The next morning, Tyrion sighed as he walked up to the throne room, carrying an estimate of the cost to rebuild the roof and walls blasted away by dragonfire. He hoped Daenerys would not demand it be finished anytime soon, the carpenters and masons he had consulted had given him the choice between the repairs being done fast or cheap or competently.
He pushed the door to find the room empty, save for the Wolf looking pensively at the Iron Throne.
"Ser Wolf!?"
The giant turned around slowly.
"An intriguing idea, a throne of swords. Not the most comfortable of seats, but it does make an impression."
Tyrion found his breath getting shorter.
"You are... er... not intending to sit on it?"
"Ha! No, I long ago gave up my dreams of kingship, and for the better. What manner of king would never sit on the throne, but be forever sailing away to add a new and bloody head to his tally?"
The Wolf put his hand on a hilt near an armrest and tugged. The sword did not move.
"Besides, this would indeed be an ornament to a castle or keep, but tell me what a sailor would want with several hundred pounds of iron in a single useless lump."
The giant released the sword and tried another, which also failed to move.
"How long did it take to forge, do you know?"
Tyrion stared. How far away was the Wolf from that he did not know of the Iron Throne's creation? The idea that he might be planning to betray Daenerys seemed utterly remote now.
"It wasn't forged. It was made by the first Targaryen, supposedly from the thousand swords taken from his enemies, melted by his dragon's breath.
The Wolf was now looking at him with what seemed to be genuine interest.
"Hmm. Turning the weapons of your enemies into the symbol of your power. I wonder..."
The Wolf looked thoughtful.
"A thousand swords, really?"
"Probably not. There can't be more than two or three hundred there."
"Skalds and minstrels are always prone to exaggeration."
Tyrion thought the conversation was escaping him.
"Why are you here, Ser Wolf?"
"Looked for you at the camp, they told me you had business up here. Figured I might as well get a look at what it is the Dragonqueen wants so badly."
The Wolf's head turned to the throne again.
"A strange thing, is a throne, when you think of it. It's nothing but a fancy seat, uncomfortable too, and yet wars are started over which arse sits in it without permission. You yourself have never tempted to sit on it?"
"I have that right, but... no."
"The right?"
The Wolf turned to Tyrion.
"When were you king?"
"The Hand of the King is allowed to, when he stands in for his ruler."
The Wolf nodded.
"A dangerous attitude, that. And what does the king do if the Hand decides he doesn't want to leave the throne on his return? Go back with his tail between his legs?"
"It rarely happens. The King chooses someone they truly trust."
"Leaving them behind to rule their court?"
"Yes. I realize, given your own second's treachery, that such trust must seem utter madness."
The Wolf looked Tyrion in the eyes and frowned.
"My? Second?"
"The man who betrayed you, and died horribly for it."
The Wolf's face lit up.
"Oh, him. He was a good fighter, true, and could have reached great heights in his life, yet such was his despair that it overcame what sense he had. But he was not my second."
"No, I had such a friend, once. Sigvatr was the only one I would trust to oversee my ship and my crew, and the only one whose advice was worth listening to. Sometimes I think he knew me better than I knew myself, and indeed his counsel saved me many a time. Much of what I am today was a result of his teachings, and much of those from his thrashing the idiocy and unjustified arrogance out of me when I was still in boyhood."
Tyrion considered the existence of a man able to steer the Wolf's actions and shuddered.
"And he didn't betray you?"
"He was betrayed. By my own negligence. Blinded by my own folly, I left him under the guard of a few incompetents instead of taking him with me, and so I was absent when he was foully murdered by vile sorcery, miles from the enemy. What manner of death is that for a true Norscan?"
The Wolf shook his head.
"I had to bury him halfway across the world from home, with only the guards who had failed to serve him in death, he who should have had a thousand slaves for the afterlife, in a mound the size of a small mountain, and two ships' holds full of loot to commemorate his deeds in life. His murderer took a long time to die."
The Wolf fell silent. Tyrion decided not to interrupt. Finally the Wolf shook his head and gestured towards the Throne again. It seemed to Tyrion he was quite eager to change the subject.
"Such a thing must have been the prize of spectacular battles and betrayals."
