The military police car pulled away and sped back towards Hayford, the two recon buggies following, kicking up a dust cloud. Michael was of the opinion that calling the King's Road a road was an insult to roads everywhere, though he'd be happy to concede the crawlers could get up to their maximum speed on it.

With the successful rescue of the child hostages, he turned to the man standing beside him, the one he had come along to negotiate with.

Lord Tywin was an impressive looking man for his age and world.

He was in his fifties, a harsh age for a medieval person according to Cloutier, but he was well muscled and revealed no pain at all from the wounds Michael saw him take at the ford of the Trident. The only clue as to his condition was the cane he leaned on, and despite this, his back was bolt straight, his fine red velvet jacket perfectly pressed. And he topped it all by being bald on top and having the largest golden muttonchops that could have possibly existed on a man's face.

Michael knew he'd have to take the man down a peg further than he already had been by his capitulation to the demand for the underage hostages.

"Those girls," he said to the man quietly, "Is there a particular reason they were wearing bathrobes?" He already suspected the reason, but he wanted the mighty Lord Lannister to admit it.

"The handmaids were given to Lord Baelish, to prepare them for good marriages," Lord Tywin responded just as quietly, without so much as a blink from his green eyes, "Unfortunately, he misunderstood this and took them to his brothels. I am told their maidenheads are intact."

Michael's eyebrows moved up an inch. A disgusting answer, but a prepared one. What a shameless prick. "Your Master of Coin is a real piece of work," he said flatly, "I take it you weren't in the capital when this happened? Too busy ravaging the Riverlands."

The elder Lannister had the acting skill to at least seem dismissive, waving his fingers while they remained around the head of his cane. "I was not," Lord Tywin confirmed, ignoring the poke at his own honour, "What Lord Baelish did was foolish and greedy… but tell me, did you have such objections to the Starks' hostage?"

Michael blinked. "What hostage?"

"Theon Greyjoy," Lord Tywin said, "His father rebelled against the realm some years ago and lost. As punishment, the boy was taken to Winterfell as a ward, a hostage against his father's continued loyalty to the Iron Throne. The boy grew to manhood in the custody of his father's enemy."

The news did not sit well. Michael knew the Starks had similar values to the rest of the kneelers, but taking children from their families? The way everyone spoke of them, it was hard to understand. Especially given evidence from Theon's own behaviour, on the few occasions they had met.

"Theon Greyjoy dresses in fine clothes, is Robb Stark's best friend, and his reputation is that he spends Stark money in brothels," Michael replied, "It isn't right he was taken from his family, but he's a long way from a little girl forced to work in a brothel."

"As you say," Lord Tywin replied without apparent emotion.

Michael's lips pursed, feeling like he was being judged a hypocrite for making the distinction. "And if I were to demand the Master of Coin dragged in disgrace to me for trial?"

Lord Tywin huffed with impatience, which would have been amusing except Michael really wanted Lord Baelish hogtied and delivered. Give me the 'gentleman', don't huff.

"I would refuse," the Lannister said, "Lord Baelish is an indispensable man, for the moment. And not just to the King. The realm will need coin to fund the struggle against the Others, and there is no more talented a man in organising collecting coin than Petyr Baelish. Save for myself, but I have no time to do the duty while fighting a war."

Like the money is for fighting the Others and not your enemies. Confronted by yet another prepared answer, Michael scratched his chin with frustration. Sinking the talks over the pimp who put young girls into a brothel would have been a pleasure, but he doubted that the thousands of people that would die as a result of that decision would thank him. To say nothing of Ottawa.

Michael turned to the rest of those standing around in the field, finding the one that was quite clearly the one Cloutier described as the spymaster standing far more close than he had been before with a long sleeve covering up most of an amused face. His bald head practically shined in the sun, and perfume wafted from him. The hell is this guy's deal?

"Let's begin," Michael said to the group generally but the spymaster in particular, gesturing to the marquee, "We have a lot to discuss."

"What a momentous day," Tyrion said out of the blue, mockery at maximum, "The meeting of great civilisations in an empty field, dirt blowing about our persons. I hope there will at least be wine."

Zheng caught Michael's eye, her totally blank face making him want to laugh. At least someone thinks this is all a pile of shit anyway.

"We're not totally boring," Michael replied, to Tyrion's delight.

The delegations soon sat down around the camp table, with Arrel standing on it at one end and the Lannisters' maester sat at the other end.

