A Clash of Kings
Page 79
"The Hound does all these things, if that is your question."
"No," said Tyrion. "My question is when."
Varys had laid a finger on his cheek, smiling enigmatically. "My lord, a suspicious man might think you wished to find a time when Sandor Clegane was not protecting King Joffrey, the better to do the boy some harm."
"Surely you know me better than that, Lord Varys," Tyrion said. "Why, all I want is for Joffrey to love me."
The eunuch had promised to look into the matter. The war made its own demands, though; Joffrey's initiation into manhood would need to wait. "Doubtless you know your son better than I do," he made himself tell Cersei, "but regardless, there's still much to be said for a Tyrell marriage. It may be the only way that Joffrey lives long enough to reach his wedding night."
Littlefinger agreed. "The Stark girl brings Joffrey nothing but her body, sweet as that may be. Margaery Tyrell brings fifty thousand swords and all the strength of Highgarden."
"Indeed." Varys laid a soft hand on the queen's sleeve. "You have a mother's heart, and I know His Grace loves his little sweetling. Yet kings must learn to put the needs of the realm before their own desires. I say this offer must be made."
The queen pulled free of the eunuch's touch. "You would not speak so if you were women. Say what you will, my lords, but Joffrey is too proud to settle for Renly's leavings. He will never consent."
Tyrion shrugged. "When the king comes of age in three years, he may give or withhold his consent as he pleases. Until then, you are his regent and I am his Hand, and he will marry whomever we tell him to marry. Leavings or no."
Cersei's quiver was empty. "Make your offer then, but gods save you all if Joff does not like this girl."
"I'm so pleased we can agree," Tyrion said. "Now, which of us shall go to Bitterbridge? We must reach Ser Loras with our offer before his blood can cool."
"You mean to send one of the council?"
"I can scarcely expect the Knight of Flowers to treat with Bronn or Shagga, can I? The Tyrells are proud."
His sister wasted no time trying to twist the situation to her advantage. "Ser Jacelyn Bywater is nobly born. Send him."
Tyrion shook his head. "We need someone who can do more than repeat our words and fetch back a reply. Our envoy must speak for king and council and settle the matter quickly."
"The Hand speaks with the king's voice." Candlelight gleamed green as wildfire in Cersei's eyes. "If we send you, Tyrion, it will be as if Joffrey went himself. And who better, You wield words as skillfully as Jaime wields a sword."
Are you that eager to get me out of the city, Cersei? "You are too kind, sister, but it seems to me that a boy's mother is better fitted to arrange his marriage than any uncle. And you have a gift for winning friends that I could never hope to match."
Her eyes narrowed. "Joff needs me at his side."
"Your Grace, my lord Hand," said Littlefinger, "the king needs both of you here. Let me go in your stead."
"You?" What gain does he see in this? Tyrion wondered.
"I am of the king's council, yet not the king's blood, so I would make a poor hostage. I knew Ser Loras passing well when he was here at court, and gave him no cause to mislike me. Mace Tyrell bears me no enmity that I know of, and I flatter myself that I am not unskilled in negotiation."
He has us. Tyrion did not trust Petyr Baelish, nor did he want the man out of his sight, yet what other choice was left him? It must be Littlefinger or Tyrion himself, and he knew full well that if he left King's Landing for any length of time, all that he had managed to accomplish would be undone. "There is fighting between here and Bitterbridge," he said cautiously. "And you can be past certain that Lord Stannis will be dispatching his own shepherds to gather in his brother's wayward lambs."
"I've never been frightened of shepherds. It's the sheep who trouble me. Still, I suppose an escort might be in order."
"I can spare a hundred gold cloaks," Tyrion said.
"Five hundred."
"Three hundred."
"And forty more - twenty knights with as many squires. If I arrive without a knightly tail, the Tyrells will think me of small account."
That was true enough. "Agreed."
"I'll include Horror and Slobber in my party, and send them on to their lord father afterward. A gesture of goodwill. We need Paxter Redwyne, he's Mace Tyrell's oldest friend, and a great power in his own right."
