Chapter 21
~Tyrion Lannister~
He awoke to the sound of singing.
Blinking his eyes, Tyrion tried to clear the gunk of sleep from them as he sat up. When that didn't work he used the palms of his hands to rub his sight into existence.
"Did I wake you? Apologies, husband."
Looking around the room, Tyrion finally located the owner of the voice, his wife, Tysha. She was sitting in a chair, sewing a patch onto a skirt that had seen better days.
Tyrion grinned as his mind finally started waking up, supplying him with memories of the past few days. Rescuing Tysha from some outlaws with Jaime, taking her to a nearby inn, sharing wine and eventually making love to her, wedding her, and then traveling to her old house where they'd been ever since. I'm married to a beautiful woman that loves me.
"How could I stay asleep when there's such a lovely sound as your voice echoing through the house?" he asked.
While he was being honest in his praise he still treasured her blush of embarrassment. Tysha mumbled something unintelligible, likely an attempt to downplay her singing ability. Eventually, she looked up from her lap and Tyrion's mismatched eyes met his wife's wonderful blues. She quickly looked down in her lap and resumed her needlework.
He chuckled to himself as he got out of bed. She might be treating me like a noble right now but it's cute how quickly her mood can shift and she treats me like her husband. She can be quite insatiable when she feels like it.
"Have you broken your fast yet?" Tyrion asked as he began dressing himself. Tysha shook her head. "We're going to have to leave the house to buy more food soon."
Tyrion knew that ever since her father had died, Tysha had tried to take care of things but she had been living alone, there was only so much she could do. She had been unable to maintain the crops, having survived mostly on the eggs her chickens laid. The whole reason she had been accosted by brigades was because she had finally realized the situation was untenable and had been traveling to Lannisport to look for work, but with the money Tyrion had on him they had been able to buy plenty of food, even if they had been going through it at a rapid rate.
"What would you like me to make?" Tysha asked.
"Whatever you decide on, my dear, will be fine." He finalized his sentence with a brief kiss to his wife. "I'll plan on what will be needed for the trip and what we should buy."
Tyrion started to pull away but Tysha grabbed the back of his neck. "We don't have to leave." Her voice promised so many pleasurable possibilities.
Before he could respond to his wife's sudden desire, there was the sound of someone banging on the door of the house.
"Who could that be?" he wondered.
"Your brother?" Tysha asked. Her voice was both hopeful yet worried.
It's only two day's walk to Lannisport, things should be safe here. Granted, Jaime and I did save her from an attack. . .maybe the Red Cloaks don't do as good a job as I had assumed. Something to bring up with Father next time I see him, whenever that will be.
The knocking on the front of the house continued.
"Whoever they are, they're being polite and not just barging in, I'm sure it'll be fine," Tyrion said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. Grasping his wife's hand, Tyrion led them out of the bedroom into the main area of the house. "Enter!"
The front door swung open and a man walked inside. Tyrion could only stare. Technically, the hedge knight (for what else could he be, dressed as he was) was well equipped but he was in no way presentable. His torso was covered in thick white plate but the armor on his arms past his pauldrons was completely different. His left was covered in unadorned chainmail ending in a purple glove while the right was in yellow scalemail with a blue glove. The man's legs were covered in plate similar in style to his chest though this was not white, but a muddy red. If the man was wearing a helmet, Tyrion couldn't tell because his head was wrapped in cloth like a Dornishman. He bore no shield nor sigil, the sword at his hip rested in a plain brown scabbard.
I doubt he's here for Tysha so that only leaves me. Is he going to kidnap and ransom me? Or does he seek my death? I know relations between the Westerlands and Dorne have been tense since the Rebellion but I hadn't thought they'd gotten this bad. Besides it's been three years, their anger should have cooled by now. I can't recall anyone else that hates my family.
"Tyrion Lannister."
The man's voice was. . .off. The dwarf didn't know what other word would accurately describe it. It almost didn't sound human. But as unnerving as it was, it helped focus Tyrion's thoughts. This man is too distinctive, while he could be dangerous in a fight everyone who saw him would remember it. No one would employ him to kill a notable target like myself. So why is he here?
