(Casterly Rock: 4/11/299) Tyrion III
'Madness,'was all he could think, as he stepped into the great hall of the Rock. Everywhere Tyrion looked he saw only chaos. Parchment and scrolls were strewn about the surface of a great war-table expertly crafted and leafed in gold. Numerous candles and sconces burned brightly, as they cast strange snaking shadows upon the faces of those contained within. Exhaustion, fear, and anger permeated the air like rotting fruit, while the constant pitch of heated voices served as a particularly annoying fly buzzing throughout the crowd. Long into the night had the men sequestered themselves within the castle, while he had made tally of the ships entering Lannisport all throughout the day. Only now had he been able to return with report to his father and encounter faces gaunt with hopelessness and pale with despair. 'They appear more dead than alive,' he told himself.
As the lords and knights chattered amongst themselves, bickering over this or that, Tyrion had caught sight of his father sharing hushed words with the former Master of Whisperers. A man clad in simple cloths and smelling of lavender and rosewater. Gone were the rich silks, velvets, and damasks that Tyrion had remembered him for during his brief time in King's Landing. Called the Spider, because of the web of intrigue he was known to spin, and a man whose motives were his own. The eunuch had arrived aboard a cargo ship from Pentos, nearly a moon ago, bereft of disguise and wishing to speak with the lord lion. It had been a request Tyrion had been wary to accept, but with him he had brought news from the capital. Tidings that his lord father had so desperately craved, yet would never have admitted to, for fear of being seen as fearful. Tyrion knew the head of house Lannister would have most assuredly been wroth with him at being denied whatever scraps the Spider had brought, so he had excised the most extreme caution when presenting the former Master of Whisperers to his father. And to Tyrion's expected surprise, into his father's council had the eunuch found himself.
'Unwise. Very unwise,'he had thought then, as he still did now. Carefully, he scanned the face of his father.'The great Lord Tywin,'he said to himself, noting the whiskers about the stony visage having seemingly grown thinner and grayer ever since the onset of the war.'By the gods, look at how far have you have fallen,'he said to himself, still disbelieving of the rapid deterioration his father had seemed to have undergone before his very eyes. Just before dawn had the old lion seemed implacable, but now lines, deep and jagged, ran down the length of his face like cracks upon dry earth. The swirling shadows themselves accenting his very visibly annoyed guise as he faced away from the eunuch and scanned the maps and missives set about before him. Coupled with the news of the Grand Maester's trial, and the claims at Lannister treachery orchestrated by the Lord Lion, Tyrion could hardly imagine what thoughts lurked in his father's astute mind.
"Grandfather, we must take advantage of this opportunity! I say we move against the little firewhore traitor, and her barbarians, while they sit in Deep Den," the boy-prince snarled, the torchlight twisting his youthful face into one of utter revulsion. "If we can capture the bitch and the Stark pup, we may be able to bring my father and Lord Stark to the table and demand favorable terms!" Joffrey rumbled on, pointing to the map in an area just off the Goldroad to the east of Casterly Rock, between Hornvale and Silverhill, and the rumored positions of the northern and rivermen force.
"We haven't enough men to lay siege to the castle of Deep Den, my prince," Ser Loras declared, as he bit into a peach, neatly cropped hair none the worse for wear even in these most difficult of times. "Especially one garrisoned by Dragonstone troops. Each one of their 'benders' is worth a hundred men in the open field, I shudder to think how many they would be worth when positioned defensively within proper fortification."
"Aye. We are stretched far too thin chasing those damned raiding parties, the northern brutes left us with, up and down the Westerlands. Even with the minor victories we have achieved in slaying them, more and more seem to appear out of the ether to take their place." Lord Garrison Prester supplied, waving his hand across the enormous map set upon the table, before pointing to the area in-between Hornvale and Ashemark. Red-faced and unshaven, clothed in wrinkled finery, Lord Prester appeared more a commoner from Lannisport than the Lord of Feastfires. Heavy black bags sagged beneath brown eyes, betraying the very words of his house.
'Tireless,'Tyrion recalled with a sniff, remembering his earlier readings on the Westerlands.
