Sorry, I thought it was a common cold, but it's gotten worse these past couple of days, and I can't write much. Please bear with me. I'll catch up as soon as possible in the coming days. Thank you.
His father frowned. "From the beginning, I believed Stannis was more dangerous than all the others combined, but he has done nothing. Yes, Varys has some intelligence, such as Stannis building ships, Stannis recruiting mercenaries, and even saying Stannis brought a shadowbinder from Asshai, but what does this truly mean? And how much of it is true?" He shrugged, somewhat annoyed. "Kevan, bring the map."
Ser Kevan immediately complied. Lord Tywin unfolded the leather map and spread it out. "Jaime left us a mess. Roose Bolton and his remnants are to our north, and our enemies hold the Twins and Moat Cailin; on the other hand, Robb Stark is entrenched to the west, and unless we go to war, we cannot retreat to Lannisport and Casterly Rock. Now that Jaime is captured, his army no longer exists, and Thoros of Myr and Beric Dondarrion will continue to harass our foraging parties. Looking further afield, to the east are House Arryn and Stannis Baratheon entrenched on Dragonstone, and to the south, Highgarden and Storm's End are already preparing their forces."
Tyrion smiled slyly. "Father, don't worry, at least Rhaegar Targaryen hasn't been resurrected."
"Tyrion, I hope you can offer some useful advice, not just talk," said Lord Tywin Lannister.
Ser Kevan frowned at the map, his forehead creased into deep lines once more. "Currently, Robb Stark has the support of Edmure Tully and the Riverlords. Their total strength exceeds our army, and we still have Roose Bolton to our rear... Tywin, staying here, I fear we will be attacked from three sides."
"I don't intend to stay here. We must deal with the young Duke Stark before Renly marches from Highgarden. I'm not worried about Bolton; he's a cautious man, and the Battle of the Green Fork will surely make him more cautious, so his pursuit won't be fast. Therefore... we will set out for Harrenhal tomorrow morning. Kevan, order Ser Adam's scouts to conceal our movements. Give him as many men as he needs, in teams of four, and no more disappearances..."
"Yes, my lord, but... why Harrenhal? It's a grim and ominous place, and they say it's cursed."
"Let them say what they will," Lord Tywin said. "Unleash Ser Gregor and have him lead that pack of butchers to raid everywhere. Send Vargo Hoat and his mercenaries, and Ser Amory Lorch as well. Have them each take three hundred cavalry, and tell them: from the Gods Eye to the Red Fork, I want the Riverlands turned to ash."
"My lord, you shall see it done," Ser Kevan said, then stood up. "I will go issue the orders now." He bowed and left.
After the father and son were alone, Lord Tywin glanced at Tyrion. "Your savages might enjoy a bit of plunder too. Go tell them they can go out with Vargo Hoat and plunder as they please—whether it's goods, livestock, or women, take what they like and burn what they don't."
"Teaching Shagga and Timett how to rob is as redundant as teaching a rooster how to crow," Tyrion said. "But I'd rather keep them close." They might be rough and unruly, but they were his men after all, and compared to his father's men, he'd rather trust his own. He didn't want to just hand them over.
"Then you must learn how to control them. I don't want to see them plundering in the city."
"The city?" Tyrion was confused. "Which city?"
"King's Landing. I'm sending you to court."
This was the last thing Tyrion Lannister expected. He raised his wine cup, drinking as he thought, What am I being sent to court for?
"To take charge," his father said abruptly.
Tyrion laughed. "My dear old sister will probably have something to say about that!"
"Let her say what she will. Someone has to manage her son before he ruins us all. I think it's all the doing of those half-hearted lords—our friend Petyr, the venerable Grand Maester, and that lord Varys, who's missing a certain part. What were they doing when Joffrey was pulling one stupid stunt after another? Who came up with the brilliant idea of elevating this Janos Slynt to nobility? His father was a butcher, and they gave him Harrenhal, Harrenhal! That's a castle where kings live! As long as I draw breath, he won't set foot in it. I heard he chose a bloody spear as his sigil; if I were there, I'd force him to change it to a bloody cleaver." His father didn't raise his voice, but Tyrion could feel his anger in his golden eyes. "They even chased away Selmy. What in the seven hells were they thinking? Yes, he's old, but 'Barristan the Bold' alone carries weight in the kingdom. Whoever he serves is honored by it. Can the Hound do that? Dogs gnaw on bones under the table, they don't sit at it as equals." He extended a finger and pointed at Tyrion's face. "Since Cersei can't control that boy, you will. If those lords dare to play both sides with us..."
Tyrion knew perfectly well. "Heads will roll," he sighed. "Stuck on spears, hung on the city walls."
"You've finally learned something from me."
"Father, I've learned a great deal," Tyrion said calmly. He drained his wine and set the cup aside thoughtfully. On one hand, he was happy, happier than he dared admit; on the other hand, he remembered the battle he had fought not long ago upstream on the Green Fork, and wondered if he was being sent to defend the "left flank" again. "Why send me?" he tilted his head and asked. "Why not send Uncle? Why not send Ser Adam, Ser Flement, or Lord Shallot? Why not send... someone bigger?"
Lord Tywin suddenly stood up. "Because you are my son."
Then he understood. So you've given up on him, he thought, you goddamn bastard, you think Jaime is as good as dead, so all you have left is me. Tyrion wanted to slap him, wanted to spit in his face, wanted to pull out his dagger and carve out his heart to see if it was truly made of gold as the common folk said. But in the end, he just sat there quietly, saying nothing.
Lord Tywin walked across the room, the broken wine cup crunching under his feet. "One last thing," he said as he reached the door, "you are not to bring that prostitute to court."
After his father left, Tyrion sat in the inn hall for a long time. Finally, he climbed the stairs and returned to his comfortable garret room under the bell tower. The ceiling of the room was low, but it didn't bother the dwarf. Looking out the window, he saw the gallows his father had erected in the courtyard. The night wind blew, and the innkeeper's body swung back and forth on the rope. Her muscles were as thin and broken as the Lannisters' hopes.
He turned and sat down beside the feather bed. Shae murmured sleepily, turning towards him. He reached under the covers and held her soft body. She opened her eyes. "My lord," she smiled lazily.
As her body stiffened, Tyrion leaned down and kissed her. "My little one, I truly wish I could take you to King's Landing," he whispered.
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