A/N: Hello again,
This chapter is dedicated to a dear friend of mine and the reason I have put writing on the back of my mind for some time.
I'll be honest, mental health has always been some kind of taboo to me. What is the quote? "People don't fully understand or care about something until it happens to them." I think it is. Well, safe to say I have a completely different perspective and respect for mental health in general. I'll be short; however, a childhood friend of mine is currently suffering from a cannabis-enduced psychotic break. It is truly scary how fast a mind can completely deterioate. Me and the rest of our friend group are currently struggling on how to fully deal with it; we feel that we have done everything we can. Contacting the social services, the police, and the friend's family. It is hard to describe the feeling of receiving phone calls in the middle of the night from a friend who had always been a little shy in nature, rambling about God, superpowers, and sometimes quite hostile talks about how he has 'defeated death', among other things. I don't want to abandon him, but I feel very out of my depth on how to approach a person like that, considering that he throws temper tantrums every time we mention professional help and proceeds to block us, only to unblock us days later and acts like nothing happened.
So yeah, this is dedicated to him. I love you, man. I hope you understand that. We all do.
Tyrion III
He was feeling funny, joyous even—a bold man could presume. That's how it always started, he knew. Soon enough, when the moon covered the black night sky and the castle was sleeping, he would find himself either deep inside a woman or deep inside his dear family's fury. It did not matter though. If Tyrion Lannister was going to spend a whole night with the great families of Westeros inside a hall, he was going to be impaired. Luckly though, he had found himself quite a garrulous man to drink with.
''Mmmm. Fine vintage.'' Tyrion said, still feeling the strong appleish taste. ''I have not heard of it before, though. Is this commonly served in Tyrosh?''
Kallio, the Triarchy envoy, gave a proud grin in return. In truth, it was quite alright, though never something that he could find himself drinking on a regular basis. Yet saying that would not accomplish what he was trying to find out. ''It is of my own making—or rather, mine and some trusted friends'. I have connections with a magister who crafted it.''
Crafting his own wine was something he had never thought about, yet he now found a strong incentive to do so. I could call it 'The Imp's Delight', and only my close friends could drink it.
Who would those friends be? He wondered. Jaime, yes, sure. But who else? Who could he else consider a 'close friend'? Thoros? Nay. His good brother, the king? Nay. They were just convenient drinking companions; he truly tried but alas failed to consider them anything closer than that. It was not a realisation he welcomed—his lack of men that he could consider friends. Who would want to be friends with Lord Tywin's Doom?
''I see. Though I must confess, it leaves a rather bitter finish on the tongue.'' He said, trying his hardest to hide the bitterness in his tone.
''Bitter? Nono, my lord Lannister. That would be your Dornish one.'' Kallio laughed, waving his hand in a dismissive fashion. ''Though in Tyrosh, we have far finer means of easing a man's troubles. You must grace us with a visit someday, Lord Tyrion. I assure you, there you shall never want for pleasure.''
''I must say, I've always held a fondness for the Tyroshi. You possess a rare talent for indulgence,'' Tyrion said nonchalantly while carefully noticing Kallio's already half-lidded eyes brighten at the compliment. ''Perhaps you, as an Tyroishi, can indulge me with something else?''
''Perhaps so,'' Kallio said somewhat smugly. ''Though I must confess, 'twould entirely depend on the indulgence in question.''
''Do not worry, my lord. 'Tis but a small curiosity, nothing more.''
Kallio leaned forward in his chair, one eyebrow raised. ''I am no lord, Lord Tyrion. I am merely a representative, looking after Triarchy interests.''
Tyrion gave a short chuckle, leaning back. ''Of course, interests must be looked after.''
Kallio observed him thoughtfully before taking a rather huge gulp of wine, chuckling himself as he did so. ''Just so, what is it that your wondering, Lord Tyrion?'' He slightly slurred out.
''Why, about the kingdom you are representing, of course.'' Tyrion answered as he swirled the cup of wine in his hand. ''The great alliance between Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys. Quite a feat of diplomacy, if ever there was one.''
Kallio's chest was slightly puffed at the praise while Tyrion continued. ''Yet it must be costly, nay?''
