Jon climbed out of bed, rubbing his eyes and grabbing his sword. He turned around, half expecting to see Ygritte beside him before remembering it was a dream. Ygritte, who he had seen die, whom he had cremated as she asked.
Horns blew outside, the distant sounds of battle ringing through his ears. Mance Rayder had assaulted the Wall for seven days and nights, but had yet to breach it. Jon had momentarily feared he possessed the Horn of Winter, which could supposedly bring the Wall down, but if he had the ability, Mance would have already used it.
It was the black of night outside, bitter cold and overcast. Jon looked up at the Wall, grateful at least some Northmen had assembled to defend it. If not for them, the Wall would have already fallen. However, he had received no further news from Winterfell regarding reinforcements. Letters he had sent were unanswered.
Knowing he would soon have to go to his post regardless, Jon put on his chain mail and marched up the Wall's one hundred feet. Only a handful of stars could be seen through the clouds. Each step was a careful one, for any slip had the potential to be deadly.
"What are you doing up here, Snow?" Dolorous Edd commented. "Decided you'd die alongside the rest of us?"
"No, I've every intention of living." Jon looked down the battlements despite the darkness. He heard nothing from Mance's army, though was certain he would attempt another night attack. "Has he tried anything?"
"A few arrows, here and there, killing the unwary. . . or those sticking their heads down." Edd pulled Jon back, pacing around to keep himself awake.
"There are worse things than Mance Rayder." Only a few rangers had survived an attack from the dead. Jon had not participated, but from the stories of survivors, there could be no doubt what it was. When the dead walk, walls and stakes and swords mean nothing, Mance had told him during his infiltration. You cannot fight the dead, Jon Snow. No man knows that half as well as me.
The breeze cut through his skin, even wearing armor and a thick coat. Jon stood still, listening intently to any signs of attack. He spotted no shadows moving in the dark, but Mance was no fool. He'd grown up in the Night's Watch and knew their tactics.
Bundles of arrows and scorpion bolts were on hand, as were piles of rocks ten feet high. Numerous barrels of oil were stacked beside them, away from the flames, although most had already been used to repel previous assaults.
"How do we fight what we can't see?" Satin worried. Most of his fellows looked down on him due to his former position as a prostitute.
"They suffer the same disadvantage," Jon reminded. Whatever Satin planned to say in response was cut off by a trumpet.
A mammoth. Beasts ten feet high at the shoulder, capable of shattering the iron gate with a few strong blows. Jon shouted orders, but those around him were already springing into action. Arrows, rocks, and scorpion bolts rained down from the Wall. While they possessed no visibility, the volley was such that at least some of them would hit something.
Mammoths roared in pain from the impacts. While few arrows could penetrate their hides, rocks were still capable of crushing their skulls. At a hundred feet, the Wall was too tall to be climbed and too thick to be battered down. The gate was a different story, especially with an enemy who possessed mammoths.
Jon grabbed a nearby bow, testing its strength. It was heavy, but manageable. Two men beside him fell victim to wildling arrows, collapsing to their knees without making a sound. "Move away from the torches!" Jon ordered. "Don't give them an easy target!" Even among the reinforcements, too many of them were green boys.
He nocked his first arrow and let it loose, not knowing if it struck a member of the Free Folk. Beneath the wall were all the wildlings come together in one great assault. Jon loosed them as quickly as he could, caring more for speed than accuracy.
Mammoths and giants had to be taken out first, else the gate would be shattered. Jon lost track of how many arrows he had loosed, his muscles aching more with each one. He only dimly registered some of his fellows giving prayers to the Old Gods.
Here and there, his fellows fell to arrows that impacted parts of the body not covered by armor.
"We keep this up, there won't be any wildlings left," Grenn cheered, clapping Jon on the shoulder.
