29 - |||

"Darling child, I won't ask you why you chose to ride out with Ser Morris and the others. I will only ask if you are all right," Lord Tarth asked his daughter, putting his hands on her shoulders. 

The tall gi—Lady Brienne—obediently bent forward several inches to allow her father to press a kiss on her forehead before straightening up to her impressive full height. "I am well, Father. Wet clothes have never killed anybody."

Tyrion couldn't be sure that was strictly true; dampness and cold wind had certainly killed people before. But the temperature was exceptionally bearable this far inland—if still unpleasant. Still, he'd rather be inside, so long as it wasn't in chains, as soon as possible.

'He's not surprised to see her like this,' Tyrion noted, taking in father and daughter. He couldn't say they looked much alike, save for taller builds, broad shoulders, and blonde hair. Tarth, however, was distinctively… No, frail wasn't the right word for it, yet it was clear he did not have the powerful build of his daughter.

His daughter… Tyrion could scarcely wrap his brain around the idea. He knew, of course, that there were places in this world where women trained in martial skills alongside, or even instead, of their menfolk. Yet he had never expected to find one so close. ' Perhaps this is a stranger island than I thought? Perhaps the sons here wear dresses and spend their days focusing on needlework?'

No one except Tyrion and his group was surprised about Lady Brienne's attire or early morning activities. None of the guards had blinked when she removed her helmet, and Morris only smiled in an indulging, amused sort of way.

To the left of him, Olenna Tyrell cleared her throat, making a rough, low sound that finally pulled Lord Tarth's attention away from his daughter.

The man blinked intense blue eyes at them before giving a polite smile. "Excuse me, you'll have to pardon my fatherly instincts. Now, I believe I'm speaking to the Tyrells and Tyrion Lannister, is that correct?"

When they all replied in the affirmative, the man nodded and continued. "I have to admit when Ser Morris came to me and told me what he had found on his morning patrol, I thought it might be his idea of a jap. Then again, I suppose I should have considered it more believable from the start with what I have been hearing recently from King's Landing."

Tyrion did not like the sound of that, except what Lord Tarth said next, which was significantly more pleasing to the ears. 

"Everyone, please, sit," he said, gesturing to the collection of comfortably padded benches and plush armchairs that dotted the sitting room. It was an informal space, nothing overly opulent or impressive compared to Casterly Rock or King's Landing, yet it also lacked any of the hallmarks of an intimate chamber reserved purely for family interaction. If Tyrion had to guess, this was a room Tarth used for close associates that he didn't quite consider friends. "A servant will be along shortly with some tea and light refreshments. I doubt the story of how you all came to my shore is a tale for an empty stomach."

The news of food and hot drinks caused the whole room to perk up. While the rain had passed for now, and there was significantly less wind inland —and none indoors— there was still an undeniable chill in the air. It had been getting colder recently. Tyrion was also hungry, properly hungry, for the first time in days. It seemed being on a ship made the thought of heavy meals disagreeable. But more than that, the offer of food and drink meant something more important, for all it would go unsaid. 

Guest Right.

Yes, they'd been shown a degree of wary hospitality to this point. Morris and his fellow guards had been restrained and polite with their orders. They were being questioned in a comfortable room instead of in a dungeon, their weapons were taken, yet they were not restrained in any, and they'd all be offered warm woolen blankets if not fresh clothes. More so, though the sailors had been left behind at the ship with some guards and most of the Tyrell men had been led elsewhere, the Tyrells were allowed to keep two guards —Olenna's personal twin protectors, it hadn't even been discussed— and Tyrion had been allowed to keep Bronn by his side. 

Bronn, who was slouched in an armchair and looking very much like he was about to fall asleep. Tyrion could only hope he wouldn't start snoring if that happened.

So, while they'd been treated kindly so far, Tyrion was glad to see the more concrete practice of Guest Right being played out. His father had always scoffed at the superstitious practice; privately, Tyrion saw it as foolish. But foolish wisdom could still be beneficial. And while Cersei may be willing to violate it, the practice was still considered important to many others. 

Lady Brienne left the room, her striking blue eyes tracing over all of them as she went. The door was still swinging shut when a trio of maids brought in trays piled high with tea, sliced fruit, and large, sliced biscuits stuffed with egg, bacon, sausage, and other savory delights. The smell hit Tyrion's nostrils with the same heavenly intensity that came with sinking into a hot bath after a cold, wet day. Before he knew it, three of the biscuits, a peach, and two cups of tea —ginger, sharp and invigorating— were making themselves at home in his stomach. The sounds that filled the room indicated Tyrion wasn't the only one to be struck by this sudden vicious hunger.

