"So I see life's been treating you well?"
Tyrion's mouth opened, but no sound came out. Bronn closed the distance between them, wrapping an arm around the Imp's throat, the crossbow less than an inch from his head.
"A nice little retirement fund. Thinking of moving south? Or out west, maybe?"
Tyrion finally managed to find his breath.
"Cersei is dead, there's no one left to pay y-"
"And working for the dragon bitch is better, is it?"
The quarrel's point was very close to Tyrion's eye. The sellsword stank of cheap beer, wood smoke and rank sweat. Wherever he'd been living, it couldn't have been much more than a cheap flophouse.
"No, I'm not staying here. I'll take the gold you were so kind as to gather here, and put it to better use than whatever celebratory orgy you were planning."
"You'll never... carry it..."
"Got a cart down by the gates. I'll do just fine, but thank you for your concern, my lord Lannister."
The door opened. The Wolf entered and stopped moving.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you had further business to tend to. Shall I wait outside? Or is this gentleman your banker?"
Bronn stared at the giant, but his grip did not loosen.
"Who the fuck is that?!"
"I am known by many a name, my man, but the Wolf is the most common one hereabouts. And who is it I am addressing?"
"Ssss brnnnn!"
"Burn?"
"Brnnn!"
"Bruin? Bring? Brown? Beldevere?"
"It's Bronn!"
The Wolf's face lit up.
"Oh, of course! How good to finally meet you in the flesh, Bronn!"
"And here I was afraid my Westeros venture would end without fulfilling one of the major conditions of the contract, to which Bronn of the Backwater was so essential!"
Despite his every instinct screaming at him to ignore the misnaming, Bronn could not stop himself.
"It's Blackwater!"
"Oh yes, I do apologize."
The Wolf's tone said entirely otherwise. Tyrion realized he had the exact manner of speech of a highborn amusing himself at the expense of a commoner, secure in the impunity of his birth and lineage.
"I've been through so many peasant villages where mud and dung are interchangeably used as building material, food and clothing, they all blend together after a while."
The Wolf's eyes went to the crossbow.
"I take it this is it? The crossbow which took the life of Tywin Lannister, and was to avenge him?"
Tyrion nodded as slightly as he dared. Bronn was still staring at the barbarian. The Wolf clapped his hands together.
"Excellent. Now then, Bronny-boy."
"Allow me to explain the situation to you. Slowly, and if there are words you don't understand, write them down and I'll explain them. Wait- can you write? It seems a skill of little use to a good sellsword, but seeing as you aren't a good sellsword..."
The crossbow's point shifted away from Tyrion's eyes to point straight at the Wolf, who seemed not to have noticed.
"I am paid to remove people whose presence irritates Tyrion of House Lannister here. By threatening him, you are putting me in danger of not being paid, which believe me is not an enviable situation for you to be in. If you don't believe me, find a necromancer and ask him to raise the ghost of Njordall the Miser, who will tell you all about it."
The Wolf lifted up one of the skulls on his armor. A deep cleft ran horizontally through both eye sockets. The Wolf flashed Bronn a humorless smile that revealed his fangs.
"So: act like someone with half a brain, release your former employer, give me that crossbow, and run as fast as your remaining limbs will allow you to. I for one am willing to forgive your behavior, the sight of more gold you've ever seen, much less held, in your entire flea-bitten existence would explain your fragile mind snapping."
Tyrion could feel Bronn's hand trembling. The Wolf seemed to notice the bolt for the first time.
"Kill him, you die slow. Even you should be able to figure that out."
And there was that slow smile again, the smug, self-satisfied expression of a bully with a helpless victim. Tyrion felt an urgent need to find a blunt object and beat the Wolf's face in, and he was not even the target of his jibes. Bronn's grip on Tyrion's neck released, and tightened on the trigger of his crossbow.
"Let him go, run away, and return to the life of the sellsword that you should never have left, murdering peasants and children for coin..."
The Wolf paused.
"If you even have the strength for such a difficult and heroic task, that is."
Bronn twitched as he loosed the quarrel, sending it into the wall where it clattered to the floor. Tyrion scrabbled over to the table and ducked under it. The Wolf looked at the fallen bolt.