"Yes." Jon couldn't muster up much enthusiasm about it. He'd lived with them for a period of time and found they weren't as bad as he expected. Mance was desperate to escape the Others and their army of the dead. The way he's going, he'll add all the tribes to that army. "Once this is over, be sure and burn all the bodies. We don't want any of them coming back."
"How long is he able to do this?" Green responded. "We've got the Wall, Northern reinforcements, and all he has is 100 different tribes who all fight each other!"
"So long as there's a single man or women to fight," Jon cautioned. What few of them appeared to understand was what the Free Folk were running from. The enemy beyond the Wall had no mercy, and would take no prisoners. This would not be like previous occasions, for this was a matter of survival to them. Perhaps we can form a truce. It was extremely unlikely anyone would accept it, though.
Fighting continued well into the night. The steel gate was damaged, but neither mammoths nor giants were able to survive long before boulders and scorpions took them down. Jon lost track of how many defenders had fallen, mostly Northmen. Those who served on the Wall numbered too few to matter much.
Jon felt the hateful glare of Alliser Thorne against the back of his neck. When he'd left the wildlings, the man had wanted to hang him as a traitor, and only the arrival of Northern reinforcements convinced him it was a bad idea. "You're still alive, Lord Snow." He snarled at him.
"Sorry to disappoint you." Jon saw no need to show him any respect. With Mormont dead, Alliser would surely intend to become the new Lord Commander.
"Have your fun now, Snow, but to me, you're still nothing more than a traitor." He stormed off. Jon knew he could defend himself if it came to it, and there was a strong chance none of them would survive the coming battle.
Once the sun rose, Mance Rayder's forces retreated. Jon wondered how many of them had fell, and how many would rise again. He wanted to burn them, but could not afford to leave anyone vulnerable. "Got to come to his senses sometime." Edd remarked, still unscathed from the fighting. "Or perhaps not. Turning into a wight after death. . . once I die, I don't want to come back."
Neither do I. Jon mused over his options. A truce would be unpopular, but the continued fighting would only benefit their mutual enemy. Jon looked over at Samwell Tarly, who had stayed out of most of the fighting, although he'd been told Sam had killed an Other.
"We've got the same enemy, so can't we join forces?" Sam questioned. While not as fat as he was when he arrived, Sam was still close to twice Jon's size. "It doesn't make any sense for us to be killing each other."
"If they get through the Wall, every nearby village will burn." Jon tried to justify, although he agreed. "And we've been fighting them for thousands of years." Such a quarrel was difficult to forget.
"They call me Sam the Slayer now." Sam shook his head. "Even now, they still mock me."
"You're the first in thousands of years to kill one." Jon reassured. He'd heard the term as well, but didn't get the impression it was meant as an insult. He expected Sam had heard so many, even genuine praise sounded like mockery to him.
"Someone's coming!" He heard a voice ring out from the Wall. Jon looked toward the other side. That the man had screamed rather than blasted the horn informed him they didn't know who it was. Were they wildlings or not?
Jon climbed up to the battlement, curious as to who would be crazy enough to want to arrive. He expected they'd received all the reinforcement they were likely to. Last he'd heard, his brother had marched on King's Landing, although they hadn't yet learned the outcome.
In the distance, he spotted only two people on horses. "Wildlings?" Someone wondered.
"I don't think so," Jon leaned against the wall. Their raids on the unprotected side of the Wall had been defeated and they would not have traveled so openly. "But they don't look like rangers, either." As they got closer, Jon made out their physical appearances. One was small, and appeared as a child. The other rode in front, hand on his sword.
Both traveled on the path, something no attacker would ever do. "Keep ready for trouble, but hold fire until we've confirmed a threat." Jon ordered those next to him. Despite his age, he found himself leading the defense more often than not.
On their side of the Wall, no gates existed to preserve the Watch's neutrality. When they moved to within a hundred yards, Jon saddled a horse and rode out to meet them. He kept his weapon ready in case his instincts were untrue.
