KoW - Chapter 43

Tyrion Lannister

[A.N: Tyrion has his show injury instead of the books, the only thing I liked about the former is this part, didn’t like how GRR just made Tyrion’s appearance worse, even if it was very on point with his character and really matched the plot, I didn’t care

He’s also so very annoyed, because in his eyes, he’s the only person who’s doing anything well in the family.]

The first thing he felt was pain, pain in his chest, in his limbs, from his bones, seeping to his flesh as if he’d ran from Sunspear to the Wall,

Yet the worst was in his face, a searing burning sensation that went from one side to the other.

Instinctively, he extended a hand to touch it, only to find gauze and herb paste, on the way.

Now that he was awake, he could smell the scent of dried blood of and milk of the poppy.

‘That explains the drowsiness.’ He thinks.

But, when he opens his eyes, he is startled when beyond his bandages, he glimpses the withered old face of one Grandmaester Pycelle.

“Pod.” He croaks out. “POD!!” He screams

His squire barges in quickly. “Yes, my lord.”

“Find Bronn or Varys.” Tyrion orders. “Tell them I am here with grandmaester Pycelle. Tell them, I am very much alive.”

“Uh… My lord.” Pod answers. “Everyone knows you are alive, and Lord Tywin himself ordered to be informed the moment you wake up.”

“Then go, inform him.”

“Yes, my lord.”

As Pod went out to do his bidding, Pycelle simply turned back toward Tyrion and smiled.

“Do you need something for the pain?”

Tyrion ignores his statement entirely.

“Where am I? What happened?!”

His eyes roam his surroundings, he was in a cramped room in what seems as a sequestered part of the red keep, not exactly a hovel, but he also wouldn’t call it luxurious either.

“These are your new chambers, a little cramped perhaps but, you don’t need much, do you?” The old man seems to have quite a bit of joy at his expense. “As for what happened, well, the murderer and traitor Stannis Baratheon, suffered a stunning defeat at the hand of your father.”

The grandmaester turns to the door, but just before leaving, he turns toward him. “Oh, and you are no longer hand of the king!”

He then saunters out, humming a joyous tune all the while.

Tyrion simply lays still, stewing on his thoughts.

Primarily, he thinks on his injury, and who was responsible for his murder attempt.

The last thing he remembers is Mandon Moore, that lifeless husk of a knight, attempting to kill him before he got pushed into the Blackwater by Podrick.

The real issue was—who the hell ordered that man to do it? In fact, Tyrion had no idea where Mandon’s loyalty lay in the first place.

The former Kingsguard never gave his intentions away, he was very much emotionless with his fish-like dead eyes, most importantly, he tended to keep to himself, not really socializing with anyone.

Before his thoughts could dive in deeper, he finally sees Pod come back, with Varys at his back.

“Lord Tyrion.” Varys nods in greetings. “It gladdens my heart to see you alive, my friend.”

Tyrion groans as he sits up, he extends his arm to hold on a table only to find them too short, the only reason he doesn’t fall back on his bed is Pod’s support.

“Define alive.” Tyrion hisses in pain. “Because it doesn’t feel like it to me.”

Varys tilts his head, squinting as if he wished to stare through his bandages. “From first glance, it does seem like it could be worse.” He shrugs. “But I digress, there is much to discuss, and much more that occurred while you were unconscious.”

“How long was I incapacitated, anyway?” Tyrion asks.

“Not long, my lord.” Podrick answered. “Some three days.”

“Not long indeed.” Tyrion says. “Varys, I believe I have the abject honor of being deemed your friend, so I must confer with you, as I have no other who might help otherwise.”

Varys simply stares back, an amused smile on his face.

“These injuries, battle scars they may be, were brought not by the sword of Stannis’ men, but by the Hand of one Ser Mandon Moore.” He turns to Pod. “If it weren’t for my valiant knight here, then I fear some man, or woman’s, plot might have succeeded, and you would have been short a friend.”