The perks of the diplomatic life, Michael thought as most of the people in the room began taking and examining wine bottles from the centre of the table before pouring the contents into the glasses in front of them. Introductions from the Canadian side were in the meantime, but the only one the Westerosi spared a look at was Arrel.

Behind the Child of the Forest, cameras on high tripods were already set up and running. At the other end of the table, a young maester opened his large tome to record proceedings.

It was time to begin. Michael quickly recalled the spiel he was to deliver.

"This meeting is convened to create an agreement between Canada and King Joffrey of Westeros, for the purpose of establishing a peace between our two parties and organisation of efforts against the hostile group identified only as the Others," he began. Zheng translated over his shoulder for Doctor Cloutier's benefit.

Lord Tywin interrupted at once. "Joffrey of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, the First of his Name," he said as if correcting a student, "King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms."

Kid has more titles than years.

Michael nodded, glad he had excluded all of their own fake noble titles as he introduced everyone on his side of the table. No need to make that an issue later.

Lord Tywin did not miss a beat despite the small creature standing on the table being the representative of the Isle of Faces, or the two women representing Canada.

"There is no one to speak for the wildlings?" Tyrion asked, "How would Ygritte feel?"

Of course he'd drag that out. Michael regretted the fact he couldn't chin the little shit with his rifle butt for that comment. "The Kingdom of Wall and Gift has no representatives with us," he said instead, "The Free Folk who travel with us are sworn to Canada, not Mance Rayder."

"Very well," Lord Tywin said, accepting the explanation. After that, he simply introduced himself and the spymaster Lord Varys, understanding that his speech was being recorded. Michael would have wondered why Tyrion required no introduction in Tywin's mind, but the guy did have a mouth.

"We wish to propose the following terms," Lord Tywin said, "An immediate end to hostilities between the Iron Throne, Canada, the North and the Riverlands. We shall release Eddard Stark, on the condition that he takes up the crown of the North and Trident immediately. No agreements with other lords will be made against the interest of the general peace, such as Stark renouncing his throne in favour of Lord Stannis. The peace shall remain until these Others are defeated. A war indemnity of one hundred thousand gold dragons shall be paid to House Tully."

Not entirely bad, Michael thought, What's the catch?

"In return for what?"

"Ser Jaime Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Ser Gregor Clegane, Ser Addam Marbrand, Podrick Payne and any other highborn prisoners you have shall be released to us. Any attack on one party to this peace shall be considered an attack on all of us. The North shall withdraw its host to Moat Cailin or beyond. Canada shall act as the guarantor of peace, from a central location in the Riverlands preferably."

"No," Michael said at once.

There was a silent pause.

"No?" Lord Tywin asked.

"No." Michael did not feel the need to elaborate just yet. Lord Tywin refused to ask.

After another, more awkward pause, Varys cleared his throat politely. "Lord Duquesne, may I ask what you object to precisely?"

"Your offer does not reflect the situation you find yourself in," Michael replied, "The Canadian Army could end your grandson's rule this evening. Besides that fact, you are surrounded by enemies that have larger armies. Robb Stark is days away, and he is very angry with you."

"Putting it mildly," Zheng remarked, "The Starks want to turn your skull into a drinking cup, Mister Lannister."

Michael winced. That level of honesty wasn't necessary. Cloutier asked what was said, and Zheng told her. The professor stuck her tongue out in disgust at the possibility. Yeah, that's not beyond these guys though. "Even if you fend off Robb Stark, the Baratheon brothers are next in line."

"You are the one who came seeking peace," Lord Tywin said, "We cannot accept any terms that would leave us at a disadvantage. As you say, even if we make peace with the North and Canada, we still face deadly foes. What we have offered is the least we require, simply to survive. You have said or implied you serve high purpose on many occasions. Would it be right for you to demand we stand naked before men who would kill us?"

Michael clicked his tongue, feeling a little ambushed. Lord Lannister had noticed the pattern in the conduct of Canadians, and was appealing to the law and morality he read in it. Sayer had talked about Cloutier's little speech to the Westerosi delegates. Apparently every word of it had been relayed to the Hand of the King himself. They're getting hints that we might be vulnerable to anything that looks bad.

"One, no it isn't the least you need to survive. Two, anything we agree on has to be approved by Stark and Tully when they arrive. You propose no concessions to them at all beyond a token payment. Three, you have asked Canada to defend you against your other enemies."

