Chapitre 3: Chapter 3 Tyrion
(Hello everyone! So, this is a fanfic that I've been working on for a while now. I borrowed several elements from Game of Thrones and A Song of Ice and Fire. This is my first fanfic on this site, so constructive criticism is welcome. Appreciate!)
Tyrion Lannister had known pain in his life but none so much as that which now coursed through his right elbow. The wound was courtesy of a Stark knight he had fought in the battle of the Green Fork that had ended just a few hours ago. Through sheer blind luck Tyrion had managed to kill the knight's horse, toppling it on top of the knight, who had then yielded. It was the knight's bad luck to pick a dwarf for a target, especially a dwarf with a spiked helm. Said spike was driven up through the horse's chest as Tyrion had awkwardly risen from the ground. If he had been any taller or any less clumsy in his armor, he most likely would have missed the horse's chest and now he would be dead or a prisoner of the Starks. Or maybe not. His father's army had won the battle, but the main Stark force was not here, and the main weight of the Lannister host had only swatted a small contingent lead by Roose Bolton, the Lord of the Dreadfort. The survivors had now scampered back whence they came. The trouble was no one knew where young Robb Stark and his main host were located.
Tyrion shook his head at the folly of it all. What had begun with Brandon Stark's fall from a stone keep in Winterfell had in subsequent steps led to a footpad trying to kill the crippled boy in his bed, which had caused his mother to somehow accuse Tyrion of arming the footpad, which led her to take him captive to her mad sister's enclave in the Vale. Tyrion for sure thought he was going to die, confined to the sky cells of the Eyrie, then put on trial. But the sellsword Bronn had come to his rescue and they had befriended the mountain men of the Vale, who had fought with such fury in the recent battle. Somehow, someway he was going to find out why Catelyn Stark thought he had tried to kill her son. Someone in King's Landing was telling tales about a certain dagger. And Tyrion had a good idea who that someone was.
But that did not concern Tyrion for the moment, as his wounded elbow once more throbbed with pain. He sat in a chair in his tent as a maester inspected the bloody wound with his fingers and a metal probe. The probe entered one of the cuts the Stark knight's morning star had made after punching through the thin armor at the elbow joint. Tyrion winched in pain and gave the maester a sharp look and then softened his gaze, as he knew the man was only doing his job.
"Will I live?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"It is not broken and no metal or cloth appears to have entered the wound, my lord," said the maester. "Boiled wine and a poultice of moldy bread, mustard seed, and nettles should take care of any possible mortification."
"If you must," Tyrion told him as he picked up a cup of wine from a nearby table and took a drink. "Make sure it is Arbor gold you boil. My elbow has delicate tastes." The maester gave him a bewildered look. "A jest," Tyrion said, almost rolling his eyes at this man's lack of humor. Well, I suppose after cutting off limbs all day and stitching sword and arrow wounds he was in no jesting mood. The maester's robes were splattered with blood. "Use whatever sour grapes are available."
The maester left to get what he needed, and then Bronn entered the tent. Without so much as a word the black haired sellsword poured himself a cup of wine from a jug on the table and drank deeply. He was dirty and blood splattered his leather armor and hands.
"You know, I thought we had a deal, Bronn," Tyrion addressed him. "You protect me and I keep your purse full, your bed warmed by wenches, and all the good food and wine you could desire."
"That we did," Bronn said as he poured more wine into his cup. At least he had the decency to bring the jug over to refill Tyrion's cup. "But you never said anything about charging off and challenging knights."
Tyrion drank as Bronn placed the jug on the table. "I had a fit of madness. The point is, where were you? I almost died."
Bronn flopped down in an empty camp chair and stretched his long legs out before him. "You didn't."
Tyrion sighed heavily. "Where…"
"Killing and hacking my way through Stark men, trying to find you, which as you may remember I did right after your knight yielded," Bronn told him. "You know now that a battle is not some glorious story they write about in a book with pretty lines drawn on maps and men going here and there when you want. It's bloody chaos. Besides, you did all right on your own. You captured a knight."
Tyrion drank more. He wanted to be very drunk when it came time to pour boiling wine on his elbow. "And who did I capture?"
