The Lion and the Rose: South

[leonardothered]

Tyrion I

There was a knock at the door, and Bronn opened it to reveal Ser Roland Crakehall looking stately with his own tail of two guardsmen and hands held behind his back. "Lord Tyrion, the council awaits. The king is... growing drowsy." said Roland with what dignity could be mustered. Tyrion and Jaime exchanged glances; he had told Tyrion the king was up for half the night crying. It is to be expected... He has lost his home, his mother, and his only uncle is a misshapen imp whose face he dutifully looks into, and only out of kindness doesn't shy away. And his father... Jaime himself looked in need of rest, but with only three kingsguard, the security measures taken and the rotation of the knights his duties demanded more of his waking hours than perhaps was wise. Not to mention he has had no time to grieve.

As much as Tyrion was glad to be rid of Joffrey, the tragedy of king's landing had shaken all the west to the bone, and even he himself had to take some time to compose himself in the wake of House Lannister's woes. He was the only chance Tommen and Jaime had; the rest of the Lannisters and his vassals aside would likely be afforded pardons in exchange for fealty and loyalty. Tyrion had no such option.

"Very well Ser, send word ahead of our arrival. Bronn, my sceptre." Bronn obliged, handing Tyrion the wooden cane. Maester Craelyn believed the limp would only be temporary, and it did seem to be healing. Tyrion could now waddle about fine without it, but with the many stairs of the rock he still kept it about him, and the Lord of Casterly Rock was not about to be seen carried anywhere, even by his kin. The small lion's head was wrought with gold and two small rubies set into the eyes, though not regal enough for a Lannister. Jaime stood and gave Tyrion an arm, but Tyrion refused it. "Captain, make the rounds if you would be so good, and see that our garrison is up to scratch. My brother's arm works as well as it ever did, he can guard the King's Hand on a leisurely stroll"

Bronn let out an insolent grunt and left with "As your lordship decrees". Jaime gave Tyrion a cynical look as they started down the stairs from his solar. "We're fortunate Ser Balon and Ser Lyle are able; the reality of my own prowess isn't likely to improve with a lie" said Jaime balefully. "It isn't likely to improve at all without you taking on some more accomplished opponents." The tapping of his cane echoed off the walls in a rhythm. "It's just as well we lost Boros Blount and Meryn Trant. Tommen needs good men about him, and I would rather trust Tommen to Bronn than trust him to another Blount. The Kingsguard must needs be restored to its former prestige and ability; it will fill with time, and today should help to lighten the burden." Jaime shook his head and sighed. "If there is a man as skilled Barristan the Bold left in the realm, let alone the west, he must be buried deeper than all the gold beneath the rock. Still, you're correct in that shadows serve us better than the likes of Blount"

With the loss of the Cleganes and Jaime's maiming, the might of the west had lost its best. Tyrion had issued a decree of pardon to Sandor Clegane should he wish to re-enter Lannister service, but so far the Hound had not shown his distorted features this side of the golden tooth. There were rumors of him wandering the Riverlands, but Tyrion put no stock in them; the Hound wasn't cunning, but he wasn't a fool, and the Riverlands were not any kind of haven for his sort. There were still valiant scions of battle to be found though, and the strongboar was an easy choice. If not for his skill in the field, Ser Addam Marbrand would also have made a stalwart kingsguard.

After a short descent, they arrived at the main hall. The Lannister seat of gold was currently occupied by the king, with his councillors arrayed to the side of the throne. Tyrion had refurnished the hall, as it now must be fit for not just a Lannister, but a golden king. Jaime climbed onto the dais and took his place to the left of the king, Jaime relieving Ser Balon who left to stand guard at the door beside Ser Harwyn 'Hardstone' Plumm, and Ser Lyle was abed in preparation for night duty. Normally all of the kingsguard would be there to welcome a new brother,  but security took priority over tradition. The courtiers were few and Tyrion had finished with the queries and requests before midday. A few nobles dotted the seats, but aside from the king and his council most of the hall was empty aside from crimson guardsmen.

Tommen slumped in the throne, the dark circles under his eyes clearly visible and his crown askew. "Your grace, I beg your forgiveness, I was answering a raven." Tyrion took a knee as best he could, managing to bend without wincing. Tommen tried to speak and only yawned straightening his crown, then finished with "You have my forgiveness uncle." Tyrion stood and waddled up onto the dais to the seat to the right of the king. He looked over to Ser Balon and nodded, the knight giving a nod in return and moving to open the large double doors into the hall.