Tarth allowed them time to feed with silent politeness, indulging in only a single biscuit and some sliced apple alongside his tea. When the chewing finally slowed, he spoke up again. "I will hear your story now if you please."

Because Tyrion could finish wiping crumbs from his mouth and chest, Olenna had launched into a dramatic recounting of her family's harrowing escape from King's Landing. The dwarf could only watch on in impressed bemusement as she performed her monologue, adding just the right amount of detail to keep the tale immersively descriptive without slowing the pace and pausing in the right places to dab at her eyes with a handkerchief or stumbling with her words as if overcome with emotion. Tyrion wondered if she'd spent every day since escaping the capital rehearsing this speech, or at least versions. 

"And what that hateful woman did to my poor, sweet Margaery!" Olenna waved a hand at her granddaughter, who bowed her head, not meeting Tarth's sympathetic eye. She'd donned her eyepatch once more on her own or by her grandmother's instruction. Tyrion was glad, not just because it seemed cruel to force the girl to keep her ruined face on display, but because said face was simply hard to look at—especially since he knew what it looked like before. "It was all horrible, of course, but that was simply unforgivable!"

Tarth hummed before looking at Tyrion. "And you, Lord Tyrion, what is your side of the story? If you're a hostage, you look to be an exceptionally well-treated one."

"Of course not," Tyrion replied before Olenna could get a chance too. "While I certainly have been well treated, the Tyrells and I are joined against my sister as allies. You must understand that Cersei, in whatever madness has claimed her mind, tried to kill me, too. I knew I wasn't the only one in danger when I escaped. That is how I got on the path that led to me aiding the Tyrells here, as well as other families. She may be my blood, but I cannot stand back and let such wickedness go unimpeded."

That was a simplified and prettied version of events. One that didn't technically contain any lies, yet omitted both many truths and what his destination was. Yet even though Tyrion felt Olenna's shrewd eyes on him, he knew she would not speak up against his versions of events. Right now, a unified front continues to be more important. 

Tarth rubbed his chin, lips pressed together tightly. "Your story… along with others I've heard, is troubling. I must spend the day thinking about what I've recently learned."

"Will you help us, Lord Tarth?" Margaery asked, voice soft yet steady. 

The older man paused, giving the question consideration. "...I have always made it my policy to offer aid to those caught in a storm, and that is what I intend to do for now. The captain of your ship has relayed that, though the rains have passed, he does not wish to sail in this wind. He believes it will pass by tomorrow morning, so for the next day, at least, you will be my guests. I will have you all shown to rooms where you can get a few more hours of rest if you wish or too simply relax. Baths, if you wish them, and clean clothes too. I'm afraid my keep is far from as opulent as Highgarden or Casterly Rock, but I hope the accommodations are comfortable enough."

"We are grateful for all the hospitality you show us, Lord Tarth," Tyrion said quickly, a sentiment everyone echoed. 

Tarth smiled, an expression that fell away when his eyes returned to Margaery's face. "I will have my maester ready to attend… all who wish it, as well."

He clearly didn't want to say 'the disfigured girl, drenched lady, beaten young knight, or old crone.' Tyrion thought he did a remarkable job keeping his words tactful.

His frown fell deeper. "Tonight, at supper, I'll let you know any… further decisions I make. Until then, I will say no more on any subject"

With that, this little meeting was over, and Tyrion was left with more questions than answers. 

-----

The sun was… still mostly hidden behind clouds, yet at least high enough in the sky to provide some natural light when Tyrion emerged from the small yet comfortable chambers he had been to rove the wider hallways of Evenfall Hall. 

In clean clothes, freshly washed skin and hair, with a full stomach, and a mind made clearer after a few necessary hours of sleep, Tyrion did not hurry in his wanderings. For one, that would have defeated the purpose of his exploration, and for another, it would have looked suspicious. They hadn't been told to stay in their rooms, nor was there an extensive guard present in the guest wing when he emerged. The ones who had been there watched him quietly, plenty of questions in their eyes, but they did not try to stop him.

Tyrion wondered if they'd be so calm if he were more like Jamie. Tall, strong, and dangerous in a way they could more easily comprehend.

Except Tyrion wasn't Jamie. He was a dwarf and, therefore, mostly overlooked. Sometimes, he preferred it that way. And more than that, Tyrion was a guest, not a prisoner. He should be free to wander the public areas of this castle.