"Aye." Tyrion nodded. "And who are you?"
It wasn't the mysterious man that answered, but Tysha. "He's the Rainbow Knight." When Tyrion turned to look at her, she continued, "He travels around Casterly Rock and Lannisport, never going in either. Doesn't really talk to anyone."
"And now you're here. I would say this makes me feel special but honestly, I'm a Lannister, I'm used to people seeking out my family. We are rich, after all." The bravado wasn't entirely false, Tyrion knew practically every man had his price just as he knew the Lannisters could afford to pay it. "Should I call you Rainbow Knight or do you have a name you'd prefer?"
"I am Ser Gerold of Sunspear."
Damnation, I was right. He's a Dornishman. "What can this dwarf do for you, my goodman?"
"You are married."
It wasn't a question but Tyrion treated it like one. "Aye, to this wonderful woman you see beside me, Lady Tysha."
"Lady?" his wife squeaked.
"You married the heir of Casterly Rock, that makes you a Lady," Tyrion quickly whispered and then resumed speaking normally, "If you're here to congratulate us, I thank you for your well wishes."
"Does your father approve?"
Tyrion frowned at the question. "He does not know, not yet anyway. But I imagine he'll be pleased. Now that I'm married he doesn't have to search for a wife of appropriate status for me. One less thing for the Warden of the West to worry about." Finding a wife all on my own, this might be the first time in my life Father will express something akin to approval towards me. I'm finally acting like a man instead of an 'embarrassment'.
The strangely-armored knight just stared down at Tyrion. I wish he'd take off the wrapping, would be easier to judge what he's thinking if I could see his face.
"Regardless, my lord wishes to offer you a job at his keep. The trip will take a few days and will be a cold one, dress warmly."
"I'm flattered that your lord thinks so highly of me but I'm a Lannister and newly married-" Tyrion tried to say only to be interrupted.
"Your desire to stay here puts the safety of your wife in jeopardy. My lord offers sanctuary to the both of you."
Tyrion stiffened. I wondered how long before the threats would start. He said the journey would be short so that means it's either an unruly vassal of ours or- he swallowed nervously as the realization hit him. Fuck, Ironborn. That explains so much. His armor is made up from various raids, he doesn't care how he looks given how close to the coast we are allowing him to get away quickly, and he doesn't fear reprisal because his lord will shelter him given how much I'm worth. FUCK.
"I shall step outside to give you two a moment to collect your things. I suggest you hurry, I do not know how much time we have left."
Once the door closed behind Gerold, Tysha turned to Tyrion, fear clear on her face. That's good at least, means she grasped the severity of the situation. "What - what are we going to do?"
"For now we have to go along with him, unless you are secretly a master swordsman and haven't told me yet." She gave a weak laugh and shook her head. "Then we play it safe," Tyrion continued. "But if I tell you to run, that's what you do, alright? Make straight for Casterly Rock, find my brother, and tell him what happened."
She tried to argue, but he was insistent. Tyrion might have been a dwarf, a halfman, an embarrassment to his father, but he was married now and that meant he was a man grown. He had a responsibility to protect his wife. The pair eventually gathered up what belongings they could carry, really just Tyrion's coinpurse and a few sets of Tysha's clothes (along with a knife on each of their persons).
Gerold led them on a trek southward, within sight of the coast but far enough away that they didn't come across any other people. They walked all day. The sun was setting and the knight gave no indication that he planned on stopping for the night. The Dornishman had been silent ever since they left the house, in fact.
Eventually though, Tyrion was forced to speak up as the last of the sun's light was disappearing. "Ser Gerold, you are a knight of good health but I am a dwarf and my wife a woman unused to such hardships. We've been walking all day on empty stomachs, we need rest. Let us camp for the night."
The response was short. "We are nearly there. Afterwards, you may both rest."
So much for stabbing him in his sleep, he's probably got companions at the boat he's leading us to. We don't even have the energy to run away assuming we did kill him.
