Tyrion I

298 AC

Tyrion Lannister clutched the crossbow to his breast and peered over the battlements of Maegor's Holdfast. All he could see was the dry moat, lined with spikes, and the gate beyond. Sweet sister insisted the drawbridge be raised, and Tyrion could only agree. Last night was the closest he had ever come to dying.

Prince Joffrey's tourney had been one folly after another. First, there was the Dornish jousting girl, a jape in itself if she wasn't so bloody good. She was the Red Viper's own get, they said. Lady Lance indeed.

Ser Gregor could not abide being shamed by the likes of Elia Sand, so he drew his sword. In the ensuing chaos, the monster cut down Mace Tyrell's beloved boy and got his own pate flayed off by the North's own monster, Domeric Scalp-Taker. That one was too dangerous by half. Jaime insisted he could handle Domeric Bolton. Tyrion loved his brother, but he wasn't so sure.

Then the bloody king insisted on riding in the melee. They had to delay the event until evenfall while armorers scrambled to find steel that would fit his tremendous girth. Last and worst, a hedge knight crept up behind His Grace and smashed the back of his skull with a mace, the same stroke that ended Baelor Breakspear's reign before it even began.

Worse and worse. The king never woke. Sometime during the hour of the wolf, Robert Baratheon stopped breathing. Then they came!

Robert's brother, Lord Renly, assembled every knight and handsome young man that attended him, and struck hard before the king's body went cold. The Red Keep's stone walls were stained redder still, and it was only Ser Barristan's valor that saw young Joffrey safe to the heart of Maegor's. Lion and Stag opened one another's throats in a dance of death. It was well for him that Tyrion had trouble sleeping, elsewise the young knights would've had his oversized head. His chambers were a trifle close to Renly's.

The dwarf found himself standing shoulder to shoulder with their Lannister guardsmen. They put a crossbow in his hand, and he was forced to put it to use. One young knight, mayhaps a Buckler, got close enough to scratch him. Thankfully, the cut was not deep, though it stung terribly and would leave a truly prodigious scar. At that range, the quarrel Tyrion loosed burrowed deep into the man's bowels. By the hour of the bat, numbers and skill at arms carried the day, the night, truly. Jaime himself cut down Renly. But where was Stannis? None knew.

They withdrew into Maegor's and sent their men after Stannis and Jon Arryn, who had been holding a council of war in the Tower of the Hand while Renly's lads were being hacked to bits. One stag knows not what the other is doing; that may be of use to us, he thought. Littlefinger even volunteered to go and negotiate. The queen gave her leave, but raised the drawbridge behind him.

Now dawn was breaking, and they heard the sounds of a sharp struggle coming from the other side of the castle. The sounds did not last long.

His brother clutched his bloody sword. "I'll go and see what happened. Might be Stannis and Jon Arryn tried to cut their way out, but Tregar should have the numbers to keep him penned in that tower."

Cersei reached out. "Jaime, no! Stay here, with me. I need you."

"The king needs you," Jaime replied. "Pycelle had sewn up his cheek, but Joff will never regrow that ear. His mother should be with him. I'll bet Myrcella and Tommen are positively terrified."

"No thanks to the Kingsguard!" Cersei spat. "How did Renly ever get close? And where in seven hells is the spider? He ought to have known Renly was planning to move against us!"

"I don't think it was planned, actually," Tyrion interjected. An ugly frown marred his sister's beautiful face, but she didn't argue. "Nobody could've known the king would die. Mayhaps he was only struck senseless for a time. Renly's attempt to seize the throne was an ill-planned, hasty thing. It is Stannis I fear. Giving that man time to take stock could be the end of us. Now, we heard screams and steel. Littlefinger has yet to return, which tells me negotiations failed."

"Or he's betrayed us," Jaime added.

"Mayhaps," Tyrion allowed. "We won't know unless we go down to the Tower of the Hand and see for ourselves."

"Let the imp go, then. Jaime, I want you to stay with me."

Jaime shook his head. "Cersei, I have to. You have enough men and supplies in Maegor's to hold off a siege until Father gets here with his army. You can spare a few swords to accompany a small sortie. Now come along, brother; let's go check on Tregar and the boys."

***

Tregar and the boys were dead, and missing their scalps, along with Littlefinger.

Jaime stepped over the bodies and climbed over a broken barricade to inspect the Tower of the Hand. He went up a few floors, took a look around, and came back. "They're gone," he reported.

"It seems we have a new enemy, brother mine. This is Domeric Scalp-Taker's work. He butchered our redcloaks like harvest festival hogs. How he got into the Red Keep, I'm sure I don't know. Lord Stannis and Jon Arryn are probably on a ship for Dragonstone right now." Wait, ships! Tyrion turned to Jaime urgently. "Brother, you must rally the city watch and head down to the harbor straight away. Like as not, Lord Stannis has ordered the royal fleet to set sail. You must get down there and stop as many ships as you can. Any that escape will be used against us later!"