"Amazing. You don't show such marksmanship when hired, do you? I'm inclined to demand a refund on behalf of all the employers you've defrauded, you're more dangerous to them than the enemy!"
Bronn drew his sword and charged the Wolf, who dropped into a crouch.
"What, did you inherit your aim from your father? Was he the type to wet his shoes when pissing against a wall?"
"Shut UP!"
Bronn's sword flashed upwards towards the giant's jaw, but at the last moment the Wolf extended both arms and grabbed Bronn's midsection, hoisting him up before hurling him to the other end of the room. Bronn landed as deftly as a cat, but Tyrion could see his movements were now more cautious.
The Wolf drew one of his swords and advanced.
"You sure you want to do this alone, Bronny-boy? You could find some hired blades, make it three on one, same as your mother likes!"
"Bronn!"
Bronn's eyes shot towards Tyrion. His voice was not pleading, but neither was it commanding.
"You remember that you refused to champion me against the Mountain?"
Bronn spat.
"And? You think happy memories're going to save you?"
"Who do you think did so?"
Bronn's eyes widened and he jumped back. The Wolf's sword crashed into the floor a heartbeat later.
"What do you know, he can learn! Keep talking to him, Shield-slayer, your influence is decidedly a most positive one if it develops the intelligence of the listener!"
The Wolf drew his sword back, holding it low.
"Yes, I killed the Mountain... although, to be honest, I don't know why everyone brings that up. He was hardly the most skilled, or strongest, or even hardiest of foes. What have you done of any importance, Bronny-boy?"
Bronn's eye twitched.
"I fought a dragon!"
"And lived? You mean you got drunk, got pissed on by a dog, and awoke with your throat and groin burning. What is it with the men of these parts, who have seen a dragon from a safe distance and believe this makes them dragonslayers? The Dragonqueen's rule is secure with assassins of such caliber."
Bronn thrust out, the blade clacking against a skull. He leaped to the side, barely avoiding the Wolf's own sword.
"Come now, sellsword, loosen your morals! I have armor, you do not, and yet you keep fighting me as though we were both covered in steel on a jousting field! Where are the tricks of the trade, the dirt in the eyes, the stab in the back, the pulled hair? You fight like a lordling in his first tavern brawl!"
Bronn snarled. Tyrion guessed the Wolf's words were particularly intolerable to him, Bronn having repeatedly made his contempt for fighting with honor clear, but here he had an opponent whose sheer size and prodigious strength was proof against such tactics. Even the trick Bronn had used against Ser Vardis would be of no use; if anything, the Wolf would be more likely to goad Bronn into throwing himself out the window.
Bronn jumped onto the table. He was still shorter than the Wolf, but now able to reach his head. He moved in swiftly, leaping over the Wolf's lazy horizontal slash, and grabbing his crest of hair in his free hand.
"Hair pulling? Works for me!"
The Wolf growled like a dog worrying at a bone and slashed downwards, which Bronn easily sidestepped. Bronn's fist rose up and struck the Wolf full on the nose. The giant groaned and sank to his knees. Tyrion gave a gasp of shock.
Bronn gave a shout of triumph, pulling back the barbarian's head, and shoved the point of his sword into the Wolf's mouth.
"Got anything else to say?"
The Wolf made a choking sound.
"Didn't think so."
Bronn pushed the blade in. There was a crunch, and suddenly Bronn's sword went no further. Bronn and Tyrion stared in horror, even as the Wolf's teeth ground together and the giant rose up. With a final snap, the Wolf's jaws closed completely, and he spat out the sword's point.
"Quite a lot, in fact, most of it unsuitable for innocent children and chaste-eared maidens. But right now it's not my words you should worry about."
Once again, the Wolf's arms closed on Bronn's midsection, this time pinning his arms to his side. Bronn cried out as the pressure increased, his sword dropping to his side.
"Shield-slayer? You want him dead in one piece or several?"
Tyrion looked up. Bronn was staring at the ceiling and starting to go purple.
"Not yet! Not yet. Put him down, please! I have questions to ask him."
The Wolf released his grip, then dropped Bronn in a chair. The sellsword had barely breathed in that two of the barbarian's fingers had closed around his neck.
"He's ready to answer, Shield-slayer. And no fear of him giving you answers you won't like either."