"Ser Geoff…something or other. A Barrowton cunt. Said his family would pay a hundred gold dragons for him."
"How splendid," Tyrion quipped. "Now I can retire."
"Your father may shit gold but I don't," Bronn countered. "If you don't want the ransom, I'll take it."
"Fine, do as you please with him."
Bronn shrugged. "He might die anyway. His leg is broken. Good thing you killed his horse so it could fall on him."
"It was not my intention."
"Don't matter how you kill them or knock them senseless long as they go down. Oh, well, if he dies maybe they'll pay a few coppers for his bones."
"Speaking of wounded and bones, how fair our wildlings?" Tyrion asked, having grown strangely fond of those mountain men who keep swearing to cut off his cock and feed it to the goats.
"We lost about half," Bronn replied after another deep drink. "The rest are still looting the Stark dead. Shagga took three arrows but none too deep. He'll live."
"Good. And where is Shae?" Tyrion was starting to worry one of his father's lords had decided to take back what Bronn had taken for Tyrion in the first place.
"With the rest of the whores and kitchen whelps in the rear."
Tyrion felt a touch of anger rise when Bronn called Shae a whore. He had only known Shae for a night but already he felt something for her. He didn't know why, but still the same it was there. "Would you be so kind as to fetch her? The battle is over and I have need of my bed warmer."
"It'll have to wait. We got orders to pack up and move," Bronn told Tyrion. "Your father gave the order ten minutes ago."
That surprised Tyrion. "And where are we going?"
"Robb Stark is marching on Riverrun, with most of his men. So the wind says."
Tyrion knew the implications of that. "If he reaches Riverrun before us, we'll be cut off from the west."
"I thought your great brother and his lot was in the way?"
"For now. But this news the wind brings may be many hours or even days old. Who knows what has happened since?" Tyrion was about to rise when the maester and a young lad came into the tent. The lad carried a metal kettle gingerly with gloved hands.
Bronn stood and peered in the open kettle top. "Boiling wine. You're in for some pain."
Tyrion grimaced and looked at the maester. "He always tells me how it is, no holding back, no matter how obvious."
The maester held out a small cup with a milky substance and after Tyrion placed his wine cup on the table next to his chair he took the offered cup. "The milk of the poppy, my lord," the maester told him. "A small sip or two will…do." Tyrion had drained the entire contents of the cup. In moments he felt light headed and then the room began to spin. He dropped the cup on the ground. "I never liked pain," he managed to say in a slurred voice. "Bronn, please make sure he doesn't cut off my arm. If he tries, kill him. I'd do it myself, but I think I shall be asleep." Then he passed out.
He awoke in a litter carried between four horses. How much time had passed, Tyrion did not know but it was still light outside, yet gloomy, nearing sunset. His elbow throbbed but at least he still had his arm. It was wrapped tight in linen and a sling was looped around his arm and over his neck. He sat up and pain shot through his elbow and his head. Too much wine or milk of the poppy. Perhaps both. He opened the curtains of the litter and he saw Bronn riding his horse next to his litter with the great bulk of Timett riding beside him. "Where are we?" he asked, his voice dry.
"Heading west," said Bronn. "As to where we are, and where we are going, your lord father has not told us."
"What news have you heard?"
"There's been riders, but no news came back to us."
"I need my horse. I need to see my father."
"Your horse is one of the ones carrying you," Bronn said. "It's too much fuss to bother with now. Wait till we halt for the night, which should be soon if we're not to fumble around in the dark trying to dig latrine ditches."
They rode for another half hour and then suddenly the column halted. Orders were shouted along the line for men to make camp, post sentries, dig ditches, and put up barriers of sharpened wooden stakes. The Lannister host fell to the task like an army of ants and soon tents were going up in farmer's fields, ditches were being dug and trees felled to make barriers to cover these ditches. Cook fires sprang up, and soon there was the sound of pigs, cows, and chickens being slaughtered for the evening meal.