Varys titters. “I fear you are right, you are my friend, and I find friends to be little and scarce lately.” He replies. “Yet I have no inkling of that scheme you speak of, my trade lies in secrets, hidden desires and spoken of plots, if someone, as you say, urged our august member of the Kingsguard to get rid of you, then it went either unspoken, it was in the midst of the chaos of the battle, or at the hands of someone with the skills to do so.”

“I will say this, however.” Varys continues. “Ser Mandon Moore was a Kingsguard almost worth the name, he was a skilled warrior, but most importantly, a man who could see beyond the simple pleasures of life. If someone managed to set him off against you, no simple sum of gold or woman’s touch would be enough, there are few people who could push him to act.”

“People like mine own sister?”

Varys nods.

“Indeed, your suspicion might be right, our Queen has the motive, opportunity, and means to do so.” He explains. “Yet I cannot definitely confirm her involvement.”

Tyrion sighs. “Whoever it is, it doesn’t matter much, their attempt failed, and their traces hidden.” He turns to Pod. “Speak to Bronn, tell him I wish for at least four loyal men guarding me at all times, gold cloaks loyal to him first.”

“Apologies, my lord.” Pod lowers his head apologetically. “But Bronn has been relieved from his duties as Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks.”

“Sellswords then, people he knows and whose loyalty can be secured with the type of gold that comes constantly, and not in a single lump sum.”

Pod nods. “Very well.”

As Pod paddles away to follow his orders, Varys looks back at him with a smile.

“Loyal chap, that boy.” He says. “If only more men were made of the same make.”

Tyrion coughs and chuckles at the same time. “The world would be a much more boring place, wouldn’t you think?”

As they laughed, a man in red armor walks in, he stares at both Varys and Tyrion and bows with respect.

“My lords, the Lord Hand has called a session of the small council, both of you were called.”

“You do realize I am injured, right?”

The man simply stares back at Tyrion, until Tyrion gives up on the staring contest and sighs.

“Very well.” He groans, and with great difficulty, he manages to stand up.

“Help me find some decent garments, will you?” He asks. “I don’t think my great father would appreciate me attending a small council session with my ass bare for all to see.”

*-*-*

“You are late.” The first thing he hears as he walks in is his sister’s scorn.

Tyrion limps forward, grabbing the first available seat, which was incidentally on the other side of the table, right in front of his own father, who didn’t look pleased at his sight even it was he who called him in.

He sits down with a groan. “Intimate, lovely table. Better chairs than the old small council chamber, and conveniently close to your own quarters. I like it.” He jokes.

Kevan, to his father’s right, coughs awkwardly to fill the silence as his sister, on the opposite side glares at him.

Varys stares at him in amusement, Pycelle huffs in abject offense, and Littlefinger is somehow missing.

Which does bring up the question.

“Where, pray tell, did Lord Baelish abscond to this time?”

Tywin simply stares back at him, his gaze as impassive as ever. But Tyrion knew him enough to see the hidden anger beneath those ice-cold eyes, so he simply smiled back in triumph.

“Lord Baelish has been sent to the Vale.” Kevan answers instead. “To court Lady Lysa Arryn and bring her kingdom to the fold.”

“So, he aims to marry the wretch?” Tyrion wonders. “I suppose those rumors do have some grain in truth in them, Baelish did ever brag about his conquest of the Tully sisters, although I doubt his claims of the older to be truth, and I don’t imagine Robb Stark would be happy were that to happen. I do not envy our esteemed Master of Coin, however.”

“Should Lord Baelish’ courtship be successful, not only will we gain the swords of the Vale to our rightful side, but it would pit Robb Stark against his own aunt, it would be a great blow indeed against that savage upstart, and he can do nothing about it.”

“We shouldn’t underestimate the man you call savage upstart, Grandmaester Pycelle.” Kevan interjects. “He has beaten us so far, after all. Additionally, I don’t believe either Lysa Tully nor Baelish are particularly well liked by the houses of the Vale, rumors of her insanity has tainted the well, so to say. And not to forget, Eddard Stark was fostered into those lands, and has built strong friendships that endear the Starks to them more than they do us.”