Tyrion stole a glance at the ominous chair. Even now he still remembered the weight of the manacles on his wrists, his father's boredom hiding his exultation, his sister not even bothering to hide hers. He could have slapped himself for thinking himself so clever in demanding trial by combat back then, he'd never have met the Wolf and his life would have been so much easier.
"More than you know. This is where I was sentenced to death.
"Oh? For your nephew, was it?"
"My nephew Joffrey... and other crimes I had committed without knowing they were crimes. My birth, for instance."
The Wolf said nothing, perhaps sensing that this was a touchy subject, or more likely being utterly indifferent to it. Tyrion changed the subject as well.
"I must say I'm surprised you haven't heard all this."
"I am a warrior, Shield-slayer, in the service of the gods. The histories of kings whose bones were dust long before your line's founder was born are of little use to me in my duties."
"Long bef- you've never heard of the Mad King?"
"Can't say I have... or rather, I have known far too many for any one of them to stand out. Did he name his horse a general, or believe his bones were made of glass?"
"He was Daenerys' father!"
That got the Wolf's attention. He straightened up as though he'd sat on a caltrop.
"This I did not know. And what did he do to merit such a title?"
"He tried to set the city on fire."
The Wolf said nothing, only looking out the window.
"What, by himself?"
"He thought it would turn him into a dragon."
The Wolf looked at Tyrion with an utterly flat expression.
"A dragon. I take it it that didn't work?"
"No. But..."
"But?"
"But on the chance that it... might have, he was killed. By-"
Tyrion stopped. If the Wolf had not heard of the Mad King...
"By his chief bodyguard."
The Wolf nodded, apparently not noticing Tyrion's hesitation.
"Far from a rare occurrence, that. And the bodyguard took the throne to start his own dynasty, of course."
Tyrion marveled that the Wolf could be so well-versed in matters of war yet so ignorant of politics.
"No. He was... allowed to keep his post by the winner of the rebellion, after the extent of the king's madness was revealed."
And because Robert Baratheon needed the Lannisters if he wanted to keep his throne, but why spoil a heroic tale?
"Even after killing the previous one? New king was of a forgiving kind, I take it, to keep a man loyal to the throne and not its occupant."
Tyrion shrugged.
"Not forgiving, no... but not one of our better kings either. You would have liked him, I think."
"Oh?"
"He had the misfortune of being a good fighter who could plan a war but not run a kingdom. I don't think he sat on more five councils in nearly twenty years of rule."
The Wolf's lip curled.
"Such things happen when the ruler does not seek out battle but waits for it to come to him. A real Southerner."
There was such contempt in the Wolf's voice that Tyrion looked up.
"You... Your kings do not rule that way, I take it."
"Not the good ones, no. I served under one of the worst of the kind, who made alliances and received tribute instead of inspiring loyalty and crushing challengers to his rule. It played against him in the end, when his spider's webs of deals and promises crashed all around him, reduced to paying off one tribe with what he owed another, in hopes of warding off both. Your king was content with a single throne when he should have led his army to other kingdoms, to conquer the world or die trying."
Tyrion stared at the Wolf, utterly aghast.
"You think... You think Daenerys is such a ruler."
"Of course she is."
From the Wolf's tone, he judged Daenerys to be a natural slaughterer of thousands.
"And you would follow her if she were to set out to conquer the world?"
"Without a moment's hesitation."
Tyrion felt short of words. This was not warlike posturing, this had to be the Wolf's nature at its heart. The barbarian pointed to the harbor and the armies camped before the city.
"Look at her: three different armies following her across two continents, inspired by her promises and given confidence by her victories. Her stay in the city will be a short one, only long enough to be crowned, and then off to devour the world."
"She's wanted the throne all her life. She wouldn't abandon it, not her."
"Wouldn't she? Look at the state she left the city in."
The Wolf's arm swept wide, encompassing the vista of the devastated city through the shattered walls of the throne room.
"Is this a city fit to be ruled from, where half the roofs are gone and the walls melted to slag? No. I tell you that she will only stay here long enough to ensure that her armies are in fighting shape."
"No! She- She cares for the city and its people, she accepted their surrender. She only attacked because of Cersei's spell."
