Tyrion I
Tyrion Lannister was enclosed behind a veil of thick, grey curtains. The bed he laid on was a bit rough, but it did its duty. A single torch flamed on the wall next to him in the small enclosure. He leaned back against the headboard and savoured the deep and sweet-sour taste of the dornish red water as it made its way down his throat. Bellows of laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the more primal sounds of pleasure could be heard outside the small vault. The air was thick with the scent of perfume, candle wax, and pleasure.
Things were heating up in the capital. Tomorrow, most of the lords and ladies of King's Landing, as well as the royal family, will be riding for Harrenhal. And from what Tyrion could gather from the talks in court, this tournament would be a big one. Baratheon and Lannister. Tyrell and Redwyne. Blackwood and Bracken. Royce and Arryn. Those were just a few of the names he had heard that would make an appearance. And of course, to the shock of the court, Stark and Martell. Tyrion at first doubted they would make an appearance; from what he could gather of Eddard Stark, he seemed like a man who would despair his entire time there. Martell was self-explanatory. They had no love for Robert Baratheon and would most likely try to kill him the moment they set their eyes on him. Tyrion thought it a wonder they were even invited, but they would be fools to try anything. Mayhaps they somehow miss and get my dear sister instead.
Things were not only heating up in the capital, he realised, amused as he reached his peak. His manhood spilled his seed inside the girl's mouth, and he ground in satisfaction, the peak almost lifting him off his back on the bed, and after she licked the remains, she made her way atop him. Her breasts pressed against his bare chest. ''Should I consider your groans satisfactory, m'lord?'' she purred.
''You may.'' Tyrion answered, a wry smile taking hold of his face.
The girl giggled as a reply, a pretty tone that for a moment outshone the commotions outside. Her brown eyes sparkled with mischief. She was a pretty girl, with firm breasts, a round face, and ivory skin. She must be a new one; I have never seen her before. She made her way next to him in the bed, and Tyrion took his time admiring her shape as she did so. The girl laid her head on his chest, her dark hair reflecting the light that the torch provided for them. ''Do you come here often, m'lord?'' She asked.
''What do you think? I do not know you, but I would think you are surely wise enough to distinguish me from every other man.'' Tyrion replied.
The girl laughed; it was a pretty tone. One that not many people had. ''You have caught me. I have seen you here before, but I've never had the experience of being with you.''
''I should hope so, for it would have been rude of me then because I do not know your name. I have somewhat of a good mind for names and people. So tell me, What do you mother call you?''
''My name is Sara, and she did call me that. My mother died a few years ago from the plague.''
''I'm sorry to hear so. 'Tis a sad thing to lose a mother. Grief is something you and I have in common, Sara. The Stranger comes for us all in the end, commoner and highborn alike.''
''Lannister!'' He heard a roar from behind the curtains outside of their little and comfy enclosure. A roar he only knew too well. ''Seven hells, where is the damned dwarf?!''
His ears perked at the sound, and he narrowed his eyes as he tried to look through a small gap between the two curtains sealing them. He caught sight of dancers swirling around and some plain-dressed men sitting at a table in the middle of the room playing dice. Voices rose and fell, snippets of various conversations drifting in, tales of plots, gossip of the court, and clinks of gold, silver, and copper coins.
''Perhaps he made his way back to the Red Keep?'' Tyrion heard another familiar voice.
He rose from the bed and began to put on his clothes. He did not realise how impaired he truly was until he had risen and nearly stumbled back onto the bed.
''Did you lie to me? Did you not enjoy yourself, m'lord?'' Sara asked, and to the girl's credit, she seemed disheartened by the fact he was leaving. An incredulous mummer's farce, no doubt. More saddened by the loss of the coin than by the man.
''As much as one can in a city where pleasures are as plentiful as the stink of shit and fish. Although there is something to be said about the quieter moments of indulgence,'' He finished his goblet, the wine sloshing gently. ''And the wine, of course.''
She sighed softly. ''They told me that you had a way with words.''
''Words are wind, but they have their uses.'' With that, Tyrion set his goblet aside and entered the chaotic world outside the curtain. The room was packed, with women dancing seductively while others served men ale and wine. He noticed the red priest right away; his great height, wide figure, and flapping red robes made him quite distinguishable.
''Ahh! There you are,'' Thoros said when their eyes met.