Not that there was much to see, necessarily. Evenfall Hall wasn't exactly a pitiful shack, but Tarth hadn't been lying when he said it wasn't as opulent as Casterly Rock. Of course, few castles were. Nonetheless, the seat of the Tarth family was pleasant enough. Lots of pale stone and plenty of windows designed to allow for a view of the magnificent sapphire blue seas below them. Tyrion also suspected that these windows could all be thrown open during the peak of the summer heat to allow the ocean winds to blow through the castle and keep it cool. For now, though, many windows had been closed and covered with thick blue velvet curtains to lock in as much heat as possible. Pleasant enough designed features they may be, but they still weren't what Tyrion was looking for.

'What kind of Castle has no secret passages or hidden rooms? It's simply a tragedy!' Tyrion thought as he investigated another display cabinet, disappointed when he realized it was, in fact, just a cabinet. 

Evenfall Hall Wasn't a particularly large castle, and Tyrion had already discovered the kitchen, pantries, larder, and buttery, as well as a collection of parlors, galleries, and storage rooms. None of which yielded anything of particular interest, though he could snag a delicious spiced pastry from the kitchen without anyone noticing.

But more than not finding anything interesting, Tyrion was very disappointed not to even hear anything of value. As a general rule, castle staff loved to gossip. More specifically, they love to gossip about the nobles inside the castle. And, if you listened hard enough, gossip could often be good as gold. Yet the maids in this castle seemed content to discuss various bodily sores and aches, neither of which Tyrion cared to hear more about.

The one valuable thing Tyrion had learned was that Lord Tarth was apparently in between paramours. His last one had been an unimportant, middle-aged widowed woman from House Wylde—which, if part of the pattern, certainly explained why Tarth did not have any bastard children running about. She was absent, though, having had to return home to care for her grandchildren after their parents passed. Tyrion wasn't certain what he could do with that information, but he tucked it away just the same.

Two more hours of exploration passed before Tyrion finally stumbled upon something of interest: Lady Brienne in the castle's armory. 

She was hunched over a colorful shield on a table, polishing it with such care that it was almost a reverent action. Tyrion watched her silently until she finally straightened and held the shield up to the light for inspection. When Tyrion saw that its design was a green shooting star above an elm tree proper on sunset, he finally spoke up. 

"This is an odd place to find the shield belonging to the famous Ser Duncan the Tall," he said, Lady Brienne whirling around at the sound of his voice. "Or, at least, an excellent replication. They even added knicks and dings to make it look authentic."

"It is real!" Lady Brienne snapped, her voice fearsome and protective. She hugged the shield to her chest as if it was something precious, even glancing down to confirm it was still there before looking up at Tyrion. "It's been in the possession of my family for generations!"

Tyrion held up his hands in surrender and apology. "I mean no disrespect. I have always wondered why it wasn't on display in the Red Keep's armory, and I suppose this answers the question. For years, I thought it might have been destroyed by the fire at Summer Hall.

"He left it here years before that," Lady Brienne answered immediately. Then she stiffened, giving Tyrion a suspicious look like she didn't intend to give him any personal information about herself or her family. " I'm surprised you even recognized it."

"Just because I never had dreams of grandeur on the field of battle doesn't mean I didn't love the Tales of Dunk & Egg like any other young nobleboy," Tyrion replied with a shrug. Then he added, "They were my brother's favorite stories growing up. It was one of the few books we both enjoyed together. I remember the design from illustrations in the copy he had. Many years later, I saw a more elaborate illustration in the White Book in King's Landing."

Lady Brienne nodded slowly, seemingly finding his answer acceptable enough to offer him more information. "Ser Duncan is my ancestor. My great-great-great-grandfather, or so the family story goes. Fathered before he joined the Kingsuard, of course."

Tyrion blinked. "I've never heard of such a thing."

Now it was Lady Brienne's turn to shrug. "As I said, it is my family story. No paper records exist of a union, only the verbal tale of an only daughter who loved a hedge knight, wedded him, birthed a child, and then agreed to leave the child with the mother's family after she died in the birthing bed. That, and his shield. Still here all these years later."

"Well, I certainly believe it's possible," Tyrion said, partly to himself as he took in Lady Brienne's height. 'Gods, she's taller than Jamie. By a decent amount, too. She may even have bigger biceps than him!'

Tarth's heir had changed into some fine, yet plain trousers and a loose-fitted white silk tunic. In the back of his mind, Tyrion was glad not to see her in a dress. Lady Brienne's appearance was already so… odd ! She was so awkward, ungainly, and distinctively unfeminine that picturing her in a dress would be a comical image that invited laughter. These masculine clothes suited her better, much like the armor had.

