Mikle Silver: Thanks. It was a hard scene to write, but well worth the effort I feel

DraekonGreycloak: Alas we still have one more chapter to go yet

YuunoMugen: The Tyrells might not want to remove Joffery, but what's to stop Littlefinger

jamnaz79: Very interesting indeed

greenstripe: I have no idea what you're talking about (wink wink)

Silver crow: It's an idea that has been kicking about my head I will confess

Beth-13: Damn me as much as you like, Margaery and Bruce won't be together... for now


The Purple Wedding – Part 2

Tyrion tapped an impatient foot against the floor of the courtyard of the gate exiting the Red Keep. It was almost midday and around about the time they should have left for the Sept of Baelor. The heat of the sun beat down heavily on Tyrion's already aching head, making him wince slightly.

He'd downed at least ten cups of wine already and still had plenty of room to go. Most men would be falling over themselves after so much of Lord Redwyne's finest, but Tyrion was very familiar with all of the Arbor's reds, in addition to be a professional drunkard. Before he'd come outside the Keep, the Imp had been coping very well with his belly full, but the sun was particularly intense today and made his head feel a little dizzy beneath the dirty blonde hair of Tyrion's scalp.

Currently, the Imp was waiting both for his brother and favourite nephew and hoping the former would be the first to turn up. When Tyrion had seen his nephew being led away by the serving boy he knew immediately where he was being led to. The Tyrell 'maid' had been difficult to speak with, but once Tyrion had secured a conversation she had been most eager to help in saving Bruce from himself, as well as her youngest brother of course.

Lady Margaery was sure enough that with now she knew why the Lion with Antlers had become obsessed with having Loras Tyrell's head as an ornament she could tame him, or die trying. The latter was what Tyrion was afraid of. Bruce was prickly beast at the best of times and unpredictable now more than ever. One wrong word from the girl and Joffrey would have to find a new bride, unless he preferred one with a broken neck.

He looked over to his litter and saw his wife peeping at him through the curtains. It had been a long morning, but Joffrey would not be done with Sansa yet. His jest about getting Sansa with child would not be the last of today, Tyrion was sure his nephew had a whole plethora of them thought up.

Thankfully, the Imp then became aware of the fact he was now stood in his brother's shadow. "Jaime," greeted Tyrion, "Have you heard from Bruce then." Grimly the white knight shook his head. "No. Nor have I heard the whereabouts of the Tyrell girl." Said the elder brother cautiously. Ah, this could be problematic.

Either she was dead or Bruce was fucking her, were the two explanations Tyrion thought of first and neither were particularly appealing to him. If the girl and his nephew were fucking, Margaery Tyrell clearly did not know Bruce as well as she thought. It would take more than a good coaxing of his cock to sate the blood lust of the Lion with Antlers.

"Should we go and look for them?" Jaime asked his little brother. "Gods, no. At least not the Tyrell girl anyway." Tyrion looked around the yard impatiently as more litters and horses came into the square. "Give him a few minutes yet, then we'll go looking for him." Jaime seemed satisfied with the consensus at any rate, though he still shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"He said that Arianne was ill, didn't he?" Asked Jaime, trying to reassure himself. Tyrion tried not to roll his eyes. "Yes." His much taller sibling stopped at that then. "Well there you have it. He's gone straight from Margaery to check on her." Mayhaps Jaime, mayhaps, Tyrion thought it was possible yet Jaime still looked worried.

The Imp could never quite fathom why Jaime cared for Bruce over his own sons. Since he could remember the Kingslayer always paid more care to the true son to Robert Baratheon than to his bastards by Cersei. Perhaps he felt sorry for the boy, being shunned by both his mother and father, though Jaime's love of the boy went back further than that.

From what Tyrion had heard at the time, it was Jaime who stood vigil outside of Bruce's nursery as a babe. It was an act he had not done for Joffrey, nor had he repeated it for Tommen or Myrcella. Perhaps Jaime felt he could be a proper uncle to this one and not have the nagging duty of fatherhood over him, like he had with the Young Lion's siblings.