"And a traitor," the queen said, balking. "The Arbor would have declared for Renly with all the rest, except that Redwyne knew full well his whelps would suffer for it."
"Renly is dead, Your Grace," Littlefinger pointed out, "and neither Stannis nor Lord Paxter will have forgotten how Redwyne galleys closed the sea during the siege of Storm's End. Restore the twins and perchance we may win Redwyne's love."
Cersei remained unconvinced. "The Others can keep his love, I want his swords and sails. Holding tight to those twins is the best way to make certain that we'll have them."
Tyrion had the answer. "Then let us send Ser Hobber back to the Arbor and keep Ser Horas here. Lord Paxter ought to be clever enough to riddle out the meaning of that, I should think."
The suggestion was carried without protest, but Littlefinger was not done. "We'll want horses. Swift and strong. The fighting will make remounts hard to come by. A goodly supply of gold will also be needed, for those gifts we spoke of earlier."
"Take as much as you require. If the city falls, Stannis will steal it all anyway."
"I'll want my commission in writing. A document that will leave Mace Tyrell in no doubt as to my authority, granting me full power to treat with him concerning this match and any other arrangements that might be required, and to make binding pledges in the king's name. It should be signed by Joffrey and every member of this council, and bear all our seals."
Tyrion shifted uncomfortably. "Done. Will that be all? I remind you, there's a long road between here and Bitterbridge."
"I'll be riding it before dawn breaks." Littlefinger rose. "I trust that on my return, the king will see that I am suitably rewarded for my valiant efforts in his cause?"
Varys giggled. "Joffrey is such a grateful sovereign, I'm certain you will have no cause to complain, my good brave lord."
The queen was more direct. "What do you want, Petyr?"
Littlefinger glanced at Tyrion with a sly smile. "I shall need to give that some consideration. No doubt I'll think of something." He sketched an airy bow and took his leave, as casual as if he were off to one of his brothels.
Tyrion glanced out the window. The fog was so thick that he could not even see the curtain wall across the yard. A few dim lights shone indistinct through that greyness. A foul day for travel, he thought. He did not envy Petyr Baelish. "We had best see to drawing up those documents. Lord Varys, send for parchment and quill. And someone will need to wake Joffrey."
It was still grey and dark when the meeting finally ended. Varys scurried off alone, his soft slippers whisking along the floor. The Lannisters lingered a moment by the door. "How comes your chain, brother?" the queen asked as Ser Preston fastened a vair-lined cloth-of-silver cloak about her shoulders.
"Link by link, it grows longer. We should thank the gods that Ser Cortnay Penrose is as stubborn as he is. Stannis will never march north with Storm's End untaken in his rear."
"Tyrion, I know we do not always agree on policy, but it seems to me that I was wrong about you. You are not so big a fool as I imagined. In truth, I realize now that you have been a great help. For that I thank you. You must forgive me if I have spoken to you harshly in the past."
"Must I?" He gave her a shrug, a smile. "Sweet sister, you have said nothing that requires forgiveness."
"Today, you mean?" They both laughed . . . and Cersei leaned over and planted a quick, soft kiss on his brow.
Too astonished for words, Tyrion could only watch her stride off down the hall, Ser Preston at her side. "Have I lost my wits, or did my sister just kiss me?" he asked Bronn when she was gone.
"Was it so sweet?"
"It was . . . unanticipated." Cersei had been behaving queerly of late. Tyrion found it very unsettling. "I am trying to recall the last time she kissed me. I could not have been more than six or seven. Jaime had dared her to do it."
"The woman's finally taken note of your charms."
"No," Tyrion said. "No, the woman is hatching something. Best find out what, Bronn. You know I hate surprises."
Chapter Thirty-seven
THEON
Theon wiped the spittle off his cheek with the back of his hand. "Robb will gut you, Greyjoy," Benfred Tallheart screamed. "He'll feed your turncloak's heart to his wolf, you piece of sheep dung."
