A/N = All Old Tongue is Scots Gaelic.
Jon Snow
After Oberyn's response, there had been little time to pack, but for Jon it had been time enough, for he carried little in normal times. His new possessions too, did not hinder him in the same, for the dagger was sheathed upon his left thigh, and the sword…. Dark Sister upon its back; of his dragon egg, he had gingerly folded it within three layers of soft cloth provided by the Dornish prince and placed it neatly in the saddlebag present upon the right of Snow.
Four hundred men would be ranging today, an endeavour that would have been impossible for the Night's watch as it would have been a fourth of their strength, but easy enough for the large amount of non-watchmen that now sat at the Wall.
Oberyn's own party comprised of thirty riders, including Jon himself, and an older knight that Jon did not recognize as commanders, for the journey towards the Fist of the First Men. Barristan Selmy and Loras Tyrell had initially decided to join them for the same, bringing with them forty more garron-equipped knights. But the Tyrell boy had decided to take a platoon of storm-landers on their own ranging instead, at the last moment, while the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard chose to continue with them.
To be frank, Jon did not consider himself a commander; he was merely a half-good swordsman and Oberyn's squire, which necessitated his presence at this particular party. As for their guides, it was not his uncle who would be guiding them for the purpose, instead it were three men of the Shadow Tower, who had an aura of sheer unbridled capability, of being seasoned, veteran rangers.
They were Qhorin Halfhand, a living legend in the Night's Watch who some considered a better fit for the position of First Ranger than Uncle Benjen, due to his legendary skill with a sword. The man had lost near all fingers of his right hand barring the thumb and forefinger to a wildling axe, but he had trained himself to become just as skilled with the left and he was no doubt, a great warrior. Accompanying him were a man called Dalbridge as well as another called Stonesnake, who while… not having any legends about them, Jon could recognize that the latter seemed to be an experienced climber, while the former bore an impressive looking bow, though Jon did not recognize the wood it were made of, for it was pale and white.
Of their destination, the fist was said to be have been built by the First Men in the Dawn Age, a time wherein the Children of the Forest and the Others still existed, though the latter were not met by humans. A time when the Arm of Dorne was broken in an attempt by the children to prevent the First Men from settling their lands, as they crossed over from Essos to Westeros. This war was supposedly ended with the pact at the Isle of Faces, giving birth to the Age of Heroes.
Atop the Fist stood a ringfort, or rather, the remains of one, which once upon a time stood as a defence against whatever lurked in the snows far beyond the Frostfangs, for the Wall had not been constructed as of yet, for that came in the Age of Heroes.
Jon felt an urge in his groin, and so he dismounted his camel, and trudged a few feet away from the party, which was as of yet still trawling the valley of the Milkwater, light shimmering like hammered gold off the surface of the cool river as it curved to the south.
He stopped at the small copse that lined the edge of the valley, and unlaced his breeches, pulling his member out. The golden stream came out of the edge, with little urging, hot and fast, trickling steadily into the ground below. Once the last few drops had been shaken off, Jon put it back in, and laced his breeches yet again.
He made his way back, and observed that the party had moved a few metres ahead, but was yet moving slowly, for fast movements could trigger avalanches, and that was not something they could walk out of.
He dipped his hands in the river, washing away whatever drops of piss that may have fell on his hand, and was about to stand up, when he noted that around him, there was no sound to be heard. He slowly moved his hand to his dagger, for he knew that he could not draw his sword in time to react to whatever that may lurk behind him.
And he turned fast when he heard the sound of twigs being snapped, and dagger in hand, was greeted with the sight of a particularly large cat barrelling through the air at him. The beast, true to its name, was silent and agile, no matter for its size, and Jon had little time to react as he barrelled away to the side.
The cat however, quickly corrected its own momentum, and landed facing him, no doubt considering him easy prey, for wont as these cats were to not attack living men unless starving, these cats could still disembowel a man with one paw. It let out a deep, rumbling grow, indicating it was preparing to make for Jon yet again.
Jon would not allow this, and so, he grasped the dagger by the blade, as quick as the cat itself, and tossed it with not inconsiderable force. But alas, he was still a boy of thirteen, and the dagger, while finding its mark in the scruff of the beast's neck as well as being of Valyrian Steel, did not penetrate through its thick black fur enough, and only enraged the beast further, as it let loose a loud scream that made Jon's hair stand on edge.
