This story is a tribute to the 2004 German movie Downfall, and I am very sorry to inform that Bruno Ganz, the Swiss actor who portrayed Hitler in the movie has recently just died. May his soul rest in peace.

Chapter 3 The Lion's Claws

'Why would you do this to me, Father?' Tyrion asked quietly. He was no great general like Tarly or a strong warrior like his brother Jaime. He would die in the North.

'You are a Lannister. You have proved your valor on the Blackwater, now you shall have the honor to prove it once again in the North.' Cold amusement flickered through his father's eyes.

Maybe Tywin was hoping that a blizzard would come and swallow his grotesque son. Tyrion decided to not allow him that satisfaction. 'Very well, father, Lord Lannister. I shall do as you command, but if you are hoping I would die in the procedure I fear you will be sadly disappointed.'

Tywin gave no reply, but Mace Tyrell and Pycelle both looked shocked. 'Lord Tyrion should mind his mouth,' said Pycelle, Tyrell nodding in agreement.

'If you all are so eager to see me leave the city I will obey. I shall depart midday.'

'So early, Tyrion?' asked Uncle Kevan.

'The early soldiers get the best whores,' said Tyrion. 'I have an army waiting for me in Riverrun.' Plus, it would mean he would not have to meet Cersei and Joffrey.

'So, if my Lords will excuse me I shall be beginning preparations.' Tyrion bowed and retreated, going outside the doors. He pondered over his father's orders. Maybe his father just wanted him to die in the North, but then, father also hoped him to wed Sansa Stark as to claim the North for Casterly Rock. Tyrion wondered. The North would be perilous, but his army would have better equipment than the Northmen, and he would have Jaime. Tyrion could not think of what his father wished to achieve. Truly, Lord Tywin was a puzzling man.

'Summon Bronn and saddle some horses,' Tyrion commanded to Podrick outside.

'Horses?' The time was early and Pod was still groggy from sleep.

'Those big brown things with four legs. I'm sure you can recall them. And Bronn.

'Are we going somewhere, my Lord?'

'Yes. Winterfell. Now hurry.' Podrick ran away wide-eyed.

The sellsword was quick to arrive. 'Who pissed in your soup again?' demanded Bronn.

'My Lord Father. You'd think I've gotten used to the taste now.' Tyrion poured a cup of wine for himself. 'He has wanted me to go to the North to meet up with my brother Jaime with an army. He hopes I will capture Winterfell for him. You will accompany me.'

Bronn snorted. 'You? Leading an army? Not bloody likely.'

Tyrion looked hurt. 'I fought and won in the Blackwater, you know.'

'Your father won the Blackwater, you only survived because no one thought you worth the kill.'

Bronn was an amusing companion but he crossed the line too often and too far. 'Shut up. Get a dozen of your finest sellswords and prepare provisions.'

'If the Lord Halfman commands.' Bronn gave a mocking bow and retreated.

The rest were completed in less than two hours. Shagga son of Dolf would be joining him with fifty Stone Crows, Timmett son of Timmett with thirty Burned Men. He would be also accompanied of thirty members of the Lannister Household Guards. Not a large army, less than two hundred men, but enough to see him safely to Riverrun where his main host awaited him.

With a sharp blast of a trumpet the Lannister host left King's Landing in midday. They winded out of King's Landing and began a full speed gallop towards Riverrun.

Out of King's Landing the scenery was peaceful. There was fields of apples and barley and Winter Wheat, and roses and trees grew on both sides of the Kingsroad. After they left the Crownlands, the signs of war began to show. Skulls bloomed instead of flowers, many still with swords stuck inside. Hanged men littered whatever few trees left beside the road.

They had been riding all day. Tyrion commanded them to halt and make camp. Bronn's sellswords erected tents and Pod began trying to light a fire and failing. Bronn picked up a skull with a dagger in its eye beside a road. He plucked the dagger out, wiped in clean on a shred of cloth and tucked in in his belt.

'You're disgusting,' said Tyrion.

'It's good steel,' shrugged Bronn, 'it would be a crime to waste it.'

Shagga son of Dolf grunted. 'Shagga would like some good steel.'

'I just gave you a double-bladed axe,' said Tyrion, 'of the finest steel.'

'Two axes would be better. Two is better than one.'

After Podrick had successfully managed to light a fire they roasted a rabbit a Storm Crow had just hunted down for supper. Tyrion shared around a skin of wine.

The next day they left at first light. They had already entered the Riverlands, and weren't far from Riverrun. At noon the white towers of Riverrun finally began to appear before them.

A large Lannister host was encamped beneath the walls, some five thousand or so, Tyrion judged by their size, all mounted. A long wooden barrier of stakes was risen around the camps, and neatly duggen latrine trenches. Hundreds of campfire smokes rose towards the sky.

He strode inside atop his horse with the rest of his company behind him. He heard a few cheers from the men camped inside. He noticed many familiar Banners, of House Marbrand and Farman, Westerling and Plumm, Brax and Lefford. Here and there flew the odd banner of surrendered Riverlords, Lords Bracken and Vance.

He saw Ser Flement Brax, a childhood friend of Jaime's. Brax was wearing an expensive purple cloak decorated with quartz. 'My Lord. We have been expecting you.'

Brax barked a command and the gates of Riverrun rumbled open. Tyrion dismounted and allowed Brax to lead him to Ser Addam Marbrand, commander of the host.

Marbrand was a tall, handsome young man, another friend of Jaime's, with copper hair flowing to his shoulders, the finest Cavalry Commander of House Lannister. He was sitting in his study pondering over a map when Tyrion entered. 'My Lord.' Ser Addam rose when he saw Tyrion. 'You are most welcome at Riverrun.'

'Thank you. I do not intend to stay long, however.'

Marbrand nodded. 'As you command. The host is yours.'

Tyrion grinned. He liked being in command. 'Hurry up, we march for Moat Calin tomorrow at first light,' he said. 'No time for delay. We've got a war to win.'