''The Triarchy does not lack for gold, Lord Tyrion.'' Kallio said rather dismissive, though the grin on his face remained.
''Noone in this world would dare say otherwise, my dear representative. Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys are all rich cities, mayhaps not as rich as my family though.'' Tyrion answered, his tone full of innocence.
''Some men are lucky enough to stumble upon caves full of gold... others, however, must find other ways to succeed.''
''Indeed, I was never good with gold or pecuniary matters. A sad thing to admit for a man whose family shits it out.'' Tyrion said, earning a hearty laugh from the foreign diplomat. ''Though I would like to think that I possess a rather clever mind, clever enough at least to deduce that wars are expensive. You have yet to fully defeat Volantis, not to mention all those fleets swarming the Stepstones. A costly affair indeed.''
Kallio continued chuckling. ''Speak clearly, Lord Tyrion.''
Tyrion smiled innocently. ''It just makes one wonder how it all works. The Three Daugthers is a collective, is it not? No lord in this country is particularly generous when it comes to gold. My own lord father would never lend gold to the Crown without certain... influence. Your land is not different. From what I understand, none of the three Triarchs are Magisters, though they are the richest in your land.''
A small silence followed, though it was broken by Kallio after he finished his cup and a servant filled it up again. ''It is true that no Magister sits upon the 'The Triad', though I fail to see what that has to do with gold.''
Tyrion gave a genuine laugh. ''I did not take you for a mummer, my dear diplomat. You cannot possibly get enough gold from them to fight your war. Otherwise, there would be three magisters sitting upon your Triad. 'Tis only natural for rich men to ask for influence in exchange for gold.''
Kallio gave a faint laugh, but there was a flicker of something sharper behind his eyes. ''We are flattered by your concern, Lannister. I'll be sure to raise it with the Triarchs themselves. Though, if you must be indulged, we've got gold enough to spare.'' The diplomat answered, a small tingle of relief in his voice. If Tyrion would guess, Kallio probably thought that his curiosity was just that—a tiny checkup on a rival's finances.It is not.
''Oh?'' Tyrion said, raising his eyebrows. ''Very well then; I just thought The Triarchy recalling The Iron Throne's debt had something to do with your Triachs wanting to keep the Magisters gold, and consequently... influence at bay.''
Kallio's drunken grin made a reappearance as he took another gulp. ''What would make you think that?''
''Well, I wouldn't know any numbers. I'm just the humble dwarf, after all. But one hears things, and I hear the Crown owes quite a fortune.'' Tyrion said innocently.Almost there, just a bit further.
''Rumours are worth as much as a bag of sand.'' Kallio said, shrugging. ''But the Iron Throne has debts, yes. More than most men can count.''
Tyrion raised an eyebrow genuinely. ''More than most men?''
''Oh, more than that. More than you'd think, my friend.'' Kallio sloshed the wine in his goblet as he laughed, spilling some on the table. ''Enough to make your father go pale.''
Surly not? He is bluffing; why would he lie? Tyrion forced his expression to remain calm, though. ''Well, I do admire your confidence. I suppose with a sum like... fifty thousand dragons?''
Kallio scoffed. ''Fifty?'' He proceeded to say something in Valyrian; Tyrion was certain it to be a naughty word. ''Do you take us for beggars? Try five hundred thousand! At least.''
Tyrion's eyes widened for a second, but he forced himself to bear an indifferent expression once more. All the while Kallio paused and frowned slightly as he took a rather large gulp of wine. ''Well... who knows for certain? 'Tis a mere estimate, of course; I have yet to hear from your Master of Coin about a full repayment plan.''
Tyrion raised his cup with an innocent smile on his face. ''To estimates.''
Kallio raised his cup, and the pair proceeded to toast to estimates. An estimate Tyrion suspected was rather accurate. He had what he wanted, and he would have to consider the consequences about that information later; now, however, he had a feast to prepare for, and he was still way to sober.
''I presume that there exists a great abundance of drinking games in Tyrosh?''