Tyrion could not get on his horse because of his elbow so Timett picked him up and placed him on his horse. Then he rode forward with Bronn and Timett riding at his side. Everywhere there was activity as men hurried to prepare the camp before the light failed. Tyrion asked Lannister men where his father was and they kept pointing him west toward the setting sun. After a half hour search in the growing dark Tyrion found a roadside inn where a milling crowd was gathering. He knew this inn. The gods were not without a sense of justice. It was where Catelyn Stark had taken him prisoner, where he had first met Bronn. The woman who had owned it now hung from a gibbet, her dead body twisting in the light wind. The price you pay for letting a Lannister be captured in your establishment, though the woman had naught to do with it. Still, his lord father would want to send a message, and in the future he was sure innkeepers who heard the tale would fall over themselves to serve and protect any Lannister.
Most of the men outside the inn were from his father's headquarters group, guards and some high ranking knights and commanders, men Tyrion had known since he was a boy. As Timett picked him up again and helped him down from his horse he spotted his Uncle Kevan, who was never far from Lord Tywin.
"Wait here," Tyrion told Bronn and Timett as he handed the reins of his horse to Bronn.
"It's supper time," Bronn protested.
"I'll find you a roasted pig after. For now, wait," Tyrion said with a sharp look and Bronn grimaced and nodded.
Tyrion made his way through the crowd outside the inn and caught his uncle as he was about to enter.
"Dear Uncle, what news?"
"Tyrion," he said with grim look. "I see you have mended well."
"Was but a few scratches, nothing a little wine inside and outside couldn't cure. Tell me, what has been happening?"
"There is grave news. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, Tyrion, but your brother Ser Jaime has been captured by Robb Stark's forces."
Nothing could have shocked Tyrion more. His brother Jaime was the finest swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms. Captured? It made no sense. "How?"
"An ambush in the Whispering Wood as far as we know. Some of the survivors who escaped reached us but an hour ago. Ser Jaime killed many but they overwhelmed him they said. But there is even graver news."
"Graver?" What could be worse than this?
"Robb Stark force marched his men from the Woods while we fought that small force on the Green Fork. Stark has smashed our forces besieging Riverrun. Two thirds have been routed or captured and the rest retired in good order, and are now trying to make their way west to our lands. The Starks and the Tullys now hold Riverrun and block our supply routes to the west."
"Disaster."
"Indeed. Come, your father has called a meeting. I think you should attend."
"Certainly."
The inside of the inn was as gloomy as Tyrion remembered. His father and ten of his high commanders sat at a long table, and the atmosphere was very tense. Tywin Lannister curtly nodded to his brother and then spared a glance for his youngest son as they sat down. The meeting opened with Kevan Lannister telling the assemblage the grave news Tyrion had just learned. Some already knew it, others didn't know it all, and all were surprised by the extent of the disaster. They rambled on for a while about what to do, and how to ransom his brother, and back and forth. The whole time Tywin said nothing but Tyrion could see his fury building until he finally exploded.
"They have my son!" His eyes glared at them all. "Get out, all of you," he said in a calmer tone.
"Not you," he said with a look to Tyrion. "Stay also, Kevan." Soon the room was empty except for the three Lannister men. Tyrion took a jug of wine from the table and filled an empty cup, all the while his father looked at him intently.
"Your wound is healing?" his father asked.
"Yes, so not to worry, no children will be chasing after and laughing at a one-armed dwarf in Lannisport anytime soon."
"If all you're good for is japes you can go back to your wildlings."
"I find japes comfort me when I feel distressed. Have the Starks made an offer of ransom for my brother?"
"No," said Kevan. "But we may have a chance to persuade them. Your sister holds Robb Stark's two sisters at King's Landing."
Tyrion scoffed. "He will never trade Jaime for two girls. His men would tear out his eyes and feed them to the crows."
His father nodded. "Maybe you are not such a big a fool as I thought. No, Robb Stark will not trade Jaime for his sisters. But perhaps he will if his father has anything to say about it."
"His father? What news of Ned Stark?" Tyrion asked. "Isn't he still in a cell in King's Landing?"
"He is coming north," said Tywin. "We've had word from your sister. Cersei gave him a choice to confess his treason publicly and take the black or watch his daughters die before he did. Needless to say, he confessed and took the black."
"A choice any parent would make," Kevan said, and Tyrion knew Kevan would since Kevan doted on his sons. But Tyrion was sure his father would not take the black to save his dwarf son's life. Maybe not even for Cersei or Jaime either.