''I'm a hard man to miss,'' Tyrion replied.
''Come on, you know he doesn't like waiting.'' The red priest said, glancing over his shoulder towards him as they made their way out of the covert pleasure room.
''I'll be sure to seamlessly remind him about how much he grieved for the loss of a Lannister.'' Tyrion quipped, making Thoros chuckle.
As Thoros opened the door and they left the chaos of the fleshy pleasure room, chaos reigned in a different form inside the big tavern. The air hung heavy with the scent of spilled ale and wood smoke. The tavern was heavily crowded with the liveliest men King's Landing has to offer, making Tyrion already see the challenge of weaving through the tightly packed throng. Servants darted between the tables, balancing trays laden with full mugs and half-empty pitchers, while men bellowed in frustration over dice games gone awry, their curses drowned out by the animated chorus of 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair' rising from a corner. Amidst the din, bodies jostled and laughter echoed, and in the corner of the tavern, he could easily spot his other drinking companion. King Robert sat heavily on a tavern bench in the corner of the large room, his broad frame draped in a simple but dignified garb of deep blue velvet, accented with golden embroidery along the cuffs and collar. His tunic, though plain in design, was fastened with an elegant silver brooch bearing the stag of House Baratheon. He had not worn his crown, and any lowborn commoner who had never seen the king could've easily mistaken him for another nobleman if it were not for the attendance of Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Boros Blount, wearing their complex armour of silver scales and white cloak. Standing guard next to the tavern bench. Tyrion and Thoros made their way to the king; it was a tiny struggle, but when he heard King Robert's bellowing laugh, he knew they were there.
''There you are! I thought maybe some commoner stole you for ransom.'' Robert said, a little vexed.
''I'm begging your pardon. No, that's not right.'' He paused, gathering his wisdom through the fog of wine. ''Beging your pardon, Your Grace. I was quite busy; there was a woman that required my immediate attention.'' Tyrion managed; Robert's demeanour immediately turned when he heard his excuse, and the king roared a bellowing laugh.
''Yes! We must have plenty. There is a long ride to Harrenhal.'' He turned his head towards a servant who diligently served her buyers. ''Bring us two flagons of that spiced wine! Your king commands it!''
''Quite a command.'' Thoros said, raising a cup.
''Yes, a most marvellous showing!'' Tyrion declared.
''Thoros! Lannister! There she is!'' Robert grinned, pointing behind them. Tyrion turned his head to try and find the woman Robert was pointing at. Then he remembered the woman he had been talking about some hours earlier. The dark-skinned woman was indeed a beauty, he noticed. Big bosom, and a dress that made her even more exotic and desirable.
''Narthae, or was it Narthaya?'' Thoros asked as the serving maid got permission from the Kingsguard to serve them the two flagons.
''Narha. Gods, how she reminds me of Bessie!'' Robert bellowed as he took the cup the serving maid filled. ''From the Summer Isles, she is. She told me that there, the act of lovemaking is considered an important and even holy skill, and all islanders were expected to serve for a time in temples of love.''
''Then tell me, Your Grace. Why haven't we sailed there already?'' Tyrion asked, his lips curled. And the entire table bellowed in howling laughter. After the laughter started to dissipate, they all took their cups and thanked the serving maid before taking a huge gulp of the red water. This one is stronger, as he immediately noticed. I will wake up to a quiet nightmare tomorrow.
Robert slammed his cup onto the table, a little of the red liquid splashing. ''Gods, Lannister! You may be a small man, but you drink like the damned Greatjon!''
''I've come to realise that size often deceives, Your Grace.'' Tyrion answered, lifting his cup up with a smirk.
Thoros' eyes sparkled with mischief. ''Yes, I've heard accounts from many workers inside King's Landing's brothels about your formidable size.''
Tyrion chuckled. ''Only from the finest establishments, I'm sure.''
Robert leaned forward, one eyebrow raised. ''What about you, Thoros? You talk much of your fire god, yet you drink and whore so much that I think the fire is almost drowned out. What says your god about your constant state?''
Thoros waved a hand dismissively, almost knocking over a flagon. ''R'hllor gave us life and fire, my king. And what better way to quench a man's thirst than the heat of spiced wine?''
Robert howled in laughter. ''Well, Thoros. You will soon have to pray to your god to make your king bring you some water! Because there's still plenty more drinking to be done!''
