May, 299 AC

The letter from Dorne was writ in a wobbly hand. Doran Martell had gout, Tyrion remembered- a nasty illness. It made the joints stiffen and swell and was reputed to be exceedingly painful. Rumor had it that Doran traveled everywhere by litter, as he was too gouty to sit a horse.

Yet despite his shaky hand, Doran's mind appeared steady. He accepted the offer to betroth Myrcella to his son Trystane and proposed she travel to Sunspear by ship. With no word as to Stannis' movements and half the fleet on Dragonstone, sailing directly to Dorne was dangerous. Instead, Doran suggested that Myrcella sail for Braavos, and from there to Dorne. It was a convoluted route, but a sensible one.

Once Myrcella was in Braavos, Doran promised to fortify the marches against Stannis. Tyrion doubted Martell had any intention of committing his men to Tommen's cause, but at least they wouldn't be swelling Renly's host as it crawled up the rose road. Varys said that King Renly and his little queen Margaery Tyrell stopped at every castle to feast, and watch jousts, and whatever other nonsense. Renly's crown should have a tortoise on it, not a stag. Thank the gods for Renly's love of showing off. If Stannis had such a host, he'd already be king. But no. Renly had all the charm and all the men, and Stannis had common sense and not much else.

Tyrion sighed and returned to the letter. The prince wrote that Dorne was glad to accept the crown's gracious offer of a council seat, but it would take some time to arrange the journey. What with the thousands of miles twixt Sunspear and King's Landing and the slow pace of traveling by litter, Tyrion doubted Doran would arrive until just before the new year.

The final part of the letter was the most touchy. Prince Doran expressed great interest in the offer of justice for the deaths of his sister Elia and her babes. He didn't have the crudeness to name the culprits outright, but Tyrion suspected he knew exactly whose heads Doran would like tarred and spiked.

From what little Tyrion had heard the Martell siblings had been close, despite the ten year gap between Doran and his younger siblings. Tyrion didn't want to think about how he would feel if some Dornish knight raped and killed Cersei, but if sweet Myrcella or Tommen suffered the fates of Elia's babes… Tyrion would hold that grudge until his dying day, and do his best to see that the killers died screaming. Lorch and Clegane were but two men, and a worthy sacrifice to appease the Martells' need for vengeance.

Tyrion frowned as he idly scratched his scarred elbow. It hurt far less since he'd begun applying Bel's salve, but it still itched when he propped it on a desk for too long. In sixteen years, why didn't father hand them over? There were plenty of brutal men to do his dirty work, and the friendship of Dorne was worth far more than two knights. But then, Elia's murder had been a colossal blunder, and Tywin Lannister had never acknowledged a mistake in his life.

Well, Tyrion wasn't Tywin, and if the gods were good Robb Stark would keep his father busy until Tyrion could deliver Ser Amory Lorch and Ser Gregor Clegane to Dornish justice. In the meantime, Tyrion had reports to deliver to Cersei.


Tyrion rubbed his eyes as he walked into Myrcella's garden. Cersei was sitting on the ground. Cersei was sitting on the ground, smiling, a ginger kitten on her lap, as Myrcella placed a woven crown of flowers upon her head. The sunlight shone on Cersei's golden hair and her eyes sparkled like emeralds. Tommen wore a matching crown of flowers, though it was hanging precariously over his ear. The ginger and white kitten named Ser Pounce perched on the young king's shoulder, batting at the crown with one paw. Tommen looked over, his plump face bursting into a dimpled smile.

"Uncle!"

He jumped up and ran to Tyrion, the kitten clinging on for dear life. As Tyrion accepted his nephew's hug he realized they were the same height- Tommen would surpass him soon, just as Myrcella had.

"Your grace," Tyrion said, sweeping a low bow as Tommen giggled and Ser Pounce yowled in protest. "I see your sister has given you and your mother better crowns than any smith ever could."

"Thank you, uncle," Myrcella said, blushing, "but I'm afraid they are poor substitutes for gold and gems- they'll be wilted by nightfall."

"The brief life of a flower makes it all the more beautiful," Tyrion replied. "Where is your crown, sweet niece?"

"She didn't make one for herself yet," Cersei replied, rising from the grass and brushing off her skirts. The ginger kitten leapt down carefully with a mewl of protest.

"Who's this one? And where's Ser Whiskers?" Tyrion asked. Tommen grinned, revealing a missing tooth.

"That's Buttons. Ser Whiskers is napping with Lady Stripes and Lady Cinders." Gods, how many cats did the boy have?

"Children, run along," Cersei said, lightly ruffling Tommen's hair and straightening his crown. "Your uncle has affairs of state I must see to."

With a smile Myrcella, Tommen, and the kittens made for the other end of the garden, leaving Cersei and Tyrion alone but for the ginger kitten who had flopped at Tyrion's feet. The queen's beauty faded as fear crept into her eyes.

"Any word of Stannis?" Cersei asked quietly. Tyrion shook his head and leaned down to scratch Buttons' chest.

