The acting Hand of the King sat in his room, his desk littered with complaints, favors, and other stupid reports that fell to him because his nephew refused to do any actual work in ruling his kingdom. Or what was left of it. There were reports from castles in the southern Westerlands that small armies of northerners had once again re-entered the region and were heading right for them.
It seems the Blackfish was intent on claiming the rest of the west while his great-nephew secured the aid of the Reach and went after the brother-killer Stannis Baratheon. Soon, all that would be left in the west would be the crown jewels: Casterly Rock and Lannisport.
Tyrion was looking over an interesting dispute between two knights in the Crownlands when Pod, his squire, entered the room, a scroll in his hand.
He bowed to Tyrion. "My lord, Lord Varys asked me to give this to you."
Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And where is the Spider? Why is he not here to give me this information?" He asked, joking with the boy. Unfortunately, Pod didn't take it that way.
"I'm afraid Lord Varys is currently occupied. He said he was meeting with one of his….little birds when he gave me the scroll." Pod explained awkwardly, afraid that Tyrion was displeased with him.
Tyrion shrugged. "Fair enough." he sighed and held out his hand, knowing that the sarcasm had gone over the boy's head. Pod quickly handed over the scroll before resuming his awkward stance in front of Tyrion. The Imp glanced at him.
Podrick Payne, or Pod as Tyrion called him, had come into Tyrion's service when he had met with his father in the Riverlands towards the beginning of the war. The boy's last master had stolen a ham from Tyrion's father and was hanged for it, while Pod was let off with a warning because of who his family was.
He was a skinny, shy boy who seemed to be scared of his own shadow. He was naive, almost pitifully so, but Tyrion had grown to care for the lad. He worked hard to do his best, and as someone who's worked hard to be acknowledged for his achievements, Tyrion could relate to the boy.
Tyrion gestured towards the balcony, where Bronn was relaxing and drinking wine. "Why don't you have some wine." he offered. "Have you been busy much?"
Pod shook his head. "No, my lord. I took care of Bronn's horse and sharpened his sword, but that was all."
Tyrion looked at the sellsword, who was casually popping grapes into his mouth. "You know I can get you a squire, right?"
It wouldn't be hard for Tyrion to find a boy who could serve the dark-humored sellsword. It would be rather odd because Bronn isn't an actual knight, but there was no shortage of noble families who would be willing to hand over their second or third son to the personal guard of the acting-Hand.
People were truly desperate to get power any way they could.
Bronn shrugged. "Why? You hardly use yours." He pointed out, throwing the empty grapevine out over the balcony. "I was just putting the boy to use other than running messages."
Tyrion shook his head, looking back at Pod. "Nevertheless, you've earned a rest. Have some fruit and wine."
Pod bowed and made his way over to Bronn, taking a seat right across from him. The sellsword poured the boy some wine while Tyrion went back to his reports.
The Imp unrolled the scroll, briefly looking over the contents. The first few words caught his attention, forcing him to read the entire message through. When he finished reading, he laid down the message, tapping his desk thoughtfully.
"Fuck me," he muttered.
"Is everything alright my lord?" Pod asked worriedly.
"It seems our enemies are making friends with one another," Tyrion replied tiredly. "Stannis Baratheon was found dead in his war camp, and the Stormlord's have decided to return to their good friends in the Reach, who are currently sworn to Robb Stark."
"What's that? Four kingdoms currently set against us?" Bronn asked, using his knife to carve apple slices.
Tyrion gave the sellsword a dirty look, who just looked unimpressed. "It seems your arithmetic is nearly as good as your knifework, my friend," Tyrion said. "There are five kingdoms set against us."
Bronn stopped cutting into the apple to make a vague gesture with his knife. "Right, those iron cunts have a king also, don't they." He shook his head. "They never learn."
Pod nodded. "Balon Greyjoy," he added quietly. The one thing Tyrion did appreciate about the boy was that he did seem to know his history, or at least names of the noble houses.
"Well, this all sounds….horrible," Bronn said casually before going back to eating his apple. "So what do you plan to do about it?" he asked, munching on the fruit.
Tyrion rolled his eyes at the sellsword's casualness. Tyrion knew that he had Bronn's allegiance for as long as it was beneficial to the sellsword. After all, they can't get paid by the dead.
