New students start from 'Game of Thrones'

Chapter 32 Winning Over Allies

The morning joust ended with the Mountain's death. Though Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers—who had won by a clever ruse—was officially declared the victor, the talk of King's Landing that day and night centered on Owen, the man who had beheaded the Mountain with a single sword stroke. The title "Sword of the North" spread through the capital once more, and ravens circled above King's Landing, carrying news of the feat to every corner of the realm.

By nightfall, King's Landing seemed calm on the surface—but beneath it, tensions simmered.

"Someone tell me what the hell happened!" Tyrion Lannister stormed into the well-lit Queen's Tower, his voice sharp with anger. He entered Cersei's chambers, where she and Jaime Lannister stood, and snapped, "I spend one morning in a brothel, and our Westerlands executioner ends up with his head cut off! Now the goldcloaks are terrified—their morale's in the gutter!"

"I'm sorry, Tyrion. We weren't there," Jaime said, his face grim. "Only Joffrey and the children were, and they're still shaken—Myrcella most of all. We haven't had a chance to ask them for details."

Tyrion stared at Cersei and Jaime in disbelief. After a moment, he said, "Every noble in King's Landing turned out for that tournament—even the king and the Hand. Yet the queen and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard couldn't be bothered? What was so important that two of House Lannister's most powerful figures skipped it?"

"That's none of your business," Cersei snapped, her temper flaring at his sarcasm. "Just tell us how to fix this mess!"

Tyrion looked to Jaime, who avoided his gaze. How could he explain? We were too busy bedding each other in the queen's chambers to watch a joust?

"Fine," Tyrion sighed, dropping the subject. "Where's Sandor? Don't tell me he wasn't there either."

"He was," Jaime said. "But we haven't seen him since the tournament ended."

"Then find him. His brother—the man he's hated his whole life—was cut down right in front of him. He must be torn up inside. The only place he'd go is a tavern," Tyrion said, pausing to think.

"I'll send men. We'll search every tavern in King's Landing if we have to," Jaime said, then turned to leave.

"Bring Joffrey too," Tyrion called after him.

Only Cersei and Tyrion remained. He had no desire to converse with his loathed sister, so he sat in a chair, grabbed a flagon of wine, poured himself a cup, and drank in silence.

Mmm - good wine, "he said, glancing provocatively at Cersei.

Cersei ignored him, sipping her own wine slowly.

A short while later, Jaime returned with Joffrey. The prince looked sullen and resentful. Tyrion wasted no time in goading him: "Ah, our brave prince! Hiding under the covers until your uncle came to fetch you? Afraid to step out of your chambers like a little girl?"

"Tyrion..." Jaime said, exasperated.

"Fine, fine," Tyrion said, throwing up his hands.

"So, tell me, Your Grace—how's your courtship with the Stark girl going?" Tyrion poured himself another cup of wine and fixed Joffrey with a stare.

"Nowhere," Joffrey said, glancing at Cersei before answering.

"Why? You look just like Cersei and Jaime did when they were young. With that face and your title, I'd have thought the girl would be eating out of your hand," Tyrion said, feigning confusion.

"I... I don't like her," Joffrey said, his face darkening. "She's a Northern bumpkin. Every time I see her, I remember that night—"

"Ah, so it's fear," Tyrion cut in. "Little Joffrey's too scared."

Joffrey's face turned scarlet with rage. He wanted to lash out, to order the dwarf punished—but when he looked at Cersei, who sat silent, and Jaime, who said nothing to defend him, his anger faded into humiliation.

"She's one of the most beautiful girls in the Seven Kingdoms, and you're too cowardly to talk to her?" Tyrion said, exaggerating his surprise.

"Listen to me, boy," Tyrion said, his tone sharp and serious. "Whether you hate her, fear her, or even prefer boys—it doesn't matter. For the next few weeks, you will court that girl. You'll turn on that ridiculous charm of yours, hide your little cruelties, and make her fall in love with you. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Joffrey mumbled, taken aback by Tyrion's severity.

"Good. Now go back to your chambers and hide under the covers like the little girl you are," Tyrion sneered.

Joffrey glanced at Cersei and Jaime once more, then turned and fled.

"Nothing like berating a prince in front of his mother," Tyrion said, grinning at Cersei and Jaime.

"Enough, Tyrion. Stop provoking her," Jaime said, noticing how tightly Cersei was gripping her wine cup—her knuckles white with anger.

"This wine really is exceptional. Another flagon, please?" Tyrion said, smoothly changing the subject to defuse the tension.

Jaime shook his head in resignation and handed Tyrion a full flagon.

"Thank you, dear brother," Tyrion said, smiling.

"How much longer do you intend to stay?" Cersei snapped, unable to hold back her fury.

"Until I get answers. I need to hear what happened this morning—from Sandor," Tyrion said.

"Why didn't you ask Joffrey when he was here?" Cersei demanded, convinced Tyrion was deliberately tormenting her.

"You said he was too shaken. What was I supposed to do? Badger a terrified child?" Tyrion replied, feigning innocence.

"Go rest, Tyrion. We don't know where Sandor is yet. You can talk to him tomorrow," Jaime said, stepping between them to prevent a fight.

"Very well. I've had my fill of brothels for one day—I could use a good night's sleep. Otherwise, I won't have the energy to play with the girls tomorrow," Tyrion said, winking at Jaime.

"Would you like me to show you around tomorrow? Some of King's Landing's... finer establishments?" he added, his tone suggestive.

"Get out, you repulsive dwarf!" Cersei screamed, throwing her wine cup to the floor. It shattered, spilling red across the stone.

Tyrion shrugged, grabbed his flagon, and hopped off his chair. He waved the flagon at Jaime. "Thanks for the wine!" Then he waddled out of the room, leaving Cersei fuming.

The next morning, Tyrion's bedroom door crashed open with a loud bang.

He jumped out of bed, startled, and looked toward the door. Sandor Clegane stood there, expressionless, his sword slung across his back.

"I heard you were looking for me last night," Sandor said, his voice gruff.

"I was. I want to know what really happened yesterday morning," Tyrion said, sitting up in bed. "The city's full of rumors. I need the truth."

"If you want the truth, I'll tell you: Gregor beat me like a dog. And that Stark man? He cut Gregor's head off like it was nothing—like squashing an ant," Sandor said, his voice tight with emotion.

"If that's true... we need to rethink everything," Tyrion said, his eyes widening in shock.

"Sandor—this man killed your brother. The man who mutilated you. Don't you owe him a thank-you?" Tyrion asked, leaning forward.

"I have a task for you. Invite the 'Sword of the North' to the best tavern in King's Landing. Drinks are on me," he added.

"You want to meet him? Why not invite him yourself?" Sandor asked, suspicious.

"What if I told you he'd be wary of me? Would you help?" Tyrion said, his tone earnest.

"I'll deliver the message. Whether he comes or not is his business," Sandor said after a moment's thought.

"Thank you," Tyrion said, smiling.

"If you're planning something—don't. If you anger him, I won't admit I know you. And I won't save you," Sandor warned, his eyes cold.

"Relax. I'm not that stupid. I just want to make a friend," Tyrion said, his smile widening.