 Jaime had sized him up, and while he was young and inexperienced, his dedication to Tommen was sincere, and in time he would become a skilled fighter as well as tourney knight. Tyrion was a bit reluctant to pick such a young lad, only 16, but Jaime assured him that he was no green boy having slain two knights, capturing two more and wounding a third on the Blackwater, and Tommen was becoming fond of Josmyn. He reached the edge of the dais and bowed. "Your grace" he said to the floor, eyes still downcast. Tommen sat up and began to recall the words. "Josmyn of House Peckledon, you have been weighed and measured in the eyes of myself and council, and deemed worthy of a high and sacred office. You have proven valiant as well as chivalrous, and thus are appointed to the order of kingsguard, sacred protectors of... the... the king's royal person." He took a small pause as if waiting for someone else to speak, then remembering went on. "Kneel and pledge your loyalty, and rise as a knight of the kingsguard."

Josmyn went to a knee. "I do so pledge my loyalty, my honor, and my life to the service of the king, and my lord commander, Ser Jaime Lannister. Never shall I waver, and never shall any foe harm you whilst life remains in me, the one true king of Westeros, Tommen Baratheon, the first of his name, king of the andals, the rhoynar, and the first men, and lord of the seven kingdoms." Jaime descended, laying the sword on first one shoulder and then the other. Tommen cleared his throat; "I accept your oath. Rise now as Ser Josmyn Peckledon, sworn brother of the kingsguard." He rose smiling and bowed again to the king. "May the gods bless my service and your reign, your grace. All hail the king! King Tommen!"

[leonardothered]

Tyrion I(con't.)

After the cheering(few voices though there were), the king was then led away, the newest brother of the kingsguard escorting him along with Ser Balon. Once gone, the rest rose and filed out, most out of the front entrance while the council left to the side. The council chambers were round, and the furnishings sparse, just a few small end tables decorated with light foodstuffs, water, and wine. In the center of the room was an oval table, Tyrion taking his place at the head and Jaime taking the other side. Tyrion looked around as Tommen's seven councillors took their places; Forley Prester was to his left, Master of laws, an easy choice. Alysanne Lefford, his wife and a lady in her own right, took the next chair, master of coin. The crown funds were essentially Lannister gold now, and new loans would need to be made to offset the costs of further war. The lady of golden tooth was handsome though aging, still quite sharp and deft at juggling debtors.

Antario Jast's eyes sat deep in his head, and though his pallor was woeful, he was beginning to come back into some shape of himself. While he would be no spider, Antario Jast had already begun to establish a small group of agents and was proving capable as master of whisperers, the only office Tyrion had trouble filling; he supposed men took his thousand yard stare for something fierce, and more to the good. Across from him and to Jaime's left sat Addam Marbrand, given the new office of Marshal as Tyrion himself was Warden of the West. Gerion Farman, nephew of the late Lord Sebaston Farman, was an admiral without a real fleet, and Roland Crakehall held the office of Steward and Castellan should said warden of the west be absent on campaign, as Tyrion  had no time for the quibbling and management of a household with the west standing on its own. Hopefully that can be remedied...

In another time, he would have enjoyed the feel of them waiting at his leisure to begin, but in such dire straits there was little time for ego. "My lords and lady, shall we commence? With the appointment of Ser Josmyn and Ser Harwyn Plumm we are slowly mending the gap of Tommen's guard, and Ser Addam assures me our host is ready to march at need be. I have hired sellsword companies to augment our force and fleet, but we are surrounded by foes. Lady Lefford, how goes the charity campaign?" The lady Alysanne sighed; "the smallfolk are ungrateful, but fed, and we are slowly regaining their favor. At a cost." She didn't approve of such brazen spending, but the west was still feeling the effects of the ironborn raids and the people were timid. Currently they were flocking to the golden tooth and inner west after many fled the attack on Lannisport.
"Hundreds pass through Ashemark seeking the security of the mountains as well my castellan reports." Addam Marbrand reported without the same wearied tone of Lady Lefford. One of the most able men left in the west, his experience would be invaluable, and Jaime and himself both counted themselves in good fortune with his appointment.

As word spread, Tyrion hoped the people would migrate back to their towns, and Lannisport. If gaps in the Lannister forces needed to be filled, he wanted able bodies at the ready, though the region was near exhausted in terms of manpower aside from what was already gathered. With winter here Tyrion did his best to stock castle and garrison as well as make orders to purchase more food, but by his own calculations it would scarce be enough. At this rate if the Lannister armies stayed afoot, they would be hardpressed to stop the riots in the coming years.