"Only if they do not agree to your peace," Tyrion interrupted, pointing at Michael, "I feel that is an important distinction in what my lord father has proposed."

Michael shrugged. "It's irrelevant, we don't care who sits on the Iron Throne. You haven't proposed any concessions to make us care either."

"Agreeing to help defend the Wall is not a concession?" Varys asked.

"If it falls, you're the ones left facing the friggin' Army of Darkness," Zheng replied with a beneficent smile, "And without a single boomstick between you to stop it."

Michael couldn't help but laugh through his nose at that, somehow summoning the image of her with a chainsaw hand and a double-barrel shotgun, shouting at kneelers.

Doctor Cloutier leaned behind Michael's seat. "Sergeant Zheng, what are you talking about?" She received a shrug in response, followed by an explanation in English, which judging by the Professor's face was insufficient. We need a movie night, when things settle down.

"Then what terms do you propose?" Tywin asked in a stern tone, "What are your objections?"

Michael inhaled deeply, thinking about it. "End to hostilities, Stark as King, release of your sons, general peace and cooperation about the Wall… Pending Robb Stark's nod, that's all good."

"How gratifying," Lord Varys said.

Michael shot him a look before continuing. "But the Riverlands have been ravaged. A dozen castles burned, and who knows how many villages pillaged. Rapes, murders, looting. The Stark household in King's Landing were murdered and something has happened to those young girls. Your terms do not address any of this, so the newly crowned Starks will tell us both to go to hell."

The Hand of the King's eyebrows twitched. "How do you propose we do address these things the Starks shall not allow to pass unremarked?" Lord Tywin intoned, "That is, without weakening the Crown so much that we are all dead men at the hands of Lord Renly."

"Well, we're not handing Clegane or Marbrand back regardless," Michael said, "They are in the custody of Canada and will be tried for war crimes and crimes against humanity."

"Westeros recognises no such crimes," Lord Tywin said, "Nor do we recognise your right to try our nobles for acts committed in Westeros."

Michael met his gaze and leaned forward over the table. "You are not getting them back," he said, before resuming his seat, "The prospect of justice and bigger war reparations should see the Riverlands agree to peace. We've already established you won't hand over your Master of Coin, but I'd expect that to be a demand that Robb Stark makes when he gets here."

"Lord Baelish would no doubt have much to say in his own defence," Lord Varys giggled, the noise once again like nails on a chalkboard to Michael's ears.

"I'm sure he would," Michael said, "Please tell him that if we ever catch him, he'll face justice too."

"I shall pass that message to him," Lord Varys replied, smiling brightly, "But if I may, placing subjects of the Crown on trial without the protections of our laws will provoke many nobles to hate you. Even those opposed to King Joffrey will see such trials as an attack on their rights."

Michael frowned. He hadn't considered that angle and wanted to kick himself for it. Once again, Westerosi culture was different enough to blindside him into a weaker position.

"You would be wise to allow us to conduct such a trial," Lord Tywin said, pressing the attack, "We can concede such a trial as part of our treaty."

Michael curled his lip, readying himself to tell the man to forget about it. If the nobles don't like our way of justice, we'll introduce them to our way of war.

Doctor Cloutier stopped him by raising her hand. "Excuse me," she said, "You seem to be mistaken about something."

Zheng translated smoothly, causing Lord Tywin's head to twitch ever so slightly off centre, shaking the golden hair of his mutton-chops. "What mistake are you referring to?" he asked.

Doctor Cloutier pushed her glasses further up her nose. "The crimes your men are going to be put on trial for happened in the Riverlands," she said, "Which are now part of the Kingdom of the Trident, and are not subject to the Iron Throne."

Lord Tywin scowled at her, to little effect. "The crimes happened before the declaration from Harrenhal. We still have the right to try it."

"But not the only right," Cloutier countered via Zheng, "If we want to avoid nobles being angry with us, you aren't our sole option."

Michael turned a little in his seat to the professor, quite impressed with her intervention. "Well played," he told her. She frowned in reply, but gave a small nod afterwards. Well, at least she's thawing. He looked back to the other side, "Lord Tywin, the prisoners will be put on trial as per our wishes."

Lord Tywin seemed to relax, as if resigning himself. "Very well," he said, "We shall move on. I am willing to negotiate on the amount of the indemnity to the Riverlands, though I would refuse to pay it as a single sum."

