Chapter 188

King's Landing. The Red Keep. 300 AC.

Tyrion Lannister.

As far as Tyrion understood Axel Arryn's reasoning, the man had entered the war chasing the money sitting in the Riverlands, and had made himself remarkably successful at siphoning it off for his own purposes. Hundreds of thousands of gold coins, if not millions. The modernization of the Vale was like a young sapling, freshly planted. To grow it "tall and strong," you had to keep "watering it with gold." And Littlefinger, through his own scheming, had poisoned that water at the root. If this had all been done over some old grudge against Arryn, then Tyrion could say with confidence that Baelish ranked among the most vindictive men in the history of Westeros. Plunging an entire continent into this much chaos over a personal slight, that took a certain kind of malice.

The one genuine success his family could claim was closing out the negotiations his father had started with the Golden Company. Nearly twenty thousand hardened sellswords, that was a real force on a continent this ravaged by war. Frankly, at this point only Arryn, Baratheon, and the Targaryen boy could field anything to match the Golden Company. But even here a fly had found its way into the ointment: what would those sellswords do once the fraud with the money came to light? Best case, they'd simply sail back to Essos. Far more likely, they'd take what they were owed, with interest, by force.

The more he turned it over, the more often he caught himself circling back to the same grim conclusion: the war was already lost. Even with all his cunning and his wit, Tyrion couldn't see a single path to victory. His thoughts were interrupted by the loud bang of a door swinging open. Into his small chamber, more of a closet really, strode a thoroughly pleased queen, Cersei Lannister herself, who very nearly walked straight into the candle chandelier (disgraced or not, still family, one had to keep up some appearances).

"Careful," Tyrion said, though he was worried rather more for the chandelier than for his beloved sister's head.

"Didn't know you cared so much about me," she shot back. "Bring it in!"

A serving girl entered carrying a tray with a jug and two goblets, set everything out on the table with practiced efficiency, and slipped out with a brief bow at Cersei's silent signal. Tyrion's paranoia already ran high as a matter of course, but when his beloved sister started pouring his wine herself, his instincts began screaming like an old sailor, loud and thoroughly indecent. For the first time in his life, he found himself with absolutely no desire to drink.

"Gods, it isn't poisoned." Words meant nothing, so he didn't so much as touch the goblet. "Didn't realize you were such a coward."

"I prefer not to gamble with my own wellbeing. As you can see, it's served me well so far."

"Your loss, it's Arbor Gold," she said, and took a demonstrative sip from her own goblet, as if daring him to follow suit. He didn't. "You know, I hate you, and I would love nothing more than to see you dead. But you, little monster that you are, mean a great deal to Jaime. That's the only thing saving your neck right now."

"How pleasant, to know a bit of brotherly love is what's keeping one dwarf's head attached to his shoulders." Much of this he already knew, but hearing it laid out so plainly by his own sister, however unpleasant she might be, still stung. "So why are you so pleased with yourself today?"

"As of today, Ser Jaime Lannister has stepped down as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and taken his rightful place as Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, Warden of the West." While Tyrion sat frozen in shock, Cersei simply smiled, savoring her own triumph in silence.

Lord of Casterly Rock. His birthright, taken from him by Jaime, of all people, the one brother who had ever actually cared about him. Some part of Tyrion insisted he ought to feel wounded, furious, perhaps even hateful toward him. But no. Against every expectation, warmth settled in the little man's chest instead. Tyrion cared for Jaime and wanted nothing but the best for him. Lord of Casterly Rock was a far kinder fate than spending a lifetime standing guard over a madman, a drunkard, and a sadist. The dwarf felt an odd, contradictory sort of gladness, and his heart settled a little for it.

With the emotional matter dealt with, Tyrion turned to the practical one. Why, after so many years of flatly refusing, had Jaime finally chosen to claim their father's inheritance? Their father's death? Doubtful, on its own. Uncle Kevan's persuasion? Certainly a factor, but Jaime was a stubborn ass, and wouldn't have changed his mind without real cause... Which meant there had to be a reason, and of everything significant enough to move his brother lately, only their father's death qualified. Which meant someone had pushed him there. And only Cersei had ever held that kind of sway over Jaime.

"And how exactly did you seduce our dear brother into this decision?" he added with a smile, "Clearly not with anything he hadn't already had." Cersei's face twisted, and the dwarf's smile only widened.

"Tomorrow you're going back to the west, to help Jaime rebuild our house." Seeing none of the reaction she'd hoped for, Cersei seemed to lose all enthusiasm for the conversation and moved to wrap it up quickly. "You won't be destabilizing this court any further. Farewell, brother."

"Sweet sister, permit me one question: how exactly do you plan to defend the city against Renly's forces?" He'd been shut out of that discussion too, though at least they'd handed the task to someone competent, one of the former Arryn sellswords now serving in the city watch. Those men knew war firsthand, better than most.

"And since when did you become a military tactician?" Cersei sniped.

"I'm not, but I can count, and twenty five thousand is rather more than six." Even padding your barefoot rabble up to seven thousand men doesn't cover the other eighteen. Go on, Cersei, you do so love showing off in front of your pathetic little brother.

"Don't trouble yourself, I've already worked out a way to make Renly bleed for it." His sister didn't disappoint, though she offered nothing more specific than that.

"I certainly hope so..." A self satisfied Cersei was a dangerous Cersei, and unfortunately, not for her enemies.