"I've always loved the story too. And not just the story either but the true history behind it," Lady Brienne said, more to herself than Tyrion. "Ser Duncan… He started with nothing; he came from nothing, and then he became a hedge knight and eventually Captain of the Kingsguard. The most famous knight of his time! It's incredible. it's inspiring." Then she looked up and smiled. "Did you know he was over seventy when he died at Summer Hall? Seventy, and still a fearsome warrior."

"That I did know," Tyrion nodded. And he's still managed to save more people than I hope to ever save in my entire life!"

Brienne's smile widened. Such a simple thing, and yet it did wonders for her face. No, it didn't make her into a beauty. Her features were still broad, coarse, and freckle-covered. Her teeth were prominent and crooked, with a left canine missing entirely, framed by a wide mouth with too-large lips. And yet the smile gave her a sense of vigor and confidence that she had previously lacked and brought life into a pair of truly stunning blue eyes. As blue as the sapphire waters that surrounded her home.

Tyrion took another step into her room, banking on Brianne's good cheer to allow the movement. He nodded toward the shield. "Some say he was the greatest knight who ever lived. I suppose you agree?" 

Brienne nodded, then snorted. "And some say he wasn't a knight at all. As if that discredits all he accomplished."

"Is he the reason you…" Tyrion chose his words carefully, "...wanted to learn to use a sword?"

"I can do more than use a sword!"

Tyrion raised his hands again. "Apologies once more, my lady. I'll hear more of the story if you offer it to me."

When Brienne looked dubious at the offer, Tyion added. "My lady, please, if you fear me as a Lannister, you should know that few of my own family would like to claim me as such. If you fear me as an outsider, then I gently remind you that your father has accepted me as an honored guest. And if you fear me as a man… Well, I think we both know you could punt me across the room with a single kick and without breaking a sweat."

"...True," Brienne said, a small smile playing on her lips. She gestured towards a small bench, which Tyrion took a seat on. She sat on the table, long legs swinging ever so slightly. It was a strangely girlish action.

'That's because she is a girl,' Tyrion realized with a start. 

No, not a girl precisely. She was easily a woman grown, certainly of marrying age. Yet Brienne was still much younger than Tyrion originally assumed. Honestly, he should have noticed it sooner. Yet Brianne's large size made it difficult for Tyrion to even imagine the girl-child she must once have been.

"While I have always found the tales of Ser Duncan the Tall inspirational, they were only part of my decision to take up the sword. The other part was a desire to be good and exceptional at something." Brienne gestured broadly at her body. "If you think me a freakish fool, Lord Tyrion, then I implore you not to bother saying. I assure you I have heard it all before. That, and so much worse."

She swallowed hard. "I know how I appear, my lord. Yet I truly don't believe I had any better choices. You must understand that my mother died when I was so young that I don't even remember her. My older brother and two younger sisters followed her to the grave. Father… he never remarried. He loved my mother too much. So he was stuck with just me. Just his awkward, ugly daughter. At first, I tried to be the best noble lady possible. I learned the songs, I learned the dances, and everything else my septa tried to teach me. Most, I wasn't very good at, but I always tried my hardest. In return for my attempts, I was met with scorn and mockery. Or pity, which hurt the worst."

The young woman stopped to draw in deep, shuddering breaths. Tyrion got the sense that she had both wanted to say this for a very long time, even to a stranger, and that if he interrupted her, Brianne would never finish her story

"And eventually, I decided, if I couldn't be a lady worthy of song, I'd be a warrior worthy of legend. I started watching the guards as they trained, and when our old master-at-arms, Ser Goodwin, found me waving around a practice sword, he decided I would join them in training. Oh, Father tried to stop it. He tried for years. He had hoped for me to marry well, of course. And considering my other deficiencies , he didn't want another mark against me. Of course, those betrothals always fell through, either through death, the man's choice, Or when he couldn't beat me in combat."

Brienne jutted her chin out proudly at that, and Tyrion hid a smile behind his hand. 

"After Ser Humfrey Wagstaff left our island with three broken bones, Father stopped trying to arrange a marriage for me. Instead, he sat me down and told me that if I wanted to learn to fight, I would learn properly. From that point on, he has always supported me. And no matter what he does, I will always love my Father for that. Plenty of men in Westeros would have thrown their daughter away for acting, for simply looking as I do, and yet he loves me and supports me inside of my wrongness." 

An ugly twist of jealousy formed in Tyrion's gut. 'Lucky girl, I don't think a day has passed that my father didn't wish he threw me down a well.'