He fumbled at the hilt of his sword, hoping to pull it out, but the beast barrelled towards him, and Jon knew that he would not be able to defend himself in time. As he resigned himself to a death, thinking, so this is how a Dragon dies… mauled to death by a cat in the snow, four arrows sprouted from the beast's neck, giving it the look of a half-plucked bird.
These arrows had penetrated deep-enough it would seem, but Jon would not take any chances, and so he drew his sword in one clean fluid motion, the Valyrian steel noiselessly leaving its scabbard. He was still not used to the reduced weight, but Maester Aemon's caution about its bloodlust would appear to be true as he swung it at the beast's legs, and it carved through fur, skin, muscle, sinew and bone like it were so much paper. The beast let out a pitiful moan, but Jon pulled out the Valyrian dagger, and buried it deep within the eye of the cat, and it shuddered momentarily, muscles twitching in death-spasms before it laid still.
He huffed, out of both fear and exhaustion, for he had not been prepared to take a fight at the moment, as well as that he had escaped death by only the grace of the archers that had hit the beast, and collapsed to his knees, but not before sheathing the sword, for the need for secrecy was not lost upon him.
He looked up as he heard the footsteps of a man approaching, muffled as it were through the snow, and saw the face of his would-be rescuers, and to his surprise, it was only one man, Dalbridge of the Shadow Tower.
The man looked to be sixty, for his entire head was grey, and his face were lined, but his voice was soft and gentle as he spoke, "You did good boy, finishing the kill, though what madness possessed you in chasing shadow-cats?"
Jon spoke hastily, "I wasn't chasing them… Ser. I was taking a piss, when this one stalked me from behind and attacked me. Perhaps it was hungry, for shadow-cats only hunt men when they are starving, yes?"
The archer cocked his head, and observed the shadow-cat that laid at their feet, "Far be it from me to say, but the belly of this beast looks suitably full."
And Jon looked down to see that it were indeed the case, and just has he was about to respond, a new voice, spoke in a deep, throaty baritone, "Warg-work. It would seem we have wildlings trailing us, and a skin-changer accompanies them."
Jon looked up, and noticed that it was the Halfhand, second-in-command of the Shadow Tower, and accompanying him were Prince Oberyn, and the Commander of the Kingsguard.
Dalbridge looked mournful as he spoke, "To think that I hoped it would be a peaceful patrol." To which Prince Oberyn let loose a loud chuckle as he spoke, "Skin-changers? Forgotten magics dwell yet in the North it would seem… I wonder if those of the East… would consider these… wildlings to be their peers in the arts of sorcery."
Selmy merely nodded, looking grim as he spoke, "Skin-changers or not, if this is a sign that there are wildling patrols nearby, then we must be on our ready." As he approached Jon and pulled him to his feet, while appraising both the cat as well as Jon's condition, he spoke, "You must be talented with a blade to not be injured from the cat, Snow, I can see why Prince Oberyn chose you to be his squire." And Jon nodded sheepishly, for not wanting to reveal that his sword contributed in major part to dispatching the beast than his swordsmanship.
The white-bearing knight continued, his hand running through the arrows buried in the beast, "Though of these arrow shafts…. Ser… you let lose all four of them?"
Dalbridge chuckled, "Yes… Lord Selmy… but I am no… Ser, I remained a squire even since the Sack of King's Landing."
The Kingsguard looked surprised as he responded, "You were at the Sack… then…"
The man responded, as the party made their way back to their mounts, "I am named Dalbridge… My Lord."
The Lord Commander furrowed his brows as he spoke, "There was a Dalbridge… whom served as the squire of King Jaehaerys the 2nd once… you would not happen to be related to him?"
The archer chuckled softly, "It is the very same man you look at, Lord Selmy. We fought together during the Battle of the Ninepenny Kings as well, and so long… in my youth, I served the King, before he perished." And saying so he ran his hands through the string of his bow.
The Kingsguard looked almost mournful, though he remained respectful, "Then I say well-met, it is not often I meet those from those times… too many perished in the wars afterwards. It shames to me to say that we are of a dying breed. King Jaehaerys was a capable king… he restored order to the kingdom, and reconciled many houses to the Throne that considered themselves slighted due to the actions of his father. To think you have not yet been knighted." But the knight suddenly gave a sharp-look at the bow that Dalbridge bore as he spoke, "That bow… it is of the design that the Raven's Teeth bore."
