Tyrion sent a letter, now he receives a letter.


TYRION II

Tyrion needed some time to recover. He was breathing heavily and quickly, sweating. When he could breathe more easily, he turned his face to his left. She was looking at him, her red hair falling on her back that was covered up to the breast by the covers. She was lying on her belly and looking at him, an uncertain smile on her lips. Her blue eyes remembered him of Tysha.

"Did you like it?" she asked him.

Tyrion laughed. "I should be the one asking you this. You didn't do much." He sat and caressed her cheek, removing a strand of hair from it. "Did you like it?"

Her smile grew a little. "Yes."

Tyrion looked at her eyes. They remembered him of Tysha. He supposed she was telling the truth. Alla was a scullion, not a whore. He kept passing her hair between his fingers and caressing her cheek for some time, but he remembered in the end.

"You should leave. You know you cannot stay here for the whole night."

"Yes, of course. Sorry." The smile disappeared immediately from her face and she left the bed, taking her clothes on the floor and putting them on again. It didn't matter that her clothes had been on the floor. They were always dirty. That was inevitable when you worked in the kitchens.

Tyrion looked at the girl. Despite being unwashed, she was quite pretty. She had no more bruises on her skin. Tyrion had the impression she was cleaner than usually these last times. Perhaps she tried to wash herself with some water in the kitchens or from some random basin before she came here. After weeks where she came twice or thrice a week to visit him at night, he still didn't know who Alla was for him. A whore? A woman he was bedding? A lover? Some of the three he guessed. He paid her. He shared his bed with her. He liked her. He felt pity for her.

"Alla, you know you're not obliged to visit me at all," he told her. She was done dressing.

"That's alright. It doesn't bother me. Not at all." She came more regularly to him for the two last weeks.

"Show me your hands," commanded Tyrion. She approached and showed them to him. They were all red with scratches from the cleaning she did all day. He pressed one a little with his thumb and she wailed. "Sorry. It hurts you?"

"It's alright. I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't have to hurt yourself that way."

"It doesn't matter. Things have been much better in the kitchens for the last few weeks. Thanks to you."

She was smiling at him, recognition in her eyes. Tyrion didn't feel he deserved it. "You could have even better. You could marry, have children, live with someone. Have a good man in your life who would take care of you."

"There aren't many men I met who were good. Except you," she said.

Tyrion averted his eyes from hers. "I'm not a good man, Alla."

"Yes, you are." He hated to be contradicted.

"Go, Alla. Try to not make yourself seen by anybody." She nodded, bowed awkwardly and walked away, but before she was at the door, Tyrion stopped her. "Wait." He came out of bed and took two silver stags than he handed her.

"I don't want money," she said gloomily.

"You need it more than me. Come on, take it."

She took it and left, still gloomy. Maybe he shouldn't have given her money, but Tyrion felt he had to. He went to the table, poured himself a drink and emptied it. Then he went back to bed and brought with him some ledgers of the Rock's accounts. If he tried to fall asleep right now, he wouldn't succeed. He would only roll in the bed for hours, missing Alla and her red locks. With a few hours of reading, he could hope to forget about her, and then he would be able to sleep for a few hours. That's what happened this night after he closed the ledgers.

On the morning, Tyrion worked on the accounts of all the taxes that were perceived in the Westerlands. They were fluctuating a lot, even the agricultural taxes that should bring the most constant revenues. Most of House Lannister's revenues came from their mines inside the Rock, but that was no reason to pay no attention to the minor taxes. Tyrion would have to inquire about the irregularities in the revenues generated by the land taxes.

In the afternoon, he held court in the Great Hall of Casterly Rock. The most important affair of the day happened when Ser Lorent Lorch came asking for financial aid because his house was bankrupt. Tyrion knew very well why the Lorchs were bankrupt.

"Ser Lorch, I think if you melted the gigantic statue you ordered for your father, you would have more than enough to escape bankruptcy."

"But, my lord, this statue is made at the image of my father. In his honor," the knight complained.