"Ned Stark is coming this way with a party of Night's Watch recruits," Tywin continued. "But before they go to the Wall they are to find his son's army and Ned Stark is to order them to disband and go home."
"And why should Robb Stark do that?" Tyrion asked. "He's winning, if you hadn't noticed."
"I have," said his father coldly. "If the boy is smart he will not disband his forces. He will know that in a year, five years, ten years, whenever the Baratheon brothers are put down and this rebellion ends, he must know we will come north for him."
"It will be costly," added Kevan. "But we cannot allow this insolence to go unpunished."
"Indeed not," said Tywin.
"If he is smart," Tyrion said. "But his father's pleas about the safety of his sisters might just persuade him to end this war. Then we can marshal our forces to meet the threat of the Baratheon brothers."
"Quite so," said Tywin.
"Ned Stark comes north, but will he make it?" asked Kevan. "There is chaos on the road between Harrenhal and King's Landing. Ser Gregor and his men did battle with Beric Dondarrion's small force and there are other raiding parties about, some not so much in our control."
"What raiding parties?" Tyrion asked. How much did he not know about father's war plans?
"A free company from across the Narrow Sea," Kevan told him. "Led by Vargo Hoat. They call themselves the Brave Companions."
"Sellswords," said Tyrion with a sneer. "Not to be trusted."
His father stared at him. "You seem to put enough trust in that one that follows you everywhere."
"That's because Bronn is trustworthy," Tyrion shot back. "How can we assure Ned Stark's safety?"
"You will assure it," his father told him.
That took Tyrion aback. "Me? How?"
"You and your sellsword and wildlings plus a dozen knights and one hundred cavalry will march south at the dawn to Harrenhal and thence the Kingsroad. You will take Harrenhal from Lady Whent and…"
But Tyrion interrupted him and his father's eyes flashed with anger. "Take Harrenhal? With a few hundred men? Impossible."
His father stared at him hard. "Lady Whent has naught but a few retainers and servants and lives in only a small part of the castle. I am sure you can come up with a clever ruse to get her to open her gates. If so, leave a small garrison, and move on. If not, move directly on to the Kingsroad. Finding Ned Stark is the most important thing now. Keep him and his party well protected. Then bring him to Harrenhal."
"Why Harrenhal?"
"Because that's where we will be."
Even Kevan seemed surprised at this news. "But Tywin, that place is cursed."
"And where else are we to go, brother? We are weakened and outnumbered. Robb Stark controls the roads to the west. Roose Bolton is still on the Green Folk with his remnants, the Freys at the Twins are sworn bannermen to Riverrun, and the Baratheon brothers are to the south. The Vale is to the east and Lysa Arryn has no love for us. To make matters worse we have had word that Highgarden has risen for Renly and he has wed Margaery Tyrell."
"Now that is surprising news," commented Tyrion. "I didn't think Renly had it in him. A wedding of convenience, not love."
"I care not if he loves the girl, it is a wedding of inconvenience to us," said Tywin. "If my grandson is to stay longer than a month on the Iron Throne we must act. The first thing is to consolidate our forces at Harrenhal. From there we can strike in any direction at short notice. Ser Gregor and Ser Amory Lorch and their men will ride and forage and pillage. We will lay waste to the Riverlands and keep all the crops and herds for ourselves. The smallfolk will clog the roads to escape and their mouths clamoring for food and protection will be a burden to our enemies. Once Ned Stark persuades his son to march north, we will deal with Renly and Stannis."
"And Highgarden?" Kevan asked.
"They will bend the knee and be welcome back into the fold."
"But not Robb Stark?" Tyrion asked his father.
"His mother laid hands on you, his aunt tried to murder you, and he has Jaime. And his father tried to overthrow Joffrey. There will be no pardon for the Starks. One day we will let them know what it means to challenge this family. But that day is not today," said Tywin. There was a cold fury in his eyes that Tyrion knew meant his father would see House Stark destroyed before all this was over. Oddly, he felt happy inside, knowing his father went to war for him and would destroy his enemies. Perhaps one day they would sing a song called the 'Snows of Winterfell' to the tune of the 'Rains of Castermere'.