Wait a minute. . . They became clearer with every step. Both dismounted and approached with their hands visible. Jon made out Rodrik Cassel, his weathered face visible through his helmet. His companion was. . . "Arya!" Jon dismounted and sprinted forward, never imagining he'd see his little sister again.
Arya hugged him with all his strength, jumping into his arms and laughing. Jon twirled her around just as they'd done when they were children. Arya buried her face into his shoulder and smiled. Jon knew he could stay like that all day, but however much he wanted to, he let his little sister go.
"What are you doing here, little sister?" Jon mussed up Arya's hair. She let him go with great reluctance.
"They attacked Winterfell. . . grabbed Bran and Rickon. . ." Arya spoke so fast, Jon had difficulty keeping up. She spoke of how the Boltons took over Winterfell, how she had killed Reek, that Ramsey had gotten his hands on his brothers.
By the Gods. . . Tales of the Bastard of Bolton had reached even the Wall. If a tenth of them were true, Jon feared for both their lives. He wanted to march down to Winterfell and free them, ignoring the wildings and his duties.
Yet that was folly. Jon knew he still had a job to do and he couldn't travel such a long distance alone. "I'm glad to have you back." Jon laughed. She'd always been his favorite sister. He looked down at Needle. "I'm sorry you had to use it."
"I remembered your lesson: stick them with the pointy end." Arya hugged him again.
"We traveled through the catacombs to escape," Rodrik explained. "I'd always had an unpleasant feeling about the man, but I never imagined he'd violate hospitality!"
"You made it here; that's what matters, although you won't find much improvement." Jon gestured to the Wall. "They've taken heavy losses, but refuse to give up."
"Wildlings don't frighten me," Cassel declared. The trio climbed back onto their horses and trotted inside, hundreds of confused eyes looking down upon them.
Jon saw the red dragon egg inside the horse's saddle. Only for a moment, but it was unmistakable. He wanted to ask them about it, and where Arya had obtained it, but there was no time. Jon had countless questions on the tip of his tongue, begging to be asked.
Two blasts emanated from the horn. Mance Rayder was attempting another attack. "Ser Rodrik, get my sister to safety," Jon ordered. "Guard her with your life and don't let her anywhere near the fighting." He didn't care how angry Arya would be, so long as she was alive. The Boltons would have to wait.
XXXXX
Well, things are slowly coming together. Matthew mused as he finished his breakfast. Cersei had ordered a food-taster for him, which he couldn't object to, not with the Red Viper in King's Landing. His servants dutifully took the dishes away, bowing before they retreated.
The Riverlands had surrendered in return for the Tullys keeping their position. Much as he didn't like it, Matthew considered it the lesser evil. The Freys would have been a Millistone around his neck, even if the Red Wedding hadn't taken place. Once Walder died, which wouldn't be long, they'd begin slaughtering one another.
Matthew put on his clothes over the mail armor he always wore. Varys had yet to be found and parts of the passageways were still unexplored. As always, his Kingsguard waited for him outside the door. "Excellent to see you all." Matthew nodded. He'd yet to appoint replacements for the fallen but considered himself reasonably safe around Ser Barristan and Ser Balon. "Tell me, do you know how my projects are coming along?"
"Not for certain, Your Grace, but I have been informed the rate has increased," Barristan responded politely.
"Excellent." Expect I've reached the limit of what I can do in King's Landing. It'd still be years before he could give his troops muskets in any significant number. Matthew still possessed a few more ideas for improvement, which he hoped would prove plausible with the infrastructure he had. According to Kevan Lannister, production had begun in the Westerlands as well.
He'd burned his designs out of fear of them being copied. Matthew hoped it wasn't too late, but there were more ideas in his head he hadn't put down on parchment. So long as things settled down for a while, he could get to work. If. Matthew knew there were other threats ahead, not to mention all his enemies in court. He marched through the Red Keep to Sansa's room, where two of his personal men protected the door.
