XL.

He had waddled aimlessly halfway across the castle; twice around the Tower of the Hand, across the inner bailey, through the stables, down the serpentine steps, past the small kitchen where he grabbed a wineskin of sweet Dornish, and past the pig yard and the barracks of the gold cloaks. He waddled along the base of the river wall and up more steps and back and forth over Traitor's Walk, and then down again and through a gate and around a well. And in and out of the several buildings in the Red Keep until Tyrion didn't know where he was.

Out of a door and along a long hall, down a stair, across a hidden courtyard, around a corner and over a wall and through a low narrow window into a pitch-dark cellar. The sounds of the daily activity in the Keep grew more and more distant behind him.

'Perfect. Here no one will be able to find me and I will be able to think with the clarity that I have not had since I read the scroll of the accursed silver prince.'

Knowing that he was not to blame for the death of his mother was not new to him. Although now there was a radical change in the issue. What he previously attributed to luck and fate in the death of Tyrion's mother when he was born, now it was proven that there was a culprit.

'Or rather, several culprits. And I am not one of them. Contrary to what I have been accused of all my life.' he thought with some bitterness and resentment.

"Fucking maesters and fucking gray rats." Tyrion spat out loud bitter.

In other circumstances, Tyrion might have been glad that his lord father had been played by those Lord Tywin thought he was playing. But with the truth brought to light by a person who should be dead, at least according to every eyewitness at the Trident, Tyrion felt contempt and a certain helplessness, which he could almost term as pity for his father.

Now he could only hear faintly the notes of a song. Remembered notes filled his head, and for a moment he could almost hear Tysha as she'd sung to him half a lifetime ago when they'd met. He stopped for a moment in complete silence. The tune was wrong, the words too faint to hear.

'A different song then, and why not? 'His sweet Tysha seemed to had been something doomed to fall apart from Tyrion's life since the beginning.

It seemed that there was no way that he could be completely happy. Tyrion had to choose whether to love, or fulfill his ambitions and longings. Choose between giving up the person who had always offered him kindness and love, or what was due to him by birthright the moment Jaime put on the white cloak. Choose between being a person ridiculed and scorned, but loved. Or being a feared and respected person, but possibly losing love in his life.

He had been disinherited because of his love for her. And now at a stroke his lord father offered him the possibility that Tyrion would once again have what he had always longed for. To be the future Lord of the Rock and the recognition that this entailed. To have the power that he knew he deserved for himself. The power he craved now that he was another player in the Game.

'I may be an Imp, but they would think twice before to look down on me if I am Lord Paramount of the West, ruling one of the most powerful houses in Westeros.'

The but in being the heir again, was that Tyrion would have to renounce, at least until he had his own offspring, to the only person who had ever loved him for being how he was, and not for being who he is. Tysha never wanted him for luxuries or riches. Nor was she attracted to him by Tyrion's title at the time they met, as she did not know that he was the son of her father's lord.

He was highborn, the son of the most powerful lord in the realm, the brother of the queen. And he was scorned day in day out, without the shield of being his father's heir. And loved by his lady wife all the same. 'Or maybe that's precisely why she loves me.'

Five days. Five days was the deadline for his father's offer. Tyrion knew that his father could be accused of many things, but he was a man of his word. 'And after all, a Lannister pays his debts. And If I refuse, he could kill Tysha with impunity and get what he wants anyway.'

Therefore he knew that this opportunity would never present itself again in his life, and that also Tysha's safety was in his decision.

'Have the Rock now for sure, or maybe by some unlikely miracle some day in the future if I'm proficient to talk my way to it.' he thought with resignation, anguish and helplessness.

He was not a warrior, nor was he a charismatic leader. The fact that the people of Flea Bottom began to associate him with the Lord of Air, in his day master of coin from Jaehaerys the First, spoke volumes of the general opinion regarding him. 'And I don't want to have his end.' Tyrion mused somewhat distressed and somewhat angry at the common folk from the city.

'My mind is my weapon. My brother had his sword, King Robert has his warhammer, the Dragon has his dragon and I have my mind.'

And therein lied the issue. Tyrion had no doubt that his wife loved him, even if he was a nobody and hadn't power. So Tyrion knew there was little chance of convincing her to go through with Tywin's proposed offer.

'She would never accept being relegated to the role of mistress. Even if it's only for a period of time. She would rather that we be farmers than what father has proposed to me.'

But Lord Tywin had made certain points to him that were quite right.

He had no offspring, and it wasn't from not trying. With the revelations of what was happening in Essos and the confirmation of the return to the world of the Targaryens and in almost all probability of their dragons, he had no doubt that sooner or later retribution would fall on House Lannister. And he knew Myrcella cared little about such retribution, as long as Tyrion's niece achieved what she wanted.

'And she wants the same as me. Have what she feels is her birthright.'

The disdain and contempt exhibited by Cella regarding everything coming from the Lannisters of the Rock, was only matched by the disdain and contempt that his niece felt for the Lord Hand. And of course if what Tyrion's lord father thought about Myrcella's plots and schemes came to pass, even Tysha herself could be in danger because she was married to him. The suppossed heir to Casterly Rock.

'With all that Lord father has told me about this Aegon Targaryen, I have no doubt that he is not a very forgiving person. And I find it hard to believe that he will rest after he gets his undertaking in Essos finished. Myrcella would provide the perfect excuse for the Dragon to set his sights on this continent.' He mused with a chill running down his spine, as thoughts of Casterly Rock bathed in flames haunted his head.

If Myrcella had told him that she was contemplating the option of marrying someone who calls himself The Dragon and that this one had no reason to be against House Lannister, surely Tyrion now would not find himself in a dilemma. No doubt he would have spat in his father's face at such

an offer, then go after Myrcella asking her to intercede at some point with her possible and future husband regarding the rights of the Rock.