"Did you have to make a statue thirty feet tall in gold?" Laughter broke into the Hall. "Even the statue of my father is made of stone, and it's not thirty feet tall."

"My lord," pleaded Ser Lorch, "you have to help us."

"I helped you. I gave you an advice. You have to choose between the statue and your keep. If you choose the statue, I'm afraid the rains will weep over your hall before long when your creditors will come demanding their due. Thank you for coming, ser. You may leave now." The knight was stunned and didn't move. "Do you want me to fetch a bard so he can sing you a song of farewell?" Tyrion asked, irritated.

The lord left with a tail between his legs. People in the Hall were barely keeping their laughs. Tyrion looked at Kevan. His eyes were uncertain. He wasn't used to Tyrion's way to deal with his bannermen when it was time to make his authority felt. Lord Tywin Lannister had never used humor to keep his men loyal. Tyrion had decided to change that. Better to keep your men in line while laughing and making the others laugh. That made the task more enjoyable.

The herald announced the next petitioners. "Lord Gawen Westerling and Lady Sybell Westerling."

The couple moved forwards. There was a third person behind them, a very young girl with brown curls. The Lord of the Crag knelt as his wife and the one Tyrion thought was their daughter curtsied. He moved his hand to order them to stand up.

"My lord, we have come to Casterly Rock for tonight's feast," the father said.

"We thank you for your presence, Lord Westerling," answered Kevan. He and Tyrion exchanged a glance. They both knew why they came.

"My lord," said Lady Sybell, "we have brought our daughter with us. We wished to introduce her before all the Westerlands." They hadn't chosen the right feast for that. Most of the lords wouldn't be there, and they knew it. The girl stepped forward and curtsied. "My lord, let me present you and to you all our eldest daughter, Lady Jeyne Westerling."

"You may rise, my lady," Tyrion told her. She stood up. She wasn't ugly, and quite pretty in some way, though not a great beauty. According to Kevan, she was only twelve and recently flowered. She was looking at Tyrion with frightened eyes. He suspected he knew why. "Welcome to Casterly Rock, my lady. It is a pleasure to meet you. Lord Westerling, the hospitality of the Rock is yours and to your family as well."

"Thank you, my lord," said the Lord of the Crag. Then he left with his wife and his daughter. Tyrion reflected that it was the wife who led in this family.

The rest of the audience was without anything extraordinary. Some merchants and smallfolk came to ask for some thing or another and Tyrion did his best to give justice and maintain what good image House Lannister had. He held court for a shorter time than usual since a feast would take place in the Great Hall afterwards.

At the feast tonight, Lady Jeyne Westerling came to curtsy before him. She was shy, and still looked frightened. Tyrion didn't think she came of her own volition. He saw her mother looking at her from afar. He was courteous enough with her, but told her subtly she wasn't obliged to stay longer than she wished. She left as soon as she could. Like Tyrion expected, the girl didn't want to marry him. Her parents, and especially her mother it seems, wanted it to enhance their station. Tyrion wouldn't give them satisfaction.

"Be careful, Tyrion," said Kevan at his right after the girl was gone.

"Don't worry, Uncle. The Westerlings will need more than a beautiful girl to convince me of marrying their daughter. I know she's a poor match. Anyway, she seemed more eager to marry a real lion than me, so the matter is closed."

"It is.", confirmed Kevan. He rose from his seat on the dais. "If you'll excuse me, my lord, I will dance with my wife."

"No need to apologize, Kevan. You have a wife, and you can dance. The first I don't have yet, and the second I can't do. Hence you have no reason to not dance with her."

Kevan left and Tyrion found himself alone on the high table. Dancing with his height would look ridiculous, and it would be ridiculous as well. He drank wine and looked at the others dancing. When he would marry, he would never be able to dance with his wife. He pitied the poor girl who would be sentenced to sit by his side for the rest of her life. Unless he made her the pleasure to die quickly, but that was a pleasure Tyrion would like to avert. He wondered who the poor girl would be.