The path down to the beach was rarely used, given how overgrown it was. They walked single file through the bushes, pushing at stray branches. Tyrion barely managed to avoid taking one such limb to the face when it whipped back after Gerold had moved past it. Tysha did stumble and trip several times, though whether that was because she was tired or because it was so dark she had trouble seeing Tyrion wasn't sure.
Wait, there's no one here, Tyrion thought when they finally reached the sand. Now that there weren't trees overhead blocking the moonlight, he could see around him reasonably well and they were the only three people on the beach. There wasn't even a moored boat. How does he plan on taking us anywhere?
Seemingly aware of Tyrion's unasked question, Gerold spoke, "Our ride hasn't moved since I arrived in the Westerlands, resulting in it sinking quite a bit into the sea floor. Give it a moment."
It took a moment for the dwarf to process those words, so little sense that they made. Is he saying the boat is buried under the waves? Tyrion considered asking their kidnapper for clarification but eventually decided against it. His feet and legs hurt from the entire day of walking, sitting down in the sand was a much needed reprieve. Tysha knelt down next to him, he leaned into her for both warmth and comfort. She had been able to add additional layers as the temperature dropped thanks to the clothes she had brought, but Tyrion had no such luck.
"I spent the entire day nervous and shaking," she whispered. "Constantly worrying it would be the last time I'd see you before you'd tell me to run."
"I'd only do that if I thought you'd successfully get away," he said, equally as quiet.
"What's going to happen to us?"
"Assuming Gerold and his lord have brains in their heads, nothing. My father will see them dead and buried for kidnapping me but they'll live longer if I'm unharmed." He sighed, not wanting to scare his wife but also not wanting to lie about their chances either. "But Ironborn are not exactly known for their wits."
"Ironborn? He said he was from Sunspear."
"He's clearly a hedge knight, he'll work for whoever pays him."
The pair's discussion was interrupted by something coming up out of the waves. The moonlight helped illuminate it somewhat but it was such an alien shape Tyrion had no idea what it was. The enormous thing was all corded tubes and sharp points. And it was moving. As soon as it broke the surface of the water it began making its way towards the shore, filling Tyrion with a sense of dread. He was well read and considered himself informed on both the animals of Westeros and the various ships used in the surrounding waters and he did not see anything recognizable in front of him. When it pulled itself onto the beach, fully exposing its appearance, the dwarf felt his breath leave him.
That's a dragon skeleton. And it's moving.
Gerold hadn't been lying when he said the thing had sunk into the sea floor. Kelp was tangled throughout the dragon's ribcage, sand and silt continued to slowly drip off its legs, and there seemed to be a fish trapped in the skull judging from the sound coming from it.
"Others take me, it's like a tale from the Age of Heroes," Tyrion muttered.
"At the height the dragon will be flying, temperatures will be quite low. I hope the extra clothes you brought will keep you warm. My lord will not be pleased if you need to see the maester before him when we land."
I must have misheard him. "We're going to fly to go meet your lord?"
Gerold turned around to regard him. "Yes, we have a long distance to travel and this is the quickest way. Also the safest, provided you don't fall off, as your father's men will be unable to intercept us."
Again he mentions Father. Does his lord seek to divide the Lannisters? Tyrion glanced at the dragon. He does have quite the bribe, I'll admit. How many people can say they've flown above the clouds?
"So," Tyrion swallowed, his voice thick as he tried to stall for time to think. "Where are we going?"
"North." Gerold looked at Tyrion and Tysha. "You are underdressed. Make use of the additional clothes you brought."
With that statement done, the knight walked over to the dragon with nary a look backwards, simply expecting obedience. As annoying as it was, Tyrion had to admit that when one controls a dragon that was a natural attitude to have.
His answer was annoyingly vague. Are we going north or to The North? Tyrion thought as he began wrapping himself in Tysha's spare outfits. For one of the first times in his life, he was thankful to be born a dwarf. If he was the size of a normal man he wouldn't have been able to squeeze into the clothes, he didn't relish freezing up in the clouds.