Kallio had wasted no time; if that was because of eagerness to show off his culture or that he wanted to move on from their conversation, Tyrion did not know. It was a welcome change either way. The games were great, and the company the diplomat had called over even better; Tyrion Lannister had to give that to the Essosi; they knew how to drink, and they knew how to have fun. Myron, the other diplomat, was a rather dull man, though he loosened up as the drinks got flowing. He could not complain about the three maidens he had brought with him; he had to give that to Myron. Tyrion had also managed to get two Lannister guards and Thoros of Myr to join them.
One game that Kallio shared that remained in his head even when he made his way to his family was The Pearl of the Harbour.
The concept was rather simple; there were two types of players. Drinkers and the 'pearlman'. The pearlman possessed a black pearl and a goblet of wine, while the drinkers only had the wine. The game proceeds in turns, with each player making a toast. The pearlman's job was to discreetly drop their pearl into a drinkers goblet during any of the toasts without being caught. If the drinker whose goblet received the pearl catches the drop in action, the pearlman is out of the game and must drink his entire goblet in one go. If the drop goes unnoticed until the end of the round, the drinker with the pearl in their goblet is out and must finish their wine in one go. The game then continued until one remained. The winner is declared 'Harbourmaster' and gets to choose one player to do any dare the Harbourmaster demands.
Tyrion found the game refreshing, with him and Thoros silently wowing to introduce his good-brother to the game. King Robert might not like the deceptive part of the game now that Tyrion truly gave it good thought. It does contain drinking though; mayhaps that will be enough to tempt him to try.
''Tyrion.'' His brother in golden armour acknowledged once he opened the door to the Lannister-Baratheon Chamber Hall inside the great ruin that was Harrenhal.
''Brother,'' Tyrion answered back. ''Missed me?''
Jaime Lannister rolled his eyes with a smirk. Though it was the heir to The Iron Throne that replied. ''Who would miss you?'' He sneered.
''Dear nephew, as charming as always.'' Tyrion smiled innocently.
Joffrey Baratheon looked confused and even more irritated. ''It was not intended to charm; I was—''
''—Not being very charming... yes, I have yet the wits to discern that much. Still, I thank you for the clarification, my prince.'' Tyrion interrupted coolly.
Prince Joffrey opened his mouth to retort, but he was interrupted by his mother. ''Where have you been?'' Queen Cersei asked suspiciously.
''What I do best—drink and talk. The Essosi, I must admit, have truly mastered the art of distraction.''
''Hmm.'' Cersei voiced, her eyes narrowed in some made-up suspicion. ''Well, I trust you have not made a fool of yourself; though, by your own showing, you have mastered that art...''
''We all have our boons; mine lies elsewhere, I'm afraid, yours in your beauty, and your son has his masterful charms. I've little doubt that Sansa Stark and Margaery Tyrell would be of the same mind.''
Cersei Lannister looked like she had seen a dead cat, though a triumphant smile soon appeared on her face. Tyrion had hoped that his remark would make the Queen sour; instead, her smile, despite his imparidness, made Tyrion strangely uncomfortable. ''
Her husband's chamber door opened with a washerwoman rushing out, giggling. Yet Cersei's smile did not disappear. Jaime and Tyrion shared a glance when they noticed.
''Good, you're here!'' King Robert boomed as he too got out of his chamber and noticed him. ''Let's go before your sister takes my head off.'' Tyrion suppressed a laugh, while Queen Cersei's expression did darken at that.
The king had quickly decided to march toward the Great Hall, his white protectors, wife, and royals behind him. He quietly joined the expedition, his mind taking him back towards the innovative drinking game he had just played. He noticed Prince Tommen; the plump little lad was looking like a nervous wreck, so Tyrion decided to strike up a conversation about Wonders Made by Man. A book written by Lomas Longstrider that records the nine man-made wonders of the known world. He had given little Tommen the book for his latest nameday, and he remembered him being unusually fascinated with it. To Tyrion's surprise, he had in fact read it; he was on his second re-read of the large book. He could not help but smile when the little prince's nervousness slowly evaporated and the emerald green eyes he bore widened in awe when Tyrion answered Prince Tommen's question about The Long Bridge of Volantis, the longest bridge in the world.