Aeron Damphair's voice cut through the insults like a sword through cheese. "Now you must kill him."
"I have questions for him first," said Theon.
"Fuck your questions." Benfred hung bleeding and helpless between Stygg and Werlag. "You'll choke on them before you get any answers from me, craven. Turncloak."
Uncle Aeron was relentless. "When he spits on you, he spits on all of us. He spits on the Drowned God. He must die."
"My father gave me the command here, Uncle."
"And sent me to counsel you."
And to watch me. Theon dare not push matters too far with his uncle. The command was his, yes, but his men had a faith in the Drowned God that they did not have in him, and they were terrified of Aeron Damphair. I cannot fault them for that.
"You'll lose your head for this, Greyjoy. The crows will eat the jelly of your eyes." Benfred tried to spit again, but only managed a little blood. "The Others bugger your wet god."
Tallhart, you've spit away your life, Theon thought. "Stygg, silence him," he said.
They forced Benfred to his knees. Werlag tore the rabbitskin off his belt and jammed it between his teeth to stop his shouting. Stygg unlimbered his axe.
"No," Aeron Damphair declared. "He must be given to the god. The old way."
What does it matter? Dead is dead. "Take him, then."
"You will come as well. You command here. The offering should come from you."
That was more than Theon could stomach. "You are the priest, Uncle, I leave the god to you. Do me the same kindness and leave the battles to me." He waved his hand, and Werlag and Stygg began to drag their captive off toward the shore. Aeron Damphair gave his nephew a reproachful look, then followed. Down to the pebbled beach they would go, to drown Benfred Tallhart in salt water. The old way.
Perhaps it's a kindness, Theon told himself as he stalked off in the other direction. Stygg was hardly the most expert of headsmen, and Benfred had a neck thick as a boar's, heavy with muscle and fat. I used to mock him for it, just to see how angry I could make him, he remembered. That had been, what, three years past? When Ned Stark had ridden to Torrhen's Square to see Ser Helman, Theon had accompanied him and spent a fortnight in Benfred's company.
"No," said Tyrion. "My question is when."
Varys had laid a finger on his cheek, smiling enigmatically. "My lord, a suspicious man might think you wished to find a time when Sandor Clegane was not protecting King Joffrey, the better to do the boy some harm."
"Surely you know me better than that, Lord Varys," Tyrion said. "Why, all I want is for Joffrey to love me."
The eunuch had promised to look into the matter. The war made its own demands, though; Joffrey's initiation into manhood would need to wait. "Doubtless you know your son better than I do," he made himself tell Cersei, "but regardless, there's still much to be said for a Tyrell marriage. It may be the only way that Joffrey lives long enough to reach his wedding night."
Littlefinger agreed. "The Stark girl brings Joffrey nothing but her body, sweet as that may be. Margaery Tyrell brings fifty thousand swords and all the strength of Highgarden."
"Indeed." Varys laid a soft hand on the queen's sleeve. "You have a mother's heart, and I know His Grace loves his little sweetling. Yet kings must learn to put the needs of the realm before their own desires. I say this offer must be made."
The queen pulled free of the eunuch's touch. "You would not speak so if you were women. Say what you will, my lords, but Joffrey is too proud to settle for Renly's leavings. He will never consent."
Tyrion shrugged. "When the king comes of age in three years, he may give or withhold his consent as he pleases. Until then, you are his regent and I am his Hand, and he will marry whomever we tell him to marry. Leavings or no."
Cersei's quiver was empty. "Make your offer then, but gods save you all if Joff does not like this girl."
"I'm so pleased we can agree," Tyrion said. "Now, which of us shall go to Bitterbridge? We must reach Ser Loras with our offer before his blood can cool."
"You mean to send one of the council?"
"I can scarcely expect the Knight of Flowers to treat with Bronn or Shagga, can I? The Tyrells are proud."
His sister wasted no time trying to twist the situation to her advantage. "Ser Jacelyn Bywater is nobly born. Send him."
