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The Red Keep

My Lord,

I would have you come to the capitol at your earliest convenience to discuss the joining of our houses.

Sincerely, Brandon of House Stark, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

"…Is that it?" Sam looked up from the raven scroll in his hands to the other side of the desk. Brandon stared back, utterly unmoved. On the windowsill behind him, a bird tweeted merrily in the morning air.

"It is perfectly sufficient."

"Well-yes, it's certainly that." Sam swallowed hard, racking his brains. "But…shouldn't it be a bit more…?" He gestured vaguely with his free hand, making small waving motions in the air.

"What?" Brandon's eyebrows made the smallest movement inwards.

"It's just…" Sam rubbed his forehead. "I'm not sure if it's the "I would have you", or the titles, but the whole thing is just a bit…cold. I'm only saying, if I were Robert Arryn, these words wouldn't exactly predispose me positively towards you." He placed the scroll down, pushing a quill and ink towards Brandon once again. "I know this isn't your way, but…can't you just pretend a little?"

Brandon gave the slightest sniff. "I was never any good at pretending. I have written exactly what needs to be written, and nothing more. Now, I have more important matters to attend to…" His attention had already turned to the bird in the window.

Sam sighed heavily, rubbing his tired eyes with both hands. "Your Grace. You know I love Jon. But learning to pretend-even a tiny bit-would have made the world of difference to him…"

Brandon's features were very much a relic of his Tully heritage, but, for a moment, he strongly resembled his father. "If everyone lies and pretends, the truth ceases to mean anything at all." he said decisively. "Deliver the note to Lord Tyrion exactly as it is. He is almost ready to leave."

Past the Bloody Gate

Of course, the Eyrie had been designed to be intimidating. Not much truly intimidated Tyrion any more-something about working in close proximity to dragons took most of the fear out of a man. However, around the point they passed the Bloody Gate, Tyrion experienced such an acute sense of déjà vu that he had to catch himself. It felt as if only yesterday, he had been dragged by Catlyn Stark and her men to answer for crimes he had not committed. And yet…it also felt as if a hundred years had passed since that simple, simple time…

"You know, Podrick," said Tyrion, as they finally approached the great Eyrie. "one could say that this was where my adventures truly began."

"Yes, my lord." said Ser Podrick Payne, sitting up proudly on his horse, despite the undesirable length of their journey. Dressed in such fine armour, his white cloak flying out behind him in the wind, he looked as though he had been a knight all his life. Tyrion gave him a small smile; he took a lot of delight in the assent of his old squire to greatness. Though, every time he saw a white cloak clip around a corner in the Red Keep, he could not help but think, for less than a second, that Jaime had come back to him…and in those moments, it felt as if all the organs had fallen out of his body and splashed horribly to the floor, leaving him broken and empty…Tyrion pursed his lips.

Without the weight of false accusation upon him, the beauty of the Eyrie could be truly appreciated. It was an astounding feat of architecture. Tyrion could almost understand why the Vale so kept itself to itself. After all, who would want to leave such an astonishing place? Well, he hoped-young Robin Arryn would. Genuinely, and this was very much a rarity for him…Tyrion had no idea how the little lord would receive him.

Little lord…Robin was a man now; Tyrion had seen as much for himself. Still, somehow, every time he thought of him, he envisioned the little boy in his mother's lap…what a repellent little scab he had been. Perhaps he was being too harsh. Perhaps the boy had matured. Then again…perhaps not.

If Tyrion had learned anything from his time in the world, it was that everyone deserved a second chance.

The Eyrie

"Lord Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King," Tyrion announced himself. "And Ser Podrick Payne of the Kingsguard."

"Yes." said the red-headed Knight of the Vale who had received them in the entrance hall of the Eyrie. The high rafted ceilings were painted with stars and moons, the vast stone room filled with colourful tapestries depicting the great acts of Arryn ancestors. Dominating the hall was a large square banner, bearing a blue falcon cast in silhouette over a full moon. The knight's large shield also bore the Arryn sigil, and his eyes, a look of distrust. "I know who you are." He pointedly looked Tyrion up and down, reminding him that his was still one of the most recognisable faces in Westeros.

Tyrion coughed slightly into the awkward silence. "I suppose you are going to escort us to the High Hall?"