"Yes, I s- heard. And what will it be when she decides to bring the benefit of her enlightened rule to other lands? Will she tolerate any hesitation when she orders them to open the gates and pledge themselves to her cause, or will they also have a convenient though short-sighted sorcerer to enrage her into attacking?"
Tyrion shook his head.
"She has the loyalty of the Unsullied because she freed them. Why would they aid in subjugating others?"
"Because if there's one thing a slave wants above all else, above life, above his own freedom, it's to own others as he himself was owned. Power is a surprisingly hard master to escape once you have tasted it, Shield-slayer."
Tyrion snorted.
"I went from being the king's uncle to a regicidal kinslayer in exile in a day. I gave up on power quite quickly, I assure you."
"And being the Hand of the Dragonqueen gives you as much power as the lowest serf born to a kitchen scullion... but perhaps. I grant that you have the wit to survive such a disaster."
The Wolf nodded.
"But she now commands seven kingdoms, their full wealth and their armies, you think she will accept the loss of the slightest morsel of authority, the tiniest possibility that her demands will be answered with "no"? Are there no others we could name, who cling tighter to power the less they have, refusing to back down even when the power they wield is all in their heads, and would rather bring down their kingdom with them than let another rule it?"
Tyrion stood straight up.
"You're comparing my sister to Daenerys?"
"I am using your sister as a warning and example of what the Dragonqueen will become if she waits here and rules like a spider its web. She is not meant for it, no more than I am meant for shepherding, no more than you are meant for a life of toil and drudgery."
The Wolf shook his head.
"Think, Shield-slayer. The Dragonqueen has gone from triumph to triumph these past few years."
"The horse-lovers are hers to rule by right of conquest, she spawned three sons of scale and fire, she has an army of fanatics at her back, the cold dead were stopped thanks to her, she has taken the throne at the head of three armies... And with all that done, she is still young."
"Will she end it with so mundane a fate as settling down to rule her kingdom as a merchant rules his counter, counting every last coin brought by taxmen and grudging her soldiers their pay, growing fat and paranoid on tribute and whispers of dissension, to end up murdered in her bed by a lover-assassin, or straining at the stool from too many years of meat and wine, with a brood of silver-haired ingrates who will rip her empire apart before her body is even cold?"
The Wolf struck his leg with his fist, as though the very concept was a personal offense against him.
"No. It cannot be. The gods would not interrupt such an ascension halfway through, not in so sordid a manner."
"You're wrong!"
The Wolf looked surprised. Tyrion could not stop himself.
"You weren't with her all this time... I don't know what that magic did to her, but I know she's not the murderous conqueror you think she is."
The Wolf pointed both arms to the ravaged city like a conjurer presenting a trick.
"The evidence is before your eyes."
"She was forced into doing it!"
"Forced into it my arse, she had every intention of doing so!"
The Wolf now sounded genuinely angry, and yet Tyrion felt no fear, only seeing an ignoramus to be corrected, by force if need be.
"She wanted to end it peacefully!"
"What, bring two armies across the sea, gain another one, and then simply let the threat of numbers win the day!? Call that peaceful?!"
"She let the city surrender!"
"And a fine surrender that was, what would it be if she'd ordered it razed to the ground!"
"She wants to break the wheel!"
"And break it she will, for none will dare rise up against her once the world is in her grasp!"
Both men were now bellowing at each other, Tyrion so incensed that he stepped forward and prodded the Wolf's armored knee twice.
"Why did she flee the city after setting it on fire?! Answer me that! Why didn't she land then and there, to lead her army in the looting and pillaging!?"
"Why? Why!? Because of that thrice-damned b-"
It was like watching a bull charge into a stone wall. The Wolf 's eyes widened, his mouth snapped shut like a bear trap, and his fists came up as though by reflex. The rest of his outburst died on his lips with a choking sound.
The barbarian's jaw opened and closed, but only sputtering sounds came out. His hands gripped the air, closing so fiercely Tyrion though he heard the giant's knuckles crack. Finally the Wolf snarled, a sound of pure rage, and turned on his heel. His cloak billowed around him as he stormed off from the throne room.
It was a long time before Tyrion could stop staring, and longer still before his heart stopped beating like a woodpecker in his chest.
In the fury of debate, the Wolf had realized he was about to retort with something that would destroy his own argument, and stopped himself just before saying it. That much was obvious. But what was it?