(King's Landing: 10/25/298 AC) Tyrion IV

He smelled it before he saw it, "We have arrived, my Lord," Wode's hoarse voice stated, their travels having seen the burly man-at-arms come down with a slight fever during their stay at Deep Den, a little more than ten days ago, by his estimate. Fortunately for the man, it had appeared to have been subsiding, as Tyrion could hear no long bouts of coughing as he had before.

"Yes, Wode, I can smell the shit from here," he groaned, lying on his shaking cot within the carriage, hands on his belly, a half-empty wineskin at his side. Through the windows of his carriage, he saw the light of the mid-afternoon sun. His thoughts lingered on Deep Den, which at the time, had been a very welcome change during their long slog through the Gold Road. There he had encountered his niece, the Princess Myrcella, and her retainers. Tyrion had embraced the Princess, who smelt of cherry blossom and regaled him with stories of the Hand's Tourney and her cousin's performance. He remembered a slight blush having colored her cheeks when she had spoken of the Silver-Tongue, and showed him the doll she had received from the Baratheon knight. 'It was a quaint little thing,' he looked up at the golden ceiling of his carriage, 'all dressed up in a Fire Nation gown.' In the back of his mind, Tyrion's mood darkened, knowing that should the rumors hold, the young knight would be an enemy, even if he didn't know it yet. A part of him had found humor in the foreboding events unfolding before him, because even though his father had never spoken of it, a certain suspicion had gnawed at him that the Lord of Casterly Rock had intended to wed Myrcella to the Heir of Dragonstone, with only the allegations having put a damper on the idea. 'Sometimes father can't get everything he wants,' a soft chuckled escaped his lips before they turned to a frown as even with that, he was still rather sad to see his beloved niece deprived of such a match. The Baratheon boy was by all accounts a jovial, intelligent, and strong young man, not unlike Robert Baratheon in his youth, or so he had heard, having never had the chance to speak to the boy or the man that would become king. 'However, if he had even half of his mother's intelligence he would be an astounding conversationalist,' he thought, lingering on the measure of the boy after his encounter with the traveling family days past, and the words he had read on the Red Faith. As of late, his thoughts kept lingering on the prophecy, and the boy who was suspected of being the 'Warrior of Light.' He scoffed at the notion, albeit half-heartedly. Wishing to dispel the sudden turn of his thoughts and prevent another sleepless night of prophetic interpretations, he drifted past them, thinking instead of the Princess' retinue, in which his brother Jaime had been present. Over a drink and into the night they had talked of the capital and the Lady Azula. His brother's lamentations on being denied the chance to spar with the Lady herself had been one of the more insightful moments of his stay at Deep Den. A fight, which he had readily admitted was one he was eager to see, if only because it would've served to alleviate their current problem if there had been an accident. 'Assuming there is a problem,' he swallowed, lifting his arm to open the window by his cot, as his mind was brought back from the memory. 'One can only hope there isn't,' he spied the Lion's Gate in the distance, naught but two-hundred feet away, and a throng of people milling about the place. 'A pity Azula is not in the capital,' he returned to his prone position, the name sending just the slightest shiver up his spine as an unease crawled within his chest. A darker, more insidious, thought entered his mind, 'If the rumors were just enemy instigators attempting to disrupt the Seven-Kingdoms, then who would benefit if not the Lord and Lady of Dragonstone? The Tyrells? The Martells?' He grabbed at the wineskin and drank deep. 'I need a bath,' he realized, detecting the smell of wine and horse shit permeating throughout his clothing. The carriage continued, and he could hear the sounds of people talking, laughing, and shouting growing ever louder before they silenced altogether. 'The guards are drawing attention,' he realized, suddenly aware of the grim sounds his one-hundred strong personal guard made in their steady march towards the Lion's Gate. 'I wonder if my dear sister will have a welcoming party?' he joked, his laugh falling flat on his lips, as he heard no welcoming committee of the sort.

From the moment he entered the city, with his Lannister retinue, he felt eyes on him. He had long ago grown accustomed to the stares and whispers of 'Imp' and 'half-man,' but now, beneath the shadow of the Great Sept of Baelor, he felt the stares. Tyrion felt them like one would a feather at the back of the neck. They were there, but not there, and it chilled him to the bone. Everywhere he spotted birds perched on rooftops, black cats darting through darkened alleys, and shadowed figures lingering in the doorways and windows. He had known, even expected the dangerous edge of the capital, but it was different from what he had anticipated. 'This city is alive and holding a dagger at my throat…I love it,' he smiled, watching as a nearby group of eleven Goldcloaks passed him by. Ten had been clad in full Dragonstone plate of gold-and-black, while a lone man wore the skull faceplate and heavy leather armor typical of the gold-trimmed garb of the Lady Azula's people. 'No doubt there lies a Yi-Tish looking man beneath that faceplate,' he stood, watching as the group sauntered out before disappearing within the crowd.

"Lord Tyrion," a man with noble attire approached him. "The Queen requests your presence," he stated, somewhat awkwardly.

'Ah, there it is,' he said to himself. "It took her long enough. So, does the Queen request, or demand?" he japed, a knowing smile upon his lips as he knew his sister very well.

"Requests," the man shifted uncomfortably.