"No." said the knight bluntly, continuing to stare him down.

Tyrion had to bite back a thousand frustrated retorts. Summoning all his dignity, he spoke. "I come as an envoy from the king, to be received by Lord Arryn. If you will not escort us to the High Hall, I am very happy to find it alone. Believe me, I know the way."

"No." said the surly knight again, not deigning to explain himself.

At this-the weariness of his long journey caught up to him, and Tyrion burst out: "Well, what are you going to do with us, then? Lead us in a dance all around the walls of the castle? Perform a strip tease for us? You will take me to Lord Arryn, or I will tell your lord which of his knights disobeyed the crown!"

The knight still looked unabashed. He appeared to be on the verge of rolling his eyes. "You will follow me to the council chamber."

"Only if it is not too much trouble!" Tyrion blurted-but, with a pained look from Pod, he held his tongue. What was it these young knights were taught these days? It had been so different when he was in his youth…or had it? Nonetheless, Tyrion and Pod followed the red-headed knight through narrow stone corridors, glinting with relics of the history of House Arryn, until, finally, they were ushered through a wooden door.

The council chamber was small, but its windows and high ceilings gave the illusion of space. There were two large chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, strewn with countless candles, and two metal sunbursts mounted to the walls. Around its perimeter were large stone pillars, and squat stone benches on which to sit. And, upon these benches, at the far end of the room, sat three grey-robed people, watching and waiting to receive the royal. There were two white-haired men, and one slender white-haired lady, who all bore the unmistakeable marks of aristocracy. Instantly, Tyrion was reminded as to exactly what extent the Vale could present a front of absolute unity.

"My Lord Royce." he said respectfully to the closest of the three. Royce was an enormous man, who, standing, was almost as tall as the Hound had been. Effortlessly, he commanded absolute esteem-an effect Tyrion had desired for as long as he could remember. "My lord, my lady." he continued, greeting the rest of the assembled party. "Thank you for receiving me. The-the beauty of the Vale is truly-"

"Lord Hand." cut in Royce, his voice neither pleasant, nor unpleasant. "You are welcome in the Vale."

Tyrion was not sure how seriously he should take this welcoming. It was as if the very stones of the castle were trying to turn him out.

"I do apologise that you were not received in the High Hall, as befits your status" Royce continued, fixing Tyrion with a very hard stare. "But we thought it was prudent to meet with you first. To ensure we are all of a common understanding, before we involve Lord Arryn himself."

Tyrion was somewhat surprised by this, feeling more wrong-footed by the second. "Surely Lord Arryn ought to be present to discuss the terms of his own betrothal?"

The white-haired lady's nostrils flared. "Lord Arryn's betrothal is our affair. He does not know that you have arrived yet. It is better this way."

There was a confused, protracted silence.

"Would you take a cup of wine?" she finally offered, without warmth. "You must be exhausted from your journey."

Tyrion licked his dry lips, before he began to speak. "Never too exhausted to serve the realm, good lady." He had a feeling that he was already fighting a losing battle-and so resolved to play all his best cards. "I come as an envoy from Brandon of House Stark, First of his Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Our king values the contribution of the Vale to the kingdoms, and is eager to make a permanent alliance through marriage..." He paused. "Of course, such an opportunity for advancement of the Vale's prospects and position comes less than once in a generation. In accordance with the terms set out for you by Grand Maester Tarly, I believe we can come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement."

Royce was quiet for a moment, watching Tyrion like a hawk as much as listening to him. Then, he spoke: "You are a remarkable creature, Lannister. How is it that you have seen so many kings and queens come and go, and yet here you remain, with the badge of the Hand still upon your chest? Joffrey, the bastard of incest, then the Dragon Queen…You have been tortured, maimed, sold, disgraced, and damn near executed in the time between your stints as Hand. In truth, it is astonishing that you are not dead. How is it that you have stayed afloat, while so many around you have drowned?"

Tyrion paused, before he answered. "I am good at swimming, I suppose."

Royce made a small grunting noise. "And now you want us to send our lord, the only surviving son of Jon Arryn, down to that cesspit of a capitol to marry a king we hardly know."