Dalbridge grinned, "It is from my father I gained my knowledge of the art of archery, Lord Selmy, and with it I gained his bow, made of weir-wood, and a match for any of Goldenheart of the Summer Isles. He was the second-in-command of the Raven's Teeth, and had saved King Maekar's life once; it is merely due to that that I was chosen to be King Jaehaerys' squire, despite of being of no great birth or station."
Jon grew pink about his ear, for they were talking about his own namesake, and it was a queer thing, yet fascinating to realise that these two men had served the Targaryens dutifully, so long ago. These old men knew his great-grandfather, and almost as if Oberyn sensed his discomfit, he drawled, "All this is very well… but we must make our way forward to the Fist, it is from there… I am told, we can plot our way for future rangings."
And so gently chastised, they moved to their mounts, but as he were seated and they were moving forward, the Prince cantered up to his own Camel, and he slowed Snow down to a trot, and so it remained in silence for half-a-dozen heartbeats, before Oberyn spoke in a whisper, "You fool… it would not do for you to die, here in the cold, and it would have been… a difficult situation if Selmy had thought to think of how clean the cut was. Prince or no… I would clock you about the head if you think of doing the same yet again"
And Jon pursed his lip, for he knew that he had taken an unnecessary risk in traversing so much distance for taking a piss. For the next half-hour, there was nothing of interest, nor of danger, as he maintained their cantering on the path, Camels deftly crossing the snow-banks in the same manner as the garrons.
He caught smatterings of the talk between Ser Barristan, Dalbridge, and the older knight, whom Jon had learnt was called Jason Dorne, and it would seem that all three knew each other, if only by name or status from their time in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. He even heard a jest by Ser Jason, that he would like to duel Ser Barristan once they returned to the Wall, which Ser Barristan himself seemed to look forward to as well.
He looked about their path, and noted that the river seemed to widen, the further north they went, for it was no doubt enriched by the snow-melt that occurred in copious quantities here, due to the summer. His lungs were filled with the cold crisp air, though he found it slightly more difficult to breathe, for they were moving ever higher. It would seem that despite the bone-chilling cold that were here, there were still, a rich number of animals, for Jon spotted deer, bears, birds, and more in the distance, and once, he could have sworn he saw something that vaguely resembled a child at the base of a pine-tree situated on a cliff above them.
He had blinked and it was gone, and so he rubbed his eyes and looked at the place yet again, and there was still nothing to be seen, it was a queer experience, but Jon rationalized it to merely be the effects of being in a location even colder and higher than Winterfell.
When they were nearly up climbing the sheer and treacherous eastern face of the Fist, though said to be less dangerous than its other cardinal brethren, Jon paused and drank from his water-skin, deeply, for he was parched. He was jolted from this by the loud sounds of a warhorn sounding above them, arooooooooooooo, it went, and Qhorin, who was next to him growled, "Thenns. Don't know what they're doing so far to the South of their Valley, but looks like the bastards made it up above us by taking a different approach."
Jon moved up behind Oberyn, Snow skittering almost nervously behind the powerful hybrid that still bore no name, and almost instantly the Prince spoke, in nary a whisper "If it were any other weapon you bore… I would say carry a spear instead… but that sword is light, and longer than longswords, and even it weren't…. so sharp, I am told these particular wildlings armour themselves in bronze, so a slash may prove fatal… though the metal is light enough for them to be nimble."
Jon nodded, but the Prince continued, "You have a mount, do not be foolish in what you do, ride them over if you must, your beast has both the armour as well as the tenacity to withstand any hewing by stone-tipped axes, and if you find yourself dismounted, do not be so foolish as to think of honour. This is a battle, boy, not a duel." And Jon steeled himself in preparation for the same.
It was Ser Dorne who led the first charge as they rounded the sharp turn to the base at the top of the peak, his line of five camels running through the Thenns like they were so many pigeons, and they were so many camels.
The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard followed soon, his own men riding through or over the chest-high fortifications of grey stone that littered the remains of the large ringfort. Ser Barristan hewed with his own sword left and right, carving through the Thenns like they were so many pieces of cake, and in return his white garb began to gain a new shade of fine crimson that any Lannister would have become proud of.
Oberyn pointed silently, "Look, the garrons of wildlings and our own alike, both shy from the camels, tell me with haste, what this would mean in a true pitched battle."
Jon quipped quickly, "So this is not a true battle, then, My Prince?" and as the Prince raised an eyebrow, he quickly finished, "It would mean that a hundred camels stand a good chance of routing a hundred knights. Not only are the horses afraid of camels, but the camel-riders having a greater height."