"Your Grace." They both nodded and allowed him to pass.
"I'm so happy you're alive, daughter." He heard Catelyn Stark sob through the doorway.
"I made it through, Mother," Sansa responded. "The eunuch tried to kill me. . . and did kill Jeyne, but. . ."
"I'm so sorry," Catelyn continued. "We'll continue to do everything we can to protect you from the King." Not particularly good at subtlety, is she? Catelyn clearly hadn't spent much time in King's Landing.
"Mother, the Kingslayer saved my life. He's a man without honor, yet he intervened."
"So he was telling the truth after all." Matthew opened the door, making mother and daughter jump. Catelyn's face was one of icy courtesy while Sansa grinned at the sight of him. "Good to see you awake, Lady Sansa." Matthew gave her a genuine smile.
"Thank you for looking after me, Your Grace." Sansa bowed as best she was able. Many of her wounds were still red and ugly.
"Do try not to strain yourself." Matthew advised. "You're not fully recovered yet."
"I appreciate the concern, Your Grace." Sansa nodded. Catelyn grabbed a honey pot with intent on feeding her daughter. "Mother, thank you, but I am now capable of feeding myself."
"Your brother survived a fall from a tower. . ." Catelyn glowered at that. "And you survived numerous wounds that should have been fatal. At least one of the Gods appears to be looking after you." Matthew thought Sansa was doomed, only for her to recover. Maybe there's something to the Blood of the First Men, after all.
"You are most kind, Your Grace." Catelyn was all sweetness, though Matthew knew if they were alone, she'd likely attack him. "I appreciate you taking time to look after my daughter."
"I wanted to see to her good health. She's already been attacked once, and I don't intend for there to be a second occasion. How are you feeling, Lady Sansa?"
"I'm getting stronger." Sansa winced when she moved.
"Don't push things too far. You're liable to be in that bed for some time, or at least until Grand Maester Pycelle says you can leave." Sansa frowned. "It's for your own good."
"Your Grace, do I have permission to write to my other children?" Catelyn inquired. "It has been a long time since I've heard from them."
"Yes, but your letters will be monitored." Matthew agreed. He sat down on the bed and turned to Sansa. "Lady Sansa, there's something I wish to discuss with you, a way to reconcile the feud between our two families."
"Does this mean our betrothal will be restored?" Her eyes lit up.
"I'm afraid not. However, I have an alternate proposal: a marriage between you and my brother, Tommen."
"Your. . . brother, your Grace?" Sansa lowered her head in disappointment.
"Hardly without precedent. Your own mother was originally engaged to Brandon Stark before his untimely death. I know it's a bit early to make a final decision, but much blood has been shed between our families on account of a lie. I know better than most how bad blood can fester." Case in point. Matthew glanced over at Catelyn.
"If you think that's best." Sansa's voice turned to icy courtesy.
"My brother's a kind young man and I think you'll find a marriage to him to be pleasant. Contrary to what you read in the stories, Lady Sansa, few men and women of our status marry for love. Your parents did not, yet they grew to love each other."
"Your Grace, if I may, your father wished to join our houses." Catelyn interjected. "However, I am unsure whether the Northern Lords will accept it."
"I have every confidence Lord Bolton will have no objection." Catelyn's face darkened at the reminder they were no longer Wardens of the North. "I know it's procedure to negotiate with the family patriarch, but I believe Sansa's mature enough to do so. I'm hoping for at least a partial reconciliation after being tricked into war."
"I would at least like to meet him before I make my decision," Sansa decided. "If it is not too much trouble, Your Grace, I still feel tired."
"Understood. I'll give you time to think it over. Of course, I'll need to discuss this with my brother as well." Matthew knew Cersei wouldn't be happy but he intended to give her as few duties running the realm as possible.
"Are you sure there is no chance of a marriage between us?" Sansa sighed. "We'd be a wonderful King and Queen. We could make the continent love us."