"Well, there you have it, gentlemen," Tyrion motioned to the men at his back. "Time to head to the Red Keep." He felt disappointed uttering those words, as he had the intention of visiting the 'Opal Dragon,' and ferreting out anything of value from the proprietor of the establishment, one 'Xai Bau,' he recalled the name from Jaime's conversations of the woman's people within the capital. 'Maybe next time,' he reminded himself as they trudged along down the streets of the capital and up to the Red Keep itself.

"Why are you here?" Cersei hissed, the moment the doors closed behind them, his 'men' having long since been appropriated by his sister during their 'trek' to the keep. As he surveyed his surroundings, all he found were lion tapestries, golden lion chairs, and dressers with lion motifs, and the like.

'Just like home,' he quipped, sitting down upon a particularly uncomfortable chair, which he had suspected to have been laid out intentionally for him. "What?" he grunted, shifting his weight along with the thin cushion which might as well have not been there. "Can't a loving brother visit his lovely sister? After all, we are ever so close aren't we?" he raised a brow, expecting a 'subtle' reaction from his sister which was anything but except to her.

His sister frowned an ugly frown, which was unqueenly like, and to him more having the look of someone who was attempting to push through a particularly large shit. "I don't care for your japes, little brother."

"Oh, such wounds you inflict upon me with your words," he clasped at his heart, smiling all the while.

"Enough!" she shouted. "Why did father send you?" her eyes looked on him with disgust, as she always did.

"Because he trusted me with following up on a rumor. A very tactless one at that," he sauntered on towards the tray of wine his sister had resting at her side and poured himself a drink.

"And what rumor would that be?" she straightened up and lost all outward revulsion.

"I don't think it would be wise to say at the moment," he sipped at his drink as he walked back towards his uncomfortable seat, noticing the near-instantaneous shift in his sister's demeanor during the interim. "Tell me," he grunted up to his seat. "Where is the King? I noticed he was not here."

"On another one of his hunts," she answered through gritted teeth. "With his brothers…"

"I suppose it wouldn't be too much to assume he went with a healthy attachment of Lannister guard?" he replied, knowing full well that should the rumors be true, any time the King spent alone with Lords Stannis and Renly, would be dangerous.

"Of course, I did!" Cersei beat her hand against the golden table that separated them. "I mean, yes," she straightened her dress and cleared her throat.

'Well, it appears I hit a nerve. This does not bode well,' he noted with grim awareness. "And the Lady of Dragonstone?" Tyrion continued, remembering his brother's words on the Baratheon woman's plans to head back to Dragonstone with the Lord of Winterfell and the Second son of Dorne. "I am told she has yet to return from that place with the Lord Hand and the Prince of Dorne."

The Queen rolled her eyes, almost at a loss for words, but knowing her, Tyrion knew she wouldn't be for long. Cersei stared at him for some time, while he continued sipping at his drink, patiently awaiting an answer. "There has been no word, save that a ship has set sail for Dorne."

"Well, at least we know that," he scoffed, his mind already awash with possibilities on why that was so.

"What more do you wish for me to say!?" Cersei stood up, her temper returning to the same level as it had been when he had arrived in the room. "They've been gone almost a week, and that bitch has control of that wretched little island. It's near impossible to squeeze information out of those who leave from there, let alone get spies in place."

Her words had been more than he had expected. Tyrion knew that his sister was capable of being viciously demure, but the plain hatred spewing from her tongue had been surprising, particularly since they had not been aimed towards him. He set his cup down, "Tell me, is Sansa Stark still present within the capital?" he questioned, watching as his sister's expression took on a darker turn.

"She is. What of it?" a set of emerald eyes glared at him, then twitched.

"Well, I should like to visit her," he continued, watching as the Queen's eyes swirled in conflicting emotions.

"Ha!" she laughed the cruel laugh he had remembered her for. "You'd have a better chance of talking with the Father himself. Stark has kept his men under strict orders to keep his daughter safely sequestered in that damnable manor."

"I don't know if you've realized this, but you are the Queen. A little persuasion, from you, could go a long way," Tyrion suggested, the sarcasm dripping in his voice.

"Yes," she slapped her head. "Why didn't I think of that?! Oh, I remember! My commands do not supersede the King's, you lecherous imp!" Cersei scowled in annoyance, turning in a huff, as she stalked towards the window with the crimson drapes.

As she stood there, her figure slightly blurred by the sunlight penetrating the velvety red curtains, Tyrion pondered the rumors. "Well, since the woman is currently away," he returned to his previous plan of visiting the Opal Dragon, only this time with the intention of asking after the woman. He remembered Jaime's words on the tea house and thought it strange that the Lady Azula had never been reported to have visited it.

"Not even once," Jaime had said.

"Perhaps a few inquiries are in order, at the Opal Dragon?" Tyrion continued down his train of thought.

"You'll never get in with that stunted body and golden hair of yours," a sneer marred his sister's otherwise beautiful face. "Not to mention, you were seen with a hundred Lannister guards."

"Which you had taken away," he shot back. "Quite loudly I might add. Were I a betting man, I would think we were enemies," he laughed at his words, knowing them to be partially true, but laughing all the same. "If I thought that, what would outsiders think?"

His sister looked almost ready to give birth to another particularly large shit. "Whatever. Risk your life however you wish. Now get out," she waved him off.