Ser Forley Prester had opened his mouth to speak when the door crashed open, a near exhausted Maester Craelyn huffing and puffing in the doorway. His eyes were wide, and his hands trembled as he shambled before Tyrion and handed him a strip of parchment. He didn't wait for Tyrion to read it before announcing to the room "Lannisport has fallen! The ironmen have taken the city, thousands of them, they've slain Lord Damion Lannister and sent his sons Ser Lucion Lannister and Ser Daven Lannister-" he swallowed, took a breath "-fleeing here ahead of a column of smallfolk pouring from the city." With that he slumped in a chair breathing heavily.

Tyrion said nothing. His eyes ran over the parchment while he picked up his wine goblet and drained it. He had an urge to throw it at the nearest wall, but restrained himself. I must keep composure, I must keep my head, or Jaime and Tommen will lose theirs. "Ser Forley, you will set out immediately along with Peter and Dennis Plumm, you shall have swift horses and spare mounts. Craeyln, send ravens to all in the realm, the Lannisters will pay a bounty of 250,000 gold dragons for the head of Euron Greyjoy, and 100,000 for the empty head of Victarion; a Lannister always pays his debts as all well know. Ser Roland, go inform Ser Bronn of this news at once and ready our host. Lady Lefford, prepare for the influx of these refugees as well as Ser Daven and Ser Lucion. Lord Antario, see to it we have as much information as possible regarding this army of barbarians." The table sat in shock, until Tyrion slammed his fist down on the table. "NOW!" They exited swiftly, Craeyln still trying to catch his breath, leaving Ser Addam, Gerion Farman, and Jaime.

He stood and began trying to pace, then giving up in frustration at the pain in his leg. He threw his cane across the room, knocking off the golden lion's head and sending it bouncing to land at his own feet. He leaned with a hand on the wall looking down at it, then turned to the remaining three, hoping the omen was as empty as the heart of Euron Greyjoy.

[leonardothered]

Tyrion II

Tyrion sat sunk deep into the armchair of his solar, rolling and unrolling the parchment. Without the hand of the high septon the proclamation was merely paper for wiping, but it created a sense of unease in him nonetheless. With a last look, he hopped down from his chair and consigned it to the fire. He watched it crinkle until his eyes blurred from the light, and soon heard a knock at the door. "Enter" he said, turning and looking out into the night to bring his vision back into focus. The stag and lion banners still flew as before; nothing about the castle had changed, yet the entire world had shifted on its axis inside.

They had won a great victory at Lannisport; Tyrion had spent the night regaling Tommen with histories of House Lannister and the realm. Tommen soon had nodded off, but Tyrion kept talking to keep himself and his wits mindful. He had woken instantly and run to Jaime when he had seen him, covered in soot marks and blood, and Tyrion breathed in relief, finally collapsing into a drowse. The ironborn on the coasts had left gifts, but they no longer scampered about the West. The sack of Sunspear followed, shaking the Dornishmen to the roots and bringing ruin to the proud city, unconquered even by the winged dreads of Aegon's day. They had smashed Aegon's fleet and that of his new supporter, but it smelt of low autumn to Tyrion, not the high summer many were praising it for.

It was Jaime he knew, and was proved right when he turned to find him shutting the door and slumping into a seat, still wearing his plate armor and white cloak; the valyrian steel Tyrion had christened Brotherhood hung at his side in its sheathe. He had been to see Tyrion almost every evening, along with most of his other councillors, and all about the same issue. Jaime opened his mouth to speak but Tyrion raised his hand. "Spare me Jaime, we both have your argument memorized by now." His mouth closed into a hard frown. Tyrion walked to the sideboard; "Wine? If I'm going to hear it again I want to be well imbibed"

Jaime took the cup with his good hand, but did not drink. "Tommen-" "Tommen is no less a Lannister than you or I. You could even make the argument for moreso" He drained his own cup, and went for more. "The Lannister name is as good as any, and better than most; we were kings for thousands of years, Tommen's blood is no less royal" Jaime narrowed his eyes. "The name is poisoned for him. It's an exclamation of blight he will never shake, neither him or Myrcella. The very faith we house here in the west will denounce him, and-"

"And if he stays a Baratheon and a king he will lose his head! The faith is indebted to House Lannister, as is our new king Stannis. For the nonce this is merely an uncle and nephew come together against a greater foe, a mad dragon king whose very claim descends from the last!" Tyrion made to finish his wine but choked in his anger and flung the cup away. "Do you think I mean for Tommen and Myrcella to live as what you and Cersei have wrought? Inbred pretenders with a castle as parting gift, and a legacy of despair?" The mention of her name set Jaime's face crumbling. "We were... unthinking, we moved with..." Jaime struggled with the words

"Cersei knew exactly what she was doing Jaime, and you knew what she was. Father and her didn't die of poisoned wine, they died of pride, of arrogance. I will not make the same mistake, and neither will you. I have given us time; we are invaluable to Stannis' cause and he can make no move to denounce Tommen or Myrcella at this time. His own debts mount, and coupled with the debts already owed by the crown, to House Lannister included, he will need us even with the dragon pretenders gone." He grabbed a special Myrish glass from the shelf, and set it on the desk between him and Jaime. He filled it halfway as Jaime watched, hungry, always starving for reassurance. With great care, he leaned it at a rakish angle, and let go. It sat suspended; he gave a small smirk which slowly turned somber and serious.