"And none of them were sorcerers, elsewise they would have been major victories instead of what they were. Trivial and unimportant," Prester grumbled. "Just men-at-arms and hedge knights looking to make names for themselves and secure favors."
"We still have twenty-thousand men between here and Lannisport, Prester!" Joffrey pressed his fingers at points on the map indicative of the areas of which he spoke. "We could gather them all and dispatch ravens to Silverhill to call yet more! Together we can crush them between our anvil and the Serret hammer! Or…if we must, we march to Riverrun and capture it, using the Tully heir as a hostage to make the Starks back down. Barring the northern raiding parties, is the way north not clear, eunuch?" Green eyes shot towards the robed man.
"So, I hear," came the coy reply. "It would be a simple enough task to ride through them. However, the whispers that come to me, speak of empty villages and mysterious disappearances of entire rivermen forces. These whispers do not hint at anything nearing simplicity, and instead detail a strange set of circumstances that could easily be a ploy by the woman or her allies."
"And what other choice do we have?" Joffrey grumbled at the fat man.
"You would have us march halfway across the Westerlands only to perish in a second field of fire? Or into the Riverlands and right into a trap? Just like the last ten thousand we sent against them at Hornvale? Just like my son," Lord Terrence Kenning interjected, his calm voice contradicting his tired and sunken eyes.
"The Grandmaester's words have done our cause no favors, myprince,"Varys began, only to receive a hissing retort to his words.
"Bah! Pycelle!" Joffrey clenched his teeth and tightened his fists. "It is a pity the bitch did not have that treacherous old man executed after the trial! Exile to the Wall is too good for that traitor!"
"I agree, my prince, but ever since the ravens came bearing recount of his testimony, several of the lords have been whispering of your legitimacy. If they had been unsure before, they undoubtedly are not anymore," the perfumed spymaster finished.
"Lies!" Joffrey snapped, his emerald eyes bristling with rage. "Disgusting lies, spread by the foreign bitch and her mongrels! If lords doubt my birth, then let them stand before me. Let them suffer proper judgement at my hand, like men, rather than remain hidden in the shadows like the cowards they are! And you!?" the boy-prince pointed to the Spider. "I could have your tongue out, or command Ser Loras to turn you into aflower, for such vile words, eunuch!" the prince glared daggers at the bald man as he hissed his discontent.
'Quite bold for a boy who has yet to take to the field,'Tyrion frowned at Joffrey's outburst.'Just like Cersei.'
"As you say, my prince. Although I am reasonably confident being rendered tongue-less or turned into aflowerwould be preferable to what the Lady of Dragonstone has in store for us, hmm?" Amethysts twinkled in the torchlight as they stared at the boy verging on manhood. "Especially,youand I, and the rest of the royal children? That is, of course, assuming King Robert does not get to us first?" Lilac eyes stared at Cersei's eldest, who retreated slightly at the idea. "What is that old adage again?"
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," the velvety-smooth voice of Ser Loras Tyrell said offhandedly, his chin dribbling slightly with peach juice. As the Blood Rose bit into the fuzzy fruit, Tyrion could not help but notice the man's youthful handsomeness having remained strangely unmarred by the worries and stresses the war had found them all being drowned in.
"Take care not to choke, Tyrell," the petulant boy prince muttered, eyeing the young knight with sheer contempt, and mirroring slightly the face of his mother.
"Just so," Varys nodded in Ser Loras' direction, before turning towards the young prince and the Lord of Casterly Rock. "Rest assured, my prince, that I have no intention of supporting the Lady of Dragonstone in her destructive endeavors."
"And why not?" Joffrey pressed, likely in some futile attempt at discerning the Spider's intent in form and voice but falling short just as Tyrion would have expected from one so young. "Doing so seems to have served that quisling whoremonger Baelish well enough."
"For the moment he may bask in the sun, but the woman is as fickle as a storm, and Lord Baelish is not a man to remain beneath heel for long," the spymaster chided.
"And yet he is," his father countered grimly.
"I'll admit that his continued survival perplexes me, my lord," Varys nodded in agreement. "The Lady of Dragonstone has shown that she is not bereft of wit, elsewise she would not have gotten as far as she has. She can also undoubtedly can see right through the man as if he was made of the finest Myrish glass. Which leaves me to assume that either she has plans for him, or he has the backing of one whose judgment she trusts enough to stay her hand."