Prince Oberyn nodded, and gave a look at him out of the side of his eye, before donning his half-helm, and spurring his great beast towards a particularly well-organised team of Thenns. Jon cursed under his breath, before spurring Snow to follow the Prince. In half-a-heartbeat, he was barrelling towards a warrior who found himself too slow to roll out of the way.
Jon was still unfamiliar with the beast, and though he aimed to ride past the man and slash with his sword, Snow rode directly over the man, trampling him beneath its hooves until he resembled half a body and a fine, red paste.
Jon blanched momentarily, for it was the first man he had killed, but the sight of a particularly large wildling charging towards him, with axes hefted in both hands, forced him to spur the camel to turn about itself, and charge headlong at the man. The warrior swung his axes, a mismatched set of iron and bronze, Jon noted, but despite his own height, could only find purchase in the armour Snow wore.
Jon slashed with Dark Sister, and the Man seemed surprised momentarily, before his neck opened in a bright red smile, and he fell to the ground, gargling in his own blood. Jon stopped momentarily to assess the battlefield around him when he noted that more Wildlings were pouring above ground from what must have once been the cellars of the fort.
He looked upon fascinated, for Ser Dorne and Ser Selmy had been both dismounted, but were fighting back-to-back against three foes each. It were as if they were more wraith then men, as their swords flashed back and forth through their opponents, and if their age was hobbling them, they chose a poor way of showing it.
Ser Barristan plunged his longsword in the belly of one of his opponents, but another took the opportunity to slash at his unprotected left hand with his axe. It found no purchase, as it clanged harmlessly off the mailed fist. The older knight was a whirlwind made flesh as he spun about in a matter of seconds and hacked the wildling's head of.
Ser Jason had in hand a shield and morning-star, and he flailed the latter with such precision that he shattered the ribs of the enemy he was facing, who fell, no doubt brought low by a rib puncturing a vital organ. Another Thenn hacked at his shield, but the Dornish knight wrenched his hand free instantaneously, and kicked the man to the ground, before plunging his mailed fist through the warrior's unprotected face.
Jon shook his head, he would not have the luxury of observing them for much longer, as he looked to where he would be needed, and found that the Halfhand was being targeted by four Thenns, who no doubt knew of his reputation, as well as made note of his black garb and sought to avenge themselves. He charged towards a man who, while slashing at the Halfhand, had his backed turned to Jon.
Jon seized the opportunity, and slashed at the man's opposed neck, and the edge of the Valyrian Blade, sliced through the thick neck of the wildling with ease. Another turned away from the halfhand and sought to appraise his new opponent.
Jon would not give him the satisfaction, and spurred Snow towards his new opponent. The man seemed to be wilier than the rest, and rolled out of the way, and in doing so, dragged Jon down by his leg.
Jon tasted blood in his mouth, he had no doubt bit his tongue, but he could scarce think of this, as he saw that the Man was seeking to plunge his sword down. Jon rolled to the left on his belly, and more in haste, than anything, with the sort of grace and precision that only comes from being in such a precarious position, drew his dagger and threw it in quick succession.
The man roared in pain, as the dagger buried itself in his shoulder. The man shouted, "marbhaidh mi thu agus èigidh mi do chorp, bidh thu a 'dèanamh bastard", no doubt a bunch of unpleasant words in the Old Tongue these people still kept. But before he could do anything, his face erupted, as a sword came clean through it. The man's corpse fell forwards, his face now a crater. And Jon noted that his saviour was the Half-hand, who had finished the other men who had fought him.
The man offered his hand, well, half-a-hand to Jon, who gladly took it up, and retrieved the dagger from the corpse. Qhorin spat, "I don't understand it, there haven't been these many Thenns so far to the South for a generation at the least. They're almost cultured with their lords and laws, though they revere their ruler as a god-king. Their lands are strong, what do they want at the Fist of all forsaken places."
Jon was bemused, but he was glad that the seasoned ranger had noticed that either of Jon's weapons was different from ordinary steel. Jon looked about for his mount, and finding it unharmed, clambered upon Snow yet again. He looked about, and found that Prince Oberyn had finished slaying what appeared to be a man surrounded by two wolves, though they were not of any size that could indicate they were direwolves. One even appeared to have its flattened, no doubt from a kick from the gregarious camel that the Dornish prince rode.
