Chapter 126: The Most Beloved Unlucky Dwarf

POV: Cersei Lannister

King's Road, a few miles from Harroway.

Year 289 A.C. first day of the twelfth moon.

Twenty-nine days to go before the start of the Marriage of Barrowton...

The imposing two-story eight-wheeled monstrosity continued on the rutted Road built two centuries earlier by Jaenhaerys I.

Her father's gift for the birth of Princess Myrcella was a true masterpiece of comfort and affluence. The luxury ironwood armoured carriage had been built by House Ryswell's best carpenters directly at King's Landing.

Reluctant as she was to grant accolades, Cersei admitted that those metal rods called 'shock absorbers' made the ride very comfortable compared to ordinary jerky carriages.

Apparently, the Protector of the West and Lord Ryswell had struck an important business deal. Tens of thousands of gold dragons alone in wagons, merchant caravans and noble carriages.

Cersei had no idea how much gold Tywin Lannister might have spent to have such a cursed gift built by the North.

It was an accursed gift because along with it came her father's order to persuade Robert to engineer a marriage between her little Myrcella and that brute from the North, Bloody Snow...

The Queen fiddled with the fingers of her sweet creature, given birth by little more than a moon.

Not even a moon of life, and someone already wanted to take her away!

First the prank with that little monster of a brother of hers, and now this... The Old Lion must have reached a venerable age to have gone so mad to that extent!

Cersei would not have allowed it... she would have set fire to every brushwood called home, run every barbarian of the First Men through the sword, and sprinkled salt on every muddy acre they called 'field' in the North rather than deprive herself of her smiling golden joy.

There were still some twenty days before their arrival in Barrowton; she had to find a way to nip that union in the bud... but how?

A thud near the carriage entrance broke Cersei's thoughts. Someone had climbed into the carriage...

The armoured door opened all of a sudden, startling the Queen. A very familiar man in a white cloak entered without even knocking.

"This is no way to enter, Jaime," Cersei admonished the twin in a low voice.

"Forgive me, sister. I did not mean to interrupt the march just to visit you." Jaime replied in his usual brash tone.

"Keep your voice down; Joffrey is asleep," she pointed to the little boy of just over three years old perched with his eyes closed between velvet pillows.

"Phew... You've had this attitude toward me for over a month now. When will it end?"

"What attitude?" asked Cersei in the same voice and expression.

"The one you're using now... You haven't left the carriage in two days. I just came to see how you and my 'nephews and niece' were doing." Jaime.

"You could have visited us yesterday, too. You didn't just because Robert was there, but now that the king is hunting-"

Jaime shushed his sister. "Stop it-you know I can't stand it, and I had night watches.

So what? When will you stop being mad at me? It's been since before the war that we-" this time, it was Cersei's turn to break the sentence. "When are you going back to thinking about me, Joffrey and Myrcella. Your family."

"You know I think about them all the time. I think about you all the time..." Jaime.

"Do you? Then why is that Bastard of the North still alive! Why did you protect him during the siege of Pyke? It was all the talk at court about the 'Heroic Hundred Proud Volunteers' led by Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jaime Lannister, who risked their lives facing more than a thousand armed enemies to protect the Hero of the North's back.

You could have gotten rid of the threat, and you could even have done so without getting your hands dirty..." Jaime's face grew gloomy. His eyes became cold and contemptuous.

"I did it, and I would do it again. We were allies surrounded by enemies on a mission for the king. We are still allies. The North-" "It's a threat! I warned you, and you didn't listen! And now?! Look what has happened! Our father wants Myrcella to marry that monster!!! A bastard from the North! Myrcella--our dau--my daughter, your niece."

"Now you're the one screaming." Jaime pointed to Joffrey, who tossed and turned for a moment from the commotion but curled up in deep sleep seconds later.

"Nothing has been decided yet. Robert has not yet given his consent. Besides, according to our uncle, that boy is infatuated with Lord Jorah Mormont's cousin." Jaime justified himself.

"Dacey Mormont? Pff, please... Even if they weren't just rumours, do you think House Tallhart, a minor household in the North, would turn down a Royal marriage proposal for a villager from an island made of rocks and pines?" Cersei sneered as if it were the most ridiculous of jokes.

"A minor household?... Say, my beloved sister, do you know what's been going on in the North and all of Westeros for the last six years or so?

Putting aside the issue that soon Jorah Mormont will be the influential lord of two emerging great Houses of the North, do you think our father would impose on you a marriage between your daughter, the princess, and a lesser lord? Do you have any idea how much influence and fame Duncan Tallhart currently possesses on the continent?"

"No one can impose anything on me. I am the Queen!" Cersei.