He saw a group of three drunken men laughing loudly. In fact, he heard them laughing loudly before he saw them. They seemed to be knights, and they had cornered Jeyne Westerling between two tables. They were quite close to him but didn't seem to notice his presence.

"Look at it!" one of them said. "The little lady of the Crag. She's young. And pretty. I heard she just had her first blood. That means she can be taken now. Do you want me to show what a woman does at night, little lady?"

"No, I'll do it. I'm much better than him," said one of his friends.

"Yeah, he's right," said the third. The girl was looking all around, searching for help.

"I don't want any trouble, sers," she told them.

"Come on, girl," said one. "Your great-grandfather was a merchant. You're barely noble born. No man will take you for his wife. No need to worry about losing a maidenhead. No husband will ever ask you about it."

Tyrion had enough of that. That was happening in his hall, in his castle, and the girl was only twelve. He went to the four of them. He recognized the one who spoke the most. Ser Lymond Vikary, a landed knight, the head of House Vikary.

"Ser Lymond," said Tyrion. The three men turned to him, surprised to see their liege lord. "I hope you're not bothering the lady."

He seemed to hesitate. "Not at all, my lord. We were only discussing."

"Then in this case, I would leave if I were you. I would like to speak with the lady myself. And since your family originated from a bastard and that your own brother married a whore two years ago, I'm afraid you're too low to speak to a lady who descends from one of the oldest houses in the Westerlands."

The knight was agape. His two friends laughed at him. He stammered something unintelligible and staggered as he walked away, his friends still laughing at him as they followed. Tyrion looked at the girl.

"Are you alright, my lady?"

"Yes. Thank you, my lord," she said, still shy and trying to not look at him. She was still frightened.

"Lady Jeyne, would you care to accompany me? I need some time outside the hall, and I think you need some too."

She hesitated, but finally agreed. They walked out. He saw the young girl shooting a glance behind her as they left the Great Hall, probably at her mother or her father. She followed Tyrion without a word.

"You're alright? They did nothing to you?" he asked her after a moment.

"No, my lord. They only mocked me because my great-grandfather was a merchant and his wife a witch according to some people. She came from Essos."

"An interesting place, Essos," said Tyrion. "I wanted to visit the Free Cities when I was sixteen, but my father forbade me. Where did she come from?"

"Braavos," she answered. She said nothing else.

"I want to show you something, Lady Jeyne," Tyrion said after a moment. "Do you have a godswood at the Crag?"

"Yes, my lord."

"I'll show you our own. It is called the Stone Garden."

A few minutes later, they arrived at the Stone Garden. The girl seemed surprised by the place. It was a cave with a very twisted weirwood with tangled roots that filled half the cave. The roots climbed on the walls up to the ceiling, and there was only a narrow path to the weirwood itself.

"I suppose it doesn't look like that at your home," Tyrion suggested.

"No, it doesn't," she said. She was looking all over the cave. Tyrion walked to the heart of the tree and sat on a root.

"Come, my lady. Sit," he invited her. She didn't come. "I'm not going to eat you." That was meant as a jest, but she looked terrified all of a sudden. Tyrion sighed at himself. "Lady Jeyne, a lord shouldn't sit while a lady is standing before him. But I have no wish to stand up. So sit. I command you as your liege lord."

He indicated a place next to him. Slowly, she came to sit. There were a few feet separating them. He looked more closely at her. She was quite a lovely girl. Too bad she was born in a family that made her a poor choice for a wife. "Do people mock you often?"

She was startled by his question. "My lord?"

"Do people mock you often? Because your family is poor? Because your ancestors were merchants, foreigners and witches?"

"Sometimes, my lord," she recognized after a moment.

"You don't like it, do you?" She shook her head. "I know what you feel. I've been through this."

"You have?"

"Don't look so surprised. I am a dwarf. Do you really think I was never mocked in all my life? Of course no one would laugh of me in the presence of my father. They would have regretted it. But when my father wasn't present, what could stop them? I'm quite sure your own parents laughed about me more than once."