Jaime had joined them, but the interest had quickly died when he heard they were talking about infrastructure. Once the giant door to the Great Hall swung open and a steward announced them, Tommen reverted back to being a nervous wreck, but Tyrion thought his brother, in shining armour, did a good job of calming him down.
Tyrion did not get to sit up at the high table with his brother, niece, and nephew. He truly did not mind though; he was entirely content in sitting with his uncle Kevan and other, less significant Lannisters.
The Great Hall had changed, yet it had not. Great tapestries depicting King Robert's Rebellion. He noticed a man he thought to be Lord Randyll Tarly looking like he had forcibly swallowed a lemon, his gaze drawn to be a tapestry he thinks showing a siege; it was hard to tell from the distance. It was only when he saw Lord Stannis looking at the same tapestry from the high table that he deduced it must be displaying the Siege of Storm's End.
The feast was otherwise great, though he had to give wine it's credit for the deception. He was confident that he had received many stares and whispers.''The Imp'', ''The Halfman'', ''The Giant of Lannister''. He never noticed; in fact, he had a rather long conversation with Uncle Kevan and Aunt Genna as the fourth and final course arrived. A lemon cake in the form of a roaring lion, honeycakes, baked apples in butter and cinnamon, berry tarts, and other sweet wonders.
''So, I hear the Lord of Riverrun has vanished. Are there any whispers to the tale, Uncle?'' Tyrion asked while taking a slice of a baked apple.
Kevan frowned slightly. ''Most likely. Rumours travel swifter than ravens, Tyrion. They say Hoster Tully has not left his chambers in months, though whether that speaks to illness or prudence, only the Tullys themselves could tell.''
''A pity if true.'' Aunt Genna said, sipping on a goblet. ''Do you suppose his son has taken the reins then, or has the Blackfish come slinking back to the Riverlands to lord over the lot of them?''
Tyrion chuckled. ''A curious question, though the Blackfish's reputation does not paint him a slinking man.''
''And what do you imagine your father will make of it? Lord Tywin does not often look kindly on instability among our neighbours.'' Kevan asked Tyrion with a tone that suggested incertitude.
Tyrion smiled as he took a gulp of wine. ''Ah, Father.'' he said. ''If he has any opinion at all, he's keeping it to himself. You'd know better than I, Uncle. What is our lord and sire up to in the depths of Casterly Rock these days?''
''Lord Tywin is ensuring our mines continue to produce and our bannermen remain loyal.'' Kevan said, his tone a matter of fact.
Tyrion gave a short and loud laugh, making his uncle frown. In other words, he does not know what he is doing. As if his dear father's bannermen would not remain loyal, they would follow him to Sothoryos if he demanded; he had to give Lord Tywin that much; they know the cost of defiance. ''Yes, now the rains weep o'er his hall, and not a soul to hear.''
Aunt Genna had snorted as well, no doubt making the same conclusion as he did. ''That's our brother, indeed. Ever the watcher, ever the one who waits.'' She took a careful sip of her goblet while gazing at something at the other end of the hall. ''Yet while he watches, the rest of us contend with Triarchs at our very doorstep. I've little patience for pirates mummering as diplomats.''
''Pirates with a rather large fleet,'' Ser Kevan reminded his sister. ''The envoys of the Triarchy came to speak of matters of coin, nothing more.''
''If you say so.'' Aunt Genna said.
''I found them rather pleasant, once one gets past the social threshold, of course. A bit of wine does wonders.'' Tyrion said nonchalantly, raising his goblet.
''You should not be making friends with such folk, Tyrion. Lannisters do not associate themselves with pirates.'' Lady Genna said.
''I was not engaging them in conversation out of loneliness, Aunt Genna. I was, in fact, serving our house, extracting some rather interesting information.''
Four eyes met his two; interests highly peaked. ''Did you glean anything of value?'' Genna asked.
Tyrion Lannister turned away from them, instead choosing to gaze at Petyr Baelish conversing with Jon Arryn. ''Perhaps, perhaps not. Only time will tell.''
