Tyrion was starting to believe that perhaps three was his lucky number. He was the third child of Tywin and Joanna Lannister, a fact that brought him little joy, but he was also the third person to attempt the rebuild of Summerhall. Tyrion was well aware that he had been offered the opportunity through no merit of his own, King Robert saw him as a sorry misshapen thing. No, Tyrion had been made the Steward of Summerhall to remove him from court and spite his father. Luckily spiting Tywin Lannister was something that Tyrion Lannister was quite accomplished at. Tywin had, of course, taken away every copper of support when Tyrion had been appointed to the roll, claiming that the King's purse should meet his needs well enough if the King wanted to make a Steward of him. Houses Swann and Buckler had been smarter, Tyrion might have lost his Lannister guards and privileges, but he had gained true Stormland men in return. He had been permitted to keep his custom fitted armour.
The fallout between Tywin and Robert had been slow and bitter, much like the fallout between Aerys and Tywin. The first stirs of disenchantment had started when Jon Arryn had resigned as Hand of the King. Tywin had clearly expected to be elevated to the roll in Jon Arryn's place, yet Robert had appointed Stannis instead. At the time the Crown had been somewhat in the debt of Lannister gold (something which was no longer the case) and thus susceptible to Westerly influence. Tyrion had however quietly observed as the Lannister claws were carefully pried free of the crown one by one. One by one each of the Lannister men were carefully removed from court, until even Cersei's own guards were replaced by Stormlanders. Tyrion had been the last to be removed, being given the task of rebuilding Summerhall. But, instead of rebuilding, he'd started digging out the ruins of the great hall, searching for dragon eggs. It had taken three moons to find the first egg, silver, with a streak of gold, this was most likely the egg that had once belonged to Elaena Targaryen. Tyrion had secured the site and ridden as hard as his deformed stature would permit to King's Landing, where he had presented Robert with the egg. Robert had warmed to him after that. After the second egg Robert had even been kind to him. After the third egg Robert had promised him the right to choose one when he was done, now wouldn't that irk Tywin?
Tyrion hummed as he made his way to the Summerhall Godswood, it had taken him months to find a bard that would teach him the song, but he had learnt it quickly enough, that should make her happy. He reached a small clearing with a couple of misshapen oak trees twisting together in the centre. Some royal gardener had clearly taken great care when the oaks were saplings, but over two-score years of neglect had left them unravelled and wild, like a half-finished tapestry. Tyrion looked around, but there were no signs of her, there never were, despite her misshapen form she was quiet as a ghost. Tyrion shrugged, cleared away some acorns at the base of the trees, sat down, and started to sing. "High in the halls of the kings who are gone Jenny would dance with her ghosts, the ones she had lost, and the ones she had found, and the ones who had loved her the most…"
The wind rustled the leaves in the trees, almost as if the Godswood was singing with him, he never heard her approach, never knew where she came from, but soon enough a gnarled old woman with a gnarled old cane was standing in front of him. The woman was both an albino and a dwarf, in her youth she might have stood three foot tall, but she was so far stooped over that she barely reached two and a half foot now. Her hair was white and thin, limp with lack of care, her eyes were red and piercing, her lips thin and cracked. But her smile, that smile was worth the cost, and the work, of learning the song.
"You found it," She whispered when he had finished singing. "You found my Jenny's song."
"Yes." Tyrion replied. "How did I do?"
"Not half as sweet as Rhaegar, did you bring food?" The old woodswitch asked. Tyrion nodded and held out a small bundle, the old woman snatched it out of his hand with surprising speed then sat some distance away to examine her prize, long knobbly fingers pried open the knots in the fabric and shaky hands pulled out bread, salted meat, and a small wedge of cheese. She hunched over and started eating, becoming almost animalistic in her protection of the food. When she had finished she glared at him with those beefy read eyes. "More." She snarled.
Tyrion shook his head. "No, I have given you a song, Jenny's song, I have given you bread and salt, now I need something in return."
"I'll give you a vision." The woodswitch responded.
Tyrion raised his hand and shook his head. "A curse, more likely, no. All I want is a memory, a memory of that day, the day that Rhaegar was born."
"No!" The woman hissed. "No, I have gorged on grief, I need no more from you."
"You promised." Tyrion replied calmly. "You swore by wood and water, stone and earth, you promised me that if I found Jenny's song, and brought you food, you would tell me."
"Wine!" The old hag snarled.
Tyrion removed a full wine skin from his belt. "That, I can accommodate." He tossed her the wine, keeping his distance, and settled back to listen. He had learnt his lesson on getting too close, her nails still scared his neck from when she had attacked him.
It was a long while before the old woman started to speak, her words were halting at first, but as she talked about Aegon and Jaehareys, about Duncan and Jenny, about the betrayal of the Maesters, it all started to fit together. Tyrion was shocked to learn that it had actually worked, they had hatched dragons, and then the 'accident'. The witch hadn't foreseen that. Some of her words were whispers, some of them were sobs, sometimes she only spoke in riddles. She talked of golden stags and white wolves, spoke of death as if it were a child. But Tyrion sifted the words between the words, and those words told him there were many more dragon eggs to find. Those words told him the eggs could be hatched. But they also told another secret, two children had been born during the tragedy of Summerhall, not one. Jenny had birthed a dark haired daughter with violet eyes. Ashes child, the old witch called her. The Ashes' child had as much claim to the throne as anybody, or would have if she'd been born a boy. Aerys had wanted the girl killed, Jaehareys wanted her betrothed to Rhaegar, but Ser Duncan the Tall had stolen her away. That was Ser Duncan's great betrayal, he had saved an innocent babe and spirited her away, but where? Ashes, ashes… Ashara? Could it be? Ser Duncan had always had an affinity with Dorne… but what did that mean if it was true? Nothing, it meant nothing now that Robert was on the Iron throne.
Tyrion sifted through the old woodswitch's other words, looking for clues as to where to search for more eggs, they were there, like a great puzzle that needed solving. It was late by the time Tyrion left the Godswood, late and dark. He pondered the old woman's words as he walked. He hummed as he made his way back in to the far wing of the keep, the least damaged section, maybe if he truly pleased Robert he could push for two dragon eggs? No, that was an unlikely dream. As he ate a late supper he fantasied about how his life would improve, Tywin would have to acknowledge him as the heir once he was gifted a dragon egg, surely? Jamie was a Kingsguard and Cersei was a woman, Casterly Rock was Tyrion's by right, and he'd be damned if he was letting Tywin take it from him. Double damned if he was letting it go to Uncle Keven, or his fool of an heir, Lancel. That night as he pondered greatness and drifted off to sleep a thought occurred to him, a thought of a woman with dark hair and violet eyes. Ashes, ashes… Ashara. But his mind soon became occupied by dragon dreams, and come morning the thought was lost. Weeks passed and the thought never returned, a fourth dragon egg was found, and then a fifth. Now and then Tyrion would return to the Godswood, sing to the old witch and give never food and wine. But his questions were always focused on his own gain, he never asked about the ashes child again and the woodswitch never spoke of her either. Five moons later, when Tyrion was suddenly summoned back to court, the ashes child was all but forgotten.
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