Voices from Heaven (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thespaceopera) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2015-10-20 11:18 am
thespaceopera) wrote in driftfleet2015-10-20 11:18 am
Entry tags:
- !event,
- ahsoka tano,
- coil lenn,
- margaret "peggy" carter,
- nami,
- natasha romanoff,
- nelkeila tarid,
- nyssa al ghul,
- octavia blake,
- one,
- phèdre nó delaunay de montrève,
- r. daneel olivaw,
- rapunzel,
- remy lebeau,
- riku,
- robin redbreast,
- rogue,
- santanico pandemonium,
- shawn hunter,
- sokka,
- stefan salvatore,
- steve rogers (ou),
- steven quartz universe,
- stiles stilinski,
- syeira,
- tadashi hamada,
- tekhetsio,
- the vision,
- vash the stampede,
- vima sunrider,
- wanda maximoff,
- wrath,
- yamanaka ino
...And also these.
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A lion does not concern itself with the opinions of sheep. [Another puff of flame.] I am Arrogance. I am Confidence. I am Destiny.
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Unless you are something else you wish me to know about.
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We Lannisters do have a certain pride.
Pride? Arrogance, some might call it. Arrogance and avarice and lust for power.
My brother is undoubtedly arrogant. My father is the soul of avarice, and my sweet sister Cersei lusts for power with every waking breath. I, however, am as innocent as a little lamb. Shall I bleat for you?
[Family always had their hooks in Tyrion, whether he wanted them to or not, was the message.]
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What did your family do, little lamb?
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You are standing before a beautiful blonde woman, with cool green eyes and a long red dress. The feeling in your heart is hatred -- and disappointment. So much more could be made of your sister if she just had the patience of a gnat -- but no. All she did was want and want and want, without thinking of the consequences.
The queen looked especially lovely that night. She wore a low-cut gown of deep green velvet that brought out the color of her eyes. Her golden hair tumbled across her bare shoulders, and around her waist was a woven belt studded with emeralds. You waited until you have been seated and served a cup of wine before thrusting the letter at her. You said not a word. Cersei blinks at you innocently and takes the parchment from your hand.
"I trust you're pleased," you say as she read. "You wanted the Stark boy dead, I believe."
Cersei makes a sour face. "It was Jaime who threw him from that window, not me. For love, he said, as if that would please me. It was a stupid thing to do, and dangerous besides, but when did our sweet brother ever stop to think?"
"The boy saw you," You point out.
"He was a child. I could have frightened him into silence." She looked at the letter thoughtfully. "Why must I suffer accusations every time some Stark stubs his toe? This was Greyjoy's work, I had nothing to do with it."
"Let us hope Lady Catelyn believes that."
Her eyes widened. "She wouldn't - "
" - kill Jaime? Why not? What would you do if Joffrey and Tommen were murdered?"
"I still hold Sansa!" the queen declared.
"We still hold Sansa," you correct her, "and we had best take good care of her. Now where is this supper you've promised me, sweet sister?"
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You are fonder of your brother, are you?
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Will you tell me of your father or need I take it?
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The Lord of Casterly Rock was as lean as a man twenty years younger, even handsome in his austere way. Stiff blond whiskers covered his cheeks, framing a stern face, a bald head, a hard mouth. About his throat he wore a chain of golden hands, the fingers of each clasping the wrist of the next. "That's a handsome chain," Tyrion said. Though it looked better on me.
Lord Tywin ignored the sally. "You had best be seated. Is it wise for you to be out of your sickbed?"
"I am sick of my sickbed." Tyrion knew how much his father despised weakness. He claimed the nearest chair. "Such pleasant chambers you have. Would you believe it, while I was dying, someone moved me to a dark little cell in Maegor's?"
"The Red Keep is overcrowded with wedding guests. Once they depart, we will find you more suitable accommodations."
"I rather liked these accommodations. Have you set a date for this great wedding?"
"Joffrey and Margaery shall marry on the first day of the new year, which as it happens is also the first day of the new century. The ceremony will herald the dawn of a new era."
A new Lannister era, thought Tyrion. "Oh, bother, I fear I've made other plans for that day."
"Did you come here just to complain of your bedchamber and make your lame japes? I have important letters to finish."
"Important letters. To be sure."
"Some battles are won with swords and spears, others with quills and ravens. Spare me these coy reproaches, Tyrion. I visited your sickbed as often as Maester Ballabar would allow it, when you seemed like to die." He steepled his fingers under his chin. "Why did you dismiss Ballabar?"
Tyrion shrugged. "Maester Frenken is not so determined to keep me insensate."
"Ballabar came to the city in Lord Redwyne's retinue. A gifted healer, it's said. It was kind of Cersei to ask him to look after you. She feared for your life."