Yet Tyrion belonged to the family he belonged to. His brother Jaime killed the last Targaryen king, whose two sons and daughter were still alive. Furthermore, Tyrion's brother failed in his duty to protect Rhaegar's wife, son, and daughter.

Tyrion's lord father had betrayed the one who was once his friend and his king, sacking King's Landing in the process. Ordering his men to end the life of Rhaegar's family.

Tyrion's sister was the Queen of Westeros, really putting the crown in Lannister hands, more than in those of the Baratheons, whom at the end of the day, were kin with the Targaryen. Without Robert or Renly in the scene, there was little animosity against House Targaryen in Orys, Stannis, Shireen or Myrcella. They could bend the knee a sought for forgiveness.

In case that list of reasons for Tyrion to be killed on sight by the Taragaryens was not enough, his niece had not deigned to inform him of her possible schemes, nor of the existence of Targaryen in Essos beyond those known to all, Daenerys and Viserys Targaryen. She didn't trust in him, or didn't want him to know.

Which made him rethink certain things about his niece. Especially regarding the veracity of her affection for Tyrion.

'With her wit, such affection may have been all part of a ruse to get Cersei out of her mind. It's no secret my sister's lack of love for me, or how furious Cersei gets when her son and her daughter spend time with me.'

Despite his mistrust of his father, Tyrion knew that Lord Tywin was not lying. He himself knew that his niece had a wide network of informants and that no doubt some of the nobles present in the entourages of Myrcella or Orys had received the scroll from Aegon Targaryen.

On the other hand he also knew that it was very possible that said niece of his informed Tyrion's wife about the meeting he had had with Lord Tywin. Placing him in an impossible position.

'Damned if I do, damned if I don't.'

Tyrion knew that Myrcella, should he asked to join in her venture, would give him all kinds of assurances regarding this Aegon Targaryen. However, these assurances would surely be based more on the wishes of his niece, than on the reality and the character of the Dragon.

'Not to mention that one way or another, this Aegon must be related to Aerys and Aerys' offspring.' he mused angry at his niece.

Tyrion was out of breath after so much traverse through the Red Keep. His head was bubbling with different dark thoughts and he was quite thoroughly lost. Literally and metaphorically. He did not know where he was, nor did he know what to do about Lord Tywin's offer.

So he hunkered down in the dark against a damp stone wall and drank eagerly from the wineskin. The only sound he could hear now was a distant drip of water, cart wheels and horseshoes beating against the cobblestones. He wondered where he was.

'I must definitely have to be below the City's street level.' Tyrion pondered on his whereabouts.

At first, when Tyrion arrived at King's Landing, the Red Keep had been immense. An endless stone maze with walls that seemed to shift and change behind his very steps. For him to become

better acquainted with the keep, he would found himself wandering along Myrcella and Orys down gloomy halls, past faded tapestries, descending endless circular stairs, darting through courtyards or over bridges. In some of the rooms the red stone walls would seem to drip blood. Blood of those who spilled it at the hands of his father's men so that Tyrion's sister could be Queen. Blood of those who died trying to achieve power and the Throne. The blood of those who had returned, if they ever really left. And if they come again to Westeros, they'll bring Blood with Fire to all of their enemies.

It was very dark right now, he realized. So Tyrion gulped again from the wineskin.

By the time he had the wineskin half empty, the room had begun to lighten as his eyes adjusted to the blackness. Slowly the shapes around him took on form. Huge empty eyes stared at him hungrily through the gloom, and dimly Tyrion saw the jagged shadows of long teeth.

'It can't be! The wine and thinking about them are playing tricks on my mind.'

Tyrion closed his eyes and drank a little more to sent the fear away. When he looked again, the

dragons would be gone. Would never have been.

He opened his eyes again. The dragons were still there, but the fear was gone.

Tyrion got to his feet, moving warily. The skulls were all around him. He touched one, curious, wondering if it was real or his mind was going mad. Tyrion's fingertips brushed a massive jaw.

It felt real enough. The bone was smooth beneath his hand, cold and hard to the touch. He ran his fingers down a tooth, black and sharp, a sword made of darkness. It made him shiver and made little cuts in his fingers

"It's dead," he said aloud. "It's just a skull, it can't hurt me." Yet somehow the dragon seemed to know Tyrion was there.

He could feel its empty eyes watching him through the gloom, and there was something in that dim, cavernous room that did not love him. He edged away from the skull and backed into a second, larger than the first. For an instant he could feel its teeth digging into his shoulder, as if it wanted a bite of his flesh. Tyrion whirled, felt his garb catch and tear as a huge fang nipped at the shoulder of his oversized crimson and gold robe.

And then he turned again. Another skull loomed ahead of him. That of the biggest dragon of all. A ridge of black teeth as tall as greatswords in hungry jaws.

A thud and the sound of a heavy bolt opening from the other side of the skull bigger than Tyrion's sister's carriage, made him see that the exit from the cavernous room was on the other side of the black-toothed ridge in front of him. With a pitiful creak, a huge black oak gate opened slowly getting stuck from time to time, allowing infiltrate the light from the torch of the one who was about to enter the room.

Once opened, through the door Varys came gliding into the cavernous room. A torch in his right hand, wearing flowing lavender robes that matched his smell that in a short time permeated the whole place.

"Oh! Thanks the gods! At last, my good lord. At last I found you. Once one of my little birds informed of your whereabouts, I was worry about if you lose yourself in the maze of passageways, passages and cavernous rooms under the Red Keep." Varys exaggeratedly pursed his mouth in concern as he glanced around, moving the torch to better light the room. "Our good King saw fit to

keep the skulls of the Dragons, if at least in the cellars out of sight. My lord, any special reason to come visit them? Or has it been by chance that you have found them? Can I imagine that the met with your lord father might have given you some thought regarding the Dragons?"