Qhorin spoke, no doubt having followed his eyes, "That's the skin-changer who set his shadow-cat after you no doubt, impressive bastard to have bagged three companions, but he's dead in the ground, due to an animal he couldn't control, a viper." But before Jon could respond, the sky erupted in clumps of dirt, and snow, and small rocks, as one of the smaller stone shacks exploded. Jon covered his eyes momentarily, but he was inclined to rub it at what he was seeing as of now. An incredibly hairy man, if it could be called a man, stood where not moments ago had been the shack. It's a giant, Jon realised, for no man, not even Hodor stood as tall as the thing.
"FUCK! Thenns keep closer company to giants than most wildlings, but why've they brought one here? Dalbridge and the other archers need to turn it into a pincushion, or we'll lose good men." Shouted the Halfhand, and as if in response, the twelve foot tall giant roared, his crimson fur shaking off the snow and grime that clung to its skin.
It shouted again, but this time in a harrowing tone of what could only be agony, as a dozen arrows had found themselves in its chest. But if the beast were injured, it did not show it, as it swung its large club through the air, though Jon observed that it was not with any great aim, and that the giant seemed to have poor eyesight. A wildling shouted, narrowly avoiding the swing, "air do làimh dheis, jar deg dar din", and it would seem that the giant kept the Old Tongue as well, as it swung to its right, catching a camel deftly, and sending the rider flying.
Prince Oberyn however, would seem, wished to face this giant as Jon observed him barrelling towards the large being, his spear hefted evenly towards the face of the giant. His wildling companion could not call out instructions in time, as an arrow-shaft lodged itself in his throat, and once again the giant began to flail around wildly, sniffling constantly in an attempt to use its nose.
Oberyn was not a particularly powerful man, but he had expertise with the spear, as well as momentum with him, and so the spear struck true, burying itself in the chest of the giant. The giant moaned piteously, but it seemed to have got a grasp upon Oberyn, and pulled him roughly. Jon was frightened for a moment, and so too it would seem, were the other soldiers. But the unexpected happened, the powerful hybrid camel, raised its front-legs into the air, and dashed them resoundingly against the giant, and in turn, the giant shuddered, and laid still, for two craters were now upon its body.
Jon spurred his own camel towards Oberyn, and dismounted to assess what the giant had done to the Prince he squired for. He cursed as he spoke, "Your left arm, the bone is shattered, but it looks as if it is a clean break into two pieces, hold still while I splint it, my Prince." And as Oberyn growled in pain, Jon did the deed, with Qhorin watching over them.
Two dozen heartbeats later, and the battle was finished with near all the Thenns slain save one. The older knights were those who took charge, whereas Qhorin sought to speak to the last man, who lay dying. The Thenn growled in his Old Tongue, "Amadain, tha fios againn ... tha iad ... ag èirigh ... an luchd-coiseachd ... tha feum againn air barrachd fhuamhairean ... dh'fheuch sinn ri adharc a lorg, seann shaman ... ga smaoineachadh an seo ... tha e cudromach…" And seeing their incomprehension, he spoke gutturally, "Cold… rises… soon. Giant… horn… here, must… take." And with these words, the man passed of his wounds.
Oberyn growled, a bit of his cockiness evaporated like the morning dew due to his broken left arm, "What does he mean?" To which the Halfhand responded quietly, "He said something about … Walkers arising. That they need more giants… and they sought to find a horn they think is here, that an old shaman told them that it is here."
Jon gasped as he spoke, "They speak of the Horn of Winter?" to which the veteran ranger responded, "To them they know it as the Horn of Joramun, but to all the other free-folk, it was supposedly buried in a glacier, I do not know why they sought to come all the way here on the words of a shaman. But this simply means that they are a… renegade faction of Thenns if they took the words of a shaman over their god-king, but why they would commit… what they consider heresy, is beyond me."
It was the Prince who responded, "This Horn is the horn that supposedly brings down the wall and wakes giants from the Earth?" And it was Stonesnake who responded, "That is the legend, yes."
Qhorin spoke quietly, "We've lost ten men, rangers and Southrons alike. Far be it from me to yet believe in the second coming of the Long Night, his words… are that which I mislike. We shall burn the bodies, be they wildlings or our own, before we go." And it was Oberyn who responded, "Very well, we shall burn them."
And Jon bit his lip, for he knew not if the Others could be real, for Old Nan's tales talked of the giants as myth, but he'd seen one today, who knows what else could be real, but his thoughts were interrupted by the normal self-assured drawl of Prince Oberyn who spoke, "Squire… you acquitted yourself well, but follow me, we still have work to do."
