Tyrion II

All the scum of the Disputed Lands was camped outside their walls. Pale Lyseni, flamboyant Tyroshi, and men from stranger lands grumbled about pay, grumbled about not being let inside King's Landing, and grumbled about their fellows who didn't make it through Stannis' blockade, which Tyrion didn't doubt were many.

"They look vile and smell worse," Cersei complained. "Must you allow them entrance into my son's city?"

"Only in small groups," he answered. "Every company may send half a hundred men through the gates per day to drink, gamble, and whore as they like." Mostly, they whored. Tyrion had seized Littlefinger's brothels and instructed the girls to give steep discounts to the defenders of their fair city. Their cunts did much to quiet the complaints. Everyone would receive appropriate compensation when Father arrived, hopefully.

"I like it not." They stood in silence for some time. Cersei did not even bother to wear a mourning dress. "How many?"

"Ten thousand, or near enough as to make no matter. The smallest companies have a few hundred, and the largest one or two thousand. Every free company that would take Lannister coin is here. The Free Cities shall have to postpone their quarrels for the nonce."

"And the Golden Company?"

Ah, them. They might have made all the difference, but no reply had been forthcoming. Ten thousand disciplined men, elephants, what he could do with such as that...

"If they have not arrived, they aren't coming, I fear. Lesser sellswords would break their contracts to take Father's coin, but not them, I think."

"Pity," she said tiredly.

"Is His Grace Well?" Tyrion asked. Joff hadn't shown his bandaged face much of late, and Cersei looked wan and careworn.

"The wound didn't fester, thank the gods, but my son has been in a dark mood. He rages at Stannis, rages at Renly, rages at the knight who took his ear." Her voice dropped low. "He even rages at me."

Twelve years old, and his own kin tried to murder him on his name day before his father's body was cold. Aye, and the ravens named him bastard. They tried to keep it from him, but Joff found out. There was a roiling, boiling fight in Maegor's when the boy demanded to know the truth. "Is that why? Is that why they did this?" Who knew he could scream so loud with his cheek sewn up?

Mayhaps, Tyrion supposed. Mayhaps they were doomed, even if Jaime won his battle. A small castle yielded to him, and that was how they got the raven. "I'll send them north when Jaime gets here," Tyrion promised. "His host is blooded veterans now, and the sellswords will stiffen them."

It was only half a lie. Their family's position teetered on the edge of a knife, and Cersei's face said she knew. Strange to say, but they hadn't fought at all for a moon's turn. Would that the realm had risen up against them sooner. Tyrion might've enjoyed having a sister growing up.

***

The ferries and barges worked day and night to bring Ser Jaime's host across the Blackwater.

"You return with more men than you started with," Tyrion pointed out.

His brother's cocksure grin almost didn't look forced. "I won another battle, but didn't bother sending a raven. There was a second cluster of Stormlands men coming up from the Rainwood and Cape Wrath. I smashed them shortly after I saw to Ser Cortney Penrose. Half my men are Stormlords, gone over to Joff's banner. They bent the knee when I beat them."

That was good, very good, but there was a danger. "How much do you trust them?"

"Little and less," Jaime answered honestly. "The Baratheon men don't love us, and some might whisper about Joff's parentage, but not in my hearing. I have highborn prisoners as well, hostages."

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That put a smile on Tyrion's face, his first in a while. "I'll be sure to send ravens, letting their families know. Even if they don't come and bend the knee, they'll hold back their swords from Stannis."

"Well, with your sellswords and our new friends, that makes about twenty-five thousand, a goodly host, but wherever shall I take them?"

"North," Tyrion answered. He unfolded a parchment map on the table where the brothers had been sharing wine. "I have the Kingsroad watched. One of the companies of light horse did a little scouting for me, and the knights of the Vale are coming down the High Road. Domeric Scalp-Taker leads the van, him and all his pet wildlings."

"I'll see to him, brother, never fear," Jaime declared stoutly. Mayhaps he would. Tyrion had never dreamed Jaime would return with more men than he started with. Mayhaps he could pull off another miracle. They studied the map together in silence for a time. "Where is Father? Surely he has departed from Casterly Rock by now."

"Aye. He didn't include his numbers in the raven, but Father leads a large army down the Gold Road. He says Brynden Tully has been shadowing him, but declines to offer battle. If the gods are good, the Blackfish is just being cautious."

"We can't fight them both."

"Indeed not. Father has taken great pains to skirt around the lands of the Tullys. If you should manage to smash the Valemen, mayhaps the river lords will decide remaining in the king's peace is for the best."

"Mayhaps, mayhaps, mayhaps!" Jaime drained his goblet angrily. "How did it come to this, Tyrion?" he asked after swallowing heavily.

You fucked our sister, he wanted to say, but that was not exactly wise to say aloud, even behind the walls of the Red Keep. Instead, Tyrion answered carefully. "A series of follies and mischances. I'm now convinced Renly acted alone. If he, his brother Stannis, and the Hand worked together, all our heads would be on pikes. Cersei's marriage to Robert is what kept us safe. Sheep love lions not. The realm is full of sheep, jealous sheep who covet Lannister wealth and power. Alone, we cannot hope to triumph." He turned to Jaime, a fire blazing in his eyes of mismatched black and green. "That is why you must conquer, Jaime! If you can beat Jon Arryn's bannermen and end the legend of Domeric Scalp-Taker, the Tyrells might be persuaded that our cause is just after all."

"Cersei won't like it," Jaime groused. "Her son is mutilated for life, and now you want to offer him to another woman? She's been feeding him herself, you know, or trying to."

"Our sister likes to live, as do I," Tyrion answered. "Offering up Tommen and Myrcella to some other likely house would not go amiss. It's a pity every match we might make is with a family at war with us. Well, we might make a peace that way."

Jaime studied the map a while longer. "When must I march?"

"Lord Horton Redfort and all his power will cross the Ruby Ford any day now, or might already have. You know as well as I how quick the Kingsroad is once you reach the God's Eye. With Brynden Tully's levies following Father, there is a good chance you can catch the Valemen alone. The North has not had time to march, I think."

"And Stannis might've landed at Storm's End by now. What remains of his men will rally, and we'll be beset from the south as well."

Well, when you put it like that, it seemed Jaime's little jaunt down Storm's End way had only delayed the inevitable. Tyrion wouldn't believe it. Tyrion couldn't allow himself to believe it. "You'll have to march soon in any case. We can't feed these sellswords much longer, let alone pay them!"

They both laughed.