She's still naïve. "Lady Sansa, being King and Queen means there is no love. You have no friends, only subjects and enemies. I saw what the crown did to my Father, and you wouldn't find it pleasant. Forget all the songs; ruling means you've got a sword at your throat." Matthew wondered if Westeros had an equivalent to the Sword of Damocles.
"This may sound like a foolish question, but. . . couldn't you change that? We could. You're the King, after all."
"Yes, but I won't reign forever." Matthew chuckled. "Assuming I don't die in battle or a knife in the dark, I could rule as long as fifty years, however unlikely that is. The institutions of Westeros have been around for far longer, and will exist long after I'm gone. And they know this. Kings give orders. They have them obeyed. It often matters less than you think." He placed a hand on her shoulders. "You've got a gentle heart, Lady Sansa, but that doesn't survive long here." Matthew was still amazed he'd survived his numerous blunders.
"Your Grace, if we cannot marry. . . then I would like to return to Winterfell. I haven't seen my younger brothers for a long time and I miss them. I. . . I even miss Arya." Sansa expressed a bitter laugh. "Not words I ever expected to say."
"Understood, Lady Sansa." Matthew didn't have a good relationship with his younger sister but he still missed her. "Much as I'd like to return you, political realities prevent me from doing so. Surely you've received letters at least."
"I have received nothing, Your Grace." Catelyn frowned. "It would take weeks for such letters to arrive and we haven't been here long."
Right. Even after nearly two years, Matthew occasionally overlooked how slow news traveled. "Under the circumstances, I would not like to see you travel North, in any case. Brigands still roam the lands and your family name won't prevent them from attacking you."
"When I was a child, all I ever wanted to do was see King's Landing for myself. Now that I'm here, all I wish to do is leave. Meaning no offense, Your Grace."
"Not a problem; I share the same sentiment. King's Landing might have a certain attraction, but only from the outside." Matthew got to his feet. "Take the time to consider my offer, and I hope you find my proposal acceptable as well, Lady Catelyn."
"I appreciate your efforts at making peace, Your Grace." Catelyn gave him a final bow and resumed paying attention to her daughter. Matthew decided to leave the two in peace.
Even with an internal war, I expect the North's going to want to march on me again. Northmen were notoriously stubborn and Robb still held a grudge. I hope they don't force me to execute Sansa. Nevertheless, he would do so if circumstances forced him to.
The idea of marrying Arianne to Tommen would keep Oberyn around for a period of time, as a balance between her and Sansa. If necessary, he'd allow the marriage despite how big of a target it would paint on his back. Half the realm already wants me dead. Nothing new there. Matthew had taken every precaution possible, and however much he hated having to rely on her, Melisandre was useful as well.
His plans to improve Westeros would have to wait. As things stood, he was going to have to fight Daenerys, likely allied with the North and Dorne, at a minimum. None of his assassins had gotten anywhere near her, despite his efforts. And the threat lurking beyond the Wall. That reminds me; we need to start mining obsidian.
There were many enemies to crush, but he wasn't going down without a fight.
XXXXX
"I am happy to announce a marriage between myself and Margaery Tyrell!" Joffrey stood in the Throne room, hand in hand with her. "Due to our current circumstances, the wedding will take place a Fortnight from now. I expect all of you to enjoy yourselves." Cheers rang up among the crowd. Margaery stood there, wearing a polite smile.
Seems Loras can't be bothered to pretend. Tyrion looked over at her older brother. Garlan wore a diplomatic smile, but Loras looked ready to run him through. The Kingsguard kept their eyes focused on him. Anything is forgivable, provided you have enough gold.
"I couldn't be happier to be your wife, Your Grace." Margaery widened her smile, convincing Tyrion it was fake.
"We've both got a lot of work ahead of us." Joffrey held her hands. The servants would be in charge of planning the wedding, under Cersei's eyes. Tyrion felt a slight bit of pity for anyone who had to endure his sister.