Now we're making progress, Michael thought. "I will let you discuss that with Lord Tully," he said, "But it makes sense to spread out the payments. It motivates both sides to maintain the peace as long as possible."

"Maintaining the peace is where I must insist Canada acts," Lord Tywin said, "I must repeat my assertion that Canada act as the guarantor of the general peace."

One step forward, one step back. "And I repeat that Canada does not care who sits on the Iron Throne," Michael sighed, "We cannot convince people to join us if we're too busy fighting them over that issue."

"Oh, I do not imagine that would be too difficult," Tyrion mused, "Everyone else you ask will refuse, except the Northmen mayhaps, at which point you turn your sorcerous weapons upon them. Then, I assure you, they will suddenly become very receptive to the idea."

Lord Tywin did not grant his son so much as a glance at this comment.

So that's the game, Michael thought, They want us to use our weapons to attack the sceptics, all of whom are also their enemies. Either way, he had no intention of traipsing about the continent to help nobles' claims to kingship. "Canada will not enforce cooperation," he said, "That is not our purpose for being here."

The sigh of relief from Anne was just audible from the side. Yeah yeah, I'm not here like Cortez to take the whole place.

"Then how do you plan to make the lords follow you against the Others?" the spymaster asked, his hands entering his large sleeves.

"Same way we convinced Lord Tywin," Michael replied, "I've ordered the Night's Watch to gather more wights."

"Ordered?" Lord Tywin said, "Who are you to command the Night's Watch?"

"We have a treaty," Michael explained, "The Watch will do what I say. They'll ship wights south and we show everyone we can. Many people would reject peace because they think the threat from beyond the Wall isn't real. The wights will prove it is very real."

"This is fanciful thinking," Tywin replied at once, "There will be just as many who will not agree to cooperate simply because they wish to overthrow their rightful king."

Keeping all feeling off his face with difficulty, Michael felt the weight of the argument, though it left a sour taste in his mouth.

"I'm sure there would," he said, "The best I can do is make peace between you and the Starks, then stay out of your way. The North is the first line of defence against the Others, and the Riverlands are allied to them, so keeping them out of southern entanglements benefits everyone."

"And if the other claimants decide to attack the Riverlands?" Lord Tywin asked at once, "Both Stannis Baratheon and Renly Baratheon believe themselves the rulers of all of Westeros, and both will fight to enforce their claim. Then where is your desired unity against the dead?"

"Lord Renly and his allies have the potential to call one hundred thousand men," Lord Varys added, "Lord Stannis commands the Royal Fleet. Both are more than capable of attacking the Riverlands, or even the North."

Michael bristled. Such a war couldn't be allowed to happen, and the Riverlands had to be defended. The portal home was there. "We shall repulse them," he said, "Any faction that does not agree a non-aggression pact or send their soldiers home will be subject to attack. Any one that threatens us shall be attacked at times and places of our choosing. Not yours."

Lord Tywin leaned back in his camp chair and picked up his glass. It was hard to tell, but he seemed to be smiling. "That is acceptable," he said, before drinking his red wine.

Shit, now he'll provoke other lords into attacking us, Michael thought to himself with regret, But if they're stupid enough to fall for that, maybe they would have done it anyway. "I take it you will not send assistance to the Wall? That would soothe doubts about commitment to the peace too."

Lord Varys giggled again. "Do we need to?" he asked, "It yet stands."

"Walls need to be defended by people," Zheng responded, "People doing the defending need food, clothes, weapons, pay."

"I'm sure arrangements can be made," Lord Tywin said, "I shall commit three ships of clothing and food to the Wall from Lannisport each moon… but only to the Night's Watch. I shall not feed or clothe wildlings."

Divide and conquer, eh? Michael thought, But it doesn't matter, the Watch controls the only port on the west coast anyway. "Agreed," he said, "The Free Folk are better suited to feeding and clothing themselves anyway. I will inform Lord-Commander Mormont to expect the help."

That got the nod from the older man, while the bald spymaster smiled with benevolence that Michael doubted was real. He was too familiar with how spies worked to believe the facade.

Arrel soon drew all attention to him by walking a little further up the table. "You men do not know the true nature of the threat of the Others," he said, golden eyes scanning around the tent, "We will provide such knowledge, but only to those who agree to cease their fighting. That shall be the Singers' contribution to this new pact."