He cleared his throat. "How good are you with a sword?"

At the question, Brienne's grin was back. This time, there was a vicious edge to it. "If I got a chance to prove it, I'd be one of the best you've ever seen."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Quite the claim, considering who my brother is."

Brienne's smile didn't drop. "I know how to use an ax and a Morningstar as well, though I prefer the latter to be blunted."

"...Good to know."

'It looks like this castle had some secrets after all; only they were a person instead of juicy gossip or hidden treasure.'

Tyrion couldn't be certain Brienne was as skilled as she claimed. For all he knew, all the guards she trained against lost on purpose. Yet she had put Loras Tyrell on his arse in one move. Despite the circumstances, that was still impressive. He found he would like to see her in an actual fight. If nothing else, it would be a novel sight.

The castle bells rang out. It was early afternoon. Supper would be served at six bells, which meant Tyrion still had plenty of time to kill.

"You are an unusual creature, Lady Brienne of Tarth; I will not deny that. I also do not make a habit of laughing at those who are outcasts from society—for reasons I'm sure you can understand," Tyrion said with a small, tight grin. I thank you for your story, my lady. For now, may I trouble you with the directions to the library? I don't wish to take up any more of your time."

Brienne gave a small nod, still looking at Tyrion as if she wasn't quite sure she believed his words, even if she liked the sound of them. "Of course. I will escort you there myself… and then I suppose I will see you at supper."

It wasn't much; it wasn't an offer of friendship or a promise to speak to her father on their behalf, yet it was a kindness. And at this point, Tyrion wasn't looking to deny any kindnesses.

' Strange creature indeed. I'm sure I can find a use for you, La— Ser Brienne.'

"Before we sup, I must beg the pardon of you all. I must admit that I know more about the situation in King's Landing than I suggested. If you all please, I can share that knowledge with you now," Lord Tarth said from his seat at the head of the table in the grand hall. 

Around them, servants swarmed to lay down platters of roasted quail, poached fish, seasoned potatoes and greens, thick gravy, and buttery bread with full flagons of wine at the ready. It wasn't a lavish feast, but it looked hardy and smelled heavenly. The question was if the news they were about to get from Tarth would be enhanced by the meal or completely spoil it.

The overlapping affirmatives Tarth got from Olenna, Mace, and Tyrion prompted the man to pull a fold of pieces of parchment from his sleeve and pass them around. To Tyrion's annoyance, he passed it to Olenna Tyrell first, and as it made its way down the line of family members, it left flushed faces and angry snarls in its wake.

The old woman grew still and angry, sharp eyes flittering around as if looking for answers in the air around her. 

"These are lies! Lies and slander!" Mace bellowed, his face now remarkably resembling a tomato. " That woman… She's a devil. She wants to see us all burn. I know it!"

"Madness," Margaery whispered. "Simple madness."

Silent tears trickled down Alerie's face, and Loras swore loudly. Tyrion all but tore the parchment out of the youth's hands to read it. 

He read it once, then twice, and then after he finished the third time, he downed all the wine in his goblet. After a moment of brief consideration, he reached over to steal Bronn's wine as well.

'Oh, Cersei… What have you done?'

Except Tyrion knew what Cersei had done. It was laid out in front of him, right here on this piece of parchment, proudly declaring it to the world. It was an elaborate web of lies and rage, telling the tale of a grand conspiracy against her family. 

"No one will believe these fallacies," Olenna said, voice clipped. "They will see her for the fraud she is."

"I must admit that I found her claims rather fanciful when I got the letter. Yet it was the second letter that truly put me on edge," Tarth admitted. 

.

.

.

"SECOND LETTER?"

The question boomed out of all of their mouths —except for Bronn, who was refilling his wine— to the shock of Tarth, who jumped at the sudden sound. 

"Uh, yes… I was getting to that. I didn't want to give you too much bad news at once," Tarth said, producing a second piece of parchment and passing it around. "Brace yourselves."

If the first letter was greeted with anger, the second one was greeted with dread.

"The Greyjoys… She's allied with the Greyjoys," Alerie said, tears coming heavier now. "Doesn't she know? Doesn't she understand?"

"Who is Euron Greyjoy?" Margaery asked. "I thought Balon Greyjoy was the current lord." 

"One of Balon's brothers," Olenna replied. Her voice sounded like she was only half-focused on the conversation. "He was banished many years ago. Rumor has it that he was too brutal for even his kin to stomach and has spent much of that time since causing trouble in all sorts of distant seas. I suppose he decided it was time for a homecoming. I doubt Balon appreciated the reunion."