“Lord Manderly has seen fit to take a visit to Gulltown, supposedly to purchase steel, silver, and grain in exchange of the… plundered goods taken from the Westerlands.” Varys says. “My little birds speak however that perhaps there is a deeper meaning to the visit, if Manderly can secure the support of the Graftons and the Arryns of Gultown, then others such as the Royces, Waynwoods, Redforts and Belmore might follow.”

Kevan shakes his head. “Their houses might grumble, but as long as Robin Arryn is alive, they will heed the word of his mother, who heeds Baelish’, who in turn, follows our directives.” He explains.

“Enough of this talk.” Cersei finally interjects. “Our biggest threat is Robb Stark; what do we know of him at the moment?”

“Still moving his army, your Grace.” Varys answers. “His host has been marching toward Harrenhall with glacial speed, and he seems to spend his time gathering resources and drilling his soldiers. I also heard that he sent Roose Bolton to the Twins, upon which many Freys, many considered competition to his friend -one Stevron Frey- in his bid of succession were seen exiled, sworn to the knight’s watch, or forced to give up their right to succeed the house, should the Late Lord Frey see his demise.”

“So, he is consolidating his support, smart.” Tyrion says. “By the time he reaches Harrenhall I’d wager all the lords of the North and the Riverlands would be like sheep who follow his -the shepherd’s- words to the letter.”

“What of Sansa Stark?” Kevan asks, upon which Cersei grimaces.

“What?” Tyrion exclaims. “What happened to Sansa?”

“That little bitch absconded with that monster Clegane.” Cersei blurts out. “That beast snuck to the red keep during the battle, and took her away.”

“Took her away?! TOOK HER AWAY?!” Tyrion screams. “YOU ALLOWED OUR ONLY HOSTAGE TO ESCAPE?! SANSA-*cough**cough*- SANSA WAS THE ONLY THING, THE SINGLE THING THAT KEPT JAIME ALIVE, AND YOU ALLOWED HER TO ESCAPE?!”

“I didn’t!” Cersei shouts right back. “You were Acting Hand of the King, YOU were responsible for her! Had you not allowed that Hound to desert like the dog he was, none of that would have happened!”

“I told you!” Tyrion rebukes. “The day Ilyn Payne was found dead on his chambers, I ordered for more guards on her person, but nooo, the Queen doesn’t trust the gold cloaks, so you had your little monster force the situation! I told you then and there that she was your responsibility, that were she to escape, it would be on your head! But you simply smiled and brushed me off!”

“And would you look at that!” Tyrion spreads his arms. “My words came true!”

“A bounty was put on her head.” Cersei answers, but her voice comes out weaker than before. “That whore and her beast can’t escape everyone for so long, she will be caught.”

He looks to his father. “You see?! You see what I had to deal with while you were away? Our enemies did less harm to us than she did! I had to deal with her foolishness and her son’s cruelties while defending this city. She needs to be controlled!”

Cersei opens her mouth to respond, but is silenced a Tywin raises his hand.

“Varys, Pycelle, leave us.”

Once naught but Lannisters were left, Tywin finally spoke.

“Our army is depleted, our enemies multiplying.” His voice had a cold fury that brought shivers to Tyrion’s back. “My son is in custody, Ironborn attack my kingdom! Whilst I am forced to beg those Reacher upstarts!”

“All the while, you quibble amongst yourself like children!” He exclaims. “Have you no shame! No face for our house, my legacy?!”

Cersei opens her mouth once more.

“Keep quiet!” Tywin orders. “For all his wretchedness, Tyrion is right, you have shamed me, wrung our family name into the dirt, what madness befell you, that you let your son act like a beast with no leash?! You will control him, or I will have you sold to some man like a common whore, understood?”

Cersei shakes in her place, but she nods nonetheless.

“You are excused.”

“But-“

Tywin turns to her, looking straight at her eyes. She stills in her place, before gulping her saliva and rushing out of the room.

“And you.” Tywin looks to his son. “You brought your whore.”

Tyrion frowns. “So? I did what I was told, I saved this city and held ground until you came. What does a random whore have to do with it?”

Had he the ability to look into another man’s mind, Tywin would have known that every single part of that sentence was a lie. But he was not, and so he could not.