"None. But I've word you'll like much better. You'll recall Lord Gyles discovered Baelish's thieving?" Cersei nodded. "Well, I've found some of the gold Littlefinger stole from the treasury. Twenty thousand golden dragons, hidden away in one of his brothels."

In truth it was Lady Cedra who had discovered Littlefinger's embezzlement, and Bel who had told Bronn about the iron chest Baelish kept in her cellar. No one could figure out the peculiar Rhoynish lock, and in the end Tyrion resorted to having a smith melt it off. But he could hardly tell Cersei a Dornishwoman was acting as master of coin while a brothel madam supplied him with information.

"Good." Cersei replied. "The crown needs the coin to keep Tommen safe."

"To keep all of us safe," Tyrion corrected her. "Much as I love my nephew, I'm quite fond of living too. There's so much I've yet to see."

"I'm sure seeing the inside of those brothels lifted your mood," Cersei said, leaning down to scratch the kitten's chin. For once there was some humor in her gaze.

"Since when do you like cats?" Tyrion asked, unable to hide his confusion. Cersei gave an elegant shrug.

"I don't. But they make Tommen happy, and this one has grown on me. He never complains or demands anything, he keeps his claws out of my gowns, and he killed a rat in Tommen's chambers the other day."

"Perhaps the rats are the ones who tell Varys everything," Tyrion japed. "As for the brothels, I'll have you know that I sent Bronn. I'm too busy for such distractions. Serving as your hand requires all my time and talents."

Cersei smiled as she stood and returned to her children . He almost felt bad that he was planning to poison her.


Shae's dark eyes glimmered, as bright as the black diamonds on the golden collar she wore. It nestled against her creamy throat as she lay beside him on the bed, her nude body dewy with sweat.

"M'lord is eager tonight," Shae said, stroking his beard with her hand. He had already taken her twice, and as he looked at her stiff pink nipples he could feel himself growing hard again.

"M'lord has had a trying day," Tyrion replied. Shae was lovely but she was a whore, not a wife, and his troubles were his alone.

The week had started so well. Stannis had left Dragonstone, only to march on Storm's End, the stubborn fool. Renly had found some sense of urgency and was rushing to meet him. Cersei was stuck in her privy, thanks to the powder he'd slipped in her wine, and Tyrion was finally able to confront that toady Pycelle. The man had looked absurd with half his beard shaved off.

No sooner had Tyrion flung the old man in a dungeon than Ser Cleos returned to report that Robb Stark was still at Riverrun, at least when Cleos left over a month past. Though it was a little odd that the Stark boy had refused to see Ser Cleos. The new terms had been sent with Cleos by letter, and with no acknowledgment of the return of Ned Stark's bones or his greatsword. Tyrion could only hope that the boy was shaking in his boots. Regardless of the boy's ingratitude for his gesture of goodwill, Tyrion was pleased to have Cleos back. Tyrion finally had a plan to free Jaime, and Bronn was searching for the men he needed.

But that was days ago. Cersei was healthy as a horse, and he'd given her too small a dose. Within four days she was out of her chambers and furious. Tyrion had expected to receive a tongue lashing for his treatment of Pycelle, but that was only the beginning.

It seemed someone had told Cersei about the begging brothers preaching against the "brotherfucker" queen and praising the wolves who fed and guarded the folk of the Riverlands. Nor was she the only Lannister out of favor. The city had hated Lord Tywin since the sack, and now the street preachers had grown bold enough to denounce him for the murder of Princess Elia and the Targaryen babes, the rightful heirs to the throne. Cersei was positively livid, and had all of them thrown in the black cells before Tyrion could so much as blink.

There were no more smiles, no more laughter when they spoke. Cersei interrogated him like he was a captured enemy and she his gaoler. How much wildfire was ready? When would he free Jaime? What was his chain for? What progress had he made in recovering Littlefinger's stolen gold? Was there any news of the Stark girls? No, reminding her about the sighting of a red wolf near Stoney Sept was not amusing, would Tyrion like to join the begging brothers in the black cells? It seemed as though it took all his wits just to keep Cersei from having his throat cut.

And then there was that business with Ser Alliser Thorne. I saw it with my own eyes. I tell you, the dead walk. Tyrion shuddered.

"M'lord?" Shae asked, a frown upon her pretty face.

"Do you think the Others ever existed?"

Shae propped herself up on her elbow, biting her lip as she thought.

"Stories have to come from somewhere," she said at last. "Even in Lorath we have tales of the Long Night and the demons of the cold. I once heard a storyteller from Yi Ti say that it was caused by a terrible emperor who killed his older sister and stole her throne."

"There's stories about snarks and grumkins too," Tyrion replied, idly stroking her wavy hair. Shae shook her head.

"Those are stories for little children. Do you not feel a chill when you speak of them?"

A chill? No, it was more than that. It was a sharp dread, a knife of bitter cold that cut through his entire body. His stomach turned to lead, his limbs to jelly. But Tyrion could not admit that to anyone, not even Tysha. I loved a maid as white as winter, with moonglow in her hair.

"Hush," he said instead, and went to sleep with Shae's warm body clasped against his.