Feared that I might keep it, you mean. "Doubtless that's why she's never once left my bedside."
"Don't be impertinent. Cersei has a royal wedding to plan, I am waging a war, and you have been out of danger for at least a fortnight." Lord Tywin studied his son's disfigured face, his pale green eyes unflinching. "Though the wound is ghastly enough, I'll grant you. What madness possessed you?"
"The foe was at the gates with a battering ram. If Jaime had led the sortie, you'd call it valor."
"Jaime would never be so foolish as to remove his helm in battle. I trust you killed the man who cut you?"
"Oh, the wretch is dead enough." Though it had been Podrick Payne who'd killed Ser Mandon, shoving him into the river to drown beneath the weight of his armor. "A dead enemy is a joy forever," Tyrion said blithely, though Ser Mandon was not his true enemy. The man had no reason to want him dead. He was only a catspaw, and I believe I know the cat. She told him to make certain I did not survive the battle. But without proof Lord Tywin would never listen to such a charge. "Why are you here in the city, Father?" he asked. "Shouldn't you be off fighting Lord Stannis or Robb Stark or someone?" And the sooner the better.
"Until Lord Redwyne brings his fleet up, we lack the ships to assail Dragonstone. It makes no matter. Stannis Baratheon's sun set on the Blackwater. As for Stark, the boy is still in the west, but a large force of northmen under Helman Tallhart and Robett Glover are descending toward Duskendale. I've sent Lord Tarly to meet them, while Ser Gregor drives up the kingsroad to cut off their retreat. Tallhart and Glover will be caught between them, with a third of Stark's strength."
"Duskendale?" There was nothing at Duskendale worth such a risk. Had the Young Wolf finally blundered?
"It's nothing you need trouble yourself with. Your face is pale as death, and there's blood seeping through your dressings. Say what you want and take yourself back to bed."
"What I want . . . " His throat felt raw and tight. What did he want? More than you can ever give me, Father. "Pod tells me that Littlefinger's been made Lord of Harrenhal."
"An empty title, so long as Roose Bolton holds the castle for Robb Stark, yet Lord Baelish was desirous of the honor. He did us good service in the matter of the Tyrell marriage. A Lannister pays his debts."
The Tyrell marriage had been Tyrion's notion, in point of fact, but it would seem churlish to try to claim that now. "That title may not be as empty as you think," he warned. "Littlefinger does nothing without good reason. But be that as it may. You said something about paying debts, I believe?"
"And you want your own reward, is that it? Very well. What is it you would have of me? Lands, castle, some office?"
"A little bloody gratitude would make a nice start."
Lord Tywin stared at him, unblinking. "Mummers and monkeys require applause. So did Aerys, for that matter. You did as you were commanded, and I am sure it was to the best of your ability. No one denies the part you played."
"The part I played?" What nostrils Tyrion had left must surely have flared. "I saved your bloody city, it seems to me."
"Most people seem to feel that it was my attack on Lord Stannis's flank that turned the tide of battle. Lords Tyrell, Rowan, Redwyne, and Tarly fought nobly as well, and I'm told it was your sister Cersei who set the pyromancers to making the wildfire that destroyed the Baratheon fleet."
"While all I did was get my nosehairs trimmed, is that it?" Tyrion could not keep the bitterness out of his voice.
"Your chain was a clever stroke, and crucial to our victory. Is that what you wanted to hear? I am told we have you to thank for our Dornish alliance as well. You may be pleased to learn that Myrcella has arrived safely at Sunspear. Ser Arys Oakheart writes that she has taken a great liking to Princess Arianne, and that Prince Trystane is enchanted with her. I mislike giving House Martell a hostage, but I suppose that could not be helped."
"We'll have our own hostage," Tyrion said. "A council seat was also part of the bargain. Unless Prince Doran brings an army when he comes to claim it, he'll be putting himself in our power."
"Would that a council seat were all Martell came to claim," Lord Tywin said. "You promised him vengeance as well."
"I promised him justice."
"Call it what you will. It still comes down to blood."
"Not an item in short supply, surely? I splashed through lakes of it during the battle." Tyrion saw no reason not to cut to the heart of the matter. "Or have you grown so fond of Gregor Clegane that you cannot bear to part with him?"
"Ser Gregor has his uses, as did his brother. Every lord has need of a beast from time to time . . . a lesson you seem to have learned, judging from Ser Bronn and those clansmen of yours."
Tyrion thought of Timett's burned eye, Shagga with his axe, Chella in her necklace of dried ears. And Bronn. Bronn most of all. "The woods are full of beasts," he reminded his father. "The alleyways as well."