I'm actually going to do it, Tyrion realized. I'm going with him, I'm going to fly on dragonback. If I wanted to get away, return to Casterly Rock or to Tysha's home, this is my last chance. But I'm going with him.
His resolve strengthened as Tysha tied a skirt around his neck like a scarf. I'll not betray my family despite Father's less than affectionate behavior. But I also won't pass up this opportunity.
After checking on his wife, Tyrion spoke, "Ready as we're going to be, Ser Gerold."
The knight had already climbed atop the mount and was getting settled on the saddle, which didn't seem properly sized to the dragon it was atop of. Looks awfully waterlogged too, that won't be comfortable to sit on. Just how cold does it get in the clouds? Will we have to worry about the dampness freezing?
"Climb aboard, make sure to fasten the riding chains to yourself. Will prevent you from accidentally falling off mid-flight."
He hurried to do exactly that. The grandeur of the moment was somewhat ruined by the fact that Tyrion needed a boost from his wife in order to get onto the dragon's back, but that was quickly forgotten when their ride spread its skeletal wings and launched itself into the air.
The wind whipped through his hair and Tysha's arms tightened around him from behind. The only way this could be better was if it was midday, so the sun would illuminate our ascent.
The light from the moon and stars was not enough for Tyrion to see the land below them as they continued to fly higher, but he was able to make out a glow to the north. Lannisport, he realized. I'm looking at Lannisport from above.
He giggled, giddy with joy, as they continued to rise in the air. Looking up, Tyrion saw a dark splotch on the sky, blocking out the star, and realized they were headed for a cloud. What does a cloud feel like, I wonder?
The answer, he soon discovered, was nothing. It was like they were moving through normal fog, he felt some moisture gather on him but that was it. Which made sense now that Tyrion thought about it, but he was still mildly disappointed.
When they broke through the top of the cloud, the dragon leveled out, Gerold apparently satisfied with their height.
Tysha's lips tickled his ear while she tightened her grip against him. "We're flying, we're really flying!"
He laughed, a full belly laugh that shook his whole body. "Indeed we are, love."
~Bartimus~
His heart pounded in his chest, sweat dripped from his brow, if he had been standing Bartimus was sure his knees would have been shaking.
Lord Manderly harrumphed in the seat next to him. "Drink some wine, calm your nerves."
"I'm sorry my lord, it's just this is such an important meeting and I don't want to screw it up-"
"Bah, don't worry about it. I'll do most of the talking, you're just here in case they have questions." His lord paused to reach over and grab a leg of quail off the table. He took a large bite and resumed talking, "After this meeting, you'll have fulfilled the task I gave you. It's time you start reaping the rewards of your labor. Spend your remaining years living in the Wolf's Den, find a wife, have some children, whatever activity strikes you as enjoyable. Well, and actually ensure the smooth running of the castle, of course."
Focus on the future, not on the now. I can do that.
They were in a small dining room of the New Castle, the table already laden with food and drink, while they waited for the guests to arrive from their rooms. This meeting was the culmination of all of Bartimus' time at the Dreadfort; two years of work had led to this moment. Lord Manderly wanted to form a coalition to decide what to do about Lord von Carstein.
I just hope it doesn't lead to battle. Every death will not only hurt our forces but will strengthen the Dreadfort. If I hadn't met the man I'd think Lord von Carstein was an Other, raising the dead just like in the tales about the Long Night.
The door opened and a servant led the two guests in. Lord Halys Hornwood, who Bartimus had met several times before on his trips between White Harbor and the Dreadfort, was a jovial man, always quick with a smile and a jape. The other was someone who Bartimus had only heard about, Mors 'Crowfood' Umber, here on behalf of his nephew Greatjon Umber, something Bartimus had to admit confused him.
I'd have thought this meeting important enough that Lord Umber would come himself. Lord Hornwood did.
"Good morn, I hope you two had a pleasant night? Please, have a seat, enjoy the food." Lord Manderly gestured at the table with the half-eaten quail leg.
"You have a lovely spread set out," Lord Hornwood said as he moved to the nearest chair.