"Stannis?" Tyrion probed, stroking his chin.
"Hmmm, an obvious choice, but one that I would say as being unlikely. Lord Stannis had made it known on many occasions, during King Robert's small council meetings, that he detests the man. Granted," the eunuch tilted his head in thought, "such could have been a cleverly disguised deception on his part, but Stannis Baratheon is not celebrated for being possessed of some great skill at subtlety. He is a capable commander and soldier, not a player in the great game. No, only two names spring forth, though many more may yet remain in the wings."
"And they are?" he found himself leaning forward against the table's edge.
"Xai-Bau and Steffon Baratheon, the Silver-Tongue. Of the two, only the proprietor of the Opal Dragon seemed to have had the tenure and skill to manage one such as Baelish, while the Silver-Tongue seems far too young and perhaps far too naïve to even attempt such a thing."
"You forget who his mother is," Prester sniffed.
"I assure you that I forget nothing, my lord," Varys riposted the words without a second thought.
"How could they have met? When could they have met, to allow them enough time to conspire such treason?" Garrison questioned amidst the murmurs.
"Baelish had entered the Opal Dragon nearly a month before the events leading to our mutual flights from the capital. As for the Silver-Tongue? Following the Hand's Tourney, he had been seen speaking with many, but nowhere near as many as he did during your nameday, my prince, as several of those present within these halls can attest to…" the bald eunuch cast many knowing looks to those in attendance, lingering only slightly upon the eyes bearing the color of beaten gold.
"I do not care for your stares, eunuch," Ser Loras' previously calm demeanor melted away, revealing a dangerously callous glint and tightened lips. "He told me of my sister. That is all."
"So, he did," Varys smiled. "But whatever the case may be, in regard to Baelish, I cannot see the benefit such an alliance would bring. Save, of course, bringing the swords of the Vale into the conflict. But even then," the spymaster paused, as if lingering on the thought. "I do question its longevity. Being indebted to a man like Littlefinger is akin to driving a knife slowly into your own back. Which I am confident he will drive home at an inopportune moment, and in such a way as to be above suspicion. No. Whoever backs him has some use for him that extends beyond this war, and is confident in their control of him, or perhaps they are using each other? Who knows? But whoever it is, leaves me with the distinct impression that they may have informed Baelish of the Lady Azula and her people's power long before your family's expulsion from the capital. Possibly prior even to the death of Lord Arryn? The only question that remains, under such conditions, is whether the woman herself was aware of it?"
"Hmmm, and what leaves you with that impression?" Tywin Lannister asked, face flat and expressionless, his pale golden whiskers appearing as wisps of steam against the glowing torchlight.
"Lord Baelish did not seem too terribly surprised when the fires started, nor was he particularly distressed at having lost his men in the City Watch. My little birds told me as much, before I was forced to flee," Varys titled his head as he spoke, though whether in uncertainty or the opposite, Tyrion could not tell.
"Quite the mystery. One that we unfortunately do not have the time to unravel," Tyrion pointed out in disappointment, feeling the beads of sweat forming upon his back. "Whatever Baelish and his allies seek to gain from what transpired at the capital, is currently beyond our ability to curtail. But not yours, is it?"
"Normally, such secrets would intrigue me," the Spider admitted, without answering the question, "but I wish the Lady of Dragonstone ended as soon as possible. Time wasted uncovering her plots is time she gains readying our graves."
"You did not seem to be so altruistic when you served the Mad King, Varys," Tywin deadpanned.
"Only because of the promise shown by his successor, my lord," the man countered smoothly. "For all the ruin King Aerys brought to Westeros, King Rheagarcouldhave been there to mitigate them upon his ascension."
"Hmph," Tywin snorted, his sharp features turning sharper in the firelight, "was it not you that warned him of Rhaegar's supposed plot at Harrenhall?"