"It makes sense," Bronn grunted. I've heard there's been some strangeness going on around the Iron Islands recently. It would make sense if they wanted a bit of quiet after a change of power. You don't want outside eyes on you while you're getting things settled, you know."

All eyes turned to the sellsword, who shrugged. "Unlike most of you, I actually talked to the sailors on our ship. It turns out they had a lot to say."

'And that is why I pay you well, Bronn.'

Loras swore again, and Mace let out what could only be described as angry squeaks. Tyrion rubbed a hand down his face. He was sweating so badly that he felt he needed another bath. 

"I can't believe she'd do this," he said. "She was Queen during the Greyjoy Rebellion! She has to remember how they burned the Lannisport Fleet, the raiding of Lannisport itself!" 

'Why didn't you stop this, Jamie? I can only hope you didn't suggest it!'

Because, reluctant as Tyrion was to admit it, it wasn't necessarily a foolish move in theory. The Crown was short on ships; everyone knew that, and if the Greyjoys had an abundance of anything, it was ships—ships that could be easily used to threaten the Reach, North, and Riverlands. Even the Stormlands and Dragonstone were imperiled. The decisive naval advantage her enemies had enjoyed had, to all appearances, just been effectively countered.

And there was no Stannis Baratheon alive to break them like before. 

'But to ally with the Greyjoys? That has to invite ruin. And what would she give them in return?'

"And it does get worse," Tarth said, taking a generous gulp of his own wine. "As you'll see later in the letter," —it still being in the hands of the stunned Alerie— "Cersei Lannister has announced that 'for their safety,' she wants every noble house of Westeros, no matter how great or minor, to send at least two children to King's Landing for fostering. If no children are available, other family members will do. She must have expected some resistance because she's also promising that the first fifteen families to do so will be rewarded for their loyalty."

Tyrion bit the inside of his cheek. "Do you know how many noble families have believed her claims and are cooperating with her orders? As much as I'd like to believe our peers are too smart for such a thing, I have no doubt she'll get hostages from at least fifteen families, likely from ones closest to King's Landing. On top of the ones she managed to capture during her initial coup, that is."

Tarth shook his head. "I'm afraid I cannot say. One of the few benefits of being a small, out-of-the-way House is that I haven't been harassed for my support yet. I've only received these two letters. However, I have heard from other lords who didn't immediately respond that they received follow-up letters, none of which were pleasant." 

Then he looked to Brienne, who'd maintained a thoughtful silence throughout the dinner conversation. With a smile, he reached over and squeezed her hand. "Not that I'd ever consider sending my daughter away, of course."

Brienne smiled back. "I do not doubt that, Father."

This touching familial moment aside, Tarth turned back to them and cleared his throat. "With this new information on the table, I ask you to reshare your stories. Lord Tyrion, you were accused of kinslaying. That is a grave accusation, yet I'd hear what you'd say in your defense first."

His words were not harsh, and his tone was not accusatory. That was an improvement over much of what Tyrion had experienced in the past week. 

"I did not kill my father; I want to make that very clear immediately," Tyrion said, shaking his head. "I will admit to causing Cersei's burns, but I only acted in self-defense. I can't even truly say I wish to do her harm. I feared for my life, and my only thought was of escaping…in that moment. Cersei is my sister, and yet she tried to kill me. She tried to kill me, and she did kill our father. For reasons I can only assume were because he tried to stop her. And despite my difficult relationship with him, I cannot forgive her for that."

"Hmmm," Tarth hummed before turning to the Tyrells. "And you all?"

"I have nothing to say in our defense because nothing needs to be said in our defense," Mace bellowed, shooting to his feet. Then, the most miraculous thing happened. For a moment, the Fat Flower almost looked intimidating and impressive in his anger. "We were attacked under Guest Right, I tell you! Guest Right! Perhaps I shouldn't be so surprised, given who her father was, but in all my years, I have never seen something so disgraceful! They killed my men! More than that, they've maimed my daughter! There's nothing to excuse such an action!"

Margaery flinched away from the finger Mace pointed in her direction. "Father, please, do not make this all about what has happened to me. Many others have suffered because of Cersei Lannister's decisions. Let us not forget that Renly Baratheon is still in a coma from the injuries he received."

"Lord Renly was harmed?" Brienne asked, eyes going wide. Everyone gave her a surprise look at the outburst after she had largely remained silent so far. The young woman's face flushed, and she cleared a threat. "I… am surprised we didn't hear that our liege lord was incapacitated."

'No,' Tyrion thought, eyes narrowing. 'That was a worry of a personal kind.'