"The meeting, as I bet you well know, has made me think of Dragons. But I have come this far by chance while wandering the Keep, trying to find clarity in my thoughts, Lord Varys." He pressed his fingers into his temples. Varys was the last person after Myrcella or Tysha that Tyrion wanted to see in those moments.

'Also, so much wine at once and the meeting with my father have given me a terrible headache.'

"You can left the torch. I'm sure I'll be able to find my way out from here. As for you, for all I care, you could throw yourself into the sea if you so wanted, my Lord. Now I am not in the mood for cryptic talks, and now I am sorely tempted to do that with the first person who annoy me."

"You might be disappointed by the result," Varys replied. "The storms come and go, the waves crash overhead, the big fish eat the little fish, and I keep on paddling. Might I trouble you for a taste of the wine that you seem to enjoy so much? Your tongue is slurred. What your lord father would think if he knew of this poorly state of yours after the previous meeting? He might retire his generous offer..."

Tyrion threw the wineskin, frowning at him. Varys seized it with surprising agility with his left hand. He uncorked the wineskin with the teeth and drank.

"Ah. Sweet as summer." Varys took another sip. "I hear the grapes singing on my tongue."

"I wondered what that noise was. Tell the grapes to keep still, my head is about to split. It was the dragons from the east. That was what the oh-so-mighty Lord Twin had to say to me. The dragons are back and my niece wants to marry with the Dragon."

Varys tittered nervously.

'So Varys had known all along.' Tyrion mused inwardly, while trying to sobering up.

"You left that part out from our little chit-chats," Tyrion said accusingly. He made a gesture of feigned pain, bringing his right hand to his chest. "It hurts. I thought that if not friends, at least we had the confidence to tell each other our secrets, my lord."

"Our dear Princess made me sworn to not tell any soul about it, afraid our good king would have reacted poorly at the news from Essos." Varys said, so grief-stricken he looked close to tears. "It is a hard thing to break with my oaths, my lord. Also, I was fearful how you might take your niece's secrets schemes. Can you forgive me?"

"No," Tyrion snapped. "Damn you. Damn her." He could not berate Cella, he knew. Not yet, not even if he'd wanted to, and he was far from certain that he did. Yet it rankled, to sit there and learn from his lord father what he should had known through Myrcella directly. Or at least through Varys in their friendly chats.

"In future, you will tell me what you know, Lord Varys. So we'll be on equal foot."

The eunuch's smile was sly. "That might take rather a long time, my good lord. I know quite a lot." "Not enough to know Rhaegar Targaryen was alive roaming the world, it would seem."

"Alas, no. For all that I knew, know and have been able to compile, Rhaegar fought valiantly,

Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honorably. And Rhaegar died."Varys said solemnly and trailed. "Until about seven moons ago, the only rumors and songs from my little birds about Dragons came from Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen. I may have suspected in some moment that Rhaegar's daughter or son may or may not have survived the Sack. Something to which I never found a totally accurate answer. I may have some doubts about what is behind the kidnapping of Lyanna Stark and her relationship with the silver prince... but I confess, I never even dreamed that the prince had survived the Trident and his grace's hammer. And I still don't think about it. Rhaegar died in the Ruby ford."

"And what do you suggest then? It is clear to me. The way I see it, either it was not Rhaegar who fought Robert, or by some miracle he survived the blow, was swept away, and self-exiled to the far east. There, he hatched his dragons, amassed fortune and when he has been ready, by the hand of this Aegon Targaryen, who I suppose is the son of Rhaegar, they have begun to conquer Essos to have an army with which to conquer Westeros. Starting with one of the most powerful cities and against one of the most powerful warlords in Essos." Tyrion said to Varys what he believed was most feasible. Lord Tywin himself agreed with Tyrion's hypothesis.

"Doubtless you are right, my lord." Varys smug tone said otherwise.

"How was it done, then?" he asked.

Varys' response was a shrug of the shoulders, a raised left eyebrow and a half smile that seemed to say 'I know something you don't know.'

"Do you really think that with two armies present Rhaegar didn't show up in battle against Robert? Or that he somehow survived and was able to exile himself to Essos? My Lord Tyrion, do you really think that Rhaegar Targaryen didn't die fifteen years ago?" Varys glanced down at him, and asked "Do you trust me?"

"I trust you implicitly." Tyrion's bitter laugh echoed in the cavernous room. "I trust you like one of my own blood, in truth."

For a long moment Varys said nothing. The only sound was the stately clack of horseshoes on cobbles in the streets above them. Finally the eunuch cleared his throat. "My lord, do you believe in the old powers?"

"Magic, you mean?" Tyrion said impatiently. "Bloodspells, curses, shapeshifting, those sorts of things?" He snorted. "Do you mean that Rhaegar Targaryen has somehow been revived from his remains? That the one who claims to be the Dragon, is he really the Dragon?"

"I'm just saying that from the fifth moon of last year things out of the ordinary began to happen. The volcanic eruption at Dragonstone. The episode of the crypts of Winterfell, also attributed to a flame of the world. The rumors coming from the Wall and beyond. And if Rhaegar Targaryen was in the far east, why has the conquest of Essos begun at its westernmost end? Why hasn't even an incredible rumor about dragons come through in sixteen years? Dragons the size that sing my songs are not hatchlings, not even young dragons. My songs talk about the Black Dread coming back to life, along with two other dragons somewhat smaller, but equally huge and imposing."