''Speaking of which,'' Tyrion butted in, raising his cup. ''I believe it's my turn to choose the next toast. To survive another day in the capital. May our night be as formidable as our reputations.''
''Aye!'' Robert and Thoros roared in unison.
One of the Baratheon guards who was standing by the entrance to the tavern was making his way towards one of the Kingsguards and whispered something in Ser Arys' ear. And like bricks falling, Ser Arys turned and whispered something in King Robert's ear. The contents could not have been good, as Robert Baratheon's demeanour immediately turned sour.
''Seven hells!'' He roared.
''Your Grace?'' Thoros asked carefully, placing his cup on the table. King Robert's gaze turned distant, but only for a few moments before his eyes met Thoros'.
''You'll both find out eventually, probably tomorrow. The Triarchy has successfully driven Volantis away from the disputed lands.''
''Ahh, you're worried that they now might turn their eyes westwards, towards the Stepstones.'' Tyrion figured it out immediately.
Robert nodded in reply. ''They call it 'The Battle of the Charred Fields'. Reports say that the Volantine army is scattered. The Triarchy now stands uncontested.''
''The alliance will not stand for long; I'm from Myr. I know the people.'' Thoros said.
''Men change, Thoros. How long ago was it since you were there last? A lot can change during some years.'' Tyrion said.
''I piss on their 'alliance', if they dare to make a move to disrupt my kingdom. They will regret it.'' Robert said, his blue eyes narrowing in determination.
''Leave tomorrow's problems to the men of tomorrow. I believe it is my time to harbour a toast.'' Thoros declared, his cup once again held high.
Time flew fast as the liquor flew through his system, and the world spun in a hazy blur as Tyrion's consciousness began to retreat, the final traces of last night's revelry slipping into the void. He heard his own slurring voice, the vibrant clink of tankards, the sharp singing, and King Robert's booming laugh mingled with Thoros' drunken tales. His vision became a blur of faces and lights. And then, darkness claimed him.
When he woke up with full consciousness once again, the world was cloaked in a cruel fog. He groaned as he sat up on the bed, trying to collect the missing fragments from last night. His head was pulsating, and as he looked around his surroundings, he was thankful that it was his chambers. He called for servants who took some time to prepare a bath for him. The water was warm and refreshing, and he could feel some of the headache leaving him as he was finished cleaning himself. When he stepped out of the bathtub, he already saw the crimson-gold clothing laying in his bed, ready for him.
Once he was done, he decided to continue his reading of The Nine Voyages while waiting for servants to arrive with his morning fast, drinking a cup of water as he did so. He was currently on the first voyage where Lord Corlys Velaryon sailed beyond the Jade Gates to Yi Ti and Leng and returned with such a wealth of spice, silk, and jade that House Velaryon doubled their wealth. The glory days of their house are no doubt; back then, they even matched House Lannister in wealth. Today they were no wealthier than any other house of its size, though Tyrion found himself wondering how House Velaryon had lost so much of their gold and power and why no Velaryon had ever tried to make the similar investments Lord Corlys made that made his house so rich.
His mouth watered as the servant brought in his morning fast, consisting of two soft-boiled eggs, strips of bacon, and freshly baked bread with butter and honey. He began to stuff his mouth, preparing his bowels for the journey ahead. He found himself wondering if he should ride or go in the wheelhouse with his family. King Robert would undoubtedly be riding, which meant Joffrey would also be. The fact that Joffrey would be riding was a good enough argument for him to choose the wheelhouse. The boy had an uncontrollable temper, not unlike his dear sister, a spoiled brat who had all the makings for Aerys the Third.
A knock on the door that followed the door opening brought him back to the world. His brother Jaime entered his chambers, the golden armour decorated with the Lannister lion glimmering. ''Good. You're ready; we're leaving soon.'' Jaime said.
''Hello, dear brother. Will you be riding with his grace? Or will I have the pleasure of your company inside the wheelhouse?'' Tyrion asked.
''I'll be in the wheelhouse. Cersei practically demanded it.'' Jaime said, smiling smugly.
''Well, you mustn't refuse our dear sister. I'm sure she will feel much safer with you beside her.'' Tyrion said it jokingly.