Scratching his chin, Michael wondered why this hadn't been offered before. Even so, he wasn't about to turn down intelligence on the principal enemy facing him, especially from someone who could see to distant times and places. He'd make many an agency jealous. "Generous of you," he said, "I know revisiting the past isn't always comfortable."

"But it is always necessary," Arrel said.

Lord Varys made a strange mewl from his throat, and Michael realised the man had sat back in his seat, to be further away from Arrel. Maybe the clawed fingers are a bit too close for comfort?

"I have a question for you," the spymaster said, "It is said the Children of the Forest possess powerful magicks, sorcery enough to drive off many Andal attempts to take the Isle of Faces over the centuries."

Lord Tywin shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the line of questioning. Yet he didn't speak out to silence the matter. Trying to keep an outward face of unity, perhaps? Or does he want the answers but is afraid of getting attacked instead?

Arrel put his hands behind his back, pressing his weirwood-leaf cloak to him. "We are not children, we are a nation onto ourselves," he said, "It has been many years since Andals have attempted to take our isle. The understanding between our peoples that it belongs to us even survived the Targaryens and their dragons. Our sorcery is the reason for this."

And the fact the local guys are all your allies and body-sleeves, Michael said to himself.

"Then why do you not use your power to defeat these Others?" Varys pressed, the facade dropping, "Why must the affairs of the Realm be interfered with? Was it you who summoned these Canadians?"

Touching it with a needle, Michael thought. Yet he found himself interested in the answer. While it was pretty obvious they hadn't summoned anyone from Earth, he had seen the Children of the Forest conjure fire out of thin air and move the ground to create massive causeways.

Arrel was not caught off guard.

"It is not so simple as using our magicks. What you suggest would be a poor use of what power we do possess. When the Long Night comes again, there will be a great dying. First the plants will die, except the hardiest. Then the animals will die. The world will need us to help restore life. Without us, it will take hundreds of years. It is possible that men may die out if we do not do this."

Michael felt all the hairs on his body stand on end. A genuine post-apocalypse was something he wished to experience even less than his present medieval one.

He found other delegates less than amusing too. Tyrion held his wineglass in mid-air just in front of his face, his next sip interrupted. The maester's quill dripped ink onto the table uselessly, the recording of affairs forgotten for a moment. Lord Varys' hairless brow had risen, sending horizontal wrinkles up to the top of his head, which was an interesting sight.

Yeah, let's get this done so we don't have to live through that.

"On the bright side," Zheng said flatly in English, "We're the best armed."

That snapped everyone out of it, lots of blinking following.

"That just means you'll be the last to die," Cloutier retorted.

The Hand of the King tapped his palm on the table to get attention, shaking the wine glasses until they chimed a little. Michael was surprised. The man had strong self-control, and this was a display of impatience to overmatch anything he had shown before.

"That leaves only one matter to resolve," Lord Tywin said, "The northern host must withdraw to Moat Cailin or beyond. We cannot allow it to remain where it can so easily threaten the West or the Crownlands."

Michael exhaled. "I don't speak for the Starks, but I would guess they cannot allow a Lannister army to remain on their new borders," he argued, "Some parts of the forces you had have escaped west, and you need them to defend against these new claimants. So, the Starks need their own armies to make sure you don't attack the Riverlands when they're vulnerable. You'll just have to learn to be polite neighbours."

"Unacceptable," Lord Tywin said at once, "Once I hand over King Stark to his heir, there is nothing to stop him swearing to Lord Stannis or Lord Renly. Only if the northmen have left can we have reasonable proof that they don't mean to join an attack the capital. The walls of the city can repel great hosts, but not the combined might of four kingdoms."

Michael grit his teeth. "But you have no guarantee of that anyway," he stated, "But he will have his daughters back, all surviving members of his household, and he has to worry about the Free Folk and Others. Is he the type of man to ignore everything else to pursue revenge? Even when there are good chances you will fall to Lord Renly anyway? Because that's not his reputation."

"He would have nothing to lose," Tyrion chimed in, "As honourable as King Eddard Stark is, there is no shortage of honour in avenging your banners. Unless you intend to enforce the peace between us?"

Michael doubted he could even do that. Not without firmer logistics from Earth, at least. It was one thing to defend the Riverlands, it was another to try chasing armies in another region. "If the Starks switch allegiances to another claimant, I cannot intervene."