"Had I said nothing, and the prince had accomplished what he may or may not have been planning at the tourney, I would have been the first to burn." Varys turned to the Lord of the Rock, "I did what I did out of necessity, my lord, and would do so again. For even I could not have foreseen the events that would grip the country following Harrenhall. Whatever promise, Rhaegar held, died with him on the Trident after he was unable to fix his mistakes. And now? Now the only promise we are left with is Queen Azula, and the charred corpses she and her ilk will leave in their wake.Aftershe is ended, only then will I sift through the ruins of her network to see what she had planned."
"QueenAzula?" the impetuous spawn of Cersei laughed a mirthless laugh. "My father is still yet King," he added bitterly.
"But for how long, Prince Joffrey?" the eunuch questioned. "Let us not fool ourselves on what happens after this war is done, shall we? When time and distance permits, Azula Baratheonwillsee both the King and Lord Renly disposed of before either have the chance to sire any heirs. Doubly so, should Stannis Baratheon perish before them. And if the coming weeks see him riding out from King's Landing, then I fear that even he may be expendable in her plans."
"I did not take you for one with wild theories, Spider," Tywin snorted.
"Would that I had believed in them earlier, my lord, then your blood would still be sitting upon the Iron Throne." Varys stared at the lord lion, as the words left his puckered lips. "And if you wish example of the destruction Azula and her cursed offspring would bring to the realm, then you needn't look further than that of her spawn, Ursa. Thelittle girlcurrently burning down your lands.'The Red Stranger'I believe they call her?"
"A pompous title," Tyrion saw his father's jaw clench, twitching at the grim reminder. In that instant, as he looked between the lion and the spider, Tyrion believed the eunuch lying of his castration and possessing the largest set of balls in the room.
"No doubt, but'The Butcher and the Stranger?'"the fat man continued, pausing ever so briefly, so as to allow all within the hall the chance to mull the words over.
"It sounds like the title of a book involving friendship and harmony," Tyrion couldn't help but comment in his usual voice of dripping sarcasm.
"I imagine it to be a very short book," Varys replied with a side glance.
"I, for one, hope it long and with a happy ending," he countered.
"As do we all? Nevertheless, such titles do not exactly fill one with much optimism for the future of Westeros, do they? Especially when attached to a singular family?" Varys turned to the face the bald lion of the Rock, leveling eyes with him before speaking. "Even after nearly two fortnights of discussions, you still think me duplicitous in my intentions, my lord? Do you truly believe after all my years of service to the crown, that I would have so brazenly walked into the jaws of the lion with deceit upon my tongue and the blade of treachery concealed within my hand?"
"It isbecauseof your long service to the crown that I hold reservation,Varys. Yourmethodsduring your tenure as Aerys' Master of Whisperers were not something that escaped my notice while I was his hand," the Lord Lannister growled.
Tyrion caught the stares of a dozen eyes swinging to and fro the Lord of Casterly Rock and the former spymaster, save those of the Blood Rose, who seemed more preoccupied in quiet contemplation and the half-eaten fruit still in his hand. His sister's eldest, meanwhile, appeared lost. Almost as if he had been looking for something within Tywin's cold green eyes but receiving nothing in response. "Ahem," the smallest Lannister coughed, wishing to dispel the tension that had gripped the hall and immediately drawing the attention of twin emeralds and lustrous amethysts. "On the topic of councils and claimants," he continued, now that all eyes were upon him. Looking towards the former spymaster, Tyrion asked the question that had been dancing upon his tongue ever since hearing of the sellsword company marching with the Dornish. "The Golden Company," he said bluntly. "What are their intentions? What have your little birds told you of them?"
"What would you have me say of them?" the spymaster raised a brow. "They are a simple sellsword company seeking gainful employment?" After a moment of lingering thought, a smirk came upon the eunuch's lips. "Or do you refer to their storied history of supporting Blackfyres? You believe them to have some hidden claimant?"
"The thought had crossed my mind," Tyrion retorted behind steepled fingers. "One that I'm certain would eventually cross the woman's mind, if it hasn't already."
"I see," Varys said, the soft smile having never left his face. "Well, in order to assuage your formidable mind, my lord. I can promise you that, to my knowledge, they possess no ulterior motive. Long have they been known to take contracts for wars that they are confident will result in victory. The promise of the riches of the Rock, after the war is done, no doubt had an influence in their decision to sail for Westeros. The woman has regrettably stacked the deck against us, and the vultures are circling our soon-to-be corpses. I'm told the acting hand is planning to broach the topic of repayment, to Iron Bank, once this war is done."