The eunuch paused a moment. "My lord, you once asked me how it was that I was cut."

"I recall," said Tyrion. "You did not want to talk of it."

"Nor do I, but..." This pause was longer than the one before, and when Varys spoke again his voice was different somehow. "I was an orphan boy apprenticed to a traveling folly. Our master

owned a fat little cog and we sailed up and down the narrow sea performing in all the Free Cities and from time to time in Oldtown and King's Landing."

Varys drank a long gulp from the wineskin and threw it back at Tyrion, now almost empty.

"One day at Myr, a certain man came to our folly. After the performance, he made an offer for me that my master found too tempting to refuse. I was in terror. I feared the man meant to use me as I had heard men used small boys, but in truth the only part of me he had need of was my manhood. He gave me a potion that made me powerless to move or speak, yet did nothing to dull my senses. With a long hooked blade, he sliced me root and stem, chanting all the while. I watched him burn my manly parts on a brazier. The flames turned blue, and I heard a voice answer his call, though I did not understand the words they spoke."

Varys said soberly, his gaze seemed lost.

"The mummers had sailed by the time he was done with me. Once I had served his purpose, the man had no further interest in me, so he put me out. When I asked him what I should do now, he answered that he supposed I should die. To spite him, I resolved to live. I begged, I stole, and I sold what parts of my body still remained to me. Soon I was as good a thief as any in Myr, and when I was older I learned that often the contents of a man's letters are more valuable than the contents of his purse."

The eunuch paused, swallowed, and trailed in what was saying.

"Yet I still dream of that night, my lord. Not of the sorcerer, nor his blade, nor even the way my manhood shriveled as it burned. I dream of the voice. The voice from the flames. Was it a god, a demon, some conjurer's trick? I could not tell you, and I know all the tricks. All I can say for a certainty is that he called it, and it answered, and since that day I have hated magic and all those who practice it. The Targaryens are the last and greatest exponent of Valyria. Magic flows through them like the air we breathe. Their blood is not like ours, my lord. I'm sorry for the damage the Citadel may have done to you, but they have compelling reasons for trying to end the magic."

When Varys was done, they stayed in silence for a time. Finally Tyrion said, "A harrowing tale. I'm sorry."

The eunuch sighed. "You are sorry, but you do not believe me. No, my lord, no need to apologize. I was drugged and in pain and it was a very long time ago and far across the sea. No doubt I dreamed that voice. I've told myself as much a thousand times."

"I believe in steel swords, gold coins, and men's wits," said Tyrion. "And I believe there once were dragons. We are around their skulls, after all."

"Let us hope that is the worst thing you ever see, my lord."

"On that we agree." Tyrion smiled.

After a few more moments of awkward silence in which Tyrion stared at the Dragon Skulls all around him, not wanting to imagine the kind of blood magic and dark rituals it might take to bring someone back to the world of the living, he cleared his throat and said;

"It does seem my sister had some truth about Myrcella's ambitions. We have my niece to thank for the madness that is brewing in the horizon."

"Princess Myrcella has the ideas. The rest from her court follow her, almost blindly, without hesitation..."

"...almost as if they expect a war in the near future. Yes, we have been over this ground before, without profit. A folly."

"With the City Watch in hand, my lord, your father is well placed to see to it that her Excellence, or others, commits no...follies? To be sure, there is still the queen's household guard to consider and the Tyrell's and Redwyne men..."

"The red cloaks?" Tyrion shrugged. "Vylarr's loyalty is to Casterly Rock. He follows my father's authority. Cersei would find it hard to use his men against Cella without express orders from my lord father... Lord Tywin has almost six thousand men at arms. More than double than the Tyrell and Redwyne in the city combined."

He paused and glanced up to Varys' eyes. "Why are you so helpful with me, my lord Varys?" he asked, studying the man's soft hands, the bald powdered face, the slimy little smile.

"You are a fellow member of the Small Council. I serve the realm, the king, and to the small council."

"As you serve Myrcella?"

"I serve the ruler most apt to rule. The next one, from what my little birds have told me, it could be you."

"I don't think I'm going to be next." Tyrion scoffed.

"Oh, I think yes, but you still haven't realized yet." Varys said. "Power is a curious thing, my lord. Perchance you have considered the riddle I posed you that day in your rooms after you were appointed in the small council?"

"It has crossed my mind a time or two," Tyrion admitted. "The king, the priest, the rich man—who lives and who dies? Who will the swordsman obey? It's a riddle without an answer, or rather, too many answers. All depends on the man with the sword."

"And yet he is no one," Varys said. "He has neither crown nor gold nor favor of the gods, only a piece of pointed steel."

"That piece of steel is the power of life and death." Tyrion replied.

"Just so... yet if it is the swordsmen who rule us in truth, why do we pretend our kings hold the power? Why should a strong man with a sword ever obey a child queen like Myrcella, or a winesodden oaf like her father?" Rhetorically asked Varys.

"Because these child Queen and drunken oafs can call other strong men, with other swords." Varys answered himself, stalled, glanced at him, and trailed in his speech.

"Then these other swordsmen have the true power. Or do they? Whence came their swords? Why do they obey?" Varys smiled. "Some say knowledge is power. Some tell us that all power comes from the gods. Others say it derives from law. Yet that day on in which Myrcella decided that the Iron Throne should be hers, our godly High Septon, the Lord Hand and the King and your ever-so- knowledgeable servant were as powerless as any cobbler or cooper in the Flea bottom. What do you think makes your niece truly a Queen? Myrcella, who had the idea? The nobles who saw in her how to climb the ladder? The hard knights following your nephew? Or... another?"

Tyrion cocked his head sideways.

"Did you mean to answer your damned riddle, or only to make my head ache worse?"

