Chapter Summary: Tyrion's burned his bridges at Lannister Mercantile and now he needs Barristan Selmy and his niece more than makes him entirely comfortable.
Notes: I posted a picture of the inspiration for Tyrion's Chelsea apartment on tumblr, complete with bookcases and fine things. I occasionally do such things. If that's of interest to you, you can follow me (justadram). You can also pop by to say hello, fangirl with me, or nudge me about upcoming chapters. Any and all are welcome.
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Tyrion
There's a call Tyrion wants to make before he heads over to Barristan & Rakharo Investments. One more person he wants in his pocket before he attempts to convince Barristan Selmy that they need him more than he needs them. Dany Targaryen is arguably the most important person to have in his corner, despite the fact that she's not in the employ of her uncle. But there's no guarantee she'll even take his call. Not after their last interaction, when she made it pretty clear she didn't appreciate his opinions about her over the top fundraiser or her ridiculously misguided charity.
His iPhone sits before him on the glass coffee table, set on speaker so that he can lie prone on his couch, face smashed into the red cushions to keep the light of the morning sun from slicing through his eyelids. Even with the blinds closed, the light that sneaks through is oppressive after a late night out with Shae, where he drank more than his share of the wine Shae ordered over dinner, bottle after bottle. Coffee would have been a nice curative to wake up to, but Shae isn't the domestic sort. Waking up to her legs straddling him would have been even nicer, except she was gone when he rolled over in bed, his mouth tasting putrid and his stomach churning. It's not the first time he's woken up alone after a night spent together. She's been harder to pin down lately, leaving him more than a touch frustrated. Her behavior might have something to do with his current preoccupation with saving his own skin by getting on with Barristan's firm.
Without caffeine or an energizing round in the sheets with his favorite black haired beauty, he'll need a hot shower and a few more minutes with his eyes squeezed shut tight if he has any chance of being presentable for his meeting with Barristan. He can't talk to Dany from a steaming shower, but he can keep his eyes shut in a poor imitation of sleep without her being the wiser. As the phone rings, however, he immediately regrets placing it on speaker, as the metallic sound of each ring cuts right through his pounding head.
On the fourth ring, she picks up, putting an end to the mild form of torture, and while she has no idea who it is on the other end and he's just some random number to her, her gentle, feminine voice doesn't betray the sharpness he knows it is capable of, when she says hello.
To give her an appropriately unmuffled reply, he has to turn his head to the side and push with his hands to lift himself up. "Good morning."
A lie—so far there's not a whole lot about this morning he would consider good—but a necessary nicety in everyday communication.
"Who's speaking?"
"Tyrion Lannister," he says, although his voice is croaky enough that anyone who knew him would doubt the veracity of that statement. He sounds like an imposter. A bad one. "Please don't hang up."
Tyrion fears that the ominous pause that follows indicates that he's already been dismissed with a thumb click, but when he opens his right eye, his phone is still lit up. She has left the door open a crack, and all he can do is shove a foot in to keep it that way.
"How did you get this number?" she asks, her voice finally sounding suitably annoyed.
He rolls onto his side, rubbing his gritty eyes with closed fists, composing himself as best he can for the negotiation to follow. That he has somehow acquired her number is no doubt a nasty bit of news to swallow. To convince her she'll want to save it to her phone and make good use of it in the future will be no small task.
"It was quite a feat," he says, fist to his mouth as he clears his throat. "I endured a sizable dose of humiliation in my efforts to lay claim to this number."
Including a lengthy conversation with the thick headed Jorah Mormont. He's not sure he'll ever forget how he practically had to get down on his knees with that man. Lannisters don't beg, but Tyrion did whatever he felt necessary to get in touch with Ms. Targaryen. Despite the scraping and groveling, Jorah refused.
Not everyone was as faithful in protecting Dany's contact information. Her hairdresser, Illyrio—a large man with an outrageous mustache and beard—was helpful in identifying who might be worked upon. Not without promising him something of course. In return for his tip, Tyrion agreed to help the man out if he ever did get on at Barristan & Selmy. It turned out that one of Dany's blue haired boyfriend's band mates, one Ben Plumm, was willing to open his address book for the right price. Anyone can be had for a price.