"We were still debating among ourselves the best way to word such news, Lord Tarth," Margaery said sweetly. "As I'm sure you'll agree, offering such horrible news must be done delicately. Phrasing it wrong could lead to terrible misunderstandings. More than that, we didn't want to risk saying anything that would insult Lord Renly and, therefore, you."

Tarth let out another thoughtful hum. "Where is he now?"

They share glances, wondering if this information could be safely shared. Eventually, Tyrion swallowed and decided to take a chance on this man. "On Dragonstone under the Lady Shireen's protection, receiving the best care he can. When we left, he was still in a coma, yet the healers were hopeful." 

Tyrion didn't feel the need to say what exactly they were hopeful of.

"And why wasn't he sent back to Storm's End? Surely his own maester would know how to best care for him."

There were more shared looks. This time, Loras spoke up, somewhat hesitantly. "The healers on Dragonstone advised against moving him. They said it could make his condition worse."

"And I trust two of the healers fully. They were the ones who assisted me after…" Margaery gestured to her face. She gave a self-deprecating smile. "As bad as it looks now, I'm certain it would have been even more horrid had they not tended to me."

Tarth winced, and his next question came slower. "But, if Lord Renly were to awaken, he'd be allowed to leave if he so chooses. Correct?"

"Absolutely," snapped Olenna. The old woman was clearly unhappy about Tarth's insinuation as she struggled to maintain her composure. "We'd insist he go back and sort out the affairs of his lands, in fact. As of now, Lady Shireen Baratheon has claimed temporary control of Storm's End, abetted from afar and with aid from Lord Renly's men there, but we all know that is a solution that will only last for so long." 

"That is… understandable," Tarth said slowly. He relaxed more in his seat. "But we must clear up this business of Princess Myrcella. Cersei has claimed you all abducted her. Where is she?"

Tyrion bit down on his tongue to elicit the necessary wince. The Tyrells looked at each other before Mace shook his head. 

"I'm afraid we know nothing of the girl's fate. None of our group has seen her," he said. 

All eyes turned to Tyrion. He bit down harder and bowed his head. "I do not know. She wasn't with any of the groups that escaped, and she wasn't with me. I pray that my sweet niece is safe, but for all I know, Cersei is lying about that as much as she's lying about everything else. She could have Myrcella locked in the Maiden's Vault for all I know."

Lies destroyed trust. And he needed the Tyrells, and even Tarth, to trust him. But his duty to protect Myrcella exceeded any of that. So he would keep this secret, even from Bronn.

"I was afraid of that. It is always the little ones who suffer the most," Tarth sighed, shaking his head. Tell me about the Starks. They helped you escape, correct?"

'I'm not going to get a better opening than this, ' Tyrion thought, leaning forward and rapping his knuckles on the table to draw attention to himself. "I'm so delighted you bring them up, Lord Tarth. Yes, they did help us escape. Through them, an alliance of Houses willing to stand against my sister was formed. Aside from the Starks, Lady Shireen of Dragonstone and, by association, Storm's End stand with us, all of which we've put under the command of Ser Barristan the Bold himself. We are expecting support from Riverrun and the Vale as well through Ned Stark's family connections. More than that, there are emissaries sent to woo Dorne. After all, their hatred of the Lannisters is well known."

The Tyrells looked on the scarcely concealed horror at how much Tyrion was revealing—or, to be honest, embellishing. He swore Olenna let out a sigh of relief when he kept his mouth shut about dragons and magic and lost Targaryens. 

"If you require proof of what I'm saying, we do have letters of support from Lady Shireen Baratheon and Lord Ned Stark that we can present to you," Tyrion said, casually sipping his wine. In some cases, the appearance of casualness equally equates to confidence.

"Those would be well-met, yes," Tarth nodded. "Do you have them with you, or are they on your ship?"

"Hidden on the ship."

More specifically, they were hidden in a secret compartment among Olenna Tyrell's smallclothes. A place few men would ever be brave enough to venture.

"And if you need any proof of my dedication to the cause, I can tell you that I am traveling with the Tyrells, despite the harm my family has done them, as part of our plan to get me to the Westerlands so I may sway the rest of my family against Cersei," Tyrion continued. 

In a strange way, he was almost having fun. He thought getting to sway minds was a bit like a magic trick. You had to keep the people focused on one thing while you did another thing secretly. It was all very theatrical. 

"Do you think you'll be able to?" Tarth asked, eyebrows raised. 

