Tyrion
They reached King's Landing by the morning and the first things to do in Tyrion's mind was to get a feather bed and a nice hot meal and a whore to warm his bed. He has been riding for so long that his legs ached and cramped so badly. He could seldom walk with his legs. Tyrion was very much fed up with the swaying of the horse beneath him that he came to believe that his time in Casterly Rock spend with his father was much more entertaining than this. He missed the softness of his feather bed beneath him and the nice hot meal to fill his belly and the ache between his legs of staying so far away from a woman. He missed all of it so much that he meant to have all three at once. His father and the other tidings can wait. Woe to anyone who would keep him away from his bed.
Tyrion rode through the gate of gods with Bronn beside him. His escort of twenty redcloaks following behind him under the command Tregar. The paintings on the gate seemed to follow him as he passed through the portcullis. He did not like it one bit.
He could smell the stench of the city the moment he entered it. The stench of piss and shit and people. The moment he entered the city he found that it was well crowded.
The inn beneath the sign of the broken anvil stood within sight of those walls, near the Gate of the Gods where they had entered. As they rode into its courtyard, a boy ran out to help Tyrion down from his horse.
"What are you going to do here?" Bronn asked as Tyrion dismounted from his horse.
"Quite easy, if you think," Tyrion said. "A room with a featherbed, a meal and a flagon of wine and a good wench to warm me up completely."
"Innkeep," Tyrion called out as he entered the inn, "we have horses that want stabling, and me and my men require refreshments and room and a hot bath."
The innkeep bowed and smiled a hideous smile when she saw the Lannister lion upon his jerkin and his men coming up behind him. "I'm glad to host you my lord of Lannister. We'll find enough rooms and care for your men and horses."
Tyrion pulled a coin from his purse and flicked it up over his head, caught it, tossed it again. The wink of gold was unmistakable even in the candlelight.
He sent the coin spinning across the room to Bronn and the sellsword snatched it from the air. "Pay them for their services, will you Bronn?" He turned back to the innkeep. "You will be able to manage food, I trust?"
"Anything you like, m'lord, anything at all," the innkeep promised.
Tyrion glanced at the nearest tables and found that most of them were have a good gracious meal. He might very well have the taste of foods he's been wanting to taste for many days. "My men will have whatever you're serving these people. Double portions, we've had a long hard ride. I'll take a roast fowl—chicken, duck, pigeon, it makes no matter. And send up a flagon of your best wine."
"Aye, m'lord, It will be done," the innkeep said.
The bed and food were arranged. Now it is time for the whore. Tyrion faced Bronn. "Eat or drink whatever you want, Bronn," he said. "By the time I come back from my meal, I mean to see a pretty sight in my bed. Make it happen, will you?"
"I would prefer one who is reasonably young, with as pretty a face as you can find," he said. "If she has washed sometime this year, I shall be glad. If she hasn't, wash her. Be certain that you tell her who I am, and warn her of what I am. " Jyck had not always troubled to do that. There was a look the girls got in their eyes sometimes when they first beheld the lordling they'd been hired to pleasure . . . a look that Tyrion Lannister did not ever care to see again.
Tyrion waddled up the stairs to his room, saddlesore, and sour, all too vividly aware of how amusing he must look as he climbed up the stairs. He might get quite drunk tonight. Nothing made the day better than wine or a whore.
The innkeep kept her promise well enough. Two servants came with his rich meal: a huge duck, skin seared and crackling, cooked so fine in a nice golden color. The smell made his mouth water.
His wine came next, a large flagon of fine vintage to wash down the meat.
He filled his wine cup and watched a serving man carve into the duck. The crisp skin crackled under his knife, and hot juice ran from the meat. It was the loveliest sight Tyrion had seen in ages.
When the wings and legs were all separated from the body, Tyrion sent them away and tried to have a quiet meal, thinking about why he was here. His father told him to attend the prince's wedding in his stead but Tyrion knew better.
Either his lord father had a new respect for Tyrion so much so as to act in his stead in the very place he once ruled, or he'd decided to rid himself of his embarrassing get for good. Tyrion had the gloomy feeling he knew which.
He had waddled around in the lion's den when he was at Casterly Rock and now he found himself in this nest of adders they called King's Landing. At least in Casterly Rock he could see the lion and knew what he did and his brother Jaime had been with him. But now he was all alone in Kin'g Landing and never knew what hidden daggers the city had for him. Daggers like the one Ned Stark faced.
Thinking about that alone made his hunger fly away. Half of the duck was left on the plate and Tyrion took a long drink of his wine. He took the flagon and went back to his room.
Inside he found Bronn drinking from a skin of wine lying in the bed. A girl was with him; slim, dark-haired, no more than twenty by the look of her. Tyrion studied her face for a moment, before he spied bones in the table. "What did you eat?"
"Chicken," Bronn grinned. "I should say this to you dwarf, you do have a brain for choosing places to stay. The food and wine are fine here."
Chicken, he thought of the half eaten duck he had sent back. Damn my father. He stared mournfully at the bones, his belly rumbling.