Varys smiled. "Here, then. Power resides where men believe it resides. No more and no less."

He tilted his head right and asked, "So power is a mummer's trick?"

"A shadow on the wall," Varys murmured, "yet shadows can kill. And ofttimes a very small man can cast a very large shadow."

Tyrion smiled. "Lord Varys, despite the circumstances and the day that I have today, I am growing strangely fond of you. I may throw you to the sea yet, but I think I'd feel sad about it."

"I will take that as high praise."

"What are you, Varys?" Tyrion found he truly wanted to know. "A spider, they say." "Spies and informers are seldom loved, my lord. I am but a loyal servant of the realm." "And a eunuch. Let us not forget that." Tyrion mocked.

"I seldom do." was Varys' reply with a sly smile.

"People have called me a halfman, imp, evil monkey too. Yet I think the gods have been kinder to me. I am small, my legs are twisted, and women do not look upon me with any great yearning... yet I'm still a man. Tysha is the first and only to the moment to grace my bed, and one day I may sire a son. If the gods are good, he'll look like his late uncle and think like his father. You have no such hope to sustain you. Dwarfs are a jape of the gods... but men make eunuchs. Who cut you, Varys? When and why? Who are you, truly?" Tyrion asked with true curiosity, but sharp in his tone.

The eunuch's smile never flickered, but his eyes glittered with something that was not laughter. "You are kind to ask, my lord, but my tale is long and sad, and we have another issues to discuss."

"Aside from your concern that I might get lost in the Red Keep's cellars?"

"Oh yes, I come for something special, you could say. The Queen of Thorns and the Golden Rose are about to be received by the Small Council in the Throne Room. As an added member to the council, I thought you would like to be present."

"Who is going to receive them? Arryn? Or my niece and nephew?" he practically spat.

'It hurt me more than I thought Myrcella's betrayal. I must speak to her when I have a chance to clarify the truth. I have the right to know.'

"At the insistence of his grace's brother, the King himself. Besides the Oakheart leaf and the Rowan tree have been seen north of the Mander, and it seems that Lord Stannis and some lords from the mouth are half a day's sailing from the city. They are expected for tonight. It will certainly be something entertaining that I doubt that want to get lost, my lord." Varys replied.

"Fantastic." He muttered laconically under his breath, uncorked the wineskin and gulped it down. He discarded it against one of the walls where there were no skulls and, following Varys's wake and his torch, headed towards the Iron Throne Great Hall.

The Throne room was a sea of jewels, furs, and bright fabrics. Lords ladies and common folk filled the back of the hall and stood beneath the high windows, jostling like fishwives on a dock.

The denizens of Robert's court had striven to outdo each other today. Jalabhar Xho was all in feathers, a plumage so fantastic and extravagant that he seemed like to take flight. The High Septon's crystal crown fired rainbows through the air every time he moved his head.

Near the council table at the right from the Throne's base, Cersei shimmered in a cloth-of-gold gown slashed in burgundy velvet. The pregnancy began to be more and more noticeable in his sister, although contrary to what one might think, it seemed to make Cersei even more beautiful. There was a kind of joy and relaxation about Tyrion's sister's features that was totally opposite to her face permanently scowling. She looked almost radiant.

Beside her Varys took his place, fussed and simpered. The Lord Hand was whispering something with Littlefinger. The latter smiling with his irritating, perennial sly half smile. He looked so pleased.

Ser Barristan was standing next to the council's table, watchful eye to everything that passed around, while Ser Mandon Moore stood on the left side of the Throne.

Renly for his part was under the dais where the council table and the Throne were, on the left side, speaking in low tones with Loras and Garlan Tyrell. Although the latter appeared to be the third wheel in the conversation and was being mostly ignored by the first two.

Except for the absent Lord Stannis and the late Great Maester whom were not missed, with the arrival of Tyrion and Varys the reception could formally begin.

His lord father, Lord Tywin, was no doubt absent in a power play. But Vylarr was his eyes and ears in the Throne Room.

'Should I count myself as such too?' he wondered with self disgust and contemp. Considering that he had not flatly rejected the offer made by his father, he would have to say yes.

Glancing up to the upper galleries, looking to find his wife or his niece, he couldn't find them among the throng of maidens, septas, and noblewomen that crowded. Glancing to the front and around, Tyrion couldn't see anyone from the entourages of Orys or Myrcella. Nor the Knights, nor the noble lords, nor the noble ladies.

'It is very possible that they are not even present. There is no love from Myrcella or Orys towards the roses. And if Cella and Orys aren't here, Tysha has no reason to be either. Her place is with her Queen. That is the other problem that my lord father's offer raises. What about Tysha's position in court? Should she accept the proposal, would she be loyal to me and the possible son that Cersei is expecting? Or would she continue to be loyal to Myrcella?'

Even Moon Boy wore new suit of motley, clean as a spring morning and Lord Gyles was coughing into a square of scarlet silk trimmed with golden lace.

King Robert sat above them all, amongst the blades and barbs of the Iron Throne. He was in moss green samite with silver threads, his black mantle studded with emeralds, on his head his heavy golden crown. A golden chalice in his right hand, from where from time to time, the winesodden oaf drank eagerly. Robert's face was flushed, glassed stare, half frowning, half scoffing. A bodily attitude of wanting to be anywhere but where he was.

A blast of trumpets announced the entry of the roses. The herald cried their names. The Lord of Highgarden, a once-powerful man gone to fat, yet still handsome 'At least if you compare him to me.' He was dressed like his two sons now leaving Renly's side to went towards their father, in green velvet trimmed with sable.

Following the Lord of Highgarden, the Golden Rose. Walking confidently and gracefully, all eyes in the Great Hall fell on her.