Lord Tywin shook his head. "The Starks must withdraw, or you must pledge to put yourself between us. If this is your final word, we have nothing more to discuss. I am not such a fool that I would hand over hostages and gold, only for those I made peace with to turn around and try to kill my King, my sons and my vassals."

Michael felt a creeping burning sensation behind his eyes, his temper slipping. He just couldn't understand what was going through the head of the man opposite him. He's up the creek and refusing a paddle because it costs too much.

"What about a compromise?" Cloutier asked, "What if half the Stark soldiers went home? With most of their horsemen. That would leave you with an advantage of some sort, correct?"

"Correct," Michael confirmed, familiar by now with the Westerosi way of war, "It would mean they would be better suited to defence."

Tyrion drank deeply in response, a bad sign in Michael's books if ever there was one.

Lord Tywin shook his head once more. "Even that is too many. And as it is a siege we would face, the cavalry means little. Horses cannot climb siege ladders. The northern banners must go home."

Finally, Michael saw red. "We have made excellent progress here today, Lord Lannister," he said, "If you throw that away over this issue, you'll lose the city."

Lord Tywin's eyes narrowed to slits. "We are not without defences, Lord Duquesne," he ground out, "The Starks join you, their liege lord will be the first to die."

Michael smiled viciously at the pathetic retort. "Your defences do not scare me," he said, "You've seen what we can do to armies. Apply logic, understand that we can do the same to walls."

Lord Tywin looked down his nose before replying. "Even if you overcome them, you cannot take a city with less than a thousand men."

Time for a little subterfuge. "I don't need to take the city. I can wait for your enemies to show up. Or I can blow holes in your walls or seize gatehouses, to make it even easier for them."

What he was threatening was nothing at all like what he actually intended to do if there was no agreement, but it was a credible alternative. There was no need to inform the enemy of his true plan of attack, even if it was just a sketch in his mind at that point.

"We will repel you," Lord Tywin replied.

"You haven't been able to do that so far," Michael pointed out, "And when I'm done with King's Landing, I'll move west. I've asked around about your Casterly Rock. Everyone says it's famously impregnable, but it's never met the Canadian Army before."

Zheng's enthusiasm for the idea practically glowed.

"Looking to impregnate it yourself?" Tyrion joked darkly, "Shall your firstborn be conceived with the death of a great house, rather than sired on your wildling wench? Westeros would never forgive you."

Strike Two on dragging Ygritte into this conversation.

"I don't require the forgiveness of Westeros," Michael quipped back.

"But you do require our gold," Lord Tywin said, "Our consent to peace. Our men-at-arms and knights. Our fleet to move warriors and vittles."

Michael pursed his lips. "We do want those things," he said, "But we will survive without them. You have lost this war. The treaty we would sign is now the only victory you are capable of winning."

Lord Varys gave a theatrical sigh. "You are here ahead of your allies. You rushed here even faster than you rushed to the Ruby Ford. This is not the behaviour of someone who does not care for the outcome, with nothing truly to gain."

"What part of 'we don't care who sits on the Iron Throne' did you not understand?" Zheng snorted, "But the Starks do and they'll mess things up trying."

"I am trying to build a peace so we can all defend against the Others," Michael added, "You're making yourselves useless to that objective. Agree to Cloutier's compromise, the Starks can keep ten thousand troops in the Riverlands. You live to fight another day. Or you don't agree, and I can assure that you don't live out the rest of the month."

"I will no…" Lord Tywin began.

Michael interrupted him by putting his rifle on the table with a clatter. There was a collective if quiet intake of breath. "You've already tasted this before," he said, "You know you have nothing like it. There is no final concession waiting for you for being defiant."

"Another Harrenhal to match our repeat of the Field of Fire?" Tyrion scoffed, "As I said, you will never be forgiven, Canadian. You'll be hated as the foreign invader that you are." This time, father took great notice of son, Lord Tywin moving head and body to look at Tyrion, like something profound had been said.

Michael understood what was being referred to. Zheng had already briefed him on the previous regime and how it came to be, and he had seen the evidence of it on the melted towers of Harrenhal. But he didn't understand Tywin's interest. Was the man afraid of the same fate as those the dragons had burned? Or was it the idea that the whole continent might turn on the Canadian presence?

Time to gamble. He picked up the rifle and laid it across his lap, out of sight. If I'm going to be considered a foreign conqueror, best to do it right.

"You're going to accept our terms, here and now," Michael said, "Or tomorrow, combat operations against King's Landing will begin."