"So was Rhaella Targaryen, yet no one lifted a finger when Aerys raped and beat her almost every night while the poor woman continued to plead for mercy and help." Cersei dodged the tasteless jibe with a snort.

"Rhaella was a weakling. I would have smothered Aerys with a pillow as soon as he basked in sleep." Jaime did not seem to doubt that she could have done so. After all, Cersei had already stunned a drunken King Stags at Estermont after their first year of marriage.

"All that neighing and the halting of the procession a few hours ago, what was that due to?" Cersei asked, changing the subject.

"Ser Gregor Clagane, Ser Armory Lorch and another fifty or so escort armigers sent by our father have joined the retinue. They will travel with us all the way."

"Ser Gregor has been invited to the tournament?" a spark of astonishment and opportunity shimmered between Cersei's pupils.

"Half of Westeros has been invited. The prizes up for grabs are higher than the Harrenhall Tournament. Even Ser Barristan seems to be intent on joining the joust." Jaime explained in an excited tone full of high expectations.

"Will the little monster also attend the tournament?" Cersei asked, trying to confuse Jaime's dull-witted thoughts. The valiant Kingsguard thought of nothing but swords and spears. Even throughout the journey, Jaime never neglected his training routine.

"Tyrion? Of course, he will come. In a few days, he will sail with our father to Waterdeep. But, at this rate, they will arrive before us. And quite certain that Uncle Gerion has pushed for him and the heir of House Tallhart to form a good relationship." Jaime affirmed.

"Hmm... I see... And do you think our celebrated Bloody Snow will also participate in the tournament?" Cersei asked lightheartedly.

"I don't think so; I know so. That boy can't wait to prove himself." Jaime replied, communicating identical perspectives with his expression.

'An opportunity!" thought Cersei as she passed little Myrcella for the first time into the arms of her real father.

"Where are you going?" Jaime asked after carefully grasping the infant.

"I've been cooped up inside this box for days. I need some fresh air." Cersei approached the cabin, giving orders to the Kingsguard to take care of the princes for as long as necessary.

"But we are crossing-" Cersei anticipated him " I'm sure your valiant brethren, Ser Boros Blunt and Ser Meryn Trant, will be more than enough of an escort to guard their Queen."

End POV.

-------------------------

POV: The Dwarf of Casterly Rock

Lord's Solarium, Casterly Rock.

Year 289 A.C. The twelfth day of the tenth moon.

About a month and a half before a queen devised a plan...

The vacation would end the exact moment Tyrion crossed that threshold.

Lord Tywin Lannister's rightful son had been urgently summoned by the first as soon as the ship's gangplank touched the dock at Lannisport Pier.

The creature, considered unclean and cursed in the eyes of the Seven, hoped to be able to solace himself another couple of days in the brothels of the city before returning to the lair of the Lion of the Mount.

Tyrion inhaled a good breath of air and walked through the doors.

"My Lord Beloved Father, your son has answered the call to arms as soon as possible!" Tywin Lannister did not react to the taunt. Instead, he waited patiently for Tyrion to raise his head again from the ridiculous guiser's bow before ordering:

"Sit down, Tyrion. I have no time to waste." The tone of voice was his usual one, cold and filled with contempt, but Tyrion could do nothing but promptly obey the order for some reason unknown to him. The dwarf had suddenly lost his rebellious streak...

"You are in late." Tywin pushed the wine jug away from the drunken dwarf's hands and approached the water jug, filling it.

"Forgive me, father. A minor 'unfortunate' mishap in Lys required my most total attention. Moreover, our worthy Captain Willem has wisely decided to circumvent florid storms in the Redwine Strait.

I inform you, with joy, that my assignment has been successfully fulfilled. Volantis has received every ounce of promised goods in time and intact, and our holds are laden with silks and spices." Tyrion.

"Thirst, spices and 'wine'... Your little stop in Lord Paxter's cellars lasted even too long." Tywin.

"Lord Paxter graciously offered me his hospitality. It would have been rather rude of me to refuse such courtesy. The Lord of the Arbor wanted my personal opinion on the last harvest of the season. What was I to do? Tarnish the honour of my noble House, perhaps?" He justified himself boldly.

"And how many undamaged barrels did you manage to save in the last four days of the trade?" asked Tywin with a semblance of irony.

"It was not easy to wrest those treasures from Arbor, but the tongue and mind of your exalted dwarf champion of Cyvasse were able to wrest from Lord Paxter's clutches twenty casks of fantastic Golden Nectar, twelve of Sweet Honey Red, and five of very rare Blackberry Wine, the best of the three in my humble opinion." But, unfortunately, almost House Redwine did not banish Tyrion from his lands. The defeats suffered by Cyvasse's supposed expert, Ser Desmond Redwine, seemed as serious as a raid of the entire island by ironborn fleets...