Oberyn and Arianne stood at the edge of the room, everyone else giving them a wide berth. No one wanted to give the Red Viper any excuse to shed blood. Tyrion expected he didn't care about the marriage so much as seeing them all dead. Throughout the announcement, he hadn't so much as blinked, staring at Tywin. His father hadn't bothered to respond to it.
I hope you know what you're doing, nephew. He wasn't technically his nephew, but Tyrion had never learned his actual name, so nephew the man remained. He'd found through his spies proposing a marriage to Tommen to both Sansa and Arianne. Tyrion wondered how long it would keep the peace. Based on the Red Viper's looks, not long at all.
The Throne Room gradually cleared, with only a handful of people remaining inside. Among them were Tyrion, Jaime, and Tywin. "I wish to congratulate you on your marriage." Tyrion smirked. "I'm impressed you were able to resist Arianne's charms, however."
"Oh, I can't say it was easy," Joffrey admitted. "However, it occurred to me both her and her Uncle won't be quite so susceptible to mine."
"Odd; you were of the firm belief you could win Dorne over." Tyrion wondered what sparked his abrupt change.
"Circumstances change, as you well know." Joffrey reminded Tyrion of their once-cordial relationship. He knew it was likely to be in his favor to repair it, but Tyrion could not forgive him for Shae's death.
"I trust you can restrain your antics," Tywin narrowed his eyes at Tyrion. "I will not tolerate your drunken debauchery at the King's wedding."
"I'd never dream of bringing shame to our house, Father." Tyrion glared back but he'd never been able to stand up to the likes of Tywin Lannister for long.
"See that you don't," Joffrey cautioned. "What peace there is, is fragile. We still have other enemies coming for us." He turned to Tywin. "He has expressed certain disagreements on the issue." Cersei hugged him from behind. Joffrey gently pulled himself out of her grip.
"The River Lords are already begging for loans to rebuild their destroyed lands," Tywin spoke. "Such an act will increase our leverage on them and tear them away from the Tullys."
"An alliance between us and the Tyrells will help keep the peace." Joffrey clapped his hands together. "Stannis Baratheon has agreed to help me, for all his grumbling." Tyrion was still curious as to how he accomplished it, but Joffrey remained closed mouthed. "If the Martells agree to behave, we'll be ready for what comes next." Based on his expression, Joffrey doubted it.
"We have much to do and little time to waste on idle chatter," Tywin announced.
"Absolutely." Joffrey smiled. "Uncle Jaime, you've been neglected your Kingsguard duties for too long." Jaime hastened to follow his secret son, confused as to why he was cracking down now.
No clever quips, dear sister? Tyrion flashed an arrogant smile. He had succeeded in cowing Cersei, at least for now. His spies kept him informed of her comings and goings. With Father around, she dared not strike at him openly. Father's keeping his hated son safe. Perhaps I should tell him the irony. At the least, it allowed Tyrion a private chuckle.
He spent the remainder of the day trying to find ways to mitigate Littlefinger's damage. Many of his former cronies had been replaced, but too many were still active and stealing from the royal treasury. Even so, Tyrion didn't see how they could afford Joffrey's grand ambitions. It seemed he hadn't yet given up on making Westeros. Tyrion didn't know whether to pity or envy him for it.
During the night, he missed Shae's presence. However much Tyrion told himself she'd only cared for his gold, he developed a stronger attachment to her than he'd intended. The image of her mutilated corpse rarely left his mind.
And I am left helpless about it. He was Master of Coin and that was all he would ever be. Tyrion's influence had disappeared the moment his father arrived, with no gratitude for everything he'd done to save the city. Despite keeping them alive, few treated him with any respect. "Why should I have expected anything else?" He spat out loud.
"Having trouble sleeping, My Lord?" He heard a voice in the darkness. Tyrion jumped over a foot, checking the door to see if it was open. "Oh, no, our discussion is a private one. Besides, there are many other ways to enter a man's chambers."
