TYRION
Tyrion cursed the heat, so strong it was as if the sun had not realised that summer was ending. The sea breeze was mild outside the Dragon Gate, which faced northward onto the kingsroad, and it was hot, wet and stuffy. It was unpleasant enough to have to stand outside in it in his finely made clothes, today of red and purple silk. It must be far worse to be the poor bastards of the City Watch, arrayed in gleaming armour which they must be roasting in. Nevertheless, none of the city's people wanted to miss this moment, and it would be unwise for him.
As the rays of the sun beat down on Tyrion, the thumping sounds of feet, disordered, in break-step, were heard on the horizon. There was a cheer from the watching townsfolk as the first red-cloaked horsemen appeared over the lip of the land. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, the distant dots crawled towards King's Landing. It was like watching a great serpent of song and tale emerging from the water: first men saw the vanguard, and then more men stretching further back on the kingsroad, and further, and further.
It felt like a hundred years later when Ser Kevan Lannister and many of his lord brother's most puissant lords bannermen, escorted by grim-faced knights and Lannister guardsmen in lion halfhelms, reached the Dragon Gate. Behind them, stretching so far that the furthest of them were still beyond the horizon, marched what Tyrion knew to be an army of four-thousand men. Ser Jacelyn Bywater gave a sharp gesture with his iron hand and the gold cloaks snapped to attention, saluting the man who would be their new master.
The Lannister army had brought with it some of the produce that Lord Tywin had foraged from the riverlands. As Ser Kevan and his highborn escort passed, wagons of meat, grain, fruit and vegetables were unloaded and eagerly sold to the amassed butchers, millers and grocers of the city. At that price, the noble lords of the west bought the cheers of the townsfolk as they passed in their glittering ranks, on their way to the children of their liege.
Standing with Tyrion, Cersei was dressed resplendently in a gown of black and gold, the colours of House Baratheon, with a red-dyed ermine mantle and a necklace of large pearls. Tommen and Myrcella stood on either side of her. Joffrey, dressed in the same colours, was nearby, with his Kingsguard behind him and Sansa Stark, looking pale and tremulous, at his side. The queen lifted her swanlike neck and gave her son a pointed look, as it was his duty to speak first.
"My lord great-uncle," Joffrey recited, "it pleases me to welcome you to my city." He had, at least, been persuaded to remember that much.
Ser Kevan dismounted and knelt before the king. "Your Grace, I am yours to command." He nodded his head to his niece and nephew. "Your Grace, my lord Hand."
"My lord uncle," Cersei replied sweetly, "it lightens my heart to know of your presence. Henceforth, as Queen Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, in the name of His Grace Joffrey of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, I call upon you to serve His Grace the King as Lord Marshal of the Defenders of King's Landing."
"I am honoured, Your Grace," Kevan said. One of her serving maids passed Cersei an ancient-looking baton of ebony, ruby and dark steel, though Tyrion knew for a fact that the black-and-red colouring of House Targaryen was to further a deception, the rubies were red-stained glass and it had been made by a smith named Harry on the Street of Steel last week.
Cersei solemnly presented the baton to her uncle, who accepted it while still on his knees, as the crowd cheered. They scarcely knew Ser Kevan, but the coming of food made him a popular man, even if it were too little to sate the city's hunger for longer than a week or two.
"Come," Tyrion said. "Let your men to their quarters, and let the king's council discuss the burdens of the realm."
After this elaborate mummers' farce of family unity, there was a similar farce as the High Septon blessed the coming army and wished them the strength of the Warrior to protect the innocent and do the Father's justice. Then, protected by the shining ranks of men-at-arms in cloaks of red and cloaks of gold, Tyrion, Cersei and Kevan mounted horses and headed into the Red Keep, watched constantly by the townsfolk. As they passed the castle gate, and furthermore the gate of Maegor's Holdfast, gold cloaks and red-cloaked Lannister men stood to attention and saluted. With four-thousand men under his command, far superior to the other defenders of the city in both quality and numbers, there was no doubt that Ser Kevan would have led the city's defences in fact no matter whether he had been granted any such title in name.
His niece and nephew led Kevan to a private chamber, cooled by the sea wind, where Tyrion collapsed onto on a comfortable chair with a relieved groan. "How goes the war to the north?" Cersei asked at once. "Father refused to tell me almost anything by raven."
"It is not your lord father's wont that plans of battle be entrusted to such easily slain couriers," Kevan admonished, "as well you know. I am here because the news of Lord Celtigar, Lord Velaryon and Lady Baratheon in the Eyrie made his plans change."
"Even after he received the news about Lord Stannis at Storm's End?" Tyrion said with a raised eyebrow, leaning forward. "How so?"
"Even so," said Kevan. "My lord brother hoped to use the fullness of his strength to crush the Stark boy in the lands of the Trident before moving southward to slay Lord Renly. The news of the Vale's entry to the war made such a plan unfeasible. He and his war council discussed the matter at length, and he no longer believes it wise to attempt a short victorious war in the riverlands. Instead we favour a more conservative strategy. We have made a strong defensive line from Harrenhal as far east as Maidenpool and south along the west coast of the God's Eye and then along the river Mudwash to the Blackwater. The Mudwash and the Blackwater will serve well as our defences. We have an advantage in any battle where we hold a great river, difficult to ford, and the enemy seeks to cross it. The northern line is more challenging, but there are good castles in those lands. If well manned, they can be well defended. Stark's victory at Riverrun made untenable our hope of a corridor to the west, but unless he strips the riverlands bare before us he has not the strength to take Lannisport or Casterly Rock, and the Golden Tooth is nigh impassable, so he'd be a fool to campaign against the westerlands. We can sit on the defensive and he has little choice but to attack us, for he claims sovereignty over the riverlords and cannot rest if a great part of their lands are under our power."