"We need allies, but my nephew has made that rather hard," he grumbled. Joffrey acted like a spoiled prat at the best of times. At the worst, well, he resembled the characteristics of the Mad King more than Tyrion wanted to admit. After beheading Ned Stark on the steps of the Sept of Baelor and the rumor of the boy's parentage, there weren't many who were willing to tie their wagon to the Lannisters, which seemed a lost cause at this point.
"What about the Lords of the Blackwater?" Pod suggested shyly. "Lord Varys never mentioned that they went to Robb Stark."
Tyrion stared at his squire before glancing back at the letter, re-reading it once more just to make sure. He slammed his hand on the desk. "Pod your fucking brilliant," he said, looking at the boy, who had gone red with embarrassment.
Bronn raised an eyebrow. "I'm not questioning the lad's brains, but why?"
"The lords of the Blackwater were the first lords to declare for Stannis Baratheon, but since he's dead, we can bring them to our side," Tyrion explained. "I almost overlooked the fact that Varys said 'Stormlord's', and not Stannis's entire fucking army."
Tyrion stacked the other reports to the side of his desk, placing a blank piece of parchment right in front of him. He quickly wrote out a message that he knew would translate well to a raven message. When he was done, he left it to dry, sprinkling sand on the blotches. When the message was ready, he rolled it up and got out of his seat, handing it to Pod.
"Take this to the Grand Maester," he ordered. "Tell him to send this to all lords of the Blackwater."
Pod set down his cup and took the scroll, quickly leaving. Before he got to the door, he stumbled a bit but managed to regain his balance and composure by the time he was out the door.
Tyrion chuckled as he watched Pod leave, taking his leftover wine and draining the rest of it himself. It was good, a dornish vintage if he was any judge. He had finally figured out where his sister got her wine and had Bronn make sure that wine was brought to his room as well.
Apparently, the man had refused Tyrion's offer at first, not wanting to upset the queen. Thankfully, Bronn had fixed the man's attitude with a knife and some careful words. Now, Tyrion received great wine every other day.
"How many men do you think you'll get out of this?" Bronn asked curiously.
Tyrion shrugged, turning to look at the sellsword. "A few thousand, I would hope. As well as a strong navy."
"What's the point of a navy if all the actual navies are on the other side of the bloody continent?" Bronn scoffed, throwing his apple core over the balcony. A few seconds later came the surprised shout of the person who was hit by the core.
Tyrion wagged his finger. "For now, they are on the other side. But when the Stark boy comes, he'll have the Redwyne fleet at his back. We'll need every damn ship we can get."
Bronn grunted. "So you get what? A few thousand men and some ships. The northern boy just got the Reach. Where are our hundred thousand men?"
Tyrion frowned. "I am well aware of the predicament," he grumbled. "What else do you want me to do? Magically produce whole armies out of my ass!"
Bronn shrugged. "Only if you want."
Tyrion glared at the sellsword.
Bron held up a hand. "What about hiring a company of sellswords?" He offered. "The Golden Company damn good at what they do."
"I had Varys look into that already. They're on contract somewhere in the Free Cities." Tyrion said. "As are most of the other companies."
That's why Pod's comment had been so brilliant. Tyrion had been looking for allies everywhere but to no avail. Now, he would have a few thousand more men and some ships. It wasn't battle-hardened sellswords, but it was men who knew how to swing swords and shove spears into other men.
Also, they wouldn't be as expensive.
"What about the Company of the Rose?" Bronn suggested.
"Ha!" Tyrion laughed mockingly. "You want me to fight northerners with ex-northerners?"
Bronn frowned. "The Company of the Rose is the second biggest mercenary company in all of Essos. They get the job done and they're probably cheaper than the Golden Company."
Tyrion glanced at his paid protection. The Company of the Rose hadn't been on the list of companies currently under contract in Essos. If he could hire them, then it might be the boost needed to shift the tides of war.
"I'll ask Varys to look into it," he said, waddling back towards his desk. "Speaking of which, I have a job for you."
Bronn raised an eyebrow. "What is it now?"
"The boy, Pod. I want you to train him." Tyrion said, hopping back up onto his seat. "The blood master-at-arms died in the riots and my sister hasn't gotten around to getting a new one."