Tyrion moved straightaway before the Wolf could accidentally kill Bronn.
"Bronn. Did Euron put you up to sabotaging the River Gate?"
"Wh-what?"
The Wolf smirked as he squeezed. Bronn gasped silently until the giant loosened his fingers.
"That wasn't an answer he liked, Bronny-boy."
"What do you mea-grrrrrkl-"
The Wolf's fingers tightened again.
"He asked for answers and you give him questions, Bronny-boy. That's not how this works."
Bronn gurgled.
"Don't give me that, Bronny-boy, I heard the Shield-slayer speak clearly and distinctly. And I speak all the languages of men, beasts and Kurgans, so evidently the problem lies with you. I've never heard of Backwater, do they not speak the common tongue there?"
The Wolf loosened his grip. Tyrion intervened before the Wolf could play his sadistic game again.
"Euron sent someone to murder the gate guards and prevent the chain from lifting during the attack. Was that you?"
Bronn managed to croak out his answer.
"No!"
"And you haven't had any dealings with him?"
"No! I've been hiding out in Flea Bottom since the dead attacked!"
There was a snort of laughter from the Wolf.
"How very appropriate."
Tyrion ignored the Wolf's jibe, looking out the window. That Bronn hadn't dealt with Euron was unfortunate, it meant they still had no idea what the Ironborn was up to.
"Anything else to ask him? Last words perhaps, or instructions to give some whorespawn who should take up the duty of avenging him?"
"No."
Tyrion looked at Bronn, who he had never seen so disheveled. Living in Flea Bottom was no easy experience, and he would have to see Daenerys about cleaning the quarter up. Ironically, it had been relatively spared during the assault.
"Well then: Dead in one piece or several? I can disembowel him outside if you wish it, less work for the servants."
Tyrion was about to tell him to throw Bronn out the door, then realized he could not do it. Perhaps not out of pity for an attempted murderer, but out of sheer antipathy for the Wolf's constant appetite for murder.
Tyrion could not help but see the parallel in his own life. His father had had the Mountain as interrogator, encouraged murderer and attack hound, and look at what it had gotten both of them. An entirely avoidable war, a crossbow to the gut, and a living death ended in fire. He had to be better than the barbarian.
"No. Let him go."
The Wolf looked startled.
"You are certain, Shield-slayer? He looks to have the same gratitude as a flea, and to keep biting unless squashed."
"He was dangerous before, when I did not know where he was or could strike from. He is harmless now."
"He certainly will be, with six feet of earth over him. What possible reason do you have to see him spared?"
"He... saved my life once."
The Wolf blinked, seemed to consider Tyrion's words, and finally nodded.
"A compelling point."
The barbarian sighed wearily, and sheathed his sword.
"You and the Dragonqueen both... I hope such generosity will remain unpunished."
"Daenerys?"
"Yes, I offered to have the Lannister guard executed as a warning to her enemies and underlings, as Snow and the Worm had gotten a start on it. She refused, so I offered to beat them into some semblance of an army. She refused that as well. I don't know how she hopes to take on the world if the weak are not culled from her forces."
Tyrion tried to avoid looking smug at the Wolf's obvious dejection. Daenerys was still the queen he willingly followed, and not the bloodthirsty tyrant the Wolf saw in her.
The giant released Bronn and went to the fallen crossbow. He picked it up and looked at it critically. In his hands it looked absurdly undersized, as though built for a child.
"Why did you want it? I wouldn't have thought you the type to use them."
"True. Couldn't even get my finger around the trigger anyway. No, it has symbolic value."
"Symbolic of what?"
For Tyrion it was nothing but an unwanted reminder of his father's lifelong contempt and his sister's hatred. Had the Wolf not demanded it it would have gone in the fireplace in an instant.
"There are seers and hellsmiths who say that a weapon can be made stronger, not through mere craftmanship or materials, but through the use made of it, just as a man's arm can be strengthened by constant battle. I have little use for a patricidal weapon, my own father passed years ago, but perhaps there is a kinslayer out there who would use it, and has the coin to pay for it."
Tyrion looked uneasy.
"You would sell it to them?"
"Certainly. It's a cleaner way of getting rich by kinslaying... and far less cowardly than to simply hire a man to kill your relatives and betray him once the deed is done."