"Good. Those barrels will depart again tomorrow at dawn," promulgated the Lord, stabbing the poor barrel-draining connoisseur in the belly.

"What? Why? I was hoping to cheer my uncle's enforced stay with a small gift," retorted Tyrion.

"Gerion is leading an urgent trading expedition to the Narrow Sea. He will not return before the new moon. Barrowton is raiding everywhere for wine, seasonal delicacies, spices and every other expensive necessity that the promised extravaganzas for the celebrations will need. Casterly Rock will make a good profit from House Redwine." At least his father dignified him with a deserving reply, even if it was still ill-received by the poor thirsty dwarf.

"I thought Uncle Gerion was to remain segregated-"

"Gerion will go where I command for as long as I deem necessary, and you too will do as you are commanded. You need only know this, Tyrion," the Old Lion anticipated, tearing a scornful frown from his son.

"I have a task for you... But first, I want you to analyze these documents. Then, you may drink only after I have heard your honest opinion on the matter." Tywin pointed to a dozen rolls neatly sealed and stacked neatly at the corner of the desk.

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****

About an hour later...

"These...I will need more time to study all the details, but...do you really want to implement these changes in such a tight time frame? It will take thousands of arms, capable minds and mountains of gold to implement them..." asked Tyrion with shock.

He knew his father was no short sleeve. The Old Lion did not waste a single opportunity to display the lustre of his Household in the eyes of Westeros, but this? It was far too much even for him.

Although many plans were worthwhile, it would require a gargantuan amount of work. Moreover, it seemed more like a competitive war against the North rather than a smooth development growth for the West.

"I don't want to waste a peaceful day of the spring that remains or the summer to come.

The city guard, building engineers, architects, sculptors, customs officers, street-jesters, cooks, bards, harlots, and all the other reasonable minds and forces needed to achieve those goals, I need someone who can choose capable elements and exploit them to their full potential by rewarding them for their just value. And all this will have to be done before the New Year.

So? Will you be able to shoulder those burdens?" Then came the second unexpected hammering that disrupted the dwarf's thoughts.

"Me? You want to put me in charge of everything? Of course, but you should-" Tyrion did not know whether to hazard that guess.

"You would have the Lannisport's keys... You would rule the city. And if you can prove yourself worthy of the task in these three years, we will discuss other possible prospects for your future." Spat Tywin Lannister reluctantly.

"Why me... ? Why not Uncle Kevan or Gerion?" he asked with fervent desire to know. It was an assignment filled with responsibility and expectation. Tywin might as well have ordered him to go to King's Landing and yank the chain from Hand of The King to Jon Arryn from his chest for all he was worth.

His father was investing him with unquestionable authority over the city and much of the resources of Casterly Rock!

How much gold and power would he have on his hands? Three, maybe even Four Million Dragoons? He would even have stripped away the privileges granted to the Lannisters of Lannisport.

"Gerion will be busy with the fleet, Kevan with the army, and it will be up to me to hold the reins of all changes and developments with the West.

Soon the mines of Casterly Rock will be exhausted. Six kingdoms are waiting patiently for our strength to falter; I will not allow it. Lannisport will have to be our new prosperous and inexhaustible mine.

Oldtown, Lordsport, Barrowton, Waterdeep, Gulltown, King's Landing and Sunspear will have to dim in the shadow of the splendour of the Golden City of the West.

So? Will you be able to seize the opportunity I am giving you, or not?" The Lord Warden of the West asked expectantly.

"Not that I despise such trust in me, Father, but you have not yet answered my question.

Why me?

You might as well delegate the task to Stefford, Damond, Damion, or any other Lannister with some salt in his noggin and experience behind him.

You have always despised me by entrusting me with minor and repugnant assignments--from the sewers of Casterly Rock to the throne of Lannisport?

Why choose the 16-year-old Imp, Abject, Drunkard and Whoremonger with whom the gods have punished you?" Roared Little Lion.

'If this is another attempt at taunting the old bastard, I swear-'

"Because you are a Lannister. And my son."

*****

That same evening...

Tyrion worked late into the night to make sure to present a draft plan by tomorrow to his father.

He left the library reading room after his eyes began to burn from exhaustion and the now hallucinogenic fumes from the candles.

He was proud of his work and impressed by the notes and plans his father had left for him.

Lannisport could have risen again to the heights of tourism and commerce.