''You should be thanking me. 'Twas I who found and escorted your filthy back to the Red Keep last night. I had to practically drag you from Chataya's brothel.''
Tyrion raised an eyebrow at that. ''Chataya's? Last I remember was me drinking with my good brother and the red wizard.''
''Well, they weren't there when I found you. Ser Arys said that you had left them for 'urgent business'.''
Tyrion's mouth was full of bread and bacon. He took a swallow of water to wash it all down and grinned up wolfishly at Jaime. ''I didn't see you with King Robert, so I assume you were guarding our dear sister last night before you had to save me?''
His brother's smile curdled like sour milk. ''Yes, I was. It was very dull standing outside her door. So I was happy for the distraction you provided.''
Fool, you impetuous fool.Tyrion thought. He finished that last of the eggs and washed it down with the last of the water. ''I see. Well, I thank you for the rescue; we best get moving then.''
As his brother opened the door, he remembered something King Robert mentioned to them last night. So he decided to leave the book he was reading here in his chambers and instead walked to his bookcase of recently borrowed books and grabbed The Reign of King Viserys, First of His Name, and the Dance of the Dragons That Came After.It was a heavy book, and Tyrion had to sheepishly admit that he struggled to carry it, so he gave it to his brother. ''Have a servant bring it to the wheelhouse, or bring it yourself if it pleases you.'' Tyrion said.
Jaime responded by rolling his eyes with curved lips. ''Of course, you lordship. Should I have a servant bring you a bowl of strawberries as well?''
The sun cast a golden hue over the walls outside the Gate of the Gods, where the city of King's Landing met the open Kingsroad. Tyrion and Jaime Lannister, flanked by a retinue of crimson-cloaked guards, approached the open road. Hundreds of different knights, their armour gleaming in different colours, formed a sea on either side of the kingsroad. They sat tall on their horses, and the air was filled with the sounds of jangling chains and the creaking of leather saddles, added by the occasional whinny of an impatient steed. Among the knights were the various ladies and lords of the court, some mounted on horses, others enclosed in small, ornate carriages. The wheelhouses were painted in the colours of their houses, their doors and windows draped with silken curtains, providing glimpses of finely dressed nobles within. Men were carrying various banners; Lannister, Baratheon, Arryn, Crakehall, Clegane, and a dozen more Tyrion did not recognise.
A towering, windowless, double-decked structure of oiled oak and gilded metal dominated the road; it looked like a fortress on wheels. Forty heavy draft horses were dragging the big structure. Standing in the wheelhouse's shadow were Queen Cersei, Princess Myrcella, and Prince Tommen. Cersei's crimson-gold gown fluttered like a banner in the breeze, her golden hair catching the sunlight in a blaze of defiance. Her emerald-green eyes flashed with irritation as she watched her brothers ride closer. Myrcella and Tommen, in more subdued attire, looked up with a mixture of joy and relief.
''We've been here for some time, waiting under the sun.'' Cersei snapped.
''Good morning, dear sister. Joyous as ever I see.'' Tyrion said he was amused as he, with help from a Lannister guard, got off his horse.
Cersei's glare could have turned men to stone, but Tyrion merely raised an eyebrow in return. She opened her mouth to reply, but Jaime stepped between them. ''We're here now, Cersei. Let's not make a spectacle of it.'' His brother said it softly.
Tyrion shook his head and decided to turn towards Tommen and Myrcella instead. ''Are you two ready for the journey?'' Tyrion asked calmly.
''Yes, Uncle! I've been ready for ages.'' Myrcella said impatiently, grinning.
''Mother said that you wouldn't be here, but I am glad you are!'' Tommen said joyously.
''Me too.'' Myrcella agreed.
''Did she?'' Tyrion asked innocently, turning his head towards his siblings. Cersei glared at him while Jaime looked at him apologetically. ''She must've been misinformed; I am here, and I will not be leaving.''
Cersei's anger softened slightly as she glanced at her children, her overprotective nature momentarily overriding her annoyance. "In the wheelhouse with you," she instructed, her voice less harsh. "We've wasted enough time already."
''Yes, mother.'' The children replied as they both scrambled into the lavishly appointed interior. Cersei turned back to her brothers. "Let's be on our way. And try not to be so late next time," she added, fixing Tyrion with a pointed stare.
Tyrion gave a mock bow. "Your wish is my command, Your Grace," he replied.