"Humiliated? Poor thing."
Dany is known for being softhearted, but this is nothing but blatant sarcasm. He is the last person in the world that she would feel sorry for.
"Just so you understand the severity of the situation."
"As much as I like the idea of you being put in your place, I don't have time for this."
Her voice is clipped. From the sound of it, he's lucky she's giving warning before terminating this little chat.
Tyrion sits up with a groan, peering with bleary eyes down at the phone to see what time it is. He hardly has time for this call either. His appointment is fast approaching and traffic is a bitch around Barristan's offices.
"I know you're busy, Ms. Targaryen, but I'd appreciate a few minutes of your time."
"Quick then. What do you want?"
"A chance to help you. A partnership. A mutually beneficial friendship."
"You want to be friends?"
He smiles to himself. She's probably accustomed to a better looking cast of characters surrounding her. Younger too with the exception of Jorah Mormont. He's a rather unlikely suspect for Dany's stable of followers, which oddly gives Tyrion hope that she might be convinced to accept him too. As the Lannister empire's foundation begins to crumble, Dany—with her European pedigree and impressive bank account—is in a good position to dominate the New York scene beyond being the social darling of the fashion blogs and tabloids. Tyrion's last name might be Lannister, but if he could attach himself to her rising star, he might overcome the increasing liability of that surname and carve out some real success for himself for the first time.
"The fact that I was able to get this number should demonstrate that you need better friends."
"Why don't you start by telling me who gave you this number then?"
"Because I'm loyal to the people who help me," he says, unrolling the sleeves of his velvet robe to better cover his wrists. There's a nip in the air this morning, and if he had the energy, he'd light his fireplace to chase away the cold. But he needs to save what little energy he has for convincing Barristan that he'd be a loyal employee, one that even Barristan's niece has begun to trust.
"I bet. Water finds its level."
"Despite that dig, I'd be loyal to you too."
"Is that what you want me to tell my uncle?"
Tyrion grabs for his phone and takes it off speaker before pressing it to his ear. "So you've heard the rumors."
The buzz surrounding his potential move from Lannister Mercantile increased after his father's stroke. Most of that has to do with Cersei's claims that it was Tyrion's impending departure that put his father in the hospital. Cersei won't shut up about it, spewing her nasty brand of bitchiness to anyone who will listen. It's all been done behind his back. He's avoided appearing at any functions where he might run into her, so she won't have a chance to publicly defame him. That's about the only thing he can do until he has a new job and new, more powerful friends to back him.
For the time being there's really nothing anyone can do to muzzle her. Any moderating influence Jaime might have had on her is done with now that they haven't seen each other in months. Good news for Jaime, although shitty timing for Tyrion. Their father is in no condition to rein her in either. She's completely rudderless, and while she's always accused Tyrion of being a joke, but she's the one who is left to act the fool now. The meddling bitch.
Her obsession with maligning her ex husband's brother is beginning to appear desperate to even the most ardent supporter of Robert's wife, but she's still the wife of the largest weapons manufacturer in the country. She still has the power to make problems for Tyrion. To leave his family's firm and join a new one was never going to be easy, but her witch hunt has made a difficult situation exponentially worse. He blames her petty campaign against him for the reason he hasn't made the kind of headway he'd like with Barristan. The old man is as reluctant as ever to accept Tyrion into the firm, despite months of his best efforts to ingratiate himself.
Which is precisely why he needs Dany in his corner. His ultimate triumph depends on her. It's a rather precarious position to be in.
"I've spoken with my uncle. He told me about your plans."
Tyrion hears her swallow or maybe it's just the sound of her lips by the microphone that tricks him into thinking she's drinking something. Dany probably doesn't lack for people to make her coffee. Or travel half across town in the cold to get her favorite brew from some little coffee shop if that's what the princess prefers. Another reason he needs a professional upgrade, because as the youngest Lannister, there's certainly no one at his beck and call. He's stuck even on the worst mornings trying to figure out how to work his coffee maker through slitted eyes.
"I'd expect nothing less. He thinks the world of you."
"And I'm as fond of my uncle as he is of me, which is why you're completely nuts if you think I'd ever suggest to him that it would be anything other than a mistake to hire you."
Her father was the crazy one. Not that Tyrion is old enough to remember, but the stain of insanity lingers around the Targaryen dynasty. Reminding her of that fact won't win him any points. He has to play nice.
"I understand your reluctance."
Tyrion isn't crazy, but he does have a reputation. He isn't the most popular person in the city. People don't exactly line up to be his friend without the expectation of getting something in return. None of the Lannisters are loved the way the media loves Dany, but his father has made a lot of folks a lot of money and his brother Jaime is unnaturally good looking and is still known as the pitching phenom that was. Both of those things earn them a certain degree of popularity. Tyrion's looks are never going to win anyone over, he can barely catch a ball let alone toss one from a mound, and while he believes in his ability to spin straw into gold, he has to be given the chance to do it out from underneath his father's gaze before anyone else will believe it too.
"If you really understood how I feel about you, I don't think you'd have made this call."
"Lay it on me."
"I didn't like you before I met you, and once I did…"
"You were fully convinced I was an ass."
He is well aware that at their last meeting he did nothing to polish up that less than sterling reputation he's been stuck with since the world became aware of Tywin's youngest. His advice to her at the charity event was solid, but not delivered as tactfully as it might have been.
"You were rude."
"A little bit. I've been known to be rude on occasion." Especially when he is hung over and feeling attacked, making this call something of a challenge. He hangs his head, silently working his jaw open and closed, willing the pounding at his temples to abate. "Don't let hating me stop you from working with me. I have hated almost everyone I've worked with since I was first stuck in the mailroom of Lannister Merc."
"You started in the mailroom?" Tyrion can almost hear the smile in her voice, amusement at the image of him slaving away in some stuffy basement coloring her tone. "Tywin Lannister's son?"
"Trust me, he would have stuck me in the city sewers if he could have. But we had a very efficient mailroom under my leadership. Not one misplaced piece of mail. I'm rather proud of the work I did there. I could make your charities run just as efficiently. I could help you achieve the things you want. I could advise you…"
"I already have plenty of excellent advice."
"I doubt that actually. A girl like you…"
"Woman," she corrects.
"A woman like you probably has trouble finding people she can really trust. I know something about that, believe it or not."
Growing up, he learned early on that it was only the wealth of his family that he could reliably depend on to make friends. Keep them too. When a friend seemed likely to stray, he knew just how expensive a gift to give them to keep them in the fold, knowing that if the gifts did dry up, so would the friendship. That hasn't changed with age, and you couldn't trust someone you knew was only around because a Black Card was tucked in your wallet.
It was the same with women. They were all about his bank account and the potential to drain it. Except Shae. She is different. She loves him. In Shae he finally found a woman he can trust. He has the ability to drape her in gold and diamonds, but she doesn't stay for what he can buy her. It's real what she feels for him. She swears it every time they are in bed together, and there is nothing sweeter than that.
"Sorry to hear it. But personality issues aside, the real problem is that I need people who believe in my charities. They mean everything to me."
"Of course they do. All I want to do is help you manage them, so they'll thrive."
"Your instinct, sir, is to mock."
It might seem like it to her, but for all his selfishness, that isn't the case. "I only mock the bad ones."
"There's no such thing." Tyrion shakes his head. Such naïveté. "People like you are only out for what they can get for themselves."
"Au contraire. I have something of a soft spot for those in need."
He was no shoeless orphan. As a child, he never wanted for anything but true affection from his father, but he knows something about being different and the pain that stems from that. Seeing yourself in others—empathizing—is a first step towards true charitable feelings after all. He isn't about to give away his last dime to save the world, but for those who come across his path who need something, who touch that soft spot inside, he is there to lend a hand.
"I sincerely hope that's true."
Little bleeding heart liberal, totally misunderstanding the root of poverty from her ivory tower and yet still having the nerve to judge him. It is infuriating. And yet…
"Let me give you a chance to prove myself."
"Sorry, but I'm not interested. Good luck to you with my uncle, Mr. Lannister. You're going to need it."