Tyrion shook his head. "We need someone who can do more than repeat our words and fetch back a reply. Our envoy must speak for king and council and settle the matter quickly."
"The Hand speaks with the king's voice." Candlelight gleamed green as wildfire in Cersei's eyes. "If we send you, Tyrion, it will be as if Joffrey went himself. And who better, You wield words as skillfully as Jaime wields a sword."
Are you that eager to get me out of the city, Cersei? "You are too kind, sister, but it seems to me that a boy's mother is better fitted to arrange his marriage than any uncle. And you have a gift for winning friends that I could never hope to match."
Her eyes narrowed. "Joff needs me at his side."
"Your Grace, my lord Hand," said Littlefinger, "the king needs both of you here. Let me go in your stead."
"You?" What gain does he see in this? Tyrion wondered.
"I am of the king's council, yet not the king's blood, so I would make a poor hostage. I knew Ser Loras passing well when he was here at court, and gave him no cause to mislike me. Mace Tyrell bears me no enmity that I know of, and I flatter myself that I am not unskilled in negotiation."
He has us. Tyrion did not trust Petyr Baelish, nor did he want the man out of his sight, yet what other choice was left him? It must be Littlefinger or Tyrion himself, and he knew full well that if he left King's Landing for any length of time, all that he had managed to accomplish would be undone. "There is fighting between here and Bitterbridge," he said cautiously. "And you can be past certain that Lord Stannis will be dispatching his own shepherds to gather in his brother's wayward lambs."
"I've never been frightened of shepherds. It's the sheep who trouble me. Still, I suppose an escort might be in order."
"I can spare a hundred gold cloaks," Tyrion said.
"Five hundred."
"Three hundred."
"And forty more - twenty knights with as many squires. If I arrive without a knightly tail, the Tyrells will think me of small account."
That was true enough. "Agreed."
"I'll include Horror and Slobber in my party, and send them on to their lord father afterward. A gesture of goodwill. We need Paxter Redwyne, he's Mace Tyrell's oldest friend, and a great power in his own right."
"And a traitor," the queen said, balking. "The Arbor would have declared for Renly with all the rest, except that Redwyne knew full well his whelps would suffer for it."
"Renly is dead, Your Grace," Littlefinger pointed out, "and neither Stannis nor Lord Paxter will have forgotten how Redwyne galleys closed the sea during the siege of Storm's End. Restore the twins and perchance we may win Redwyne's love."
Cersei remained unconvinced. "The Others can keep his love, I want his swords and sails. Holding tight to those twins is the best way to make certain that we'll have them."
Tyrion had the answer. "Then let us send Ser Hobber back to the Arbor and keep Ser Horas here. Lord Paxter ought to be clever enough to riddle out the meaning of that, I should think."
The suggestion was carried without protest, but Littlefinger was not done. "We'll want horses. Swift and strong. The fighting will make remounts hard to come by. A goodly supply of gold will also be needed, for those gifts we spoke of earlier."
"Take as much as you require. If the city falls, Stannis will steal it all anyway."
"I'll want my commission in writing. A document that will leave Mace Tyrell in no doubt as to my authority, granting me full power to treat with him concerning this match and any other arrangements that might be required, and to make binding pledges in the king's name. It should be signed by Joffrey and every member of this council, and bear all our seals."
Tyrion shifted uncomfortably. "Done. Will that be all? I remind you, there's a long road between here and Bitterbridge."
"I'll be riding it before dawn breaks." Littlefinger rose. "I trust that on my return, the king will see that I am suitably rewarded for my valiant efforts in his cause?"
Varys giggled. "Joffrey is such a grateful sovereign, I'm certain you will have no cause to complain, my good brave lord."
The queen was more direct. "What do you want, Petyr?"
Littlefinger glanced at Tyrion with a sly smile. "I shall need to give that some consideration. No doubt I'll think of something." He sketched an airy bow and took his leave, as casual as if he were off to one of his brothels.