Tywin Lannister turned to his brother. "Kevan, we will rest here for one day, to allow stragglers from Jaime's forces and Riverrun to reach us. Then we march for Harrenhal. See to the preparations."
"At once," Kevan said and then rose and left them. As soon as he was gone Tywin took a cup of wine and drank. He looked at Tyrion. "There is one more thing. Your sister has commanded me to go to King's Landing to be Joffrey's Hand."
"Congratulations. May you fare better than the last two."
Tywin ignored the jape. "She commanded me," he scoffed. "Cersei has too high a sense of her own worth and forgets she is my daughter first and foremost."
"She is the Queen after all."
"Queen Regent."
"Ah, yes. I had forgotten. Her dear husband Robert is dead."
Tywin drank deeply and sat back in his chair. "I had no love for the man but Robert Baratheon was not made to sit on a throne. He was made for sitting on a horse and crushing men with his war hammer. His sloth and drunkenness did not become him. It is a shameful thing the way he died. Such a man should have died in battle."
"He did. With a boar."
Tywin was silent for a moment, staring at his son with his green gold-flecked eyes. "After this business with Ned Stark is finished you will ride to King's Landing and be Hand in my stead."
Of all the surprises and shocks of the last hour this one had to top them all. "Me? Hand of the King? Why not my Uncle Kevan? Or anyone else for that matter."
"Because you are my son. And it seems you have more than a drop of common sense, despite the company you keep and the barbs that come too oft from your tongue."
"And what am I to do in King's Landing? Cersei will sooner geld me than have me sit on the small council."
"You will have a letter under my seal to order her to accept you as acting Hand. She will do as I command, and so will that boy king. The rest as well. Deal with anyone as you wish and make sure the city is well-prepared for an attack."
"Deal with anyone as I wish? Including Varys, Baelish, and Pycelle?"
"Especially those three. I have been meaning to make inquires as to why Catelyn Stark seemed to think you wanted her son dead. And why Lysa Arryn believes you had something to do with the death of her husband. I have no doubt as to your innocence in these matters."
"At last someone knows the true me."
His father grimaced. "Someone has used you as a pawn in this game of thrones they like to play, to set House Stark against House Lannister. What is done is done. But I would know who started this business so I can see them hanged. I have a feeling a few rats in King's Landing may have said the wrong words in certain ears."
Tyrion grinned. "My thoughts exactly, father. I shall make my own inquires once I arrive."
"Inquire all you like. You have that power as Hand of the King. Start with Ned Stark when you find him. But in King's Landing do it quietly. Those rats have ears of their own, always listening." Tywin rose and started to leave the room. "Oh, and one more thing. Leave your whore behind when you go to King's Landing."
Tyrion said nothing, not surprised his father knew about Shae. After his father left he drained his cup of wine. Find Ned Stark, take Harrenhal, be the Hand of the King, find out who set me up, leave my whore behind. Well, father, I will do as you ask. For the most part.
Outside in the growing dark he found Bronn and Timett still waiting for him in the midst of the army still making preparations for night. "What news?" Bronn asked him as Timett helped Tyrion mount his horse. Bronn and Timett then both mounted as Tyrion spoke.
"We are to leave in the morning, take Harrenhal, find Ned Stark, protect him, bring him to my father, and then make for King's Landing, where I am to be the acting Hand of the King."
"Is that all?" asked Bronn. "Then we best have a good supper and get a good night's sleep."
"The Halfman Hand," said Timett with a laugh.
"Some day they will make a song of it," Tyrion replied with a grin. "Come my companions. Let us find our men and sup and drink and get some rest."
Tyrion found the roast pig he promised and sup and drink they did, but not much rest was to be had, at least not for Tyrion. Shae came to him in the darkness and rubbed his aches and rubbed his middle leg, and soon they were lost to the world as they made love over and over. Bronn was right. After a battle a man needed a woman. And quite a woman she was.
Afterwards they lay in his bed in his tent and drank some good wine from the Arbor. "I must go in the morning."
"Go where?"
"To do my father's bidding."
"And I am to come as well?"
"My father has forbidden it. The cunt."
She laughed. "And do you always do as your father commands?"
"No. And this time I mean not to again. But the first part will be dangerous. We might have to fight."
"I can kill a man as well as you can."