"It's more decadent than the food I typically have when breaking my fast," Crowfood complained. But he sat down and began eating regardless.
Some time passed as the group ate, silence interrupted by the occasional comment on the quality of the food.
When Lord Manderly finished off a plate of hotcakes covered in Carstein syrup, he gave a mighty belch and leaned forward, resting his arm on the table. "Now that we've feasted, let us discuss the reason for this gathering."
"Torrhen von Carstein," Crowfood said, omitting the man's title.
"Aye, he has made a large number of changes to the former Bolton lands-"
"He raises the dead as wights," Crowfood interrupted. "Like the cursed Others. What does it matter if he has opened up some mines or makes potent alcohol? The dead walk!"
"I had planned on building to that, but yes," Lord Manderly conceded.
"What? You thought we would talk about how he's somehow begun selling sugar and then eventually move the conversation to the spectral horsemen riding around the New Gift?!"
Lord Manderly glanced at Bartimus before saying, "I was unaware von Carstein was expanding his influence that far north. I was under the impression he had turned his gaze southward."
Lord Hornwood took over, "He claimed he wanted to build a road from the Dreadfort to White Harbor, that he was willing to sell me the material at cost and would cover the labor expenses himself. Seemed like a deal too good to be true."
"Which means it was," Umber grunted.
"When I went to visit, von Carstein showed me the workforce that had started working on the road at Heathhome. They were dead. He means to move an army into my lands by claiming they are all just road workers."
"Would he really engage in a fight on two fronts?" Lord Manderly asked. "If he means to seize Hornwood lands he'd need troops to hold whatever he takes, not also battling Umber forces."
"Von Carstein doesn't have to beat us, just keep us occupied when he makes his move. I saw the ghostly riders once. They are fast, faster than any living horse. So long as they move around the New Gift all my family's holdings are threatened. To say nothing of all the dead he has at Heathhome. It's why my nephew sent me here, he didn't want to leave in case of an attack."
Ah, that explains Lord Umber's absence.
"I'm a man of the North," Crowfood continued. "I remember the tales. The Others were masters of the winter and necromancy. When the cold wind blows the dead rise, and the living must huddle together for warmth and safety. I'll not stand idly by while the next Night's King gathers power."
"How is he gathering such power?" Lord Hornwood wondered. "He was a sellsword but who taught him? Surely they would have carved out a fief of their own in Essos and we'd all know their name, if they had such power."
"He claims to have been a bastard raised by the Company of the Rose, but that is a lie," Lord Manderly said. "He was too well informed of Westeros and his accent was wrong when I met him in King's Landing. He was raised here, in the North. There is no doubt in my mind."
"Probably sold his soul to the Others," Umber seethed.
"Actually, um Lord von Carstein worships the new gods," Bartimus corrected. "Or, I think he does. While he hasn't ordered a Sept built in the Dreadfort, every seventh day he refuses to make any rulings, have any meetings, or do any work at all that I could tell."
Lord Manderly already knew this, but Lord Hornwood and Crowfood both wore expressions of utter bafflement, clearly not expecting that piece of information.
"White Harbor and the Dreadfort have engaged in a large amount of trade since von Carstein was ennobled," Bartimus' lord said, steering the conversation to a new topic. "I did it with the purpose of learning about Torrhen's motivations and goals but I will not lie and say it hasn't been extremely profitable. The reason I bring this up however, is because of something that I didn't have to buy, instead it was given to me."
"Just get to the point, Manderly," Umber demanded.
"Von Carstein gave me what he called a printing press, it can be used to make copies of, well, whatever book you want. What takes a skilled scribe months can be done in a few days. He recommended I begin making copies of The Seven-Pointed Star. The only reason I have not done so is because he was the one who recommended it."
"Getting advice you agree with from someone untrustworthy is always an exercise for the mind," Lord Hornwood commented.
"Precisely. I initially assumed von Carstein wanted me making the books because he's the only one that knows how to make the special paper and ink necessary for the press to function until he let slip that he had brought pyromancers up from King's Landing and that they were the ones who worked out the formula for the ink."
