The Lions

The memory of the battle still rang clearly in his mind.

The sound of horses and men dying.

The clashing of steel.

The burning of ships.

Even the sight of the green flames of Wildfire burned vividly in his mind.

With a gasp, his eyes opened, his visions were blurry at first, but as time ticked by, he could make out the figure of Maester Pycelle. "Pod." He muttered quietly, his throat still sore and dry. "Pod!" He cried out louder, ignoring the almost unnoticeable smirk that came across the Maester's face.

The door opened and in-stepped Podrick Payne.

"Find Bronn, or Varys. Tell them I am here with Maester Pycelle." Laying back down, he looked up at the old Maester. "Tell them I am very much alive."

"Yes, my Lord." Podrick agreed easily, the sound of his shuffling feet sounding in the room as he left.

Maester Pycelle never once took his gaze of Tyrion who returned the favour. "Would you like something for the pain?"

"What happened?"

"The murder and traitor, Stannis Baratheon suffered a stunning defeat at the hands of your father." Tyrion looked around the room as the man spoke, looking around for the sign of anything other than the old Maester. Even so, the news that the victory was going to his father and not even a mention of him, irked something within Tyrion, a part of him he had thought had long since gone.

"Where am I?" He demanded.

"These are your new chambers. A little cramped perhaps, but you don't need much room do you?" Maester Pycelle took a great deal of pleasure when he said that and took even greater pleasure when he spoke next. "You are no longer Hand of the King." And as Maester Pycelle moved across the room, he paused. "Huh, for your trouble."

Reflexively, Tyrion caught the coin that was flicked at him as the Maester left the room.

Time passed by in which he waited silently, even when Varys arrived with Podrick, Tyrion was still silent as he considered over everything said to him. Varys spoke, seemingly taking no pleasure as he talked of how everything he had worked to achieve in Kings Landing had been undone by his father and sister.

The defence of the city and the glory that came with it was gifted to his father who arrived just in time to cause devastating damage to Stannis's rear, forcing the man to retreat. Bronn had been removed from his position of command and the Gold Cloaks were now in the hands of his father, the new Hand of the King. And the members of the Vale tribesmen had all returned home after being paid handsomely by his father.

Besides Podrick and Shae, he was well and truly alone in this city.

Even Varys had abandoned him, the Spider working had to secure his own position and in doing so, would need to distance himself from Tyrion.

"And what of the war?" Tyrion eventually asked as Varys was about to leave. "Surely father doesn't believe he can beat the Stark boy now that he has secured the Riverlands. Having Harrenhall was the only reason we still had a chance to win."

"Robb Stark suffered a terrible defeat at the Slaughter of the Tumbler's Fall. Lord Edmure Tully and his force of five thousand gave chase to Ser Gregor Clegane and were almost entirely annihilated. Since then, Robb Stark has been stuck at Sarsfield after his recent conquest of Banefort and the losses he suffered." Varys informed, temporarily shocking Tyrion, but the Imp doubted that would stall the Young Wolf for very long.

They had already received news of the Reach allying with Robb Stark. Very soon if not already, Robb Stark would be reinforced with tens of thousands of soldiers from the Reach and he'd back to waging war.

He said as much to Varys who simply gave the same, discerning half-smile he always gave.

"Your father has already begun conscripting thousands of men from across the Crownlands and the newly subjugated Stormlands who have declared Joffrey the true King. Already your fathers army has doubled in size and more Smallfolk are coming in from all over to join the army, all lured with the promise of land to farm in the Westerlands and Riverlands. He has also hired a number of Sellsword companies from Essos, including the Golden Company." Varys listed.

It was the last one that surprised Tyrion the most. "How did he manage to get the Golden Company to agree, let alone all the other Sellswords? We're not exactly rich anymore."

"Your father promised plenty of riches that they could take from the Riverlands, Reach and the North." Varys said and Tyrion nodded his head, knowing full well that appealing to the greed of a Sellsword was a good way to earn their favour. Look at his 'friendship' with Bronn.

"And how many men is that in all?"

"In all? Over forty thousand." Varys answered after a moments deliberation.

Tyrion shook his head, despite being a large number, it wouldn't be enough. "The Reach have twice that number and don't forget Robb Starks own army which numbers over twenty thousand should he choose to abandon his campaign in the Westerlands and to aid the North. We'll need far more men than that, especially with men like Robb Stark, Randall Tarly, the Blackfish and Jason Mallister. We are outmatched in both numbers, resources and also the quality of our commanders."

"Perhaps that would be the case if it wasn't for your plan to ally with the Dornish coming to fruition." Varys' smile grew wider this time. "Last I was aware, twenty thousand Dornish warriors were marching up the Princes Pass. The Reach have been forced to deploy fifty thousand of their soldiers to defend their borders against a possible combined attack on the Mander."

"That still leaves twenty-five thousand men unaccounted for." Tyrion pointed out.

"Indeed, it does, but we are in a far more favourable position than before." Varys replied easily and Tyrion has to concede that it was the truth. Compared to their position before now, they actually had a chance at victory.