Tyrion grinned and nodded towards the letter that had returned to Tarth. "Now that I know Cersei has allied with the Greyjoys, I have no doubt. For as little as some of you may think of my family, I assure you that we hate the Greyjoys as well, and our lands have suffered at their hands, too. Her association with such vile sorts also adds credibility to my own claims of her committing kinslaying and breaking Guest Right. My Uncle Kevin will be furious upon learning what she's done. With the right words, hopefully, furious enough to disavow her, especially after he hears how his brother really died."

Another sip of wine, this time to allow Tyrion time to think. He considered hinting that a 'certain high-ranking representative of certain foreign powers' had also been targeted in Cersei's coup and was standing with them. Eventually, he decided against it. It could potentially open the door to too many questions, and it would be too easy to let something important slip. After all, they hadn't heard Tarth's word that he would assist them yet.

No, that conversation would be for a later day. For now… 

Slowly, Tyrion put his wine down and pulled himself up to his full height. "And now that we've answered all your questions, Lord Tarth, I would like to ask you one of my own. Or, rather, I'd like to ask you a question that Lady Margaery has already asked you once more."

Tyrion did not have the power to make this offer, he knew. Yet, once more, he didn't think the Tyrells would argue against his overstepping. He couldn't keep doing this, Tyrion knew. Eventually, it would come back and bite him in the arse. Certainly, Olena would take pains to make certain of that. Tyrion promised himself this would be the last time. Well, the last time if it worked.

He paused for a moment, letting tension linger in the air. "Will you help us, Lord Tarth?" 

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"No, I cannot."

Rumbles of dismay and aggravation filled the room, all of which Tarth bore gracefully. 

"Tarth, you know that, as Lord Renly's vassal, you are obligated to aid him, right?" Olenna asked, anger seeping forth clearly. 

Tarth nodded. "And if Lord Renly were to ask for my assistance, I would agree to get it. I would even aid Lady Shireen if she requested it of me. But I cannot risk my land and my people on this sort of third-hand account you've given me. Regardless of your letters, I am unable to confirm the validity of being too unfamiliar with Lady Shireen or Lord Stark to do so. And even if I was willing to help you, we are a small house and I would have little to offer you. Make no mistake, I still intend to offer you shelter for the rest of the night. Yet come morning, weather permitting, you all must be off."

'Damn, I thought we had him too,' Tyrion thought, eyes closed in dismay. 'I — '

Screech!

"Father, I must protest this course of action!"

Once more, all eyes turned to Brienne. The young woman was on her feet, cheeks red once more, though now flushed with vigor. For supper, Brienne had donned an embroidered deep blue velvet doublet quartered and breeches with polished black boots. An outfit that complimented her father's nicely. And, once more, Tyrion found he was glad she hadn't been made to wear a gown. Instead of projecting an image of femininity, she projected one of strength and conviction. 

Tarth blinked. "Brienne, I—"

"Father, you claim our location will keep us from being noticed, yet we are so close to King's Landing, especially if they mean to wage war against Storm's End, that I cannot believe that will hold true for long. We will be affected if naval battles erupt in the coming conflicts!" Brienne exclaimed, plowing forward through her father's words. "More than that, we must also be concerned about the Greyjoys. While they have rarely come to our shores in the past, with Cersei Lannister allying with them, we need to assume they will also come here. Or need I remind you that we are an island!"

Now it was Tyrion's turn to blink. While he had hoped Brianne would speak up in their favor, he was surprised by how eloquently and passionately she could do it. Next to him, Bronn let out a low whistle. He was impressed, too.

"Father, you have always raised me to be brave and just. You have raised me to act nobly and to stand for my own morals, even in the face of staggering odds. And now I must defy you as both as your daughter and as the heir of Tarth. Hear me when I cannot stand following a woman like Cersei, one who would kill her own father and then ally with rappers and pillagers. No, I refuse to accept her as my ruler. Not when it should be—"

Her speech came to a halt, words catching in her throat. Brienne swallowed them down, but not before Tyrion could see her lips making the shape of an R. 

Brienne drew a deep breath and steadied herself one more. "We should help these people. I know it, and I believe you know it as well. But even if you refuse, I intend to accompany and aid them in their journey—"

"YOU WILL DO NO SUCH THING!" Tarth was on his feet now, gripping Brienne's tunic. 

"—so I can help restore the honor of the realm and avenge our liege lord," Brienne continued. She stared down, locking eyes with her father. "So I can either have your blessing and aid, or you can lock me away and live with my anger."

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Tarth let out a long, low breath, dropping his head and arm. When he finally looked back up, he gave them all a tired grin. "Very well then. I will assist you all in all the ways I can."