She was four and ten, brown-haired and brown-eyed, slender and beautiful. The small folk gathered at the end of the Great Hall called out her name as she passed through great gate. Some even held up their children for the Golden Rose's blessing, and scattered flowers under her feet. Her mother and grandmother followed close behind, wearing fine gowns threaded into the shape of a hundred twining roses, every one gilded and shining. The smallfolk cheered them as well.

'The same smallfolk who scorn me and my wife and would kill me, if they could.'

And that hatred the small folk harbored for Tyrion was Littlefinger's fault. His sister and Brother- in-law.

'Hells, even Arryn has some guilt in the exorbitant expenses.'

Tyrion had done nothing to make the commons hate him, no more than Margaery Tyrell had done to win their love. Or no more than Littlefinger or lord Tywin to hate them. Nevertheless, it was Tyrion and his lady wife the ones whom were the most hated these day on the kingdoms' capitol.

He even had to admit that Myrcella, who at the time was not the person he most appreciated, had done a thousand times more for small folk than the Golden Rose.

He had seen Myrcella take care of Robert's bastards. He had seen her strolling through Flea Bottom and Fishermonguer square, offering silver stags and gold dragons to those who had nothing to live on and whose only food was the bowl of brown. If someone deserved unconditional adoration and affection from the small folk was his niece.

Which led Tyrion to a conclusion.

'These displays of affection and joy have been orchestrated. But by whom? The Queen of Thorns? Renly? Who wants to further antagonize House Tyrell with Myrcella and Orys?'

Tyrion couldn't answer it at the time, but it was clear to him that his niece would not welcome the reception offered to the one who aspired to obtain the position Myrcella desired and craved.

'Position that in a way, she really deserves.' Tyrion thought with a pang. 'But not by the means that she pretends. She is selfish and is using a sword without a hilt by going to those who have unfinished business with much of those who are still alive ruling the kingdoms. She is unaware of the chaos she can bring to the Seven Kingdoms.'

Tyrion tried to convince himself that this time, his niece was the one who was wrong and he was right. Although strangely, his inner voice seemed to sound like that of his lord father during their meeting that morning.

The king did not even attempt to come down from the Throne to receive them, gesturing with his left hand in the direction of Jon Arryn.

The Lord Hand took a couple of hesitant steps towards the edge of the dais on which the Throne stands. When Lord Mace Tyrell and his brood were less than ten paces from where Jon Arryn stands before the Throne, this one cleared his throat and greeted them.

"The Crown is glad that the might of Highgarden supports the realm." proclaimed the Lord Hand. "The contribution of grain, cereal and barley to the city has kept stomachs full. House Tyrell has proven to be a true friend of the Crown." Arryn pompously concluded, glancing askance towards Tyrion and his sister.

'Our house has paid the debts that you have allowed to exist, but it turns out that the saviors of the kingdom are the Roses ... Arryn must be desperate for the Crown to get a new patron. His groveling is pathetic.' He mused disgusted at the Lord Hand.

More likely, the Tyrells were balking at the proposed marriage. Tyrion could scarcely blame them.

'Orys has always made clear his intentions to step aside and not want to know anything about the Golden Rose. And Myrcella is not hiding from anyone regarding her ambitions. The only one who doesn't take her seriously is Jon Arryn himself.'

It was going to be difficult for the Queen of Thorns to put her golden rose on the Throne with the situation as it was. And that's without introducing the factor of the Targaryens and their Dragons.

Something that made Tyrion even more suspicious of the Tyrells. 'If they want Margaery as Queen, why haven't they gone after the Dragon or Rhaegar? What do they know about the Targaryens that we don't?'

Lord Tyrell bowed his head. "There is no greater pleasure than to serve the King's Grace. If I was deemed worthy to join your royal council as an attached member, you would find none more loyal or true."

Certain sighs and expressions of surprise could be heard and seen. But what Mace Tyrell was asking for wasn't crazy. Robert himself had opened that door by appointing Tyrion as attached to the small council.

'And that way Arryn would find a way to match them to House Lannister.'

"What do you have to say about this, my King?" The Lord Hand said, half turning to face Robert.

The King looked uncomfortable at being drawn into the conversation, he grimaced and in a powerful yet tongue-slipping voice, he said, "If he can help Tyrion and Littlefinger, he has a position."

Jon Arryn nodded and returned to face Mace Tyrell. "My lord, I hope you understand that even if

you are going to attend the meetings of the small council, you will not be part of it in the votes. Is this acceptable to you, my lord?"

"It will be my sincere pleasure. Without a doubt between Lord Lannister, Lord Baelish and I will put order into the ledgers of the Kingdoms, giving rise to a time of prosperity as few have known." Lord Mace said in cheery way, paused, and added with a little smile on the lips. "I have a maiden daughter, Margaery, the delight of our House. Margaery has heard tales of our crown prince's might, courage, and chivalry, and has come to love him from afar. I beseech you that there is a betrothal between House Baratheon and House Tyrell."

Lord Arryn made a show of looking surprised. "Lord Mace, your daughter's beauty is famed throughout the Seven Kingdoms, but the King insists on waiting at least a couple of years to betroth the crown prince. A king must keep his word. However, I have heard wonders about your firstborn. Intelligent, resourceful, avid falconer and breeder of excellent horses. I think there would be no better man for our beloved princess Myrcella Baratheon."

Disapproving murmurs and some men-at-arms and maidens hurrying out of the Hall were heard. Faces of surprise and strangeness in many. Among which was Tyrion himself.

'Fuck. Arryn has gone mad and is playing with fire. Myrcella is going to kill him. Or maybe it's Orys who kills him first.'