Suddenly, he felt a great need to relive himself. He excused himself and rose from the table. Slightly wobbling once he made it to his feet, drinking and sitting never did wonders for once balance. He quickly made his way to a privy and exhaled as he started emptying himself of drunken wine, thinking about ways to deceive his uncle and aunt if they would keep pushing for an answer about what he found out from the foreign diplomat. It was information that he wanted to keep close to himself at the moment; he silently cursed himself for even bringing it up, but he had felt a weird sensation of wanting to defend his honour.
The floor had a way of tilting just a bit too much beneath him; he noticed as he started his long walk back towards the Great Hall, he expected to meet some 'lost' washerwomen on the way back, asking for directions, maybe some minor lord's whispering to each other, or maybe even King Robert himself deciding to call it early and give in to his desires. He did not, however, for the life of him, expect to see Lord Eddard Stark approaching him, flanked by two Winterfell guards. Seven hells, what does he want?Tyrion thought, despairing. A nightmare come true to see Lord Stark approaching him intending to strike up conversation while he was too impaired to piss straight. He quickly considered just turning around and walking somewhere else, though that would be ridiculously awkward.
''Lord Tyrion,'' Lord Eddard acknowledged, looking ever stern. He was tall, like any other man, yet looking up at him was like looking at a stone statue. His face was was completely frozen. Mayhaps it has truly frozen over; it does get cold up there.
''Lord Stark,'' Tyrion Lannister acknowledged back, smirking. ''I must confess, I am a bit lost and quite drunk, so forgive my bluntness. What, pray tell, could you possibly want from me?'' He continued, hoping for this conversation to be over as quickly as possible, if the gods are good.
Lord Stark frowned, looking him up and down before speaking. ''I've been meaning to speak with you, my lord.''
''Ah, yes. I imagine so. You're not the first to want a word with the most charming Lannister. Speak away, Lord Eddard.''
Eddard Stark's eyes narrowed. ''I've got a few questions for you, if you would oblige me.''
Dear mother, have mercy. ''Questions? From you, my lord? I can't say that I'm honored... I am intrigued, though.''
Lord Stark wasted no time. ''I wanted to ask you about Renly Baratheon. When did you last see him before his death?''
Tyrion blinked, suddenly very sober. ''Renly...?'' He asked. ''Well, uh... I suppose it was... uhm, some time ago.'' He continued, rubbing his temple. ''We had a drink, I believe, in some of the quieter halls the capital can provide. It was right before he got sick, if I recall correctly.''
''And what, pray, did you speak of, exactly?''
''Talk? A great deal of nothing, truly. Mostly it was Renly, endlessly boasting of what he could have achieved had he been crowned first. Quite typical of him, I suppose. The man certainly had his ambition.''
Lord Eddard did not say anything, though Tyrion could have sworn that he saw something flash past his frozen face. The silence was quite long, which only served to make Tyrion more uncomfortable. ''Did Renly have many enemies? Anyone at court who would have wished him harm?'' Stark eventually asked.
Tyrion raised an eyebrow. ''Well, the entire Baratheon family, for one—his brother Stannis was never much enamoured with him. Though, to be fair, Stannis did not exactly hide his disdain, did he? Practically ran to Storm's End once he took his final breath. King Robert wasn't very close with him either.'' Tyrion paused, stroking his chin. ''He'd smile, shake hands, and then whisper behind your back, all the while assuming you were too blind to notice. If he had any foes, I suppose they were those he slighted without ever truly realising it.''
''No enemies at court, then?''
Tyrion smirked, suppressing a laugh. ''Court is full of enemies, Lord Stark. Some of them wear smiles, others wear daggers. But Renly's real enemies were the ones who are across the Narrow Sea—those who don't want a Baratheon on The Iron Throne. Like The Beggar King, there's not much more to it than that.''
Eddard seemed to truly consider his words, nodding slowly. ''I see.''
''Is that all, my lord?'' Tyrion asked.
Lord Eddard's frozen face softened just a fraction, and he gave a curt nod. ''Thank you for your time, Lord Tyrion.''