Crowfood angrily grabbed a cup of wine and took a large swallow. "I'd wager anything written in that ink would burst into flame or steal the reader's soul or something."
Bartimus thought that might be a bit extreme, but Lord Manderly had been leary enough of the Alchemists' Guild and their reputation to not want to trust their ink. He had ordered his maester to look into creating ink and paper that would work with the printing press though.
"Let us not forget that if pyromancers are at the Dreadfort we will have to deal with wildfire at some point," Lord Hornwood said, rubbing his face in his hands. He gave a deep sigh. "Are there any more magical surprises we should expect? Let me rephrase that because of course there will be. Are there any more magical surprises we should expect that we would have forewarning about?"
"He sent a ship to Sothoryos with the intention of hunting down giant snakes," Lord Manderly said flatly.
Bartimus spoke up to explain, "He doesn't use horses. Lord von Carstein's personal mount is a dead moose that still has its antlers. Presumably, he wants the snakes for similar prestige, to look unique."
Lord Hornwood looked furious, a rather odd sight given how friendly the man normally was. "How much more blatant can he be that he seeks to move against my house?!"
That's right, the Hornwood sigil is a moose.
"It is quite clear that something must be done to check von Carstein's ambitions. The question is, what should that be?" Lord Manderly asked.
"We plan an attack and hit him at the same time," Crowfood said, a vicious gleam in his one eye. "While a significant number of troops will have to be stationed along the border of the New Gift, that won't be all of the men my family can gather."
"Von Carstein hasn't actually broken the King's Peace yet, if we move first we'll be the aggressors and I have no doubt he can hold out long enough to create problems," Lord Hornwood pointed out. "Why not appeal to Lord Stark? Is there some reason to think he would not side with us once everything was explained?"
"Lyanna Stark has been a guest of von Carstein's since the Rebellion ended," Lord Manderly explained. "According to Bartimus, the two are bedding one another."
The room was silent as the two visitors processed that.
"Fuck," Umber finally said.
~Tyrion Lannister~
Despite being halfway through the fourth day of flying, Tyrion was just as excited as when he had first climbed aboard the dragon.
That first night of flying had been breathtaking but when the sun had risen and illuminated the Westerlands below them, Tyrion knew he could die content. Nothing could compare to the experience. Yes, it had been surprisingly cold in the saddle and the constant wind blowing sapped any remaining heat from his body, but it had been worth it. Especially since Tysha had her arms wrapped around him the entire time. There had been a bit of a problem when they had landed at the end of the first day when it was discovered they had no food, Gerold apparently having forgotten about that particular need entirely though the knight had gone out and managed to capture a rabbit.
The fact that the man controlled a dead dragon, never ate or slept, and never took off any of his armor left Tyrion wondering if the man was alive. His curiosity wasn't enough that Tyrion would risk offending Gerold by asking, but he wondered just the same.
Each day afterward had been just as delightful. Flying over the Riverlands and then Neck, spending the night in Moat Cailin, continuing northward, sleeping in some wooded area that was several days out from White Harbor by horse, and now they were beginning to dip in height.
Going quite a bit lower, Tyrion realized as they passed through a cloud. Does that mean we're finally approaching our destination?
Scanning ahead of them, the dwarf was able to see a keep in the distance, a town spread out around it.
Think, think. What Houses are in the north-eastern section of the North? The big ones are the Karstarks. . .uh, chained giant, and flayed man. I think there was also a moose? Or was the moose house closer to White Harbor? I know the blue and yellow face is on a peninsula, so this can't be them.
It wasn't as though Tyrion wouldn't be told who owned the keep once they landed, but he knew he needed every possible advantage for the conversation that was to come. If he could plan something, anything out ahead of time it could help him. And to do that he needed accurate information. He had tried prying some knowledge from Gerold over the past few days when they would land but the knight was about as talkative as a particularly ornery auroch.
And Tysha is no help. I love her but she wasn't born a noble.