“It is not the fact that you brought her that angers me, it is that you defied an order from me!”

Tyrion frowns. “That is not the reaction I expected, dear father.” He says. “I knew praise was unrealistic, but for you to nitpick every single one of my decisions, as if you are remiss to even acknowledge any of my good deeds, it paints a rather illogical view of your actions.”

Tywin almost growls, but is held back by a glance from his brother.

So instead, he huffs. “So, you did your duty, what do you expect, a reward?”

“Yes.” Tyrion doesn’t even hesitate. “I think that I have proven myself worthy of what should have been mine in the first place. I wish to be recognized as your heir, officially.”

“No.”

Tyrion is frankly taken back by the sheer amount of hate put into that word, so much so that he isn’t even able to answer.

“I will not have Casterly Rock and the Lannister Seat taken by a wretched imp like you, to whore its riches down your gullet.” Tywin continues. “Casterly Rock is not a whorehouse, nor a circus. You will not have it.”

“Are- is he serious?!” He turns to his uncle, disbelief so blatant on his face.

“Do you even realize, that among your so-called noble house, I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO HELD THE LINE!” Tyrion is basically frothing at the mouth, his mind too numb to think of restraint. “OUT OF ME, JAIME, MY BITCH OF A SISTER, EVEN BOTH OF YOU! I AM THE ONLY ONE! THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS REMOTELY GAINED ANYTHING CLOSE TO A VICTORY!”

Tyrion points to himself. “I DEALT WITH THE SHIT AND PISS WHILE YOU LOST HALF OUR ARMY TO A MAN BARELY CONSIDERED AN ADULT! WHILE YOUR PROUD TWINS STARTED THE WAR BY PUSHING THAT KID OFF THAT TOWER, WHILE YOUR WORTHLESS GRANDSON SENT AN ASSASSIN AFTER HIM WITH HIS OWN VALYRIAN STEEL DAGGER! WHILE CERSEI WAS FUCKING LANCEL ON THE SIDE, AND WHO KNOWS HOW MANY OTHER MEN, AND YOU LOST BATTLE AFTER BATTLE, WHILE MY OWN BROTHER WAS CAPTURED BY AN ARMY HALF HIS IN SIZE!”

“IT WAS ME!” He screams. “I WAS THE ONE WHO ESCAPED THE VALE, HUNDREDS OF SAVAGES AT MY BACK WHILE JOFFREY’S SHITTY PLOT WAS BLAMED ON ME! IT WAS ME! WHO KEPT THIS CITY FROM IMPLODING INTO ITSELF, FROM RIOTS TO FAMINE TO WILDYRE UNDER OUR FEET! IT WAS ME! WHO HELD OFF STANNIS’ ARMY, WHO ENCOURAGED HALF STARVED MEN ONTO THEIR DEATHS WHILE YOU CAME IN WALTZING BEHIND AN ARMY THAT ISN’T YOURS!”

“FUCK YOU!” He points at his own father. “FUCK YOU! YOU UNSACTIMONIOUS PRICK, UNGRATEFUL MAN WHO PRETENDS TO BE MY FATHER! I DO EVERYTHING FOR YOU, AND FOR WHAT?! NOTHING! AND YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY, THE FUCKING BALLS TO LOOK ME IN THE EYE, AND BERATE ME BECAUSE I KEPT A WHORE IN THE CASTLE?!”

Tyrion jumps off his chair, pushing it away.

And finally, he feels clarity seep back in, the reality of this situation getting to his head.

He finally realized, that trying to get what he deserved by getting permission from a man who would never grant it won’t work. If he wanted something, he must take it himself.

“My injuries ail my head.” He says, “I must leave, or else it may get worse.”

Tywin violently stood up from his seat.

“Sit down!” He almost shouts.

But Tyrion ignores him, fully knowing that Tywin will not forcefully stop him. His father was a man who cannot let himself seem weak, incapable of bending others under his will, even if he truly cannot.

Perception mattered to him more than reality, and so Tyrion walked out unimpeded, smiling evilly as he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is the angriest he ever made his father.