Tyrion glanced out the window. The fog was so thick that he could not even see the curtain wall across the yard. A few dim lights shone indistinct through that greyness. A foul day for travel, he thought. He did not envy Petyr Baelish. "We had best see to drawing up those documents. Lord Varys, send for parchment and quill. And someone will need to wake Joffrey."
It was still grey and dark when the meeting finally ended. Varys scurried off alone, his soft slippers whisking along the floor. The Lannisters lingered a moment by the door. "How comes your chain, brother?" the queen asked as Ser Preston fastened a vair-lined cloth-of-silver cloak about her shoulders.
"Link by link, it grows longer. We should thank the gods that Ser Cortnay Penrose is as stubborn as he is. Stannis will never march north with Storm's End untaken in his rear."
"Tyrion, I know we do not always agree on policy, but it seems to me that I was wrong about you. You are not so big a fool as I imagined. In truth, I realize now that you have been a great help. For that I thank you. You must forgive me if I have spoken to you harshly in the past."
"Must I?" He gave her a shrug, a smile. "Sweet sister, you have said nothing that requires forgiveness."
"Today, you mean?" They both laughed . . . and Cersei leaned over and planted a quick, soft kiss on his brow.
Too astonished for words, Tyrion could only watch her stride off down the hall, Ser Preston at her side. "Have I lost my wits, or did my sister just kiss me?" he asked Bronn when she was gone.
"Was it so sweet?"
"It was . . . unanticipated." Cersei had been behaving queerly of late. Tyrion found it very unsettling. "I am trying to recall the last time she kissed me. I could not have been more than six or seven. Jaime had dared her to do it."
"The woman's finally taken note of your charms."
"No," Tyrion said. "No, the woman is hatching something. Best find out what, Bronn. You know I hate surprises."
Chapter Thirty-seven
THEON
Theon wiped the spittle off his cheek with the back of his hand. "Robb will gut you, Greyjoy," Benfred Tallheart screamed. "He'll feed your turncloak's heart to his wolf, you piece of sheep dung."
Aeron Damphair's voice cut through the insults like a sword through cheese. "Now you must kill him."
"I have questions for him first," said Theon.
"Fuck your questions." Benfred hung bleeding and helpless between Stygg and Werlag. "You'll choke on them before you get any answers from me, craven. Turncloak."
Uncle Aeron was relentless. "When he spits on you, he spits on all of us. He spits on the Drowned God. He must die."
"My father gave me the command here, Uncle."
"And sent me to counsel you."
And to watch me. Theon dare not push matters too far with his uncle. The command was his, yes, but his men had a faith in the Drowned God that they did not have in him, and they were terrified of Aeron Damphair. I cannot fault them for that.
"You'll lose your head for this, Greyjoy. The crows will eat the jelly of your eyes." Benfred tried to spit again, but only managed a little blood. "The Others bugger your wet god."
Tallhart, you've spit away your life, Theon thought. "Stygg, silence him," he said.
They forced Benfred to his knees. Werlag tore the rabbitskin off his belt and jammed it between his teeth to stop his shouting. Stygg unlimbered his axe.
"No," Aeron Damphair declared. "He must be given to the god. The old way."
What does it matter? Dead is dead. "Take him, then."
"You will come as well. You command here. The offering should come from you."
That was more than Theon could stomach. "You are the priest, Uncle, I leave the god to you. Do me the same kindness and leave the battles to me." He waved his hand, and Werlag and Stygg began to drag their captive off toward the shore. Aeron Damphair gave his nephew a reproachful look, then followed. Down to the pebbled beach they would go, to drown Benfred Tallhart in salt water. The old way.
Perhaps it's a kindness, Theon told himself as he stalked off in the other direction. Stygg was hardly the most expert of headsmen, and Benfred had a neck thick as a boar's, heavy with muscle and fat. I used to mock him for it, just to see how angry I could make him, he remembered. That had been, what, three years past? When Ned Stark had ridden to Torrhen's Square to see Ser Helman, Theon had accompanied him and spent a fortnight in Benfred's company.