Regardless of her lack of knowledge, he still appreciated her presence. Her arms around him were a soothing balm for his nerves.
The dragon swooped lower as they approached the town, enabling Tyrion to notice that for the size of the settlement there seemed to be an awful lot of people present. The closer they got the more he was able to properly see, such as the reason for the high population: at least half of them were dead. Skeletons moved about, doing tasks as if they were just regular, living smallfolk. Some of the actual living smallfolk looked up at the dragon as it flew overhead, a few even pointed, but no one ran, no one screamed. As if this was ordinary.
Gerold brought them down to a landing just in front of the outer walls of the castle. If it kept its wings folded in, I think the dragon would actually fit through the front gate, assuming the courtyard within is big enough to hold it.
Tyrion glanced around while he began undoing the riding chains that secured him in place. A crowd was beginning to gather behind them, people from the town curious about what was going on, while a group of guardsmen had formed up in front of them.
"Greetings," one of the guardsmen called out once the three dragonriders had gotten off the dead beast. "I am Ser Martyn Cassel, captain of the guards and of the Dreadfort."
"I'm the son and heir of Tywin Lannister, lord of Casterly Rock. Surely my wife and I rate a higher welcome than the captain of the guards," Tyrion snarked.
Ohh, he did not like that.
"Lady Lyanna is resting. Lord von Carstein ordered me to escort you to him."
The name caught Tyrion by surprise, because it was one he recognized. Jaime spoke quite highly of the sellsword-turned-lord, the man was one of two people (other than Tyrion himself) that Jaime bothered to write to on a regular basis.
"After all the time spent traveling, we are hardly in any condition to meet fellow nobility. Might I humbly request time for a bath and change of clothes?" Tyrion asked, desperately trying to stall for time so he could collect his thoughts.
"You can request it but you won't get it, Lord von Carstein was clear. I am to take you to meet him as soon as you landed." The man paused and looked at Tysha. "However, he made no mention of you, my lady. Do you wish to accompany your husband or do you require rest?"
"It would be rude of me to put off meeting Lord von Carstein when he's already done so much for us, if he wants to meet us immediately I shall, of course, go see him."
Martyn gave a brief nod. "Very well, follow me."
He didn't even greet Gerold, Tyrion realized as the knight in question wandered off. Nor comment on the fact that we rode in on a dragon. That feels comment-worthy. The group passed a stablehand directing two skeletons how to pull a cart full of horse manure. I would have thought the dragon being dead yet still able to move and fly would be the most unusual part of this whole thing but I can see that isn't the case.
He began to grow concerned as they made their way through the keep, for they were not heading up, where one would expect a lord's solar to be, but down.
Towards the dungeons. Tyrion felt the blood drain from his face. I got comfortable, distracted by the joy of flying. I forgot that Gerold wanted to create a divide between myself and Father. This is just more of that. No wonder Lord von Carstein didn't want us to bother making ourselves presentable.
He continued to silently worry as they were led deeper and deeper. They were eventually led down a hallway to a door guarded by a single man, completely covered in armor.
"Shame I'm on duty," the man said, looking down at Tyrion. "Would have been funnier if Krell was here to see you in."
"Funny it may have been, but you wouldn't be here to see it if he was," Tyrion quipped.
The guard seemed to pause in thought before nodding and opening the door.
So now I need to keep an eye out for a guard named Krell. What about him would make us funny? Tyrion wondered as he, Tysha, and Martyn stepped into the room. It did not look as he had expected. There was a fire going in the corner, making the room quite warm, along with an open barrel of water nearby, presumably to put the fire out if it spread because the entire room was wooden. The floor, all four walls, and the ceiling were all covered in panels of wood. They even pitched sealed the edges.
The center of the room was dominated by a large table, jars and boxes scattered across it, not a chair in sight. A man was standing at it, pulling a small brown tube out of one of the boxes.
Lord von Carstein, for that had to be who the man was, had a black cloth wrapped around the lower half of his face. The rest of his outfit was similarly dark, nary a single flash of color upon it. He brought the tube up to his nose and audibly sniffed it. Seemingly satisfied with the smell, he held it up and began lightly squeezing the length of it. Eventually, he seemed satisfied and put the tube on the table and closed the box he got it from.