And so Jon nodded and followed the Prince, who stopped momentarily at the side of his great black camel before speaking, "It would seem you have a name now… yes… you shall be Giantsbane… no?" And it would seem the camel agreed as its long neck bent down and its head nuzzled against Oberyn's own momentarily.
But Oberyn continued walking, and Jon was perplexed as they found themselves standing next to a fallen tree. Oberyn bent over, and began digging through a mound of soft earth with his uninjured hand, and Jon proceeded to help, and it was but half-a-dozen heartbeats later, before they unearthed a bundle of black wool.
Jon was curious as he spoke, "How long could that have been there? And how did you know it was there, Prince Oberyn?" to which the Red Viper replied, "Doran told me….."
Jon's curiosity was severely enflamed as he spoke, "Prince Doran?! But what is inside, how did he know? Is he a greenseer?"
Oberyn responded, "The green dreams… are of the First Men… much as the dragon dreams were of Valyria… but we of Rhoynish blood are said to have our own portents and prophecies, though I know not if Doran had these river-dreams, or if he had his agents rob the forgotten vaults of the Citadel for scrolls from the Long Night."
Jon's curiosity now reached a veritable crescendo inside himself, but Prince Oberyn did not respond in words, but simply unwound the rope that bound the bundle and placed it at the side. Jon wagered that the rope was perhaps two feet across, but it did not interest him half so much as the bundle itself. The prince opened it gently, and Jon noted that inside… were dragonglass weapons: a dozen knives, a dozen leaf-shaped spearheads, and numerous arrowheads. But accompanying them was an aurochs horn, banded with bronze, its rim chipped, and with a large crack running down it.
Jon thought, surely this cannot be the Horn of Winter? And almost as if reading his mind, the Prince spoke, "I do not know either, but if it is, better we keep something that is capable of bringing down what may be our greatest defense against what may or may not lurk in the Lands of Always Winter, far to the south in Dorne. And if it is not, we must only hope that if there are truly any vestiges of the White Walkers left, they do not find whatever forgotten glacier that the Horn truly lies in."
And Jon agreed, shuddering mildly at the thought of the enemies of Men truly existing.
Tyrion Lannister
Tyrion was seated at his desk, pursing through the various reports that had found their way at the table of the castellan of cisterns and drains, that is, Tyrion himself. Atleast it isn't Castellan of King's Landing's cisterns and drains, he thought, as he was wont to ever since he had been given the post since the age of sixteen. The whole realm knew how much the city stunk, and some smallfolk even considered it to be Maegor's curse upon the city to stink.
Why the Targaryens, or Robert after them had never bothered developing the sewers of the city was beyond him, but he was thankful, if only ever so slightly that the bowels of the Rock did not see much spillage or clogging of shit and piss often. No, more often than not, the ancient system of drains, said to be constructed by Lorathis that the Kings of the Rock of old had sought the service of, snaked its way into the Sunset Sea for a league atleast, and all the waste and refuse in it, found itself in the treacherous ocean.
In time, his responsibilities had expanded, if only mildly, though he knew that it must have been his Aunt Genna or Uncle Kevan who convinced his Lord Father, Tywin Lannister, to give him the duties of overseeing some mining operations in the rock, but no, not all, My Lord Father would never give full control over his precious gold to his lecherous, half-man of a son, for most of the veins were managed by Damion Lannister, another cousin from Lannisport.
Today however, he was waiting for news about a particular set of tunnels that had been discovered beneath the Lion's Mouth, the massive natural cavern that served as the Rock's own port of call, though only longships and cogs could access it, unlike the true port-city of Lannisport. The matter of discovery of the tunnels was a tragedy, for a few workers had been swallowed up by a sink-hole in the Mouth, taking with them a small warehouse.
A Lannister must pay his debts, Tyrion had thought, and so all those who had been aggrieved were suitably compensated, and the sink-hole, quickly reinforced and strengthened by the army of craftsmen and carpenters that called the place home. "Oh yes, for a mountain that stretches two leagues from east to west, and towers at thrice the height of the wall, one needs must have enough servants to tend to every need, and then some", were the words of wisdom that one of his ancestors had put forward to justify the maintenance of a labour-force greater than just miners, guards and servants. Perhaps it had been a Tygett of antiquity, Tyrion thought, for his memory of such obscure lessons were shrouded, for his powerful mind tended to ravage more interesting books.
His thought was interrupted by his page, a Lannett appearing in front of him, and speaking, but not without bowing, "My Lord, the men who went to explore the mine, have found new veins of…", but before the boy finished Tyrion waved him off, speaking "Yes, yes, more gold, I should have expected the same. Perhaps if the hundreds of mine-shafts and untouched veins in the Rock ever find themselves dry, we can look beneath it instead."
The boy continued to speak, his head bobbing up and down, "No my lord, it is not gold. They have found veins of tourmaline and rubies, as well as a solitary vein of diamonds. And the tunnels seem to snake ever beneath. They ask for more men to explore the same."
Tyrion paused, before laughing, a short bark, and spoke "Precious gems? Very well, I see no harm in diversifying our own source of wealth away from gold; I suppose we'll need to find more miners for the same. Though I wonder, would the small-folk now be inclined to say my lord father sweats gems along with the other… saying?"
The boy had a look of fear and confusion, as well as what Tyrion wagered to be amusement ever so slight on his face, but no revulsion at the joke, no, for whatever else they may have been, barring his sweet sister and dear father, the rest of his family had never truly treated him poorly, whether they were his aunts and uncles, his cousins at Lannisport, or his other cousins such as the Lannet before him.
But it was the other bit of news that Tyrion was more interested in, A series of tunnels, hmmm, I wonder, before he spoke, "They shall have more men to explore further as well, and inform Ser Damion of the same. I must needs find my lord father to inform him of this." And the page nodded, before scampering off to do his Lord's bidding, while Tyrion waddled out of his office.
It was a small mercy, but the quarters of the current crop of ruling Lannisters was only a bit above the level where his office was situated, and so he did not find himself too winded as to when he reached his Lord Father's solar, though his legs were beginning to cramp. Though Tyrion found that he was well capable of acrobatics, the Gods had found it a jape no doubt at depriving him the same skill at walking.
Hmm, speaking of gods, Tyrion recalled the book he had read yesterday, an account of the religious beliefs of the Ghiscari Empire of the Dawn, and their worship of a singular god named Joj Arr Arr Mah-Tin, Perhaps he's the only true one, and he isn't showing his powers cause nobody worships him anymore, chuckled Tyrion before nodding at the pair of guards who stood outside the door, well, one of the doors, to his Lord Father's solar. They nodded in return, and he passed through three more doors, each more magnificent than the last, before he found himself waiting as his father's page announced his arrival. Tyrion noted that the girl appeared to be some Marbrand, no doubt a relative of his brother's best friend, Addam Marbrand.
The page spoke, in a high voice, filled with courtly manners, "Lord Tyrion, your Lord Father says he shall see you now" and so the child bowed, and Tyrion dipped his head ever so slightly in return, before waddling inside to the chamber.
There were no servants here, for his Lord Father contemplated how to guide the Westerlands in utter silence, and perhaps this was why his belly was flat and taut, like a man forty years his junior. His father's eyes were peering through the various documents that were neatly placed about his table, with feverish speed.
Tyrion was used to this, and so he went over to the drawer by one of the windows carved into the walls that faced the Sunset Sea, and poured himself a glass of Arbor Gold. He momentarily observed the stained Myrish Glass that was present upon it, depicting as it was Lann the Clever whispering into a sleeping Casterly's ear.
He grabbed the cup, and seated himself opposite his Lord Father, and drained half of it, before placing it back onto the table, gingerly so as to not spill anything onto the documents, mainly because he did not want to waste any wine, but also because he did not find it in himself today to enjoy his father's reproaches.
His father's pale green eyes finished perusing a particularly long ream of paper, before he placed it to his right, and looked up at Tyrion, before speaking, "Well?"
Tyrion responded curtly, "The sink-hole that occurred in the Lion's Mouth was reinforced and widened, and within it we found veins of precious gems… tourmaline, rubies and diamonds."
His father responded curtly, "Good. All the more capital for House Lannister to utilize as I deem fit. See that those who found it get a reward of ten dragons each. And?"
Tyrion sighed as he spoke, "Apparently the series of tunnels seem extensive as they snake inland, extremely so, and I've authorized more men to map its entirety. It reminds one of Castamere."
His father observed him for a long moment, before speaking, "Have architects survey the site, I am of a mind to turn it into a mining-holdfast that contains both miners and soldiers much as the Reynes did."
"Casterly Hole, father? A second seat perhaps?" quipped Tyrion, before his father looked at him momentarily before speaking, "The iron-born reaved our fleet at Lannisport, and sallied into the Lion's Mouth as well, lest you forget, petulant child that you were at the time. I have always been of the mind that though the Rock is impossible to take by land, a strong enough fleet can break through the Lion's Mouth. It is one way, our greatest weakness, and I cannot tolerate the same. This gives us a good opportunity to plan a defense of the wharves, with soldiers stationed relatively close to them, and any who find that perhaps the easiest way to break the Rock is to assail the Mouth, shall find that a Mouth has Fangs, much as we have claws."
Tyrion had thought of all this as well, but he spoke, "What enemies are there for us to fear? Viserys Targaryen? What does he have, save whatever alms he finds at begging the rulers of whichever free-city he is in as we speak?"
His father looked at him again, "Perhaps Dorne might rise for Viserys in the future, perhaps not. They have reason to nevertheless, and there are tales that they strike deals with Qohor and other free-cities, though for what purpose I know not. Dorne is not a rich country, but they must have something of value for the Qohoriks to curry favour with them. In similar note, Prince Oberyn rode to the North with a cavalry contingent, with Stannis, Barristan and your brother chosen by the Throne to over-see whatever pleasures the whoremonger may find in slaughtering wildlings."
Tyrion drained his cup, "There's more to the latter, I wager, and what aren't you telling me?" To which Tywin got up from his chair and moved to the window opposite the drawer before speaking, "Lyle Crakehall and Addam Marbrand wish to go north as well. They tell me they wish to meet some forgotten cousins at the Wall, but they know I am no fool. They wish to taste battle as well."
Tyrion waddled over to refill his cup before speaking, "And you denied them, ofcourse."
He did not get a response immediately, and so Tyrion filled his glass and drank from it when his father spoke, "I approved." To which Tyrion sputtered momentarily, as droplets of wine found their way onto his clothes.
His father continued, "Marbrand shall go North, he is brave and daring, yes, but he is wily as well, he shall find whatever there is to be found."
Tyrion cocked his head as he spoke, "And if the Red Viper decides that he has enough of the chill and decides to head home before Ser Addam reaches the Wall?"
His father turned around to stare at him before speaking, "Then Marbrand and his soldiers shall have gained some experience fighting unwashed savages anyhow. The Strongboar however, I am of a mind to send him to scour the Stepstones, for they are… a stone's throw from Dorne, and it would not be hard to find strange things at such a close distance."
Tyrion knew what the answer would be, but he spoke again, "If he finds nothing?"
Tywin responded, "Then he shall have disposed of pirates that threatened the security and wealth of the Westerlands, and the realm as a whole." At this, Tyrion finished his cup, before turning to leave, but his father spoke, "You shall not inherit the Rock. No, if your fool brother cannot be turned from his foolish dreams of the white cloak, then it shall go to Kevan and his sons."
Tyrion turned around to face his father, anger evident on his face and mismatched eyes as he spoke, "And you would leave your second son a penniless outcast? Less than a hedge knight?"
Tywin Lannister did not laugh, nor smile, no. But there were times when a smile threatened to pull at his lips, and it was a terrible sight to behold as he spoke, "Come now, Kevan would hardly let you starve in the dirt. He would no doubt keep your services as they are now. But that is not what I deem best for you. Your tales of the tunnels that you deem Casterly Hole remind me of other tunnels, the tunnels of Castamere that have been drowned for far too long. Before Lord Lefford, the Reynes were those of second in wealth to us Lannisters, and in those times, the Leffords had the satisfaction of being third." Tyrion misliked this conversation as his father gripped the back of the chair tightly.
"You shall be Lord of Castamere of the Lannisters of Castamere, or whatever name you wish to take, which is of no concern to me, but you shall make a cadet branch of our own house. Lords would not wed their daughters to you, for you were a lecherous half-man, but to wed their daughter to the second richest man in the Westerlands? Every impoverished house with half a lick of sense, and many well-to-do ones would jump for the opportunity, all the same. I shall give you men to drain those halls and man your keep. You may choose to rebuild Tarbeck Hall too if you wish, and the Westerlings shall be sworn to you, and their welfare shall be your concern."
It was as if Tyrion had been struck by lightning. Yes, he had been made a very wealthy man and noble maidens alike would fawn for him with false intentions, but to rebuild the part of the Westerlands could very well take years, and though the mines of Castamere were no doubt deep, a certain part of the wealth would no doubt be used to reimburse his lord father for the costs accrued in its draining, And all the while, there was nothing stopping Lord Tywin for punishing an errant bannerman for any slights, real or perceived with things he could not do to a second son.
He thought bitterly, And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that Lord of Castamere, and now the rains weep over my hall, with not a soul to hear.