The Provenance || Jon Snow | Game of Thrones

4.01

    "How many Dornishmen does it take to fuck a goat?" Bronn rudely interrupts her silent promises of a goat feast, drawing Gabrielle's eye and ear as she grins at the man whose far too humoured by her wolf's performance.

"Please don't," Tyrion tries to silence the man before he proves an embarrassment to these rather violent Dornish.  Like Gabrielle, the Lannister had decided the southerners to be far too infamously dangerous to avoid bringing protection, but unlike the female, he was forced to take Bronn who talked way too much--not a wolf who appears far too hungry.  He wonders what is worse.

Gabrielle answers Bronn anyway, though her voice is haggard with irritation, not at the natural wolf but incessant goats, "Too few.  But if this parade of goats does not cease, I will be unable to hold Gre—Trident back any longer."

Tyrion's not stupid enough to mistake the direwolf for whose it is, but all the same, he does not intend to tell others of this news.  Indeed, if Sansa's reaction to the beast--sobbing and clutching to it--was true, this had to be the wolf that went missing at the Twins--Grey Wind, the direwolf of Robb Stark.  He sighs, wondering how Gabrielle manages these feats.

Bronn stares at the wolf, now called Trident, within a state of hidden wonder and obvious disbelief, "I still can't believe you got a fucking direwolf."

"I didn't ask for Trident—he came to me," the girl insists, practically growling like her wolf as she sees Bronn roll his eyes.  Her sharp green irises turn onto Tyrion who shuffles uneasily, as she insists, "Tyrion, tell him."

Tyrion sighs, wondering how these two are not so worried about the Dornish, but acquiesces to her wish all the same, "She did this in Winterfell with the Starks' direwolves.  She seems to attract them."

Gabrielle sends Bronn a pointed look that seems to be reflected by the direwolf, prompting Bronn to roll his eyes though he drops the subject with the reminder that he'd never win against the stubborn female.  Leaning back into a tree, he takes a sip from his wineskin as he watches Tyrion pace worriedly, Pod watch him loyally, and Gabrielle play with her wolf which acts too much like a small dog.  He huffs, "Seems to me the smart place to meet travelers is in a tavern.  That way, one party is late, the other party can drink some ale inside."

"This is the Prince of Dorne we're waiting for," Tyrion reminds him solemnly, "not one of your sellsword friends."

"If he's so damned important, how come they sent you to meet him?"

Tyrion sighs and shuffles a bit more in avoidance of a goat, "There's bad blood between the Martells of Dorne  and the Lannisters of Casterly Rock.  Has been for years."  Trident whines as the same goat passes in front of them, the others watching in silence for a moment.  "And just in case the Martells of Dorne are looking to spill some Lannister blood—"

Bronn grins, understanding, "--it may as well be yours, eh?"

"Ours, in this case," Gabrielle prompts, reminding Bronn that he's there as well and is one of the least likely to survive such an encounter.

"No need for cynicism.  I happen to be an accomplished diplomat," Tyrion reminds the rather negative--realistic--collection of Gabrielle and Bronn.  But then, he seems to notice the flags breaking from the nearest hill, straightening his posture and looking ready to leave this situation behind him, "Oh.  Ah, here we are.  Can you read the sigils?"

Bronn straightens up as the City's Guard prepare behind the lot of four, holding a sign of Lannister colors as he narrows his eyes at one of the small sigils, "Yellow balls?"

"Wild lemons on a purple field, House Dalt of Lemonwood," Podrick corrects and continues with his stint of great knowledge at this insipid game of houses.  "A vulture grasping a baby in it's talons, House Blackmont.  A crowned skull, the Manwoodys of Kingsgrave."