Tyrion laughed this time. "Of that I have no doubt. Yes, you can come, but must travel with the servants and food wagons."
She pouted. "But at night I come to your tent?"
"Most certainly," Tyrion told her as he kissed her lips and tasted her sweetness.
Dawn came too soon and Tyrion's head was fuzzy from lack of sleep and too much wine. He bid goodbye to Shae for the moment so she could go disguise herself and join the baggage tail that would come with his small force. He broke his fast with Bronn on bread, fish, eggs and ale.
"You look morose this morning Bronn," Tyrion observed.
"Ser Geoff died," the sellsword told him. "His broken leg couldn't handle the move yesterday. The maester said he was dead when we halted last night."
"You may still get a few coppers for his bones."
"Not worth the bother. A hundred gold dragons would have been, but not a few coppers."
"Don't expect me to give you the hundred gold dragons he promised."
"You owe me that much already. And more."
"If you forget to stay by my side in the next battle I'll never get to pay you."
Bronn laughed. "I'll stick with you so close you'll never be rid of the smell of me."
Tyrion wrinkled his nose. "Speaking of which, the first chance we get you are to take a bath. A long hot one."
"Aye," Bronn said and he sniffed. "And you don't smell like a rose either, you know."
"I would gladly take a bath if the facilities were available. Perhaps at Harrenhal."
Bronn's face turned grim. "Just how does your lord father expect us to take such a place?"
"He suggested a ruse," Tyrion told him. "Know any good ones?"
"Aye, but not for taking the biggest castle ever built."
Tyrion sipped some ale. "Lady Whent only has a few people in it, according to my father."
"They only need a few people with walls that high and thick."
"The castle is in ruins. We may find an unguarded door or someplace where the walls are not so high. A few ropes and grappling hooks in the night and…"
Bronn stood. "Right you are. I best see if we got any about."
"We move in half an hour."
"Don't wait for me." And then he left. Almost as soon as he was gone Tyrion's squire Podrick Payne entered the tent and began to clear away the breakfast dishes.
"How fairs things, Pod?"
"My lord?" the boy asked in a nervous tone
Tyrion sighed. "How are you?"
"Good, my lord."
The boy was all nerves and hardly said a word unless spoken to. Dreadfully dull as far as Tyrion was concerned.
"We shall be riding far today and the next few days," he told Pod. "Make sure my tent and furnishings are well packed. But first we must dress me."
"Your armor is still with the smith being repaired, my lord."
"I think not to wear it anyways, not with this elbow. But make sure it comes with us, repaired or not," Tyrion said. "Just the mail shirt today and attach my half helm to my horse, along with my axe." He unslung his elbow and straightened his right arm gingerly as Pod helped him pull his chain mail shirt over his head. It was a bit too long and came past his knees but it would have to do for now.
Outside in the predawn gloom his men were breaking camp and getting ready. He saw Shagga looking pale under his scruffy beard but determined to get on a horse and not be left behind despite his wounds. Soon there came a column of dust along the road leading west and a long trail of cavalrymen on horse and carrying lances came galloping up to Tyrion's small camp.
"Lord Tyrion!" shouted the man on the lead horse. Pod took his bridle as the man climbed down and gave a short bow. "I have the honor to be Ser Jason Matigar, leader of your cavalry force." He was in his late twenties maybe, blond haired, and very tall, towering over Tyrion.
"Welcome, Ser Jason. How many men did you bring?'
"Eighty and five, plus ten knights, including myself."
Less than his father had promised but it would do. "We ride as soon as my force is ready and our baggage is packed. What do you know about our orders?'
"Your lord father said I was to protect your group and help you take Harrenhal if possible."
"Yes, if possible. He said nothing else?"
"Only that I was to go to King's Landing with you when you gave the command."
Nothing about Ned Stark. His father was keeping that news close and so would Tyrion. "We may encounter bandits and outlaws led by Beric Dondarrion on the road to Harrenhal. You will provide outriders and scouts to make sure we are not surprised."
"Yes, my lord," Ser Jason replied and then he looked at the wildlings mounting their mountain ponies, attired in their rough clothing and carrying the best Lannister weapons. "Are these men with us?" he asked in evident surprise.