"Be with you in just a moment Tyrion, this project has been nearly a year in the making and I'm not putting it off for anyone."
The dwarf nodded silently, curious what was going on. He watched as their host and captor pulled a dagger from his belt and sliced the end off the tube. To Tyrion's immense confusion, Lord von Carstein then carried the tube over to the fire and stuck it in, holding it in place until the end was alite. He turned back to Tyrion and pulled the cloth from his face with one hand while popping the unlit end of the tube into his mouth with the other.
Is. . . is he inhaling the smoke? Why?
Lord von Carstein gave an almost serene smile as he exhaled, smoke billowing out of his mouth. He gave a happy groan. "It ain't tobacco but sourleaf is close enough for me. I missed cigars."
My eyes must be lying to me. The smoke is obscuring things, making it look like he has pointed teeth. Then again, judging from the intake of breath next to him, Tysha clearly saw something as well.
Lord von Carstein ambled back over, puffing on the tube. He stopped in front of Tyrion and Tysha and leaned back against the table.
"Alright, you're here. Welcome to the Dreadfort."
"And what a welcome it's been. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience," Tyrion said honestly.
"If you agree to work for me it doesn't have to be once-in-a-lifetime. You can go flying on Soves whenever you want."
Tyrion cocked his head to the side. "Soves? The dragon is named. . . Fly?"
"Princess Rhaenys named him when I was staying in Sunspear. She was quite insistent that a dragon needed a Valyrian name but I wanted something simple that I could actually remember, we compromised."
"That was how you got Rhaenys and Elia out of King's Landing," Tyrion realized. "You flew them to Dorne!"
Lord von Carstein took the tube out of his mouth to point it at Tyrion. "You are correct." He paused and stared at Tyrion. "Random question but how old are you?"
"I am three and ten."
"And you," he said, looking at Tysha. "How old are you?"
"Four and ten, m'lord."
Lord von Carstein grimaced, fully displaying his teeth and proving it wasn't a trick of the smoke that made it look like he had a mouth of needles. "Damn it George. Fuck, that killed my buzz." He stared at the tube in his hand, one end still orange with embers.
The captain of the guard cleared his throat. "My lord?"
"Mmhh?" Looking up from his hand, their host seemed to remember Tyrion and Tysha's presence. "Oh, right. Tyrion, I'll be blunt. I wanted to offer you a position as my steward and to get you away from your father before he found out about you marrying a commoner. That plan might need to be put on hold until you're older. We'll figure something out. Martyn, take them to Garth or Lyanna, they'll know what rooms we can put them in. And yeah, give them food, a bath, clothes, guest right, all that. Usual places for guests are off limits to them for now."
As they were led out of the room Tyrion's mind was whirling. Again, that mention of father. And how did he know about my marriage to Tysha? It's only been a few days. What is his goal? He's already on good terms with Jaime, he doesn't need to have me as a hostage. He does not act like a proper nobleman at all, too informal, so I see Jaime was correct in that regard. But I suppose he can act however he wants, he has magic. I have to learn more about him. He looked up at their escort. The captain of the guards is bound to have a story or two.
"So I couldn't help but notice the teeth," Tyrion began. "I trust there's an explanation?"
Martyn sighed. "Lord von Carstein enjoys giving contradictory answers to those that ask. I think his most recent tale was that his mother was a lizard-lion and his father was an extremely daring crannogman."
"HA! Even if I didn't already like him for the dragon ride, I'd definitely like your lord for possessing some wit. But tell me, which tale do you believe?"
Martyn gave another sigh.
~Author's Note~
In case it wasn't clear, there was a year-long time skip between the previous chapter and this one. It has now been three years since the Rebellion ended. Also, from what I could tell the concept of smoking drugs is just not a thing in Westeros. As someone who used to own a cigar shop and has smoked cigars/a pipe for over a decade, that's just weird to think about.