TYRION
The king and the vice king emerged together in their royal loincloths and crowns from the doors of the Great Sept. Vice King Tyrion had fashioned his own crown from a rope and four or five eagle feathers, making him look like some type of crippled tribal shaman. They were both drenched in oily sweat. "Bro," King Joffrey said, "let's go for a ride."
Vice King Tyrion grinned.
Thirty minutes later they were flying together down the streets of King's Landing in a royal cart drawn by a team of Kingsguard knights on destriers. The side of the cart was streaked with the vice king's vomit. The cart drew to a halt at a crossroads, right beside a man on horseback who was patiently waiting for his turn to cross.
"Hey!" Tyrion screamed at the man. He stood up and slapped the side of the royal cart. "Hey you! You want to buy some milk of the poppy?"
The man flicked his eyes at the king and the vice king without moving his head. Then he looked at the Kingsguard, who did not return his gaze. He said nothing.
"I'm talking to you!" Vice King Tyrion said. Suddenly he vomited again, splattering the man's horse's hooves and causing it to dance uneasily away. "This shit is almost one hundred percent pure!" he insisted. The man tried as hard as he could to ignore Tyrion but it was not possible. He was trapped until it was their turn to cross.
"I just got back from Qarth!" Tyrion shrieked. "You don't believe me? I'm telling you the truth, you gringo bastard! Come back over here!"
King Joffrey watched impassively as Vice King Tyrion resumed drumming on the side of the cart. Then Tyrion reached over and slapped the man on the shoulder. The man flew instantly into an apoplectic rage, thrashing his hands in the air and screaming obscenities at the vice king.
"You fucking little freak! What's wrong with you? I'll kill you if you touch me again!"
"One hundred percent puuuuuure," Tyrion roared. Suddenly the sign changed and it was their turn to cross. The man bit his heels into the horse's sides and went rocketing off down the street.
"Catch him," King Joffrey suggested. The Kingsguard obeyed, once again drawing the cart up alongside the man's horse and keeping its pace. They were now traveling quite rapidly.
"You won't get hooked! Come on, you pussy!" Vice King Tyrion screamed over the side of the cart. The man seemed utterly shocked that his tormentors were back. His eyes bulged disbelievingly from his skull.
Finally the Kingsguard cut in front of him. The man's horse screamed and tried to dodge but there was no place to go. It tumbled to its side in the dirt and cobblestones and flung the man off to land in a broken heap on the side of the road. As the royal cart drew away, King Joffrey looked back and watched the bloodied man crawl weakly into an alley. "Let's stop at an inn," he said. "I need red meat. I need nutrition."
"Good idea," Tyrion agreed. "I feel a little lightheaded. Find an inn with whores, Alphonse."
"I'm Boros Blount, Your Vice Grace," said Ser Boros.
Tyrion waved him off and reclined on a silk pillow in the back of the cart. After a while he began to hum.