The design of the largest auction centre on the continent, the hall--no, the building set up for gambling called the 'Casino,' the catering, but most of all 'the Courtesans,' those were the elements that would attract all the great merchants, wealthy pirates, and nobles from everywhere to the future Lannisport and plump up the town's coffers with tax and good coins.

The last of the three would be the most promising. After all, the Braavos Courtesans were figures coveted by many wealthy patrons seeking the charm, sophistication and sexuality of revered creatures that could not be bought with standard gold.

They were lovers of high rank. Queens among Whores, if one could call them that...

Tyrion was the right man for the task. He knew where to find and how to instruct such female deities.

Even the Courtesans of Lannisport would have reached those levels. They would have been more coveted women than the virgin ladies of Westeros, and they would have driven men mad. And the Lord of Lannisport already had an idea about the price to be paid to gain their favour:

-The winners of the auctions would get the most delicate jewels and treasures...

-The bravest men who had proved their temerity in the Casino...

-The most valiant knights and warriors who had captured or killed the most wanted criminals in the West or gloried in heroic deeds in war...

-But above all, those who possessed secrets and information of proven value...

'I wonder what price men would be willing to pay if one day I spread the rumour that a Queen among them was none other than Lord Tywin Lannister's mistress. Ehehe! And who knows how my father would react!' Tyrion laughed to himself as he closed the door to his personal chambers.

The future Lord of Lannisport noticed that a gift had been left above the bed, bearing the seal of House Tallhart.

Tyrion opened the case and pulled out a leather-bound book written on paper.

"The Most Beloved Unlucky Dwarf. A fictional tale written and edited by the playwright Joblin Fairytales." He read the title aloud.

He was familiar with Joblin Fairytales, the celebrated author of "The Shield Maiden" a fairy tale sponsored by House Glover-Tallhart.

'Could this be another 'vindictive hit' by Leobald Tallhart?" The dwarf unfurled an introductory note, reading it.

"Ah! What an honour... The first copy released outside Tallhart's borders." Tyrion's curiosity got the better of him, and he began to read the fairy tale's introduction.

He at least wanted to understand if it was a 'poisoned gift' to mock him or if the authors were really interested in making the story a second success on par with the "Shield Maiden."

The first five pages soon became ten... and then twenty, until the last candle was consumed and the room was lit by the glow of dawn...

The wine jug was empty, but Tyrion did not care. The story was rather mundane, the plot entirely predictable from the title, yet he could not stop reading.

The exhausted 16-year-old did not even know how he had reached the last among the four hundred pages.

He decided that that last skimpy page of a few lines was worthy of being read aloud.

{The old hunchback approached it a little taller than the crying boy.

No one in the town knew the beggar, much less what his name was.

No one knew where he came from, much less his past.

Some witnesses to his passing while still alive, on a distant continent hundreds of leagues from the world-forsaken island, would describe him as the unluckiest person in the World, others the most beloved, but the old beggar, once nicknamed simply as 'The Dwarf,' would deny both rumours about him.

He believed that he had been blessed with a life worth living, for better or worse.

But now ... the time had come to repay the debt to those who in the past most helped make his darkest moments bright.

"Hey, kid. Do this poor old man with the not-so-good eye a favour?

Could you look over there for me? Yes, right there -- what do you see under the feet of those haughty bullying fools?" The boy first mentioned dirty straws, puddles of beer, crushed cups, and butts of bread and finally came to the answer the old man was looking for.

"The shadow?" asked the orphaned child of the frail constitution still perched with folded arms at the wall of the common room.

"That's right... the shadow. And what does it look like to you? Could you describe it to me, please?" asked the old man with interest.

"Shaky, faint, and small," replied the child. It was then that the old dwarf pointed to the wall of the wall that reflected his own shadow, arousing slight astonishment in the last descendant of an ancient dynasty.

The high stone wall was speckled with an Insurmountable Black Giant that belittled the mightiest and most feared warrior in the lord's hall.

The old wanderer, with a wealth of knowledge and lived experience more frightening and overpowering than that shadow itself, bestowed the first of countless life lessons waiting to be learned from the grandson of his dearest friend.

"You know... It is said that once, on another continent, there existed a young man no taller than you who could generate a shadow even greater than this one... Many valiant high enemies perished in the grip of that shadow, and many courses of history were changed. Empires toppled, forgotten dynasties risen from the ashes... there were many adventures of that famous 'Dwarf'.

But... Alas, I no longer remember his name. Ahah!"

"Really, old man? Did such a man really exist?" Asked the child with sceptical astonishment.

"Always remember, little boy...

Even the smallest, frailest, and most denigrated person in this World can change the course of the future."}

******

End Chapter.

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