Tyrion turned his attention back to the girl. "Is this her?" he asked Bronn.
She rose gracefully and looked down at him from the lofty height of five feet or more. "It is, m'lord, and she can speak for herself, if it please you. "
He cocked his head to one side. "I am Tyrion, of House Lannister. Men call me the Imp. "
"My mother named me Shae. Men call me . . . often. "
Bronn laughed, and Tyrion had to smile. "Into the bed chambers, Shae, if you would be so kind." He opened the door and held it for her. Inside, he knelt to light a candle.
Perhaps his life was not so bad or evil as his father thinks to be. Even he had some sort of tricks up his sleeve to get what he wanted. Where in the other places they would kill a dwarf at the first sight the gods were so good to see him born as a Lannister. Had he been born a peasant, they might have left him out to die, or sold him to some slaver's grotesquerie. But here he was born a Lannister of Casterly Rock, son of Lord Tywin Lannister and he got to enjoy his own privileges that came with that name. His brother Jaime had always been able to make men follow him eagerly, and die for him if need be. Tyrion lacked that gift. He bought loyalty with gold, and compelled obedience with his name. Yet, valour and bravery did little good for Jaime with the assassin and Tyrion meant to correct that in his life.
He lifted the candle and looked her over. Bronn had done well enough; she was doe-eyed and slim, with small firm breasts and a smile that was by turns shy, insolent, and wicked. He liked that. "Shall I take my gown off, m'lord?" she asked.
"In good time. Are you a maiden, Shae?"
"If it please you, m'lord," she said demurely.
"What would please me would be the truth of you, girl. "
"Aye, but that will cost you double. "
Tyrion decided they would get along splendidly. "I am a Lannister. Gold I have in plenty, and you'll find me generous . . . but I'll want more from you than what you've got between your legs, though I'll want that too. You'll share my bed, pour my wine, laugh at my jests, serve me when I ask of you . . . and whether I keep you a day or a year, for so long as we are together you will take no other men into your bed. "
"Fair enough. " She reached down to the hem of her thin roughspun gown and pulled it up over her head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. There was nothing underneath but the naked body of the girl. "If he don't put down that candle, m'lord will burn his fingers. "
Tyrion put down the candle, took her hand in his, and pulled her gently to him. She bent to kiss him. Her mouth tasted of honey and cloves, and her fingers were deft and practiced as they found the fastenings of his clothes.
When he entered her, she welcomed him with whispered endearments and small, shuddering gasps of pleasure. Tyrion suspected her delight was feigned, but she did it so well that it did not matter. That much truth he did not crave.
He had needed her, Tyrion realized afterward, as she lay quietly in his arms. Her or someone like her. It had been a long time since he'd lain with a woman, since before he had set out for Riverrun to attend his nephew's wedding. His nephew was younger than this girl and he was already married. All the things happening recently meant only one thing, war and Tyrion would happily die thinking of wine and Shae rather than blood and sword.
He could feel the softness of her breasts pressed against his arm as she lay beside him. That was a good feeling. A song filled his head. Softly, quietly, he began to whistle.
"What's that, m'lord?" Shae murmured against him.
"Nothing," he told her. "A song I learned as a boy, that's all. Go to sleep, sweetling. "
When her eyes were closed and her breathing deep and steady, Tyrion slid out from beneath her, gently, so as not to disturb her sleep.
Down in the common room Bronn was seated alone in a table, near the brazier. He was honing the edge of his sword, wide awake; the sellsword did not seem to sleep like other men. "Where did you find her?" Tyrion asked him as he sat beside him.
"I took her from a knight, a pretty one. The man was loath to give her up, but a broken nose changed his thinking somewhat . . . and he didn't look so pretty with a broken nose."
"Splendid," Tyrion said dryly. "I seem to recall saying find me a whore, not make me an enemy. I have enough to think about in King's Landing and some unnamed knight is not a welcome addition."
"The pretty ones were all claimed," Bronn said. "I'll be pleased to take her back if you'd prefer a toothless drab. "
"My lord father would call that insolence, and send you to the mines for impertinence. "
"Good for me you're not your father," Bronn replied. "I saw one with boils all over her nose. Would you like her?"
"What, and break your heart?" Tyrion shot back. "I shall keep Shae. Did you at least know the name of this knight so I shall stay away from him in my time here."
Bronn rose, cat-quick and cat-graceful, turning his sword in his hand. "You'll have me beside you in your time here, dwarf. "
Tyrion nodded. The fire from the brazier was warm on his bare skin. "See that I survive this place, and you can name your reward. "
Bronn tossed the longsword from his right hand to his left. "Who'd want to kill you here?" he asked. "We're here for a wedding."
"You're too smart to believe that," Tyrion told him. "We're in a dragon's lair and which place of the dragon's lair is safe, I ask you. Even the feast there is only for the dragon, not for us. A king once learned that in a feast well enough and who are we compared to a king. I'm not about to do the same mistake he did."