"We must hold this balance Jaime. At this point, Tommen is Stannis' nephew; he is also heir apparent to the crown without Stannis' possessing a son of his own. The realm still remembers the dance, they will not tolerate a woman on the throne without the threat of dragonfire, from dragons that aren't merely overgrown hatchlings"

There was more Tyrion left unsaid. The situation could not hold for long; Stannis would demand the relegation of Tommen soon enough once Aegon was inevitably swept away. Even now there were orders in the works to make him a landed lord in his own right. Tyrion could make even greater demands in exchange... But Tommen's claim must needs be yielded eventually. He had done what he could to placate the lords of the west, but he was aware his own proverbial neck was on the block with every move he made to protect Jaime and Tommen.

"Stannis must needs see the reason for deception, or damn House Baratheon and Lannister both for the sake of justice. He will be king, or he will be just; there is no middleground for him to walk."

He lightly touched the rim, and the mouth of the glass spun towards Jaime. He picked it up, and finally drank.

[leonardothered]

Tyrion III

The Lord of Casterly Rock sat amidst papers, scrolls, and old tomes. His hand was cramping and he nearly knocked over his goblet of wine when he reached for the abacus and measuring triangle. The proportions must needs be exact, the calculations perfect he said inwardly as he used a sharp piece of charcoal to draw a neat line. In this matter quills were ill suited with their blotches, smudging and dripping. It had not taken him long to summon the knowledge up of the secrets of triangles and circles; though more inclined to history, his education had left him well endowed in the arts of arithmetic as well.

He shifted to one side and was turning the pages of a tome by a Braavosi mathematician when his brother entered without knocking. For once he was not trailed by Tommen, which means the boy had an easier night than usual in being put to bed. He stood without speaking, leaning over Tyrion's shoulder as he made a few notes in a cribbed hand. "Jaime, even if you weren't blocking my light I'd find it ****ing impossible to concentrate with you hovering over." The golden lion stepped back, "I didn't mean to-"

"I know, there is no need to mince apologies with me. I assume you know enough of this numeric babble to puzzle out what is transpiring here?" he said, pushing away from the table and rubbing his eyes. As Jaime came forward again, Tyrion stood and stretched, then walked to the narrow window of his solar and stared out at the cold evening. The sea could be heard where it lapped at the rock far below. Jaime took the seat he vacated and began examining the various parchments, one of which off to the side were orders for Lannister men to leave Goldengrove and return to the West. "Don't stack them, they'll smudge. Use your golden hand if you must touch them, it won't disturb the markings." he said without turning from the window.

It was quiet for some time, then Jaime spoke up: "You've always loved dragons. As a boy and a man they've held your fascination since the time you could wring words from paper." Tyrion said nothing. "How soon is she expected to make her arrival?"

"On dragonback she could be here within the fortnight. Casterly Rock was untakeable even by the dragons of the conquest, so on that front at least, they hold no fear for us; it's never fallen to invaders either, except our namesake, the great Lann the clever." He thumbed the latch for a moment, sighed, and then shut the window against the cold. He had not told Jaime of his plans for Myrcella; not until she was back in his hands would he finally let himself have a moment of ease. With his own nuptials likely to be looming soon for the third time, it seemed the Lions of the West had finally managed some security. Dwarfed, crippled, and bastardized lions though they were.

"They might still leave the west a burnt ruin. Men will shield their eyes from the flames and be tempted to run, small though these drakes are." Jaime stood and walked to the sideboard, pouring himself a glass of arbor red. With the Tyrells in the fold Tyrion thought it prudent to open a cask. Already he had able minds and deft hands ready to duplicate his plans and send it to liege and fellow lords. The trees of the west were being felled for ballistae and trebuchets, though the Lannister coffers were bleeding. Better gold than blood, better empty pockets than burning bodies

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. The maester from Feastfires, Myles Prester, entered after Tyrion gave assent, bearing a letter with an unbroken seal... in the dimly lit doorway of the solar, the color of the wax shifted in the firelight.

The breath of the dragon reaches far...

Tyrion and Jaime locked eyes.

The war of the false pretender was over, but a new dance had already begun.