After another couple of minutes, the two brothers decide to go in search of their lost nephew. Together they walked across the cobble stone courtyard and entered back into the Maegor's Holdfast. Immediately upon entering through the open iron doors the two brothers were greeted by their older sister.

"Cersei." Said the two brothers with a slight bow. "Where are you two off?" asked the Queen Regent coldly, without even the vaguest sense of warmth to her twin. They've been fighting, concluded Tyrion. "To find Bruce." Answered Ser Jaime his head raising to his sister.

Cersei's nose wrinkled a little. "He's with his whore." Tyrion rolled his eyes. "His wife." He said in correction of his sister's statement, though she just snorted. "It makes little difference." Jaime shook his head. "Maybe not to you but it makes a difference to Bruce. And I shouldn't think to imagine what the Red Viper might do if he hears you call his niece in public."

The eye of the Queen Regent gave a twitch at what her twin had said but brushed it off quickly. "Bruce said she was ill did he not. Trust the Dornish to fall ill on the day her presence is actually required." Tyrion sighed. "It's hardly her fault Cersei. She didn't ask to be taken ill."

Their sister's eyes turned from then at that moment, in disgust of their lack of agreement with her opinion of the Young Lion's wife. As soon as she looked away Cersei's face brightened up. "Ah!" She said loudly, "There's my handsome boys." Jaime and Tyrion both followed the gaze of the Queen Regent to see her youngest sons descending the steps from the royal apartment.

Plump little Tommen wore bright gold and red of his mother's house in a carefully fitting doublet, crafted perfectly to meet the boys wide stomach. Tall and strong armed Bruce was adorned in the black and yellow of his father's house, plus a scarlet and gold sash across his chest with a lion sewn onto the front. It almost looked like a mirror of the piece of cloth wrapped around his eye. The Young Lion also had a silver circlet shinning his coal black hair, for a Crown Prince Bruce seemed too always refrain from wearing them.

Cersei went straight for them, arms outstretched for their embrace, while her brothers held back a little. "Should we ask him about his little talk?" Jaime questioned his little brother. Tyrion shook his head, "No, at least not yet." Tommen hugged his mother's waist and she wrapped her arms about his head. Bruce kissed his mother at her cheek before moving to his uncle's.

"Did the Viper's maester see your Princess then?" asked Jaime. The younger Lannister gave his head a shake. "She was still asleep. I told him that he should check on her before the jousting starts. She should be awake by then, if not already with us." They nodded in acknowledgement. "Has she been ill before today?" Questioned a curious Imp. "The past two days." Said a worried husband.

"Probably just some bug or other." Reasoned the white knight, "The colder air catching up with her." If his brother was calling the air outside cold Tyrion could scarcely imagine his definition of warm. Bruce nodded meekly, there was more troubling him. They began to walk back out into the packed yard when Tyrion finally sucked up the courage to ask the question which looked to be bringing his brother to the edge of reason.

"What did Lady Margaery want to speak with you about?" The Young Lion stopped instantly. "How did you hear about that?" He demanded warily. Jaime was quick to step in. "I told him. Aside quite a few people know you've spoken." Though they don't know the real reason why. Bruce nodded in acceptance. "Of course. Sorry for snapping." Tyrion sighed away his impatience. "Think nothing of it. Now what did you speak of. Put these rumours the Kettlebecks have put about to bed."

Tyrion could hear the jaw of his nephew tighten. "We… we spoke of… Arianne and… the future." Jaime and his brother shared a confused look. "Anything else?" Asked Jaime, failing to hide the anxious tone in his voice. Bruce gave a grunt, which was neither a conformation nor a denial, and moved over to where he saw Prince Oberyn beckoning him.

The two brothers stopped and faced each other. "Did the girl get chance to mention it?" Tyrion thought on his brother's question carefully. "I think so. Otherwise he's just being needlessly cryptic." Jaime began shifting from one foot to the other again and even scratched at his phantom hand. "Will we get it out of him? If he will spare Tyrell?"

The Imp gave a shrug. "We shall have to wait and see, dear brother."


Rainbow light flashed and shimmered every time the High Septon moved his head, but Tyrion had to wonder how the man could bear the weight of his giant crystal crown. And even he had to concede that Joffrey and Margaery made a regal couple, as they stood side-by-side between the towering gilded statues of the Father and the Mother.

The bride was lovely in ivory silk and Myrish lace, her skirts decorated with floral patterns picked out in seed pearls. As Renly's widow, she might have worn the Baratheon colors, gold and black, yet she came to them a Tyrell, in a maiden's cloak made of a hundred cloth-of-gold roses sewn to green velvet. He wondered how the girl would hide the fact she was a maid on the night. Not that Joffrey is like to know the difference.

The king looked near as splendid as his bride, in his doublet of dusky rose, beneath a cloak of deep crimson velvet blazoned with his stag and lion. The crown rested easily on his curls, gold on gold. Tyrion shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. He could not stand still. Too much wine, he cursed. He should have thought to relieve himself before they set out from the Red Keep, bugger Bruce and his tardiness.

The seven vows were made, the seven blessings invoked, and the seven promises exchanged. When the wedding song had been sung and the challenge had gone unanswered, it was time for the exchange of cloaks. Tyrion shifted his weight from one stunted leg to the other, trying to see between his father and nephew.

Mace Tyrell removed his daughter's maiden cloak tenderly, while Joffrey accepted the folded bride's cloak from his brother Tommen (The bastard being too lazy to hold it himself) and shook it out with a flourish. The boy king was as tall at sixteen as Jaime had been at that age; he would not require a stool to climb upon.

He draped Margaery in the crimson-and-gold and leaned close to fasten it at her throat. And that easily she passed from her father's protection to her husband's. But who will protect her from Joff? Tyrion glanced up at his nephew. Small lot of good you'll be at Casterly Rock. He then looked over to Ser Loras, as far away from Bruce as could be without be ejected from the room. You had best keep your sword well honed, ser.

"With this kiss I pledge my love!" Joffrey declared in ringing tones. When Margaery echoed the words he pulled her close and kissed her long and deep. Rainbow lights danced once more about the High Septon's crown as he solemnly declared Joffrey of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister and Margaery of House Tyrell were wed in the eyes of gods and men.

Good, that's done with. Now let's get back to the bloody castle so I can have a piss.

Ser Boros and Ser Meryn led the procession from the sept in their white scale armor and snowy cloaks. Then came Prince Tommen, scattering rose petals from a basket before the king and queen, as was rehearsed in Bruce's wedding. After the royal couple followed Queen Cersei and Lord Tyrell, then the bride's mother arm-in-arm with Lord Tywin. The Queen of Thorns tottered after them with one hand on Bruce's arm (who had not taken kindly to being partnered with Lady Olenna, in absence of his wife.) and the other on her cane, her twin guardsmen close behind her in case she fell. Next came Garlan Tyrell and his lady wife, and finally it was their turn.

"My lady." Tyrion offered Sansa his arm. She took it dutifully, but he could feel her stiffness as they walked up the aisle together. She never once looked down at him. He heard them cheering outside even before he reached the doors. The mob loved Margaery so much they were even willing to love Joffrey again. A sickening reality.

They stepped out into the crisp autumn air. "I feared we'd never escape," Tyrion quipped. Sansa had no choice but to look at him then. "I... yes, my lord. As you say." She looked sad. "It was such a beautiful ceremony, though." As ours was not. "It was long, I'll say that much. I need to return to the castle for a good piss." Tyrion rubbed the stump of his nose. "Would that I'd contrived some mission to take me out of the city. Littlefinger was the clever one."

Finally, Jaime and the rest of the Kingsguard came out of the sept. The white cloaks formed a cordon around the king and queen atop the steps that fronted on the broad marble plaza. Meanwhile the gold cloaks held back the crowd, as the statue of King Baelor the Blessed gazed down on them benevolently. Tyrion had no choice but to queue up with the rest to offer congratulations. He kissed Margaery's fingers and wished her every happiness. Thankfully, there were others behind them waiting their turn, so they did not need to linger long.

Their litter had been sitting in the sun, and it was very warm inside the curtains. As they lurched into motion, Tyrion reclined on an elbow and massaged his temples with the other hand, while Sansa sat staring at her hands. She is just as comely as the Tyrell girl. Her hair was a rich autumn auburn, her eyes a deep Tully blue. Grief had given her a haunted, vulnerable look; if anything, it had only made her more beautiful.

"I had been thinking that when the roads are safe again, we might journey to Casterly Rock." Far from Joffrey and my sister. The more he thought about what Joff had done to Lives of Four Kings, the more it troubled him. There was a lesson to be learned there, oh yes. "It would please me to show you the Golden Gallery and the Lion's Mouth, and the Hall of Heroes where Jaime and I played as boys. You can hear thunder from below where the sea comes in..."

She raised her head slowly. He knew what she was seeing; the swollen brutish brow, his sharp scar across the cheek and mismatched eyes. Her own eyes were big and blue and empty. "I shall go wherever my lord husband wishes." His mouth tightened. What a pathetic little man you are. Did you think babbling about the Lion's Mouth would make her smile? When have you ever made a woman smile but with gold? "No, it was a foolish notion. Only a Lannister can love the Rock."

Though that didn't stop Bruce, he came to The Rock a Baratheon and left a Lannister. Bruce? Tyrion recalled something his nephew said and gave it a try. "My nephew was thinking of visiting Sunspear with his wife. To see her home and my niece, Myrcella. Perhaps we could go with them." The southern sun might do her some good.

"Yes, my lord. As you wish." There would be no living with this girl. Only bloody purgatory.

Tyrion could hear the commons shouting out King Joffrey's name. Now he was wed that cruel boy is a man, soon to be ruling in his own right with no mother to reign him in... and every dwarf with half his wits will be a long way from King's Landing. Oldtown, perhaps. Or even the Free Cities. He had always had a yen to see the Titan of Braavos.

They passed the rest of the journey in silence. After a while, Tyrion found himself hoping that Sansa would say something, anything, the merest word, but she never spoke. When the litter halted in the castle yard, he let one of the grooms help her down. "We will be expected at the tourney field in an hour, my lady. I will join you shortly."

He walked off stiff-legged. Across the yard, he could hear Margaery's breathless laugh as Joffrey swept her from the saddle. The boy will be as tall and strong as Jaime one day, he thought, and I'll still be a dwarf beneath his feet. Though his brother will always be a titan compared to him, blood lusting or no.

He found a privy and sighed gratefully as he relieved himself of the morning's wine. There were times when a piss felt near as good as a woman, and this was one. He wished he could relieve himself of his doubts and guilt half as easily. The thought of Bruce and the fight to come rested heavily on the little man.

Podrick Payne was waiting outside his chambers. "I laid out your new doublet. Not here. On your bed. In the bedchamber." Tyrion shook his head at the blustering boy. "Yes, that's where we keep the bed." Sansa would be in there, dressing for the feast. "Wine, Pod."

Tyrion drank it in his window seat, brooding over the chaos of the kitchens below. The sun had not yet touched the top of the castle wall, but he could smell breads baking and meats roasting. The guests would soon be pouring into the stands for the jousts, full of anticipation; this would be a day of songs, glory and splendour, designed not only to unite Highgarden and Casterly Rock but to trumpet their power and wealth as a lesson to any who might still think to oppose Joffrey's rule.

But who would be mad enough to contest Joffrey's rule now, after what had befallen Renly Baratheon and Robb Stark? There was still fighting in the riverlands, but everywhere the coils were tightening. Ser Gregor Clegane had crossed the Trident and seized the ruby ford, then captured Harrenhal almost effortlessly. Seagard had yielded to Walder Frey, Lord Randyll Tarly held Maidenpool, Duskendale, and the kingsroad. In the west, Ser Kevan Lannister had the armies of the Westerlands at the Golden Tooth for a march on Riverrun.

Paxter Redwyne claimed his fleet would soon set sail from the Arbor, to join the Lannister fleet in Lannisport. The Greyjoys would be outnumbered at this combined strength. The struggle that the maesters were calling the War of the Four Kings was all but at an end. Mace Tyrell had been heard complaining that Lord Tywin had left no victories for him.

Pod was at his side. "My lord? Will you be changing? I laid out the doublet. On your bed." Tyrion resolved to get very, very drunk tonight. "Very well, young Podrick, let us go make me look good for this tourney I've had to make money for."

The servants were helping Sansa with her hair when they entered the bedchamber. Sansa wore a gown of silvery satin trimmed in linen, with sleeves that almost touched the floor, lined in soft purple felt. Tyrion had never seen her look more lovely, yet she wore sorrow on those long satin sleeves. "Lady Sansa," he told her, "you shall be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight."

"My lord is too kind." She had little interest in compliments these days. He inspected his new doublet, crimson velvet with padded shoulders and puffed sleeves slashed to show the black satin underlining. A handsome garment. All it wants is a handsome man to wear it. "Come, Pod, help me into this."

He had another cup of wine as he dressed, then took his wife by the arm and escorted her from the Keep to join the river of silk, satin, and velvet flowing out to the tourney field. In a final attempt to garner conversation with his wife Tyrion decided to ask, "Have you been to a tourney before, my Lady?" A little shaken by the question Sansa nodded. "Yes. The Hand's tourney, before… my father…" Me and my big mouth, I should keep it nailed shut sometimes.

All hope of talking to the girl was gone by now, so Tyrion turned his attention to the great stands erected for viewing the jousts. Beyond the city walls, a hundred pavilions had been raised beside the river, and the common folk came out in the thousands to watch the games.

If the dwarf was a little less drunk he may have had his breath taken away; the shining armour, the great chargers caparisoned in silver and gold, the shouts of the crowd, the banners snapping in the wind and finally the knights themselves. The pride and joy of the greatest houses were on the field, and Tyrion found himself half blinded by the glittering reflections off the knight's armour.

They were seated at the bottom of the royal box, closest to the action and far from Joffrey. The King and his queen were atop two large ironwood chairs at the highest point in the box reserved for the royal family. Tyrion found himself grateful that his brother was seated next to him, and not posted to guard duty.

Five members of the Kingsguard took the field, all in scaled armour the colour of milk, their cloaks as white as fresh fallen snow. They saw cousin Daven trundle passed them in shining gold mail, his thick blonde beard jutting out beneath his helmet. After Bruce and Jaime, Daven was the best sword to be produced by Casterly Rock in years, his gilded greatsword had always given Jaime trouble in sparring matches.

Then came one of the worst swords produced by Casterly Rock. Ser Lancel Lannister. His armour was of a milder gold than his much older cousin and was engraved with magic runes that ward him against harm. Fat lot good it would do him when the Red Viper puts his lance in between his eyes.

The Redwyne twins came out then, followed by their cousin, Garlan. Lord Mace hooted especially loud when his second born trotted out to the field. Behind the Reachmen came the Dornish, led by their Prince Oberyn, all shining in the bronze disc workings that was the style of the Southerners.

Before long the twenty knights were all to the field and the first riders lined up. The jousting went on all afternoon, the hooves of the great warhorses pounding down the lists until the field was a ragged wasteland of torn earth. Riders crashed together, lances exploding into splinters while the commons screamed for their favourites. Tyrion was surprised at how well his wife kept her guard, perhaps she no longer feared the blood and drama of it all after what Joffrey had done to her.

The Red Viper was perhaps the best rider of the day. He overthrew Ser Balon Swann, and his sworn brothers Ser Meryn and Boros in quick succession. The Prince of Dorne even vaulted one of the Redwynes and Addam Marbrand. Not long after the victories of Prince Oberyn, Jaime tugged on Tyrion's sleeve.

"Here comes trouble." He japed, pointing over to the step from which their nephew clambered up Princess Arianne on his arm. The Princess of Dorne bowed to the royal couple, who both pardoned her absence from their wedding, before taking the empty chairs next to Ser Jaime. "Your uncle rides well, my Lady." Said the Lord Commander.

Arianne nodded. "He is one of the best lances in all of Dorne." As well as the deadliest, mused the Imp quietly, as he supped on more wine. "How do you imagine he will fair in the melee?" The Young Lion asked his wife. The girl yawned and rested her head against his shoulder. "Well enough to worry you." She baited, but Bruce just laughed and kissed the top her head. What would Sansa doo if I kissed her now, Tyrion pondered, vomit most likely. Or brave through it, as was her duty.

Next, came a rather interesting pair for the joust. Ser Devan and the Red Viper. Devan had fast become the pride of the Westerlands on the field, felling the second of the Redwyne twins and the rest of the Kingsguard as well as two Prince Oberyn's fellow Dornishmen. "This should be interesting." Said Jaime, resting his golden hand on side of his chair. "Indeed." Agreed his nephew and little brother, "Care for a wager?"

The Kingslayer smirked and nodded. "Twenty dragons on the Viper." Tyrion cursed for not calling the Prince of Dorne first, "What of you Bruce?" The Young Lion chewed on his lip a little and glanced from one end on the lists to the other. "Twenty silver stags on cousin Daven." He settled on finally, which perked the interest of his wife, who still looked half asleep in her big black eyes.

"I'll match that bet, Imp." She said, surprised by her husband's lack of faith in her uncle. From behind them Mace Tyrell leaned down, over the chairs. "What's this of a bet?" Demanded the Fat Flower. Tyrion informed the man of the quarrel. The well rounded man barked out a red faced laugh. "I'll double all of your bets if the Red Viper loses this one. And put me down for fifty dragons on the young Lannister as well." Lord Mace's voice was a thick with wine as Tyrion's, a pity he could not hold his drink as well the dwarf.

Everyone was on the edge of their seats by now, as the Lannister thundered down the field to his Dornish adversary. Tyrion could see the gleam of hate in the viper eyes of the Prince of Dorne as rode hard, surely the Red Viper's hate of Lannisters did not fetch so far as to the lesser known cousins of Lord Tywin. Alas, Tyrion would not know as the lances shattered in to splinters and one of the horses gave a scream of agony as it died.

Ser Daven rolled away from the bloody mess that had been made of his mount, while Prince Oberyn was sent fighting to keep his grip. The crowd booed loudly at the Red Viper, for dishonouring himself by killing the horse, and was declared forfeit. Bruce smirked at his wife who glared at him before resting her head back on his shoulder.

Not long after that Ser Daven shifted his saddle to a new mount, only to be knocked right off it by Garlan Tyrell. During the next listing, the Red Viper approached the royal box still in his bronze and copper plate armour, with his helm beneath his arm. "Bravo, Prince Oberyn!" Shouted Joffrey, clapping the Dornishman as he came up the steps. "A very good show!" Chimed the King's wife after her husband finished clapping.

The Red Viper bowed to them. "Thank you, Your Graces. You honour me." He then moved to his niece, who only just seemed to notice him. "You look pale, child." He said, and Tyrion couldn't help but agree. "What did the maester say was troubling you, my Lady?" Asked the Imp. The princess yawned again and lifted her head from Bruce's shoulder. "I don't need a maester." She insisted, and Tyrion felt this was not the first time she had said.

Her husband reclined further back in his chair and looked to his wife's uncle. "Come now, Martell. Make her see sense. She refused a maester this morning and when I checked in on her after we got back from the sept." Tyrion saw the Red Viper shifted his eyes up and down his niece, as though he might see the problem written somewhere on her body.

"You should listen to your husband. Go back to the castle and I'll have my maester look at you." Begrudgingly, the girl accepted and made to move from the royal box but her uncle stopped her for a moment to whisper something in her ear. Tyrion strained his ear, but the Red Viper was too quiet for him to hear though whatever it was it must have been a question as the girl flinched back from her uncle and stammered, "N… N… No."

Tyrion saw Oberyn give his niece a look before she took off away from the dais in fluster a swirling orange. "What did you whisper to her?" Demanded a very angry Bruce. The Red Viper flashed the Lion a wicked grin, "Nothing, dear prince. Family matters." Tyrion hated the way Prince Oberyn could smile himself out of everything, though Bruce didn't seem to be fooled by the growl he gave.

Instead the Viper clapped him on shoulder and donned his helm again. "Come then, my Lord. We have a melee to fight in I recall." Tyrion shuddered at the way his nephew's eyes lit up.