"Using Lannister gold," his father's jaws twitched. "Azula Baratheon plans too far ahead."
"Dark words," was all Tyrion could say, before he poured himself a goblet of wine. The mood had grown somber, but he was not going to allow himself to fall into despair. He knew he could think of a way out of their seemingly doomed circumstances, but he needed time. "Pycelle," he said. "Will he be going to the Wall alone?"
"No," Varys answered. "He will be accompanied by eighty-six of the Queen's gold cloaks and what remains of her Lannister guard. Fourteen, to be exact. They have taken a ship from the capital to Eastwatch-by-the Sea," the man frowned looking down towards the area of the Wall.
"Hmmm, surprising, especially given Azula's reputation," Tyrion pointed out. "I would have thought only a handful to have remained with their lives after King's Landing?" He thought for a moment, then glanced towards Joffrey. "You may yet get your wish, at seeing the man pay for his betrayal, nephew. A simple raven to the wall could see it done," he sipped at his wine, looking to his father.
"Our wayward Grandmaester will be dealt with, in time, you can rest assured of that," the Lord of the Rock remained still as he spoke. "You speak of your little birds and wishing the woman dead, and yet still she lives? Are they incapable of killing her and bringing me her head?" a dangerous shimmer came over the eyes of the old lion, his frown and gaze appearing more as the beast of their house than mere man.
"Hah," Varys chuckled. "Were it only so easy?"
"And if it were, you wouldn't have come?" Tyrion observed, understanding the unspoken words hidden in the eunuch's reply.
"There would have been no need to," the spymaster raised a brow. "The Lady Azula would have been dead and buried long before our circumstances had the opportunity to become so dire. Even now, as we speak, my little birds circle the woman looking for an opening.Anyopening," A soft grin curled the fat man's lips, even shadowed by uncertainty as it was. "Sadly, she is proving to be remarkably astute and exceedingly resilient to all attempts at assassination. Numerous cat's paws, have I sent, and all have suffered sudden disappearances long before they can accomplish their deadly task. Poisoned darts? Knives in the dark? She drinks from poisoned cups, and eats from poisoned plates, as if they had been nothing more than standard fare. At all times is she well-guarded. Never do her protectors sleep or speak. Nor can they be bought."
"A lesson learned from her experience at Pyke, most likely," the Blood Rose stated calmly, receiving several nods in agreement.
"Yes," the eunuch frowned. "A lesson regrettably learned far too soon to benefit us, my good ser."
"Speaking of Pyke," the Tyrell shifted upon his heels. "What whispers have you heard from the Iron Islands, eunuch, now that Lord Greyjoy has fallen ill?"
Tyrion held back bated breath, knowing his father had yet to reveal the state of the islands to anyone save Tyrion himself.
"Nothing," the spymaster shook his head. "What little birds I had upon the island have long since stopped sending word to me on the state of the Greyjoy domain. My untimely flight from King's Landing has seen my web momentarily disrupted. Though, judging by the hand the woman can yet play, I imagine she will press for her Greyjoy ward to be made Lord Reaver of Pyke. Though, rather strangely, she has yet to dispatch Ser Theon to the islands to stake his claim. I have only heard of four wooden ships headed for the Iron Islands, but none more than that. They apparently did not fly the colors of Dragonstone, but those of the free cities."
"Who cares about the bloody Ironborn!? What little ships they have, are worthless against the true Iron fleet of Dragonstone!" Blazing green eyes turned their fire towards the Master of Whisperers. "You?! Had you not fled like a coward, and been more attentive, then we could have been spared this embarrassing charade of a war!" the pinched-faced bosy spat, clenching his fists.
"Perhaps not, my prince. I am no hero. I do not lead armies. Nor do I possess the clout of lords to see my will done so openly. It is in the shadows in which Masters of Whisperers work best. In whichIwork best. Not in the light of day, that so many above my station do. The woman skirted the border between both. She walked in the twilight, as if she was born to it, and she played to her strengths very well." A wistful look came over the eunuch for a moment, before his eyes slowly darkened. "She kept what she needed to,unseen,forfifteen-years, herself included. And when she did reveal herself, it was only when she made her voyages to Volantis and its Red Temple, or during times of conflict," the Spider continued on in an ever-blackening mood. "Would that she had married the King in Cersei's stead? Or the fates had conspired to see Stannis Baratheon granted Storm's End?"
"Why?" he asked, knowing full well that the one most responsible for seeing Stannis Baratheon made Lord of Dragonstone and Cersei queen, was standing at the head of the table.
"Her position as Queen, or the wife of a Lord Paramount, would have forced her and her secrets into the light far sooner. Which would have allowed us a proper defense against her," the gelded spymaster answered quickly. "Her marriage to Stannis Baratheon, and her subsequent ladyship of Dragonstone granted her a certain anonymity and provided an isolated position in which to grow her power. Such things that were difficult to call into question without raising suspicion," the normally pleasant-looking guise of the perfumed man became menacing and dark.
"Do you think she planned for such an outcome?" he asked of the eunuch, whose features still lingered beneath shadowy contempt for the Lady Baratheon.
"Truly, I do not know," a soft sigh preceded deflated shoulders, before relaxing in almost sudden realization. "If she did, then it was a masterstroke. If it was not, then she took to the situation as a fish to water," a sudden spark came into eunuch's eyes. "Oh, how forgetful of me! There is a bit of good news, in these dark times. At least for your knightly brother, my lord," Varys clarified with neutral expression as he gazed towards the lord lion.
"Go on," his father commanded of the former council member, thoughts carefully hidden beneath glittering emeralds.
"My little birds say there have been no whispers regarding the fate of one Lancel Lannister. Neither hide, nor hair of him, have they seen. So, it is possible that he may yet live," the rotund man raised his brow with his words. "Imprisoned somewhere upon Dragonstone, most assuredly, but alive."
"Of course, he is," Tyrion grumbled, even as he presented a false smile. "And I'm sure uncle Kevan would be delighted to hear such joyous news!" he added, before looking towards his father, his mind suspecting the true reason of his cousin's continued survival being one of legitimacy.
"He wouldn't serve the woman much good as a hostage," Prester declared. "There would be nothing to trade. Save everyone in this castle and our unconditional surrender. Likely followed by a series of gruesome executions."
"Yes, it would be quite the spectacle, wouldn't it? The Lady Azula has a flair for the dramatic, if nothing else," Varys said as the wide cuffs of his plain robe swished in subtle movement to see plump hands hidden from sight.
"She has no intention of using him as a hostage, Lord Prester. Assuming he does yet live," Tyrion reasoned, seeing the slight nod of approval coming from both the eunuch and his father. "She needs a Lannister puppet, once this war is done. One meant to secure the Westerlands. Its plausible that she'll wed him to one of her daughters," he idled, watching as the stony gaze of his father's emerald eyes shifted between, he and the spymaster.
"A prudent move, but one best not dwelled upon, I would think?" Varys muttered, stroking his fat chin. "Perhaps when victory is far closer, hmm?"
"I agree. These ideas are just a distraction, and do nothing to better our position," his father said through tightened jaws, to which the Spider nodded.
Shaking away the notion, Tyrion turned towards Joffrey, before returning to the subject that was his original purpose for speaking. "You need to pay heed to Lord Terrence, nephew."
"On what, uncle?" the boy-prince snarled, seemingly having forgotten of what they had earlier been speaking.
"On the movement of our troops," Tyrion clarified, as he reared forward, moving his empty cup to the side. His upper chest barely cleared the table, but he cared not.
Joffrey blinked, and Tyrion saw the flash of recollection as it entered the boy's eyes.
"Not only is it fool-hardy," he continued, once all had returned to thoughts on the war proper, "but what you propose would also leave the Rock and Lannisport almost completely defenseless." Sighing, Tyrion strode across the stone floor, before coming to stand near the stiff form of his father.
"Those damned direwolves of theirs will sniff us out long before we get in close enough to evenseethem. Just as they did after Sarsfield and the Tooth," Lord Terrence pressed his point. "By now, it should be self-evident that catching the northerners by surprise is a moot point. Even if we advance downwind of one, the other wolf will not be far behind. The Stark boy and his bastard brother have seen them spaced out well. Too well…"
"Ahem," the Blood Rose cleared his throat. "If you don't mind my indulging of the prince's ideas, my lords?" Ser Loras glanced towards the Lord Lion of the Rock and Lord Kenning of Kayce, both of whom nodded stiffly in acknowledgement.
Out of the corner of his eye, Tyrion saw his father glaring at Cersei's eldest before the Tyrell had even finished speaking. Shirking back slightly at Tywin Lannister's cold stare, his nephew remained utterly silent as the young knight began to speak.
With a simple bow of the head, the Tyrell prefaced his next words with a bored sigh. "Ifwe could somehow manage to avoid both of the wolves and make it past their scouts, a feat not so easily accomplished with such a large force, we would still need to ascertain where their fire sorcerers are prior to engagement. Because they would all need to be put to the sword first, once the ambush is sprung, or we risk being caught in the same firestorm that saw to my father's defeat outside Storm's End all those years ago. And given the Baratheon girl is near the age her mother was at the end of the rebellion, it would be a poetic end to our force, if not unfortunate. Therefore, her location must be identified and acted uponimmediately, especially if reports of her power are to be believed. Killed or captured, it does not matter, as long as it is done before she has chance to escape. A target that will no doubt heavily guarded, mind you."
"Then we send daggers in the night to end them, while keeping our main force downwind of their overgrown dogs," the boy prince snorted, as if the solution were so simple.
"A wise decision, my prince," Ser Loras nodded. "However, we have no way of knowing where exactly they are so as to achieve such a decisive first-strike against them. We have no spies amongst them to inform us of such. Unless you are keeping such news from us, Lord Varys?" the Blood Rose turned to face the Spider.
"I have no news, as of yet, ser," the eunuch admitted, though Tyrion still held his doubts at the spymaster's admissions. "The movement of their army has not been predicable enough to allow my little birds chance at interception and embedment."
'Likely at the behest of Azula, herself,'he suspected.
"Be that as it may, seeing as we are bereft of accurate information, we would need to scour their entire camp and locate themwithoutbeing seen. No doubt Azula's general has ensured their security, during marches and encampments, so as to make it as difficult as possible to remove them from the field in such a manner. The only thing we can assume is that they are nestled somewhere within the center of every formation, which is not a position so easily reached, even under the cover of night. Not only does this need to be done, but we would need to kill at least half of the North and Riverlander host at the onset. Which is why our army needs to be fairly close to theirs, elsewise they would have a chance at regrouping for a counterattack."
"We should land them at Crakehall then," young emerald eyes scanned the areas of the map near Silverhill. "March, then position them at Cornfield, while our assassins steal forward and do their work."
"A plan not without merit," Tyrion confessed, before countering with doubt. "It does, however, leave our fleet out in the open. Should this be what Azula wishes, and if her Ironships are lurking just out of sight? Then they could pounce upon our fleet before they have the chance to disgorge themselves of our fighting men. Thereby losing us both our fleetandarmy. Remember, the woman's ships need not the wind. They are more than capable of hiding far enough away from shore, so as to be unseen, yet close enough to move in quickly should they be called. Their hawks fly faster than ravens, afterall, and definitely far faster than our sailing ships."
"I am afraid there has been no news of the royal fleet's movements for some time. At least not of the Iron ships," the fat man looked to him then his father, skulking about near the edge of the table, with an unreadable expression. "However, my time at Lannisport has exposed me to certain whispers."
"Such as?" Tyrion pushed.
"Like the four ships headed for the Iron Islands, many more are making port at White Harbor, Sunspear, and Storm's End. All bearing the colors of the free cities. Make of them what you will and take them not to heart."
"Trade?" a voice in the room suggested.
"Possibly, but the Lady of Dragonstone has proven to be quite cunning. A ruse, maybe?" Kenning suggested.
"Even if it was, and they caught us unawares, our fleet could take the four ships traveling to the Iron Islands," Ser Loras added. "Should the worst come to pass, and Lord Greyjoy's illness proves to have been some elaborate scheme to see the kraken joined with the stags, they would not have had enough time to construct a fleet worth a damn. Especially not on those shit-stained rocks. He was commanded to only maintain a fleet of mere fishing boats and trading cogs, under pain of death by the King, was he not?"
"He was," the eunuch answered.
"And I trust the orders were still being followed to the letter while you still served at King's Landing, Lord Varys?"
"They were," the man replied with a tilt of the head. "King Robert made certain to make Lord Stannis and the Lady Azula his handlers. Both kept watchful eyes upon him, and given the woman's now openly ambitious nature, she would have most certainly been looking for any excuse to execute the Lord of Pyke in order to replace him with her Greyjoy puppet." Varys glanced towards Tyrion and the Lord of Casterly Rock, sharing an almost knowing look with them, though in regard to what Tyrion was unsure.
"Hmmm. Well, ignoring this admittedly large hole in planning, let us assume our ambush is sprung without hitch. In all likelihood, the Dragonstone army will flare to life, as it should, as it has no doubt been trained to do by the Lord and Lady of Dragonstone. No doubt it will use the respite granted to them, by surrounding Northmen, to discern the best course of action. As for the Northerners? Well, we know they are bestial in combat, but even more so when they are cornered or caught in surprise. It is a near certainty that their ferocity will grant the Dragonstone force the time it needs to begin ringing the death knell of our impossible ambush, if we have not eliminated their benders by then."
"Bah! Are you not theBlood Rose?" Joffrey spat, his pinched little face appearing more akin to an arsehole than normal. "Why do I hear such cowardice spilling forth from you? Why do I hear the rumblings of submission?"
"It is not cowardice, my prince. Nor do I suggest surrender," the Tyrell shrugged apathetically. "Simply caution. Because with the power they command, any trap we commit to, the benders can quickly turn into a rout. Contrary to what you might believe, their army is not commanded by fools, and what little scouts have returned say our forces are in balance. We need at least triple their number to stand a chance at victory, and this isbeforeKing Robert arrives with his reinforcements. After that it may as well be a slaughter."
"I agree," Tyrion said, sharing a look with both his father and the Tyrell ward, both of whom knew about the rumored Tyrell betrayal, with only one knowing of the potential Greyjoy alliance. "We cannot afford losing our men in some half-arsed assault that has a large chance at failure."
"And if we do nothing, we lose just the same, only slower, you little monster," his nephew hissed.
"Slower is better than sooner," Tyrion continued. "We need our men more than the northerners do, and right now the only thing we know is that the enemy has ceased their advance. Allowing us time to breathe and plan."
"Planning!?" Joffrey sneered, his emerald eyes burning with rage as he scanned the faces of those within the room, Tyrion's own included. "There is no planning here!" the boy slammed his fist upon the table. "We are only biding our time, hiding away under this rock, while everything around us burns!" Joffrey said, raising his hands in presentation of their current surroundings. "We need to kill them all! We need to end the witch and her hellspawn before they destroy what is rightfully mine! Azula! She has entranced my father!" Cersei's eldest roared to them all, "and she will pay with her screams, and that of her treacherous life!"
"And what matter of abundant resources do you think we have, my prince, which would allow us to see such a thing done?" Tyrion scoffed at Cersei's impudent little boy. "We have nothing here! Save the clothes on our backs!" Secretly, he found himself stealing a knowing look towards his father.'When will you tell them?'he wondered, thinking of the proposed alliance sent from the self-proclaimed King of Pyke, Euron Greyjoy.
"Then we should march fully against the raiders near Ashemark, before Marbrand surrenders, and adds himself to our ever-growing list of traitors!" Cersei's boy dug his finger into the table and map splayed upon it.
The Tyrell countered instantly in a tone of sheer boredom. "It is doubtlessly a trap. I'm sure Marbrand has already surrendered, and the raids in Ashemark are merely meant to lure us in."
All around, Tyrion saw various degrees of haggard faces, save the Tyrell's. Reading the room, he knew the war was nearing its inevitable conclusion. A gruesome end that would most certainly would not be beneficial to his person. He sighed and poured himself another cup of wine.