"So he has to come to you in a manner of your choosing, else discard his pretension to be King of the Trident," Tyrion murmured.
"Indeed so. You have heard, I hope, that one man on a wall is worth many men beneath it. My lord brother needs fewer men to defend Harrenhal, even when defending other castles to the east and the rivers Mudwash and Blackwater as well, than to maintain a roving force strong enough to overwhelm Bolton's army or Stark's. But our plan requires time for Stark to grow desperate and impatient to throw us from the riverlands, time we may not have if Lord Renly or Lord Stannis comes too quickly to this city. I was sent here because my lord brother no longer believes it likely that his own host will be free to move to defend King's Landing if the royal fleet sails from Dragonstone or a rebel army from the south approaches. And if either of the Baratheon brothers takes this city, the two of you will die, and so will the king and his brother and sister."
"I see," Cersei said in a tone which implied that she would rather not. "So father expects us to hold the city without any further aid?"
Kevan did not seem impressed by the question. "Yes."
Tyrion was devoutly glad that he hadn't told his lord father the latest news of Lord Renly's movements. All had expected him to keep marching to the capital, or else to separate his army and leave part of it to march to the capital while a detachment headed east to break the siege of Storm's End that had been laid by Lord Stannis. But Varys had been informed that Lord Renly, in his impatience to get to grips with his brother, was racing eastward with almost the whole of his mounted strength, leaving his colossal host of foot in Bitterbridge, not even moving towards the city any more as they awaited their king's confrontation with his elder brother. If Lord Tywin Lannister knew that it would be several moons before King's Landing could be besieged, he would probably have recalled Kevan and his four-thousand men.
"I am very glad of your presence, my lord uncle," Tyrion said politely, "for you are sorely needed here. The gold cloaks are as green as they are corrupt and as corrupt as they are incapable. Ser Jacelyn Bywater is a good man, but if one plants a rose atop a heap of manure it will not swiftly turn into roses. Their skill and discipline could profit greatly from the command and training you and your veteran soldiers have to offer."
"I will see it done," Kevan said.
They spoke further about the defences of the city and the quarters of Ser Kevan's troops. As he waddled out, Tyrion reflected, That has been a most profitable meeting. Kevan Lannister may not have been sent to take sides between the Hand and the Queen Regent, but he could scarce avoid it, having been sent into the midst of that struggle, and he seemed to hold a higher opinion of the Hand. Tyrion could use that. With the gold cloaks outnumbered and outclassed by Ser Kevan's men, he led the most formidable armed force in the city. Tyrion would have to speak with him again, and frequently. Such an ally would be invaluable.
Tyrion was studying a report from Varys's whisperers in the evening of the next day when he heard a knock on the door.
"You'll want to hear this," called Bronn, with his usual disregard for courtesy and titles. "I've news from Spilbroke."
Spilbroke? Tyrion had almost forgotten the name. It took him a moment to recall that little crownlander castle and Littlefinger's strange interest there. He looked up. "Come in."
The sellsword walked into the room, clad in his new respectable attire. He could have been mistaken for a captain of Lord Tywin's men-at-arms. "We've figured out what Littlefinger was doing there," Bronn said without further ado.
"And what is it?" Tyrion's interest was piqued.
"Giving him gold," Bronn said. "Lots of gold. Old Lord Spilbroke has been careful not to display too much of it, but his wife has been dressing in especially fine silks lately and we found a serving boy who said he's been creeping down to a wine-cellar where he's got a hoard. From what the boy said, it's several thousand dragons."
"'Tis a paltry sum compared to what the master of coin has at his disposal, but to a backcountry lord a step up from a landed knight, out in the provinces, it must look like a fortune. But a sum outside the master of coin's accounts," Tyrion mused aloud, "which are meticulous and name the course of every penny." He had sent out men to check various of Petyr Baelish's written transactions and he had not found a single one which had been deceitfully recorded. Moreover, his sums never seemed to add up to the wrong amount given the actual content of the royal treasury. "Littlefinger must have loaned some of the king's money again, put it to work, got it back, but taken the interest for himself this time. He's too clever to get easily caught by embezzling from the royal treasury, when every man jack in his employ would betray him to the crown in an instant if they noticed anything and thought it would win them a better job and more gold."
Tyrion shook his head. "But this is a distraction. So tell me, Bronn… what could a man as rich and powerful as Littlefinger possibly be getting from a far-off provincial lord like Spilbroke? What is Spilbroke doing for Littlefinger in return for all that gold? And how could it possibly be so important that Littlefinger had to absent himself from the city, the centre of power of the Seven Kingdoms where he's built up his strength and his voice whispers in the ears of the mighty, for near three weeks, and go to such amazingly sophisticated lengths to hide his movements, just to stay in Spilbroke?"
"You think I know?" Bronn asked incredulously.
"Of course not," Tyrion said with irritation. "But have you heard of anything else that may be of interest in Spilbroke? Could there be anyone more important than Lord Spilbroke who visited while Littlefinger was there?"
Bronn shook his head. "You heard about the chattering servants. Spilbroke's far less airtight than Littlefinger's men in this city. No-one else was seen, just Littlefinger. It wasn't a meeting."
"Then what was it?" Before Bronn could reply, Tyrion, who had been growing tired of his insolence, said, "I need not your counsel now. Begone, and I will think on it."