Tyrion knew it could only be one person. He reached for a dagger under his pillow, for all the good it was likely to do. "What do you want, Varys?"
"The very question I was going to ask you, My Lord." Varys moved his hands behind his back. "What do you want?" He lit a candle, allowing Tyrion to see the Spider and a pair of children carrying crossbows.
"I'm in no mood for games." Tyrion hopped out of his bed, looking for a possible escape route. If Varys was here, he doubted the eunuch wanted a pleasant conversation. "Give me one very good reason why I shouldn't scream for my guards."
"By the time you do, I and my little birds will have disappeared into the Red Keep." Varys appeared amused by his threats. "I know the passageways better than our otherworldly visitor could ever hope to." Tyrion took a few steps back, bashing his head against the stone. "Yes, My Lord, I know who he truly is."
"How did you figure it out?" Tyrion rubbed his aching head, still keeping his knife hidden. There were many days he couldn't believe it himself.
"I have seen many things, My Lord, things which you would find impossible to believe. Most would dismiss such an idea, but my mind is open to new possibilities."
"What are you doing here? I can't imagine this is a social call." If Varys told his little birds to fire, Tyrion knew he was a dead man.
"I was hoping for a civilized conversation between two men whose interests. . . possibly coincide with one another." Varys sat down in a chair, the two children lowering their crossbows a few inches.
It's a trick. He's trying to get you to lower your guard. Tyrion considered charging forward to stab him, but even if he made the attempt, he would be full of crossbow bolts before he traveled five feet. "Then I hope you don't mind if I pour myself a drink." Tyrion walked to his desk and poured wine into a goblet. "Would you care for some?"
"Thank you, my Lord, but no. You still have not answered my question. What do you want?"
"This is what you spend your time doing, Lord Varys? Waking people up in the middle of the night to speak riddles?"
"You seem most disheartened by the death of your lover, and as a concerned friend, I decided to check on you." Tyrion didn't buy it. They had a certain respect for one another, but were never friends.
"Fun as these games are, I prefer to conduct them on a full night of sleep." Tyrion finished off his goblet and poured himself a second.
"I've watched you for a long time, My Lord. Ever dutiful, serving your family, getting nothing in return. No, wait, I believe you did have something." Varys placed his left finger into his right palm. "You had Tysha."
"Don't you dare speak of her!" Tyrion revealed his knife before he could stop himself. The children raised their crossbows and only a raised hand from Varys stopped them from firing.
"It is most tragic what happened to her. I expect the brief time you spent with her were the happiest moments of your life."
"They were." Tyrion sheathed the knife and gripped the bedpost, taking several deep breaths. Had he been capable, he would have slit Varys' throat before taunting him about his lost love. "But what does it matter? She was a whore, nothing more. So was Shae." Tyrion's face went red with rage. "Do you intend to taunt me before you have me murdered?"
"A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. I know the story: after a fortnight, your father found out and decided to impart a lesson on you. He. . ."
"Yes, I know what he did!" Tyrion screamed, not caring who overheard them. He approached Varys, attempting to intimidate. "If you speak her name, I swear. . ."
"I wonder how she'd feel knowing your emotions have persisted for all these years. It is rare to see them last for so long."
"She never felt anything for me. Jaime merely told me it was time I had a woman." Tyrion repeated those words every time he thought of Tysha, but it never made the hole in his heart disappear.
"No. That was merely what your father instructed him to say. Tysha loved you for who you were, dwarf and all. At one time, you meant everything to her."
"You're lying! She was. . . I was. . ." Tyrion found himself at a loss for words.
"I have found the truth to be a far more dangerous weapon in a world of lies. Your father felt you married beneath your station."
"This is a lie, a manipulation." Tyrion's voice went quiet. He prayed it wasn't true, but had the comfortable feeling it was.