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It did not take long for Jaime to see the sense in Tyrion's plan, though Cersei was terribly wroth with him when he returned to Maegor's without his brother.

Some hours later, they'd managed to secure the Red Keep completely, and the bells of King's Landing were tolling the death of the king. Jaime returned about midday.

"How much of the Royal Fleet remains to us, brother?" Tyrion asked.

Jaime frowned. "About a quarter. The rest had already put out by the time I got down there. Stannis has escaped us, and Jon Arryn too."

"Then it's war," Tyrion declared gravely.

Cersei did not seem to understand. Her hands were bloody and unwashed from caring for her wounded son personally. "War?"

Tyrion sighed. This was no time for wit. "Stannis will attempt to raise the Stormlands, and Jon Arryn the Vale. Joffrey's throne is under threat."

"We must summon Father at once!" Cersei said forcefully.

"We must," Tyrion agreed. "But Casterly Rock is long leagues away." He noticed Cersei had a Bolton Bag sitting on the sideboard. It made him chuckle.

"What's so funny?" the queen demanded in outrage.

"If it was just Stannis Baratheon and Jon Arryn, we might hold them off, but they have friends. Domeric Bolton has slain half a hundred Lannister men, and Ser Gregor, besides. Eddard Stark will surely call his banners if Jon Arryn asks."

Cersei's eyes narrowed. "You think Bolton was Lord Stark's agent?"

Tyrion suppressed another chuckle. "Likely not, but that one has friends all over the realm. He is the North's greatest knight, well-loved in the Vale and Dorne. I see coils of hempen rope weaving together, forming a noose around us. We must cut free, and quick as may be."

"How?" Jaime asked. "The Tyrells love us not, especially after the Mountain killed the Knight of Flowers. Lord Stark's wife is heir to Riverrun. We're completely surrounded. Even all the power of the West can't find off the rest of the kingdoms put together."

"Then," Tyrion replied, "we must not fight the rest of the kingdoms put together. We'll send ravens. For a start, why not offer Joffrey to Mace Tyrell's daughter?"

Cersei wrinkled her nose in distaste. "They'll never agree, not after Loras. Some of their men died with Renly as well."

"We don't need them to agree. We just need them to stay out of it. If the power of Highgarden moves against us, we are lost. In the raven, we'll spin some tale about Ser Loras caught up in a plot of Renly's without his knowledge. Everything in the tourney is suspect, so why not that? Renly wanted Loras in harm's way to motivate Mace Tyrell to bestir himself. We could also allude to Dornish involvement. That might serve to make them suspicious."

Jaime shook his head. "They'll never accept that story."

"They don't have to accept it, not completely. We just need to plant a doubt. Our offering the king's hand will give them pause, if nothing else. Like as not, they'll sit out the fighting until one side looks like to win."

"What about the other kingdoms?" Jaime asked.

"Send ravens to the Marcher Lords, warning of a Dornish attack. It might even be true. If they are worried about the south, they won't march north to join Stannis. Aye, and we'll send you as well."

Jaime's head twitched. "Me?"

"Yes, you. To reach Storm's End, Stannis must sail around Masey's Hook. Meanwhile, it is a straight shot down the Kingsroad by land. The Crownlands can raise ten thousand swords, mayhaps fifteen. We must call the banners, and quickly. March down there. Scatter the Stormlords, bleed them, demand their allegiance in the name of King Joffrey. Stannis is but little loved in the lands of his family. Might be you could get some to go over to us. If we strike hard, we could knock the Stormlands out of the war early, before they can mass their power. If you could snick off Stannis' head, so much the better. Meanwhile, I will hire sellswords from across the Narrow Sea with promises of Father's gold. The Vale and North are more remote. We'll deal with them when the time comes. Ah, and stirring up division in the Riverlands would not go amiss, either."

There was understanding in his brother's eyes. "If we fight the other kingdoms one at a time..."

"Precisely. We have the advantage of moving first. Let us use it."

"But I don't want Jaime to leave me!" Cersei complained.

Jaime shook his head. "I'm sorry, sister, but Tyrion's plan is sound. Your place is here with the king. Leave war to the men."

That turned out to be precisely the wrong thing to say. Sweet sister stormed off in anger, but not before snatching up her Bolton Bag. Even here, even after everything, ladies loved those damnable bags. Mayhaps if Jaime could kill Stannis, they might be able to avoid fighting Domeric Scalp-Taker. Even in victory, his family would not come out unscathed, Tyrion was sure.