"A king you chose." Tyrion carefully reminded him. "I understand that it must be difficult to send young Robert away from home, but-"

"Oh, it's not that." scoffed Royce, a glint in his eye. "As far as I am concerned, the deal is done, and the quicker it is sealed, the better for all of us."

There was some subtle nodding from the silent lord and the white-haired lady. Tyrion, meanwhile, was quite nonplussed. "I am sorry, my lord, I am not sure I understand. Robert Arryn is Lord Paramount of the Vale. To send him out of the Vale is-"

"My Lord Hand, please mark my words carefully, because I will say this only once." Royce leaned forward in his seat, and lowered the tone of his voice a fraction. His eyes were deadly serious. "Moving Lord Arryn to the capitol will have almost no effect on the government of the Vale."

Tyrion looked around him at the assembled lords and lady of the Vale, all wearing quietly knowing expressions. In less than a second, without another word, he understood the arrangement as well as anyone else in the chamber. Robert Arryn was as a figurehead upon the bow of a ship. The real power in the Vale stood before him. Once more, he could not help but feel rather alone in the face of such a united front.

In silent acknowledgement, Tyrion nodded once.

"Good," said Royce, leaning back and taking a long drink of wine from the cup in his hand. "It is settled, then." The corner of his mouth drooped down slightly, as if in disgust. "I fostered the boy for years, ever since that rodent Baelish did away with his mother. I did my best to raise him into a man…" He took another drink. "Still, I live in hope that my efforts will yet prove not wasted…"

Tyrion felt a good degree of respect for the man, as well as reasonable sympathy. "I promise Lord Arryn will be safe in Kings Landing."

Royce looked at Tyrion over the rim of his cup-and snorted. "Perhaps that will be the first lie he will hear in the capitol."

"I was merely trying to assuage your parental concerns regarding the welfare of your ward." Tyrion murmured, half-sarcastically.

Once more, Royce gave a bark-like grunt. "Believe me, Lord Hand, I love and serve House Arryn, and will for all my days, but the boy…" He shook his head in a rather tired manner-before clenching his jaw. "Life in the capitol may be the making of him. Give him some menial occupation on the small council, something to keep him busy-but he should not be trusted with anything of real consequence. I wish I could say he will serve you well, but frankly, that would be an insult to your intelligence."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Thank you for not insulting my intelligence."

"You can be assured that the Vale will bolster the crown's coffers and armed forces to the extent we agreed with Tarly. We are not the Lannisters, but we are more than enough to make a difference. Every man from the Vale is worth ten from the rest of the kingdoms."

"Who truly are the Lannisters anymore?" Tyrion said lightly, keeping his voice free of the emotion which was threatening to build inside his throat.

"Your maester is right. It is high time the great Vale of Arryn was brought back into the fold."

"This is then a deal well-struck," said Tyrion, feeling at last the first warm rushes of triumph. "I look forward to our new partnership."

"Very good." said Royce, draining his cup. Then, he turned to his companions. "I suppose we had better tell Robin the good news…"

"My Lord Arryn." said Tyrion, giving a short bow to the weirwood throne. As he inclined his neck, he was more than aware of the Moon Door, waiting covered at his feet. It had been only upon the roll of a god's dice that he had not been cast into its gaping maw himself. But there was not time to consider the not inconsiderable adventures that had shaped his life to this point. Now, he had to consider the young lord before him-who, as a child, had cheerfully bayed for his blood from his mother's lap. Perhaps this was why it stuck Tyrion that the throne looked rather empty with only one figure sitting upon it.

"My," he began, making his voice sound warmer and more cheerful than he felt, the tone in which he had spoken to Tommen and Myrcella as children. "How you have grown."

"I still cannot believe they sent the Imp!"

Robin's voice echoed throughout the hall, as did the silence that followed. The young lord was dressed in fine clothes of blue and grey, a large cloak fastened with a falcon broach at his chest. He slouched on the weirwood throne, one leg dangling over the arm, as he regarded Tyrion with a careful mixture of superiority and disgust.

"My lord," came a calm voice from the dark-haired woman by his side. "You are addressing the hand of the king-"

"It's alright," Tyrion was far too accustomed to this treatment to pay much mind to it other than a dismissive wave of the hand. It seemed as if, no matter how often he saved the necks of every man, woman, and child in Westeros, he was still no more than a dwarf in their eyes. "I am sure the…high emotion of the occasion lends itself well to ill-considered outbursts. We will simply move on."

"You will not give me orders in my own hall!" Lord Arryn shouted, that whinging quality returning in force to his tone. "I am Lord Paramount of all the Vale, and you are in the Vale. Therefore, my word is your law!"

Not much fazed Tyrion these days. Least of all a pampered teenage lord. With the quiet rustlings of disapproval and the subtle shaking of heads around him, Tyrion's knowledge that Robin's true power was limited was reinforced in earnest. He was, frankly, a kitten compared with the likes of Joffrey. However, Tyrion knew more than any that, whilst he was in the Eyrie, he must play the game Lord Arryn's way, or he would lose.

"Forgive me, my lord," said Tyrion, forcing a smile once more. "I am weary from my long journey. Allow me to begin once again." He gave a careful cough. "I come as an envoy from Brandon of House Stark, First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Our king values the support of the Vale, and recognises the historical successes of a good relationship between the crown and the great and noble House of Arryn. The importance he places upon your position in the six kingdoms is epitomised by the fact he sent me, his own Hand, to broker this agreement...In a sentence, he proposes to join the great houses of Stark and Arryn in marriage."

Lord Arryn seemed unmoved by this news. Doubtless, he had been warned what was to come. He simply stared; his large, childlike eyes unwavering in the cold sunlight.

"If it is so important to him, why did he not come himself?"

Tyrion missed only one beat. "I am sure you understand why our king finds long journeys difficult to endure." There was a veiled accusation in the tone, an implication of insensitivity to Brandon's lack of mobility-of the physical kind, at least. His patience was already wearing thin.

Perhaps there was the slightest recognition in the face of Lord Arryn. He may have even experienced a flash of embarrassment. Nonetheless, he turned once more to the woman beside him, who murmured inaudibly into his ear.

Tyrion waited, standing before the throne like a man on trial.

Finally, Robin spoke. This time-it was with a rather excited smile.

"I have decided not to directly accept the crown's proposal, but to visit the capitol first and meet with His Grace." Here, he gave a self-satisfied smirk. "Only then shall I conclude whether such a marriage would be beneficial for House Arryn, and for the Vale."

Tyrion felt a tightening in his chest. He had been expecting such a statement. Once more, he arranged his aching features into a sickly grin. "A wiser decision was never made, my lord."

"It is settled then. Just as our lord would have it." barked Royce, as if the agreement had not already been sewn up in the chamber beforehand. Tyrion well understood the game they were playing; the tyrannical young Robin must believe that he himself made any given decision, and only then would he do exactly what his puppet masters at the veil wanted. It was a tactic he had tried on Joffrey, for a time...until the young king had grown wise to it... "Lord Arryn will ride with you to Kings Landing, accompanied by my bastard and his personal guard."

"Yes, that is absolutely-" Tyrion had begun automatically to agree, still thinking about Joffrey-but, all of a sudden, he fully comprehended what had just been said to him. "Wait. Lord Arryn will ride with me?"

"Oh yes…" said Royce, his eyes shining. Clearly, he found great joy in Tyrion's obvious dismay. "Oh yes...You will accompany Lord Arryn on the Kingsroad. There will be plenty of time for you to get to know one another on the way..."

Tyrion paused for a long moment, staring in horror at the repellent adolescent upon the throne-before, like a deranged puppet-doll, he painted a false smile upon his face. "Wonderful. How much I look forward to it…" he spat out, through gritted teeth.

"Mmm…" Royce gave him a very nasty smile.

"And your bastard?" Tyrion looked all around the High Hall, desperate to change the subject. "Where is the lad?"

"Here."

Tyrion whipped around in the direction of the voice, which had come from in front of him. Standing there, beside the weirwood throne, wearing a cloak of charcoal grey, was a pale young woman with hair so dark it looked almost black, tied in a thick plait which crept over her shoulder. The Dark Lady gave a wan smile, and stepped forward.

"My Lord Hand. I am Alyssa Stone."

Thank you again for reading! I hope you continue to read. If so, see you tomorrow! 3

Cheeky Hint 1: Tyrion has the least enjoyable road-trip of his life

Cheeky Hint 2: A new invention will be unveiled...

Stay tuned for more! xxx