There was a hardness in the Wolf's voice that spoke of strong opinions on the matter. Tyrion thought it better to change the subject and speed the Wolf's departure from the city.
Bronn's groaning provided the distraction he needed. The Wolf noticed as well, and hooked the crossbow alongside a bear's skull hanging from his spiked pauldron.
"Let's conclude our business with this sad excuse for a mercenary. I'm surprised you ever considered him a threat."
Tyrion felt nettled.
"He had us both by surprise, if you must know."
"Both?"
"Me and Jaime. Even told Jaime he couldn't have managed to beat him on his best day to rub it in."
"Is that so."
The Wolf looked at Bronn, but shook his head, speaking as though to himself.
"No, wouldn't work."
He kicked Bronn in the ribs.
"Get up, whoreson! Now that we've seen your lack of worth as assassin and sellsword, let's see if the job of porter suits you better."
The Wolf lifted Bronn by the back of his neck and carried him over to the gold.
"Take the purses, Backwater."
The Wolf stacked the coffers on each other and lifted them, holding them close to his chest. Then he unfolded his arms, holding the massive weight at arm's length, dangling over Bronn's head. Tyrion did not bother to hide his astonishment. It had taken nearly a dozen men to haul the gold all the way to the Council chamber, yet the Wolf held them as lightly as if they were wickerwork baskets.
"Try to run, Bronny-boy, and I drop these. If anything spills out, you'll pick it up with the fingers I won't break."
Bronn hurriedly grabbed the purses. The Wolf moved towards the door, the hanging threat remaining over Bronn's head all the while.
"All those stairs... Perhaps the Dragonqueen will have her dragon lift her chosen advisors lifted up instead of making them climb? Well, good news for you, Bronny-boy, it's all downwards from here."
The Wolf turned in the doorway.
"Farewell, Tyrion Shield-slayer, last of the Lannisters, Hand of the Dragonqueen. May we meet again, in better circumstances."
Tyrion very sincerely hoped they would never arise.
"And you, Ser Wolf."
When the echo of the Wolf's footsteps had gone, Tyrion immediately headed for a pitcher of wine on the table and drained it. The terror he'd felt during the ordeal was slowly replaced with elation that the Wolf would finally be out of their lives for some time.
The sight of Bronn treading carefully as he could to avoid falling down the stairs under the Wolf's pointed sarcasms drew quite a crowd of servants, guards and courtiers by the time the pair had reached the bottom of the Red Keep. The weight of the gold was not too great, but the fear of the Wolf dropping the coffers on his head had Bronn sweating.
"You said something about a cart, I believe? May as well make use of it, Bronny-boy, no sense in wasting good planning."
At last they reached one of the castle's gates, where Bronn's horse and cart were tethered. Without a word, the Wolf placed the coffers in the cart, then looked at Bronn. The sellsword hesitated, breathing heavily, then put the purses beside them.
The Wolf turned to the horse and untethered it from the cart, then from the hitching post. The beast pricked its ears and started to rear up, but the Wolf's mouth made a soft whinny and it calmed down. He pulled the reins and the horse followed docilely, but the Wolf turned around and looked surprised.
"Well, Bronny-boy?"
Bronn jerked up.
"What?"
"This is my gold, my gold is not on my ship. Do you see the problem here?"
Bronn looked from the cart to the horse to the Wolf. His voice held no hint of joking.
"You expect me to pull that all the way to the harbor?"
"You expect to be paid for leaving a job halfway done? Small wonder your employers have grievances with you if you abandon them without doing what they pay you to do."
"Paid?"
"I always pay what I owe."
The Wolf frowned.
"No, that's not quite it. What was the phrase... Ah yes: 'A Lannister always pays his debts.' "
If the Wolf noted the twitch in Bronn's eye he did not show it.
"I am no Lannister, but I certainly reward services rendered to me. I need this gold brought to my ship. If you do not want to work, I do not want to pay you. I spared your life because the Shield-slayer wished it, but now that he is not here..."
Bronn stared, wondering which of them was going mad. He blurted out the first response that came to mind.
"But that's my horse!"
The barbarian turned his head to the horse, then back to Bronn.
"Fight you for it."