She protested. "No, my lord. They never… They would never…"

"No need, my lady," he interrupted her. "No need to deny it. Or to know it, in fact. If we were to behead everyone who ever mocked his king or his lord, there wouldn't be many people left alive in Westeros. Better to laugh than to rebel. Wouldn't you agree?"

She nodded after a moment. She always took a short time before she answered. Tyrion cleared his throat. "Let me give you some advice, my lady. About everything the others mock you for. Never forget about it. Never forget that your house is an impoverished one. Never forget who were your great-grandparents. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor and it can never be used to hurt you. You understand?" She nodded to show she did. "You'll be much happier this way. Can I accompany you back to the feast?" He was now standing and offering her his hand. She took it after another hesitation.

As they walked back to the Great Hall, Tyrion told her something else. "I think I know why your parents brought you with them, my lady. You don't have to worry. They will not get what they want. You won't get married too soon." He shot a smile at her. She seemed to understand and smiled back. "So enjoy the feast. You have nothing to worry about."

They came back into the Great Hall. Tyrion stayed a little while longer, but left soon. Before he left, he saw Lady Jeyne Westerling dancing with some young knight, one who wasn't among the drunken idiots of course. Tyrion didn't have much interest in the feast truth be told. He went back to his personal chambers. As always, he drank and read. Alla didn't come tonight. She certainly had too much work in the kitchens with the feast.

The next day, as the morning reached his end, Ty informed Tyrion that Ser Daven Lannister had come back. His cousin came in an hour later for the midday meal.

"My lord," said Daven as he bowed right after entering.

"Hello, cousin." Tyrion went to him to shake hands. "You had a safe travel?"

"No trouble on the road," the cousin replied.

"Care if we eat?"

"Not at all. I'm starving. Though after the refined plates of Highgarden, I wonder if even your cook will be able to satisfy me."

They took place at the table where Ty had brought everything. "So the food is excellent at Highgarden? How was it overall?"

"A very beautiful place. Some would say it comes out from fairy tales. Fountains, gardens, pools, jugglers, singers, bards, statues, flowers. Not rich like the Rock, but maybe more beautiful, I have to admit it."

"And your squire? Did he fight well?"

"Not at all," said Daven. "He lost in the first row of the joust, and was eliminated quite quickly in the melee, and also at the archery competition. His only consolation is that he will be remembered as the first man Ser Loras Tyrell defeated in the joust where he was knighted."

"Oh. So the heir to Highgarden is a knight now."

"Yes, he is. Some already call him the Knight of Flowers."

"And what about the Rose of Highgarden? Lady Margaery?" Tyrion asked. He had to admit he was terrified before the answer Daven could give him.

Daven took a sip of wine before he spoke. "Well, she is something. She deserves her name, that's the least we can say. Brown hair with braids, brown of eyes, a lovely round face, slender, not too tall or too short. And she's not an idiot. We can see it only after a single conversation with her, and I had quite a few with her. She's clever, and quick of wits."

Tyrion sighed. "She looks like a perfect wife. Too bad I'm the one we're trying to marry her to. I would have more chance with an ugly girl who would be desperate to marry," Tyrion said bitterly. "And the discussions with Lord Tyrell?"

"Lord Tyrell is no problem at all. I didn't reach a decision with him, but he seemed very eager and enthusiastic at the idea to see his daughter as Lady of Casterly Rock."

"Of course," Tyrion scoffed. "He wants her as Lady of the Westerlands, not as the Imp's wife."

Daven seemed sympathetic. "I think Lord Tyrell is not the real deal. It is his mother, Lady Olenna Tyrell. She is also called the Queen of Thorns. Very sharp, and very old. Probably older than your father was. I think she's the one who'll decide. The mother of Lady Margaery was entirely opposed to the marriage."

"Who could blame her?" asked Tyrion to himself.