Now Tyrion understood the joy in Cersei and Baelish. Just as he also understood Robert's presence at the reception and his dejected posture and gesture.

'Between Arryn, Renly and my sister they must have driven him to exhaustion for him to consent to this. Myrcella is going to be furious. They have auctioned her off in front of the entire court, without even her being present.'

"So be it." Lord Mace replied, extending his right hand in the direction of Jon Arryn.

'Robert must have agreed in exchange for Orys being engaged to the Stark girl.'

Tyrion thought about the reasons for Myrcella's surprise betrothal.

'In this way Arryn manages to tie house Tyrell to the Crown and, in his mind at least, he would free himself from the power and influence of Myrcella. In addition, my own lord father has confirmed to me that Arryn advocated this option. What I now do not understand after our talk, is why Varys was pursuing Cella's marriage to one of the Targaryens. He hates them, looks like it. Or at least, distrust them. Has my niece convinced the Spider to do her work for her? Does Myrcella think that Varys could influence my father? Could he?'

He mused, when as the Lord Hand was about to give the handshake that closed the deal, a commotion and a murmur was evident at the end of the Great Hall. Something that diverted everyone's attention to the still open giant doors of the Hall.

There, a waif dressed in rags, her hair covered in grime and soot on her skin, was standing next to one of the Gold Cloaks. A tall man, with lantern jawed, deep-set eyes, a prominent brow and salt- and-pepper hair. He had an iron hand strapped to his right wrist.

"What's the meaning of this?" Exclaimed irritated the Lord Hand, while pointing with the right hand towards the pair appeared through the doors.

The Gold Cloak kneeled, something the waif clumsy emulated.

With booming voice, the Gold Cloak said "I am Ser Jacelyn Bywater. His grace knighted me after the Siege of Pyke. I have been captain of the Mud Gate in King's Landing for three years. And this girl has a scroll only for the eyes of our King, my Lord Hand."

Murmurs and conversations suddenly flooded the Great Hall. Arryn seemed to want to say something, but Robert beat him to it. Rising heavily from the jumble of twisted swords, King Robert began to descend the steps of the monstrosity, as he took a deep sip from his golden chalice.

After nearly tripping a couple of times and a clumsy descent, when he was on the dais where Tyrion and the rest of the small council members and Cersei were standing, Robert waved his left hand in Bywater's direction and said in a deep, grave voice.

"Come here with the girl and give me what is supposed to be for my eyes only. I hope it is something important Bywater. I do not like to be disturbed when I receive guests who want the hand of my brood." Robert almost sneered from the last he had said.

"Your Grace, may be would be for the better to adjourn the reception and seeing the contents of the parchment in private. It may be improper to do so now." Jon Arryn said with certain warning tone.

"Fuck property, Jon." replied Robert. "Now you," Said Robert in harsh voice as the king pointed his left index towards the now trembling girl. "Give me the parchment, girl."

The waif warily walked through the rest of Hall, pale, sweat flooding her forehead and trembling in her body.

When she was less than five steps from the dais, Robert impatiently took two long strides and took the parchment that the waif had in her right hand. The waif knelt before the King, trembling.

Now all eyes were on Robert. His Grace had completely changed the expression. He seemed to have suddenly sobered up and the right vein in his neck was bulging. The once glassy gaze, now seemed to emit a lightning glow. The blue in Robert's eyes seemed to have darkened, the pupils fully dilated.

When Tyrion looked at the parchment yet to be unrolled, he could see what Robert seemed to be staring at.

It was a scarlet red leaded seal.

'By all the Gods ... Isn't that what I'm beginning to suspect it is?' a tremor ran down Tyrion's spine.

"Girl!!" Robert said in a primal roar as he threw the chalice from his right hand to take the waif from her chest with that hand and lift her almost to the level of the King's face, whose face was totally decomposed. "WHO IN THE SEVEN HELLS HAD GIVEN YOU THIS PARCHMENT?! ANSWER!" roared Robert again.

Silence fell in the Great Room and everyone seemed to be holding their breath at Robert's furious reaction. There were not a few, including Tyrion, who had flinched at the King's tone and aggressiveness.

The girl, grasped by Robert's big hand from the front of her ragged clothes, writhed, trembled and cried.

"A man!" the girl squealed between sobs. "A kind old man gave me ten golden dragons in exchange for giving this to you. He told me to go to a captain from the City Watch that he would

take care of the rest. But I don't know anything else my King. I swear by the seven! Please have mercy! I have a brother and I have no father nor mother, I had nothing to eat! Do not kill me my King! " the girl finished saying, before breaking into a torrent of sobs and inexplicable babbling.

King Robert seemed satisfied with the answer, as he released the girl as if she were a sack of potatoes. To the general shock of the audience.

"My King ..." The Lord Hand tried to censure the attitude and manners from his former ward.

"Don't fuck with me, Jon. Do you know what seal this fucking parchment has? Do you know?" roared Robert, practically spitting in the direction of Jon Arryn, over whom the King had closed the space and they were less than two feet away "You know who the hells this scroll comes from, Jon?!"

"Your Grace, maybe it would be better if we continue this only among the council members?"

"Yes, my love. The Lord Hand is right, I thi ..." Cersei tried to intercede in view of the unfortunate show that Robert was putting on.

"Shut up, you two." Aggressively said Robert as he looked scornfully in Cersei's direction. With a violent gesture he broke the seal and began to read the parchment.

Tyrion was on Varys' right side, about five paces down the diagonal from where the King was reading the scroll.

Robert's gesture, increasingly dislodged as he read it to himself. A grimace that mixed rage and fury seemed etched on Robert's features. Lord Hand tried to make an assuring gesture in face of those present, although his face looked haggard and sickly. Life seemed drained from Jon Arryn's face. Sweat beaded the Lord Hand's forehead, as he, consciously or unconsciously, opened and closed his left hand.