"Yes, they are," said Tyrion. "I'd introduce you but there is no time. But please advise your men not to make any jests or play dice with them when we make camp. They take jests to heart and are easily offended. And they cheat at dice but will say you cheated and promise to cut your manhood off and feed it to the goats if you don't pay them."
Ser Jason sneered. "Such men are not worthy soldiers."
"They are not soldiers," Tyrion said. "They are my wild men and I am fond of them."
"Perhaps it best if we have two camps when we stop for the night, my lord."
"More than two. One for us and one for each tribe of wild men. They will insist on it since they prefer only the company of their own tribe in camp. But when drunk they will wander so please advise your men as to what I said."
"It will be difficult to set a guard at night if we are spread out so much," Ser Jason observed.
"You worry only about me and our camp and the baggage train. The wild men will look after themselves."
"As you command, my lord."
Just then a rider came up at a hard gallop. He handed Tyrion a sealed parchment. "From Lord Tywin," said the messenger and then he galloped away. The scroll had Cersei's name on the outside and was sealed in gold wax with his father's sigil stamped in the gold wax. Tyrion knew this was his writ to be Hand of the King and carefully tucked the scroll in one of his saddlebags on his horse.
A half an hour later all was ready and even Bronn had returned with some ropes and grappling hooks he loaded on one of the wagons that carried their food, tents and servants. Tyrion made a show of inspecting the ten wagons at the rear, placing ten of Ser Jason's men as guards. He spied Shae sitting in a wagon and gave her a slight nod as he rode past on his horse.
Then he rode to the front of the column with Bronn, Timett and Ser Jason at his side and Pod not far behind. After introductions the four men talked on how to make it to Harrenhal. They decided to follow the road east back from whence they had come the day before and then south directly towards Harrenhal. There were few roads, but the land was mostly flat, with some hills the closer they would get to the ruins of the great castle. As they set out the rest of the Lannister camp was stirring but few men saw them leave. After a ten minute ride they reached the outer edges of the camp and the sentries let them pass by the last barricades.
Tyrion had Ser Jason send out outriders and scouts and then fell into a rhythm of riding alone with Bronn, with Pod not far behind on his palfrey.
"What should I say to Ned Stark when we meet?" Tyrion asked Bronn after a long silence.
"How should I know?" Bronn answered in his insolent way. "You're the one with a life of experience kissing high lords' asses."
"The trouble is when you are a son of Casterly Rock most people kiss your ass, even if it sits as low to the ground as mine does. Ned Stark is a different kettle of fish. He is a Stark of Winterfell who can trace his linage back over thousands of years to Bran the Builder if you believe the legends."
"He's no lord no more if he's branded a traitor and has decided to take the black."
"True enough," Tyrion said. "I met him once, briefly, at Winterfell, just before all this madness started. He seemed a genial fellow, if a bit stern, and he was a good host, but he has no love for me. His wife thinks I tried to kill their son and I am sure Lord Eddard has the same idea."
"Did you?"
"Did I what?"
"Try to kill their son?" Bronn asked calmly as if he had asked how he had slept.
"Of course not!" Tyrion said in real outrage. "Why would I want to kill a boy?"
"Then if not you, why would someone else?"
"I have no idea. But what really interests me is who put the idea in Lord and Lady Stark's minds that I had something to do with it."
"She wasn't telling. Why would he?"
"I never had a chance to make her see sense. I will make him see it though."
Bronn snorted. "If we find him. Lot of land between here and King's Landing. They could be anywhere."
"Oh, we'll find Ned Stark," said Tyrion with certainty. "We must. Father was right. He is the key to everything, not to just solving this mystery. The key to freeing my brother, to sending Robb Stark's army home, to bring peace to this land."
"Some of these lads behind us might just die trying to find him and bring this peace."
"Then the gods and the smallfolk will thank them when this is over and peace is restored," Tyrion said.
His father never said but Tyrion wondered if they would really let Ned Stark make it to the Wall alive, when he was planning on someday killing his son and destroying his family. Could the honorable Ned Stark stick by his oath and stay out of it while his family was destroyed. Tyrion thought not.
But that was for the future. Now he just had to find the man. Where are you Ned Stark?
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone