Part 3: Lord Imp - Tyrion
Tyrion
"It's good to see you," said Tyrion. He smiled at his eldest son. Bryce had come to visit him in King's Landing. After Aveis' marriage, he had left the boy--Tyrion needed to stop calling him that. Bryce was in his mid-thirties, in charge of the Westerlands and the family. As a reward for Bryce's success, he had been named High Lord of Castamere, a title not seen since Tyrion's father had crushed the Reynes and torn down their keep.
"How is everyone?"
Bryce smiled and rolled his ridiculous whiskers, which had only gotten longer since he'd been a young man. He'd started to wax the ends in order to curl them.
"As well as can be expected?"
"Cerenna?"
"Still largely furious at you. More so since she discovered you'd betrothed her to Alyn Tully."
Tyrion sighed. "She's smarter than that. Alyn Tully will be a powerful lord when he's grown, and she will be his wife. And she should realize that his youth will give her a few years to herself. And besides, a marriage would do us well after..."
Bryce nodded. "Aveis," he said.
"Yes," Tyrion sighed again. Aveis had been killed by an outbreak of bloody flux only a few years after the tourney in honor of her marriage. Tyrion, as a rule, did not choose favorites among his children. But should the Rock have somehow caught fire and with all his children in it, Tyrion would have, had he been able to, carried Bryce and Cerenna to safety first. He loved them both the same, although for different reasons, save for their shared intelligence. He adored Bryce's militarism and his true and hardy nature. He had grown into everything that Tyrion had not been able to become. He was a knight destined for song, if they did not already sing some about his jousts and perhaps a few of Bryce's well known conquests (the romantic ones). And Tyrion loved Cerenna for being everything he was. She strove to rise beyond the station appointed her by birth. But just as Tyrion had come to understand, there were limitations that not even the tallest dwarf or most warlike woman could overcome. At some point, she must come back down to the earth. For her, it would be in four years or so, when Lord Alyn was a man grown in need of a wife.
"Well, speaking of daughters, I attended the Joanna's wedding at Harrenhal."
"How was that?" asked Tyrion.
"Terrible," said Bryce. "Every time someone said 'Lord Bryce,' I assumed they were talking about me, but it was always the groom, instead."
"I'm sure Whent had much a similar problem," said Tyrion.
"I'm sure he didn't. They didn't even give me the Hand's place of honor, even though I was there as your representative. And did you know Lord Bryce--"
"You?" Tyrion smiled.
"The other one," snapped Bryce. "Did you know Lord Bryce considers himself more a Valeman than a Riverlander? He's a complete ass, father. I don't know what the purpose of marrying her to him is. It's cursed, you know."
"To bring Lord Bryce--"
"Me?" asked Bryce, feigning innocence. Tyrion ignored him.
"--sons, I suppose. Or at least children."
"Hmm, yes. That brings me to yet another of your daughters..." said Bryce.
"I don't--," began Tyrion, then paused when Bryce's face lit up in anticipation.
"Yeeeesss?" asked Bryce, jutting his chin out and looking at his father sideways.
"Oh. No. No, of course I do," said Tyrion. Bryce frowned a little.
"I'm afraid the beautiful young girl our cousin Deanna has blessed you with remains an outstanding matter. What should I do with little Cersei?"
Tyrion smiled to himself ashamedly. He was half-upset that he had bastard daughter to provide for thanks to one reckless, but he was also proud of himself for being a new father at such an advanced age. His own father had stayed fertile into his twilight years. It must be a Lannister trait, he thought. And he was inordinately proud he'd thought to name the girl after his sister. The elder Cersei must be fuming.
"Legitimize her," he said.
Bryce's eyebrows raised. "Are you sure, my Lord Hand?"
"Don't 'my Lord Hand' me."
"I just want to remind you of your position in the realm and the prestige you obtain from it."
"Do it anyway."
"As you command, my Lord Hand."
"Careful, Bryce."
"I would be," said Bryce. "But, at this point, I believe I'd have to lift you up to my face if you wished to slap it."
Tyrion readied a retort, but the door opened and Jaime entered, dressed in his golden armor and white cloak. His sword was buckled at his side, and he still wore his helm. Even late into his sixties, Jaime still cut an imposing figure.
"What's the matter, brother? Is the night too dark and terrible for you?"
"I have to secure the keep," said Jaime. Behind him, Tyrion could see that his own Lannister guard was being reinforced by Targaryen men-at-arms. "In these situations, it's best, ever since...the old King Rhaegar."
Something in Jaime's tone took Tyrion askew. Earlier in the year, the King had asked him to marshal a sizable fleet and army at King's Landing, in possible preparation for an invasion of Ghaston Grey. The ploy, for that was what it had been, had worked. Prince Rhaegar had listened not to the voice in his head he believe to be Aegon the Conqueror but rather to reason and ceded the island to King Aegon VI and returned to King's Landing in accordance with his father's wishes.
"Is Prince Rhaegar planning something?" he asked.
Jaime cocked his head. "My Lord Hand," he said. "You mean King Rhaegar Targaryen, the Second of His Name."
Tyrion
"It's good to see you," said Tyrion. He smiled at his eldest son. Bryce had come to visit him in King's Landing. After Aveis' marriage, he had left the boy--Tyrion needed to stop calling him that. Bryce was in his mid-thirties, in charge of the Westerlands and the family. As a reward for Bryce's success, he had been named High Lord of Castamere, a title not seen since Tyrion's father had crushed the Reynes and torn down their keep.
"How is everyone?"
Bryce smiled and rolled his ridiculous whiskers, which had only gotten longer since he'd been a young man. He'd started to wax the ends in order to curl them.
"As well as can be expected?"
"Cerenna?"
"Still largely furious at you. More so since she discovered you'd betrothed her to Alyn Tully."
Tyrion sighed. "She's smarter than that. Alyn Tully will be a powerful lord when he's grown, and she will be his wife. And she should realize that his youth will give her a few years to herself. And besides, a marriage would do us well after..."
Bryce nodded. "Aveis," he said.
"Yes," Tyrion sighed again. Aveis had been killed by an outbreak of bloody flux only a few years after the tourney in honor of her marriage. Tyrion, as a rule, did not choose favorites among his children. But should the Rock have somehow caught fire and with all his children in it, Tyrion would have, had he been able to, carried Bryce and Cerenna to safety first. He loved them both the same, although for different reasons, save for their shared intelligence. He adored Bryce's militarism and his true and hardy nature. He had grown into everything that Tyrion had not been able to become. He was a knight destined for song, if they did not already sing some about his jousts and perhaps a few of Bryce's well known conquests (the romantic ones). And Tyrion loved Cerenna for being everything he was. She strove to rise beyond the station appointed her by birth. But just as Tyrion had come to understand, there were limitations that not even the tallest dwarf or most warlike woman could overcome. At some point, she must come back down to the earth. For her, it would be in four years or so, when Lord Alyn was a man grown in need of a wife.
"Well, speaking of daughters, I attended the Joanna's wedding at Harrenhal."
"How was that?" asked Tyrion.
"Terrible," said Bryce. "Every time someone said 'Lord Bryce,' I assumed they were talking about me, but it was always the groom, instead."
"I'm sure Whent had much a similar problem," said Tyrion.
"I'm sure he didn't. They didn't even give me the Hand's place of honor, even though I was there as your representative. And did you know Lord Bryce--"
"You?" Tyrion smiled.
"The other one," snapped Bryce. "Did you know Lord Bryce considers himself more a Valeman than a Riverlander? He's a complete ass, father. I don't know what the purpose of marrying her to him is. It's cursed, you know."
"To bring Lord Bryce--"
"Me?" asked Bryce, feigning innocence. Tyrion ignored him.
"--sons, I suppose. Or at least children."
"Hmm, yes. That brings me to yet another of your daughters..." said Bryce.
"I don't--," began Tyrion, then paused when Bryce's face lit up in anticipation.
"Yeeeesss?" asked Bryce, jutting his chin out and looking at his father sideways.
"Oh. No. No, of course I do," said Tyrion. Bryce frowned a little.
"I'm afraid the beautiful young girl our cousin Deanna has blessed you with remains an outstanding matter. What should I do with little Cersei?"
Tyrion smiled to himself ashamedly. He was half-upset that he had bastard daughter to provide for thanks to one reckless, but he was also proud of himself for being a new father at such an advanced age. His own father had stayed fertile into his twilight years. It must be a Lannister trait, he thought. And he was inordinately proud he'd thought to name the girl after his sister. The elder Cersei must be fuming.
"Legitimize her," he said.
Bryce's eyebrows raised. "Are you sure, my Lord Hand?"
"Don't 'my Lord Hand' me."
"I just want to remind you of your position in the realm and the prestige you obtain from it."
"Do it anyway."
"As you command, my Lord Hand."
"Careful, Bryce."
"I would be," said Bryce. "But, at this point, I believe I'd have to lift you up to my face if you wished to slap it."
Tyrion readied a retort, but the door opened and Jaime entered, dressed in his golden armor and white cloak. His sword was buckled at his side, and he still wore his helm. Even late into his sixties, Jaime still cut an imposing figure.
"What's the matter, brother? Is the night too dark and terrible for you?"
"I have to secure the keep," said Jaime. Behind him, Tyrion could see that his own Lannister guard was being reinforced by Targaryen men-at-arms. "In these situations, it's best, ever since...the old King Rhaegar."
Something in Jaime's tone took Tyrion askew. Earlier in the year, the King had asked him to marshal a sizable fleet and army at King's Landing, in possible preparation for an invasion of Ghaston Grey. The ploy, for that was what it had been, had worked. Prince Rhaegar had listened not to the voice in his head he believe to be Aegon the Conqueror but rather to reason and ceded the island to King Aegon VI and returned to King's Landing in accordance with his father's wishes.
"Is Prince Rhaegar planning something?" he asked.
Jaime cocked his head. "My Lord Hand," he said. "You mean King Rhaegar Targaryen, the Second of His Name."