"We've to call the Banners Jon!! This is war!!" roared the King, producing a wave of murmurs in the room and gestures of surprise and fear. Watching the Tyrells, Tyrion realized that they seemed just as surprised as the rest of the court. Lady Olenna, however, had a face of disgust and contempt on her face, her eyes fixed on the figure of Robert and Jon Arryn.

"What madness are you saying Robert?" Jon Arryn exclaimed harshly, putting property aside and quite out of himself.

It seemed that the King had exhausted his Foster Father's patience.

"The Targaryens, damn them, they are alive!! They are conquering Essos and we will have them on our doorstep soon! How did I not find out about this before?" Robert yelled in outrage and rage, as his right hand grasped Jon Arryn's jerkin, shaking him as he spoke.

"Your Grace ..." said Jon Arryn, pausing for a deep breath. It seemed as if it was difficult for him to breathe, as he tried to free himself from Robert's grasp "Robert ..." the Lord Hand said again, although this time it was almost a small voice and instead of bringing his hands towards Robert's arm, Jon Arryn seemed to want to put his right hand to his chest. "Ro ..."

It seemed that time began to flow more slowly. The letters were choked and forced out of Jon Arryn's mouth, after which it seemed as if the strings were being cut from a puppet. Lord Hand's body lost all rigidity and soon the smell of shit invaded Tyrion's nose.

Robert's eyes got open wide and looked like they were going to pop out. The scroll thrown aside, to

catch Jon Arryn with both hands as the King cried heartlessly "A FUCKING ACOLYTE!! GET A FUCKING ACOLYTE NOW!"

Screams, groans, sighs of horror and the occasional faint in women were the general reactions of those who were still in the Hall. The rest, including the waif whom brought the parchment, had left with haste.

"Ser Barristan vacate the Hall. Lord Mace, as you can see an unforeseen event has arisen. We will end the reception when the circumstances are most favorable. Is that acceptable for you, my lord?" Tyrion's sister's voice sounded commanding.

"Yes, yes, my Queen." In response, Lord Mace stammered and bowed nervously in Cersei's direction, before turning on his heel and back the way they entered the Hall, the rest of his brood following in his footsteps, except for Lady Olenna. She stared at the scene, glancing with a look of contempt towards Robert embracing what now looked like the corpse from the late Jon Arryn.

"Age is unforgiving. And having stupid children who make a fool of you in front of the whole Kingdom, can be a lot even for the strongest of hearts. Your Graces" after which Lady Olenna bowed and left in a surprisingly spring step for the age of the old woman.

The King was on his knees, cradling Lord Jon's lifeless body right at the base of the Iron Throne.

In a gesture that Tyrion did not know if it was real or a sham, his sister approached Robert and placed her left hand on the King's right shoulder. This, contrary to an opposite reaction to Cersei's action, buried his face in Arryn's chest and began to sob.

Now only the council members and Ser Mandon were present except Renly, who had left through a side door of the Hall. Littlefinger seemed to have an affected face, although his gaze seemed calculating. Varys's face was unreadable as ever and Tyrion's sister, although she didn't seem displeased with Jon Arryn's death, seemed shocked.

A couple of steps from Tyrion, the parchment was thrown on the dais. Wading, he reached over and grabbed it in his hands.

Varys appeared on Tyrion's left shoulder, while Baelish appeared on Tyrion's right shoulder. Tyrion cleared his voice, and shakily read aloud .

"Cousin,

As your kin, I will not start a war that will only end in your death. Cursed by the Gods is the kinslayer. And even if I do not believe in Gods, I am not going to shed the blood of the family from the one I once considered a brother. Death will come to you soon and not by my hand, or by the hand of anyone related to house Targaryen. I have no pending concerns against you, because in my opinion, apart from being a lousy king, a drunkard and a whoremonguer, you are a totally deluded person.

You fought a war, with more or less motives and moral reasons on your side behind it, but you fought and won. You were a better warrior than my Lord Father Rhaegar Targaryen.

That does not excuse you of not having condemned and gloating over the death of the Princess of Dorne Elia Martell, or that of my family at the hands of your father-in-law's men. Well, to your disappointment, I have to inform you that neither my sister nor I are dead. The corpses that Lord Lannister presented to you before my Throne, were those of a pisswater prince and Aerys' she- dwarf.

As long as you live, I let you keep my Throne warm. Although, be careful with the swords of this, because they have a tendency to cut those who are unworthy. I guess that's why you don't usually attend court sessions.

Stay on your side from the Narrow Sea and no one from House Baratheon after your death, should worry about possible retribution from House Targaryen. Ultimately, the Throne now is in possession of the family's blood. And family is what matters, right cousin?

The moment you die, I hope my rights are returned to the rightful heir. Me. In case your last will is not this, there will be retribution against you and all your offspring.

On the other hand, in something that I am transmitting to all noble, powerful and relevant people in Essos and Westeros, as the last male descendant of the Forty of Old Valyria, I claim by my blood the right to regain all territories once were founded by and belonged to the Freehold of Valyria. From this day forward there is only one Lord in the territories of the Free Cities of Essos. Those who bend the knee to Aegon of House Targaryen will be welcomed with open arms in the Freehold. Those who break the laws from the Freehold will be persecuted and executed. Those who take up arms against the Freehold of Valyria or against House Targaryen, would be brought down, humiliated, and destroyed.

Signed,

Aegon of House Targaryen, first of His Name. The Dragon Reborn. King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Shield of his People. Lord of Valyria and Protector of the Nine Provinces from the Freehold of Valyria."