Tyrion nodded, grateful for the end of the interrogation. ''Always a pleasure, Lord Stark,'' he said, smirking. He did slightly hesitate, however, wanting to remind him of the sheer stupidity of asking men such questions. But he shook that impulse aside and kept walking; he surely had his reason's.
His mind truly drifted as he walked back toward the Great Hall, though; eventually, his mind always seemed to land on a particular person. Renly Baratheon. Had my intuition been correct? Did someone at court murder him? Was he even truly sick? Did Eddard Stark's intuition tell him the very same? Does Lord Stark suspect me? Did Cersei murder him? Joffrey? The Spider? What did you know, Renly?
Hundreds of questions kept rumbling inside his head, floating around like bubbles, threatening to burst and make him mad. He needed more Arbour Red; he realised then. He would deal with that conversation on the morrow.
Once he had it back to the Great Hall, he noticed a great change in atmosphere. The hall felt warmer, and laughter and shouts could be heard throughout the entirety of it. Even his dear sister looked uncharacteristically joyful, gazing—nay, staring at Lady Margeary Tyrell talking with numerous other girls.
Tyrion managed to find Addam Marbrand sitting alone, so he made his way over to him. Jaime's friend's face was flushed from too much drink, and he was gesturing wildly with his hands as he began recounting some tale. Tyrion did not fully listen, still thinking about his previous conversation. After some more drinks, however, he managed to fully shake it aside.
''Marband, have you ever heard of a game called The Pearl of the Harbour?'' Tyrion asked.
Tyrion then proceeded to tell him about the game, with Tyrion then insisting that they gather a couple of Westerlanders to try it out. Marband did seem keen; they were interrupted though, by a rather booming voice.
''Silence!'' roared King Robert Baratheon, standing up from his seat at the high table, his massive frame making it a little bit difficult to do so. He held up a hand, and the room, almost instinctively, fell quiet. Tyrion barely suppressed a smirk at the sight.
''I have come to a decision that will affect the future of the realm. And I do not wish for it to be misunderstood, for I have thought long and hard on this.'' He paused, looking around the hall; he seemed to be looking for someone. He gave up quite quickly, though.
''I have arranged a betrothal—a match that shall unite two great houses.''
Tyrion blinked, ever curious. Though he was confident that he knew which pair had gotten betrothed, judging from the expression Prince Joffrey bore.'Twas was always going to happen, dear nephew of mine.Everyone's eyes were on King Robert, and Cersei, Tyrion noticed, Cersei was still smiling.
''The Lady Margaery Tyrell,'' Robert continued, his booming voice holding a touch of pride, ''will be wed to Jon Stark, the Lord of Dragonstone, son of Eddard Stark, Warden of the North.''
The room was stunned into silence. Tyrion's mouth fell slightly open, his wine momentarily forgotten once more tonight. He looked over at the lady in question and noticed her face; it had turned quite pale; the same could be said about the maidens sitting with her. Lord Mace Tyrell had a faint smile on his face, and he did not see The Queen of Thorns anywhere.
''A fine match, one that will bring great strength to the realm!'' King Robert boomed, grinning. ''Let the betrothal be celebrated!''
The hall erupted into applause. The nobles clapped enthusiastically, many Reachmen more out of duty than genuine joy; others simply caught up in the moment. Tyrion blinked again, still struggling to process the King's words.
''How about that? The last words I would ever expect to hear from the king.'' Tyrion heard Marbrand say.
His gaze turned back to Cersei. She was smiling—beaming, emerald eyes alight with victory. Then suddenly it all hit him, and once he realised it, he could not stop.
It started as a chuckle, but quickly spiralled out of control into full-blown, uncontrollable laughter. The absurdity of it hit him all at once—the ridiculousness of Cersei's manoeuvre, the sheer spitfulness, the stupidity. He laughed louder, harder; thankfully, it was all drowned up by the still cheering hall. ''Is something amusing, Lord Tyrion?'' Marbrand's confused expression only made Tyrion laugh harder.
Queen Cersei Lannister's gaze shifted toward Tyrion himself, her smile disappearing and eyes narrowing. But Tyrion was too far gone in his laughter to care.
All he could do was laugh and laugh.