Bronn's shoulders sagged. With no further resistance he grabbed the cart's shafts and pulled. The Wolf followed without further comment, holding the horse's reins.
At last they reached the harbor and the Seafang. The Wolf yelled something to his crew, who quickly descended and picked up the coffers and purses. Bronn collapsed against the cart, breathing heavily as he sat down.
"Good! You can always turn to the porter's trade when your sword-arm grows too weak, Bronny-boy. Such effort deserves a fitting reward."
Bronn was too winded to respond to the barbarian's taunts. The Wolf took one of the pouches and extracted a single coin from it. He balanced it on his fist, then flicked it straight at Bronn. The sellsword winced as it bounced off his leather jerkin.
"Hm. Not much speed left in them either. Well, I wouldn't want you to have to beg for your food, the Dragonqueen has quite enough problems as it is without adding a new and unruly mendicant to the population."
The Wolf tossed the purse at Bronn's feet, who suddenly felt his breath return. Eagerly he snatched up the purse and looked inside. There was enough gold in it to spend a month at the best brothel in the city with three girls a night, and the finest wines of the Reach besides... if the finest brothels in the city had been left standing during the attack, the fairest girls not claimed as plunder by the Dothraki and the wine barrels not burned to ash and their contents boiled away.
Bronn scrambled up. The Wolf had tied the horse to a post and had his foot on the gangplank.
"Wait! Wait."
The Wolf turned around.
"Take me with you!"
The Wolf looked Bronn up and down.
"Why?"
"I know the winning side when I see it. You pay better than any lord here. I can be useful to you!"
Bronn's eyes followed the first of the coffers disappearing into the hold.
"Oleg!"
The last marauder turned around and walked up to his captain, the heavy coffer still held over one shoulder. The Wolf turned back to Bronn.
"Do you know how I choose my men, Bronn of the Backwater?"
Bronn looked at the marauder, then the Wolf.
"No?"
"The aspiring crewmen fight each other to the death, two by two. Now, there are no others asking to join at the moment, and I'm hardly going to keep an extra mouth to feed onboard until I find such a man. So if you want to come aboard and live the hardy life of a mariner, you'll have to kill this man in single combat."
Bronn looked at the marauder again. His enormous arms were covered in explicit tattoos and looked broad enough to snap Bronn in half with minimal effort. The weight of the gold-filled coffer did not seem to trouble him in the slightest, as he looked expectantly from his captain to Bronn.
"You only take crewmen based on their strength?"
"And what other qualities do you possess, Bronny-boy? Perhaps you have brains to compensate your lack of brawn?"
The Wolf laughed.
"Brain the Brawn-less. A fitting name, I think."
The Wolf said something to Oleg, who went into the hold with the coffer. Then he looked Bronn up and down with a calculating expression.
"Well, Brawnless, if you want this gold, here is what you will do."
Bronn looked up.
"I am looking for something. 'The jaw of a wolf, broken in two, then stolen by a lion.' Find it, bring it to me, and I will give you gold enough to drown in."
Bronn's mouth opened, but the Wolf spoke first.
"That is, enough gold coin for you to swim and dive in like a duck, nothing to do with pouring molten gold down your greedy throat. It sticks to clothing like you wouldn't believe."
"The jaw of-"
"A wolf, yes. Or half of it. And stolen by a lion. I don't know what it means, they are the words of a seer in a trance who couldn't even remember speaking them. It might not even be a beast's jaw... but as my own is still in one piece despite your best, and laughable, efforts, it clearly didn't refer to me. Off you go now."
Bronn turned around and was about to untie his horse when the Wolf's voice rose up again.
"Oh, and one minor point of detail, Backwater... Do you know how many times a man can be struck through with bolts until there's more of his blood outside than in, all without dying?"
Bronn turned around. The Wolf was holding the unloaded crossbow.
"… No?"
"Should any harm come to Tyrion Lannister, and you in any way be responsible for it... we'll both learn the answer to that question. It will not be short. It will not be clean. It will give you a very long time to think on the error of your ways in ignoring my warnings."
Bronn nodded, before hitching the horse to the cart. Revenge on Tyrion was the last thing on his mind, filled as it was with thoughts of how to obtain the Wolf's gold, through means fair or foul.
The Seafang pushed off and left King's Landing without a backwards glance from its captain.