"I think it's the grandmother we must focus on. She wasn't against the idea, but she asked a lot of questions about you and Casterly Rock and what the marriage involved. Each time Lord Tyrell was about to say he accepted to marry his daughter to you, she was the one to stop him. She's the one we will have to convince. I think we will need to send someone else to negotiate."

"I will probably send Kevan then. No one would be better for the task than him," said Tyrion. "So nothing has changed. The betrothal wasn't refused, but it wasn't accepted either."

"No," confirmed Daven. That wasn't to make Tyrion happy. "But I think the odds are in your favor, cousin. Mace Tyrell is still the Lord of Highgarden. His wife will have to obey him if he decides to marry his daughter. As for Lady Olenna, she told me she would consider very seriously our offer."

"That doesn't make the outcome more certain," complained Tyrion. Couldn't they simply answer by yes or no? Then they could move on. If they refused right now, he would be free to ask Lord Lefford to give him the hand of his daughter.

They both talked about their last months. Tyrion mentioned the feast of yesterday and the problems he met with some outlaws. Daven told him he would happily go back to fighting them. His cousin told him about everything he saw in Highgarden. He also talked about a handmaiden of Lady Margaery who seemed to know a lot about Casterly Rock and who he surprised with a book more than once.

"I think I would like this one. Perhaps I should ask the Tyrells for the hand of the handmaiden instead of their daughter's."

They both burst into laughs at Tyrion's suggestion. He knew that was stupid and he wasn't serious about it. He was the Lord of Casterly Rock. He couldn't marry a simple handmaiden who certainly came from a minor house and could be a second or third born daughter. Furthermore, the Tyrells wouldn't like it if after asking for the hand of their daughter, the Rose of Highgarden, he suddenly changed his mind and asked for the hand of her servant. What a scandal that would cause. It would be funny. They spent the rest of the meal telling jokes. At the end, Tyrion proposed a drinking contest.

"No, cousin, not right now. We're too soon in the day," Daven offered as an excuse. "But I'll come back in the evening and we'll get drunk. I could train a little in Highgarden with Lord Tyrell."

"Good. It's been two weeks since the last time I got drunk," replied Tyrion.

"Anyway, with your capacity, I'm afraid I'll be dead-drunk before you start to get drunk yourself." They both laughed again.

Daven was about to leave when he turned to Tyrion. "Oh, cousin, by the way, I gave her your letter."

That was a topic Tyrion hadn't dared to discuss. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know about the rest. "So?" he asked.

Daven took a scroll from his doublet. He let it drop on the table. "That's her answer." He bowed and left.

Tyrion remained still, sitting before the unfolded scroll. It had no seal on it. Daven didn't know the content of the letter that Tyrion wrote to Lady Margaery. No one knew except him. He had Daven swear by the Old Golds and the New, and on his honor as a knight, that he would talk about this letter to no one but to Lady Margaery Tyrell. Now the answer of the Rose of Highgarden was right before him, and Tyrion hesitated to open it.

What was he waiting for? He wrote the letter in the hope that being honest, he would spare the young Rose the fear to find herself married to a misshapen little creature by giving her the choice to end the discussions. He knew very well what would be her answer. That was the only possible answer she could give, and Tyrion couldn't blame her. All the same, with everything Daven told him, Tyrion regretted more than ever he wasn't tall and handsome like his brother. The Rose of Highgarden looked so perfect from what Daven said. Beautiful and intelligent. What could Tyrion ask more from a woman?

There was one more thing he could ask from a woman. Love. That was something he had no chance to get. Once he thought he had the love of a woman. That proved to be the greatest mistake of his life. He could never expect a woman to love him, the Imp of Casterly Rock. Sighing in resignation, he took the scroll. Soon, he would have to write to Lord Tyrell and explain him a marriage between him and his daughter was no longer possible. The girl would be free. Tyrion would have done that thing right at least. He unrolled the scroll and read the short message on it.

Lord Tyrion, that would be my pleasure to become your wife and to spend my life by your side. I will try to convince my father and my mother to accept the proposal. I look forward to meet you.

Margaery Tyrell


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