"Tywin Lannister could not abide his hated son sullying the Lannister name." Varys approached him. "He wanted to ensure you never defied him again. Once it was over, she disappeared and he forgot about her."
"You've given me no reason to believe you."
"I don't expect you to. Ask your brother. Confront him about the truth. The Kingslayer carries an enormous weight from the deeds he's committed. He won't be able to hold the truth back."
"Let's assume all of this is true. Why tell me?" Tyrion was certain Varys knew about it for years. "What are you trying to accomplish?"
"There is only one goal I've had, from the time I was a boy no older than the ones standing beside me. I wish to serve the realm and only the realm." Tyrion scoffed in response to him.
"You're only interested in furthering your power."
"Our visitor could perhaps improve the realm given time, but regretfully, there is another better suited. What do you want?"
"I'm in no mood for games!" Tyrion shouted.
"Understood. What do you want?"
"Leave me alone!" Tyrion threw his wine goblet at Varys, but he made no attempt to dodge.
"What do you want?"
"Get out of here now!"
"What do you want?"
"Screw your games."
"What do you want?"
"For you to leave me in peace."
"What do you want?"
"All right, fine, you cockless bastard!" Tyrion snarled. "You want to know what I want?! What my desires are?! I want Casterly Rock, which is mine by rights! I want control of the Westerlands! I want my sister to be as miserable as she's made my life, to have everything ripped away from her! I want my father to die gasping and broken while he realizes his hated son is the one to carry on his legacy! I want the power and respect I have earned! I want. . . what does it matter what I want?! Are you satisfied, eunuch? Does that answer your question?" Tyrion paced around in a fury, all the rage he'd kept suppressed for years bubbling to the surface.
"Yes, it does. And given time, you'll be able to obtain everything you want. With my assistance of course."
"Oh, I am sure." Tyrion fumed but no longer had the energy to fight. "But it doesn't matter what I want. My dear father and sister will ensure I never have it."
"For now, but there is a way to ensure your desires are fulfilled." Varys dropped a small bottle into Tyrion's hand.
"You want me to kill them." Tyrion knew the vial contained some form of poison.
"Is that so difficult, removing those who have spent their lives tormenting you?"
"Answer my question. Who are you working for?"
"Why, the one person who can rule Westeros with a proper hand." Varys gave a slight smile. "The true Queen. Daenerys Targaryen."
"Daenerys?" Tyrion choked out, unsure whether to believe him. "Why her?" Tyrion pocketed the vial.
"Simple: she has grown up knowing what it's like to have nothing, hunted down like an animal. Leaving in fear of her older brother, she's developed empathy for those who need it most. Already she has delivered freedom to hundreds of thousands."
"Fine, now get out." Tyrion no longer felt like arguing. When he turned around again, Varys and his birds were gone, with no indication they were ever there.
He continued to pace, thinking about Varys' words. In his darkest moments, Tyrion considered killing his father and certainly his sister. Jaime he would not harm even now. But am I truly going to become a Kinslayer? Few were more condemned than those who murdered their family, whatever else their crimes. They were his blood, however much he loathed them.
Yet they had never treated him as family. No matter what Tyrion did, his father gave no acknowledge or care of his accomplishments. Cersei had prayed for his death in the past. Tyrion fingered the vial in his pockets. He would never have what he wanted, nor would his father and sister ever think higher of him. Fantasizing about their deaths was one thing. Killing them was another.
I'll ask Jaime in the morning, find out the truth for sure. If Tysha had indeed loved him the way Varys claimed. . . Tyrion didn't know what his next actions would be.
XXXXX
For anyone wondering about Tyrion's rant, this is Tyrion from the books, not the show. Much as I enjoyed Peter Dinklage's performance, the show softened his character quite a bit, especially in later seasons. Especially a certain scene in Volantis.
As for the Wall, even GRRM admitted he made it too big when he saw it visualized.