Chapter 37: The Beasts by His Side
Lancel's incessant chatter was grating.
Tyrion could not help but summon Lancel's squire and have him drag Lancel away. The world became beautiful and quiet.
Tyrion tossed a few more logs into the fire. "Queen Cersei will likely put you in charge of the royal hunt in two days."
Glyn leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed.
Glyn took a sip of Summerwine, his gaze shifting to Tyrion.
Tyrion shrugged. "My sister's emotions are intense. Whether love or hate, when she likes you, she wishes she could give you everything."
Tyrion's smile faded, his tone growing serious. "But if she comes to hate you, she'll wish for your miserable death—the more brutal, the better."
Tyrion reached for the wine flask and poured as he spoke. "You're going to be very busy. My dear sister... Hmph. Of everyone in King's Landing, she loves you the most."
Tyrion couldn't stay serious for more than three seconds, his tone turning teasing once again.
Glyn's lips curled slightly. "Lord Tyrion, I will do my best not to fall out of favor and to extend Her Grace the Queen's affection for as long as possible. I am truly grateful for your counsel."
Tyrion grinned. "Yes, extend it as long as you can. Make it last, like a man's... Ahem, I nearly made a lewd joke about my dear sister's affections."
Tyrion raised his cup toward the Red Keep. "Forgive me, my dearest sister!"
Glyn could not help but throw his head back and laugh.
...
Montun and Anguy, one broad and one tall, sat around another bonfire in the courtyard.
Anguy was contentedly drinking ale, his attention focused on Glyn's party not far away.
Montun chewed on a fist-sized chunk of roasted beef before swallowing it. "Anguy, don't just drink. The smoked meat today is excellent."
Anguy reached out, tore off a piece of meat from the platter, and tossed it into his mouth. "Not bad, but I still prefer ale."
Montun grumbled, "The ale here is average. Goldenflower Ale is much better."
Anguy was puzzled. "Is it famous? How have I never heard of it? Goldenflower... could it be?"
Montun nodded his large head. "It's the ale from our lands. It used to have several other names, but then I heard Steward Herschel improved the brewing process and gave it a new one. A pity you can't have any for now."
Every so often, Anguy would scan his surroundings.
Anguy stretched, his eyes sweeping the area. Though it was dark, his gaze still gleamed.
After completing the motion, Anguy finally spoke. "Thanks to the Seven, and thank you to Lord Glynn. Even though I haven't been there yet, I finally have a home. I love Light Whisper City."
Anguy took a large gulp of ale and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "When we get back, I want to find a wife. I want to have a son, and I'll teach him everything carefully... By the Seven, I never dared to dream of such things before, when I wasn't sure I'd live to see the next day."
Montun chuckled thickly. "Kill more men, earn enough merit, and Lord Glynn will grant you a manor."
Anguy nodded emphatically, then suddenly added, "I wonder if the girls in Light Whisper City will like me!"
Montun thought for a moment before saying in his deep voice, "The women of Light Whisper City are as good as any man in a fight. You're a good-looking fellow, so you'd best be careful. If one takes a liking to you, she'll just carry you off. If you can't beat her, you're hers for good."
*Why would I fight? Why would I resist?*
*Heavens, is Light Whisper City the home of the Seven? Does such a wonderful place truly exist in this world?*
"Actually, I quite enjoy being the passive one."
As he finished, Anguy's smile turned a little mischievous.
The clever Montun understood Anguy's smile and began to chuckle along with him.
The two laughing men suddenly froze, their gazes locking onto the same spot.
Petyr's attendant, led by Glyn's own attendant, had just entered the courtyard. The hair on his back instinctively stood on end, and he froze in place, not daring to move.
He suddenly felt as if he were being watched by two or more fierce beasts, as if one more step would mean having his throat torn out.
...
The sense of mortal danger vanished, but the back of Petyr's attendant was already soaked in a cold sweat.
He dared not look up. Prompted again by Glyn's attendant, he forced his feet to move, unconsciously slowing his breathing.
The trembling attendant finally reached Glyn and gave an exceedingly respectful bow.
He swore he was being more submissive now than he ever was before Petyr, a submissiveness that came from the depths of his soul.
Tyrion watched this attendant, whom he had seen a few times, with great interest.
Petyr's attendant nearly bent his body in half, his hands held high, offering a folded invitation.
Glyn noted that the etiquette Petyr had instilled in his attendant was excessive, far too deferential.
Glyn motioned for his own attendant to accept the invitation.
Once Petyr's attendant had left, Tyrion could no longer hold it in, clutching his stomach and roaring with laughter.
Glyn looked at Tyrion, who was on the verge of choking, and a smile touched the corner of his eyes. "I, too, was surprised by the excessive politeness of Lord Petyr's attendant. It seems you already know something?"
Tyrion waved his small hand, wiped a tear of mirth from his eye, and said, "You are a king of beasts, long accustomed to the predators at your side. If I hadn't had dealings with the Mountain, your guards would have scared the piss out of me. That man was terrified."
[Gregor Clegane, a sworn knight loyal to House Lannister, nicknamed the Mountain. He is extremely tall and large, with a cruel and bloodthirsty temperament, and he delights in killing.]
Tyrion chuckled, using himself as an example, not minding in the least to poke fun at himself.
By now, Glyn had finished reading the invitation and his brows furrowed slightly. "So, Lord Jon Arryn wishes to see me."
Tyrion's eyes darted. He reached out and took the letter from Glyn's hand.
Tyrion read it very carefully. "This was written by another's hand. The tone is far too polite!"
Tyrion slapped his thigh and continued, "Look at me, I must be drunk. It's obviously Petyr who wrote it."
Tyrion stroked his chin and muttered, "I don't mean to belittle you, but you're just a Baron. For the Hand of the King to invite you, with the Master of Coin running the errand... the formality is excessive. It isn't normal."
Glyn nodded slightly. "They are leaving me no opportunity to refuse."
"Exactly!" Tyrion agreed. "That's the reason!"
Tyrion pondered, his eyes flicking back and forth.
Glyn suddenly asked, "Has Petyr always been this bold?"
"Why ask if Petyr is bold?" Tyrion looked confused. "He is a man who wraps himself tightly in elegance, a very cautious man..."
As he spoke, Tyrion seemed to recall something. He paused, meeting Glyn's steady gaze. "It appears he has come to the surface, but in reality..."
There was a saying, "The greatest hermit hides in the city," but Glyn couldn't quite translate it into the Common Tongue. "Fortune truly favors him. He appears to stand conspicuously at the forefront of the crowd, yet he positions himself precisely where he's most easily overlooked."
Tyrion interjected, "The urgent timing, the high-profile invitation, the aura of the Hand of the King... Littlefinger is cunning indeed!"
Glyn was somewhat puzzled. Was he being underestimated? Or was it something else...
(end of chapter)