…
Tyrion doesn't like to depend on luck. He likes to stack the deck with tangibles. But sitting before Barristan's humorless face, he would happily take a dash of luck. It looks as if he needs it, because he's gotten nowhere by the time the old man presses the speaker button on his phone and asks his assistant to see if Jorah Mormont can join them here in his office.
Jorah fucking Mormont. Again. It's all Tyrion can manage to keep an ugly grimace off his mug at the thought of Jorah joining in on this little discussion. What could he possibly have to add? Nothing that will bode well for him, he has a sinking sensation.
When Jorah shoulders through the door, he looks better put together than Tyrion remembers him looking. Sharply tailored suit. Hair well groomed. Shoes highly polished. No scruff. Even at the charity event he didn't look this carefully outfitted, and this is nothing more than a Friday at the office. The only thing that spoils the effect his spiffed up image makes upon the viewer is the scowl that comes over his face when his eyes light upon Tyrion.
"You're looking sharp, Mormont," Tyrion says, as he sticks out his hand. "Big date?"
"Maybe," Jorah says, as he squeezes his hand hard enough that Tyrion has to surreptitiously flex his fingers at his side to regain feeling in them, once Jorah releases him and the big man drops into the chair next to him.
"There's someone for everyone, I guess," Tyrion says with a grin.
"Shall we get back to it?" Barristan asks.
"What are we getting back to?"
What does it look like? Tyrion wants to resond, because there's no way Jorah is unaware of Tyrion's bid to come here.
"We were just discussing the possibility of Tyrion joining us here," Barristan says, gesturing across his desk at Tyrion.
"Is that right?" Jorah says. He doesn't take his eyes of Barristan, but his hands knit together in his lap, knuckles turning white. "I have some thoughts on that."
"I thought you might, which is why I've brought you in on our meeting. We need to make sure it will be a good fit for everyone involved."
"While I appreciate you looking out for my tender feelings, Barristan, I know my mind. Time to make up yours, wouldn't you say?"
It's as close to insolence as Tyrion's come during this interview, but there is no change in Barristan's face. He shifts a glad paperweight from one side of his desk to the other, pulling free the documents Tyrion sent over the day prior as a gesture of good faith. There's valuable information in there, and it's the tip of the proverbial iceberg in terms of what he could offer them if they took him on.
"I'm not one for swift decisions," he says looking over the top of the papers.
Clearly. If he was, Tyrion might already have a nameplate and office to go with it. Of course, based on Barristan's office, the offices here could use some improvement in the style and comfort departments, but Tyrion is up to the task. They'd all be better off if he moved in and made himself comfortable, but somehow, he doesn't seem capable of convincing anyone of that fact.
"You mentioned something about Mr. Lannister the other day if I'm not mistaken," Barristan adds, tapping the papers on the desk. "Something in regards to Dany."
Fuck. Now would be a fantastic time to be able to boast that Dany asked him to manage her numerous charities, but the morning didn't go any better than this meeting has so far.
"He tried to get your niece's number from me," Jorah says, his mouth a thin, hard line.
"That makes it sound like something it isn't, gentlemen."
"What was it then, Mr. Lannister?"
"I have the greatest respect for your niece, which is why I wanted to offer her my services. I thought I could help in her charitable ventures. Provide a little management know how."
Jorah cuts him a sideways glare. "Is that all it was?" It's a question he doesn't give Tyrion a chance to respond to before leaning forward towards Barristan, hands moving to grip the arms of his chair. "He's smart. Like a snake. But I don't think we need any snakes in the office."
"I've been called a lot of things, Mormont. I can shoulder the reptilian label, although it's not entirely fair."
"No need to resort to name calling. I just need to know one thing. What exactly is your aim in coming here?"
To take over the world? To show them. Cersei. His father. Even his brother. To prove every last one of them wrong and rub his success in their faces. None of those reasons will probably carry any weight with Barristan. But it doesn't matter. He can already tell that his answer won't matter. Barristan's decision has already been made. Tyrion's gamble on gaining Dany's trust as a trophy to present to her uncle failed. He failed. And his future is suddenly looking exceptionally bleak.
Notes: Dany's POV chapter is up next. Then Sansa...
