iron Man aided the Starks but did not fight for them, meaning he had a debt to the family but was not of the North.
And when he considered that Lady Stark's uncle, the Blackfish, had left his role in the Vale, the pieces fell into place. The Iron Man was Brynden Tully, who must have discovered in the ancient caves of the Vale some armor of legend, perhaps from the Griffin King, and used it to his own advantage. There were legends of powers lost in the Vale and he could see some armor like that of the Iron Man being hidden there. He himself had heard tales during his stay in the Sky Cells of the lost armor of Maegor the Cruel, which was said to have been enchanted and allowed the wearer the power to fly like a dragon… and bring death like one too. It was said that the armor, after Maegor's death, had been hidden in the Vale, locked away in some forgotten cave. Tyrion had commanded Mikael to begin looking into possible sightings, if only to keep the armor away from those that might use it against the Lannisters. There was little chance of that happening, as Tyrion remembered hearing the armor looked otherworldly and most likely had never existed. The tales described it as being all in silver with glowing red lines running through it and the helm designed to look like the leering, grinning face of the demon lord spoken of in Old Valyria.
'Ultron,' Tyrion thought, with a shake of his head. 'What a simple name for a supposedly terrible demon.'
He shook that thought away and focused. The use of the Lannister colors in the Iron Man's armor tasted of the Blackfish's grim humor. As for the Centurion Tyrion believed him to be Edmure Tully, Lady Stark's brother, who was known to be rather like a young Tony before he'd settled down. He could see Catelyn Stark's young brother shunning being a lord to have adventure as a flying knight. He didn't know what he'd do with his information but he did know it was a secret he needed to keep close until the right moment.
Finally the dinner ended and Tyrion was able to show the rest of his family out. Joffrey had made some idle threat that he had to go faster in his plans as he grew weary of war which only served to make Tyrion laugh behind the boy's back and then weep that this was the fool that they fought for. Cersei had left without a word and Tyrion suspected that this was less her being rude and more her being too drunk to say anything without slurring her words. That left only Not-Sansa, who made to leave only to stop when Tyrion motioned for Pod to shut the door.
"Is there a problem, my lord?" she asked sweetly once the door was shut and they were in private.
"I know who you are," Tyrion said, throwing away any sense of politeness. "I don't know who on the Small Council is paying you to continue with this charade but I am not fooled. And neither will the Starks or any of the other Great Houses. If you continue with this one of two fates await you: the Starks will get you and your head or I'll take it myself to preserve the Realm. I would highly suggest you find a way to flee." He paused, pulling a small bag of gems from a drawer and tossed it to her, Not-Sansa easily catching it. "I am not a cruel man. Go across the Narrow Sea. With that you'll be able to buy a brothel and become a madam. Not in Lys but Pentos perhaps. It will be a harder life than you've known these last few weeks but you'll live."
Not-Sansa merely looked down at him and Tyrion felt as if he were naked in the middle of the fiercest snow storm Westeros had ever seen. "We live in a world where dragons once roamed. Men fly in suits of metal. Direwolves come over the Wall. There are rumors of women with skin of blue and green and tales across the Narrow Sea of a man who can be bled but never die. Is it so hard to believe that I am Sansa Stark?"
"You are a whore who posses as that poor girl and I will not allow you to bring ruin upon us."
"I've died once already, Tyrion Lannister. My head was smashed in on the most holiest of places in all of Westeros. And I rose again, when all others had written me off." She leaned down and Tyrion, who was used to all people trying to intimidate him with their size, backed away for the first time in years. "What makes you think there is anything you or the rest of this bed of vipers could throw at me that could even hope of scratching my skin… let alone killing me. Remember the words of the Iron Islands, Tyrion Lannister: what is dead may never die. But arise stronger." She suddenly stood up and smiled with not an ounce of warmth. "Good night."
The moment she left Tyrion moved towards the chair, reaching for a glass only to find his hand shaking. He willed himself to still before commanding Pod to see to it that his bedchambers were ready for sleep. That left him with only Sam, who was looking as if he were ready to tremble all his excess weight off. He motioned for the boy to sit and drink and Sam drained his glass so quickly Tyrion half wanted to take tips from him.
"So… what do you think?" Tyrion asked in a quiet voice.
"The queen hates you," Sam said.
"That is obvious."
"The king…"
Tyrion held up his hand. "Say no more. And… her?"
The heavy boy shifted awkwardly, silent for so long that Tyrion thought he would never answer the question before blurting out, "She's not Sansa Stark."
"I know that."
"No, my lord, you don't understand. If she is a fake then she is twisted and wicked," Sam said. "I pray for that. Because… if that is the same body that felt down the stairs of Baelor… then something other than Sansa Stark's soul came back when she opened her eyes once again."
Tyrion nodded, leaning back in his chair. "Sam, you love to read. It is why I have taken a liking to you. I find myself in need of a task completed."
"And what is that?"
"I want you to research resurrection. All myths and legends."
Sam trembled at that but nodded. "I can do that for you, my lord." He stood up to leave but paused when Tyrion cleared his throat. "Yes?"
"Should… should you come across any recommendations… on how to kill that which has returned… I want to know it too." Sam swallowed and nodded, hurrying out of the room, leaving Tyrion to stare at the remains of dinner.
He would sleep with the candles lit that night.
~MC~MC~MC~
Author's Notes: And thus we have a Lannister family dinner. Tyrion is playing the game a bit different this time around and we see it already causing changes. We know of his plans (and the book plot that went nowhere of claiming Shireen was the bastard child of Patchface is gone) and see how things are beginning to alter.
We also see someone else get the identity of Iron Men wrong. Honestly, I just love coming up with who it could be and figuring out how to justify it.
We also get another name drop: Ultron. But this time the name refers to a demon from Old Valyrian Lore and the nickname for armor created for Maegor the Cruel. Just a name drop… for now.
Also, before everyone goes nuts… Mikael Westerling is not a Marvel character. Instead it is me referencing Michael Westen from Burn Notice. I needed a spy name for a minor character.
And finally we have the Night's Queen. She gets in good with those that she can twist to her will… but those that she can't are given a warning to back off or die.
Next time we head back to Iron Pointe and find out how Jon is dealing with being engaged to a hot foreign red head who was raised by a man who thinks of sex as an artform and in the Marvel universe loved to wear skin tight outfits.
Canon Jon is right now is cursing my version of Jon.