"Why don't you get some knight to train him? One of the fancy kingsguard." Bronn said, crossing his arms. "I'm paid to make sure no one stabs you, not to train a boy too scared of his own fucking shadow."
Tyrion looked at him. "I pay you, remember," he said. "Besides, my lovely sister won't let me borrow any of the kingsguard. Anyways, I highly doubt any of them have any real skill."
Bronn frowned. "The Kingsguard answer to the king?"
Tyrion chuckled, shaking his head. "They are sworn to the king," he explained, "but they answer to his mother."
Tyrion wasn't stupid. He had found out rather quickly where allegiances were in the court. Cersei controlled most of the Kingsguard, along with several courtiers and nobles who would do anything to gain her favor. Littlefinger had multiple merchants and business owners in his pockets, as well as numerous gold cloaks, although Jacelyn Bywater was slowly working on weeding them out. The only person Tyrion couldn't get a read on was Varys and his 'little birds'.
Oh, and Pycelle would wipe Tyrion's father's ass if asked. That's how loyal the old man was to the Great Tywin Lannister.
Bronn sighed. "Fine, I'll fucking train the boy."
Tyrion nodded. "Good. you'll start tomorrow," he said. "Besides, he'll need to know how to fight when the might of four kingdoms come crashing down on us," he muttered quietly so that Bronn didn't hear him.
Line Break
Bronn
Clatter
"Come on," Bronn said, pacing in front of the boy, a blunted steel sword held loosely in his hand. The two had been sparring for over an hour and the sellsword had beaten the squire so many times that he had lost count.
Pod bent down to grab the sword, keeping his eyes on Bronn has his hand scrambled to find the sword. Finally, he got the sword and was forced to immediately bring it up in defense as Bronn attacked. The sellsword continued forward, putting the boy on the backfoot till Pod was able to parry and slip out of the corner he had nearly been put in.
"You're learning," Bronn said.
Both fighters were breathing heavily. Bronn was dressed in dark leathers while Pod wore his usually studded jerkin. Pod was red-faced and his eyes were wide open as he fought, while Bronn paced almost casually, the only sign that he was taking the fight seriously was his eyes, which were narrowed and focused.
"React." Bronn barked, striking at the squire, who quickly parried and attacked himself. Bronn blocked the boy's blade as he grabbed Pod by the collar of her jerkin and threw him to the ground.
"In war, no one fights fair. Get that in your head now."
While they fought, Bronn continued to call out what he called 'helpful advice'.
"I've eaten squirrels with more fight than you!"
"I say you last a minute, maybe two against an angry rabbit."
"If I put down my sword, will you pick yours up?"
Finally, after another half hour of Bronn beating the boy back and forth across the sparring yard, the sellsword gave the squire a reprieve. Pod sunk gratefully into a bench that sat in the shadow of the armory, his chest heaving with his head between his legs.
Bronn tossed his sword back into the barrel of practice weapons before he poured two glasses of water. He flicked the squire in the head, pulling his head from his legs.
"Drink." He ordered, shoving one of the cups of water into Pod's hands.
The boy nodded and took the glass, draining the water in a single gulp.
"You're bad at fighting." Bronn grunted, pouring the boy more water. "Haven't your other master's taught you how to fight?"
Pod shook his head. "Not really." The boy answered. "The first knight I squired for treated me like a servant. The second was hung for stealing. I never learned to fight."
Bronn nodded. "That's real sad." he drawled, not sounding all that sad. "I'll give you this; stop being so damn timid."
Pod stammered, about to defend himself before Bronn held up a hand.
"Don't speak lad, not till your face is a normal color." The sellsword ordered. "Listen, I told Lord Tyrion that I would teach ya, but I can't do that if you keep dropping your sword whenever I look at you."
"I'm sorry." Pod apologized quietly.
Bronn shook his head, looking up at the sky in annoyance. He was going to make the Imp pay him a lot more money than he was getting now. He was being paid to kill the cunts who wanted the blonde smart-mouth, not train his frightened squire who would lose a fight to his own shadow.
"I'll give you five minutes before we'll go at this again." Bronn said finally. "This time don't drop your fucking sword. Trust your instincts and fight back."
"Trust my instincts?" Pod asked.
Bronn cuffed the boy. "Believe it or not, your body wants to stay alive. Just let it do its job and kill the other fucker before he kills you."