"True. Perhaps other dogs would hunt as well. I shall think on it. If there is nothing else . . . "
"You have important letters, yes." Tyrion rose on unsteady legs, closed his eyes for an instant as a wave of dizziness washed over him, and took a shaky step toward the door. Later, he would reflect that he should have taken a second, and then a third. Instead he turned. "What do I want, you ask? I'll tell you what I want. I want what is mine by rights. I want Casterly Rock."
His father's mouth grew hard. "Your brother's birthright?"
"The knights of the Kingsguard are forbidden to marry, to father children, and to hold land, you know that as well as I. The day Jaime put on that white cloak, he gave up his claim to Casterly Rock, but never once have you acknowledged it. It's past time. I want you to stand up before the realm and proclaim that I am your son and your lawful heir."
Lord Tywin's eyes were a pale green flecked with gold, as luminous as they were merciless. "Casterly Rock," he declared in a flat cold dead tone. And then, "Never."
The word hung between them, huge, sharp, poisoned.
I knew the answer before I asked, Tyrion thought. Eighteen years since Jaime joined the Kingsguard, and I never once raised the issue. I must have known. I must always have known. "Why?" he made himself ask, though he knew he would rue the question.
"You ask that? You, who killed your mother to come into the world? You are an ill-made, devious, disobedient, spiteful little creature full of envy, lust, and low cunning. Men's laws give you the right to bear my name and display my colors, since I cannot prove that you are not mine. To teach me humility, the gods have condemned me to watch you waddle about wearing that proud lion that was my father's sigil and his father's before him. But neither gods nor men shall ever compel me to let you turn Casterly Rock into your whorehouse."
"My whorehouse?" The dawn broke; Tyrion understood all at once where this bile had come from. He ground his teeth together and said, "Cersei told you about Alayaya."
"Is that her name? I confess, I cannot remember the names of all your whores. Who was the one you married as a boy?"
"Tysha." He spat out the answer, defiant.
"And that camp follower on the Green Fork?"
"Why do you care?" he asked, unwilling even to speak Shae's name in his presence.
"I don't. No more than I care if they live or die."
"It was you who had Yaya whipped." It was not a question.
"Your sister told me of your threats against my grandsons." Lord Tywin's voice was colder than ice. "Did she lie?"
Tyrion would not deny it. "I made threats, yes. To keep Alayaya safe. So the Kettleblacks would not misuse her."
"To save a whore's virtue, you threatened your own House, your own kin? Is that the way of it?"
"You were the one who taught me that a good threat is often more telling than a blow. Not that Joffrey hasn't tempted me sore a few hundred times. If you're so anxious to whip people, start with him. But Tommen . . . why would I harm Tommen? He's a good lad, and mine own blood."
"As was your mother." Lord Tywin rose abruptly, to tower over his dwarf son. "Go back to your bed, Tyrion, and speak to me no more of your rights to Casterly Rock. You shall have your reward, but it shall be one I deem appropriate to your service and station. And make no mistake - this was the last time I will suffer you to bring shame onto House Lannister. You are done with whores. The next one I find in your bed, I'll hang."
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There's no one who can make you bleed like family, is there?
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He looks at the words in his lap, then up at her. Does she want to see?]
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He came to the third door and fumbled about for a long time before his fingers brushed a small iron hook set between two stones. When he pulled down on it, there was a soft rumble that sounded loud as an avalanche in the stillness, and a square of dull orange light opened a foot to his left.
The hearth! He almost laughed. The fireplace was full of hot ash, and a black log with a hot orange heart burning within. He edged past gingerly, taking quick steps so as not to burn his boots, the warm cinders crunching softly under his heels. When he found himself in what had once been his bedchamber, he stood a long moment, breathing the silence. Had his father heard? Would he reach for his sword, raise the hue and cry?
“M’lord?” a woman’s voice called.
That might have hurt me once, when I still felt pain. The first step was the hardest. When he reached the bed Tyrion pulled the draperies aside and there she was, turning toward him with a sleepy smile on her lips. It died when she saw him. She pulled the blankets up to her chin, as if that would protect her.
“Were you expecting someone taller, sweetling?”
Big wet tears filled her eyes. “I never meant those things I said, the queen made me. Please. Your father frightens me so.” She sat up, letting the blanket slide down to her lap. Beneath it she was naked, but for the chain about her throat. A chain of linked golden hands, each holding the next.
“My lady Shae,” Tyrion said softly. “All the time I sat in the black cell waiting to die, I kept remembering how beautiful you were. In silk or roughspun or nothing at all…”
“M’lord will be back soon. You should go, or… did you come to take me away?”
“Did you ever like it?” He cupped her cheek, remembering all the times he had done this before. All the times he’d slid his hands around her waist, squeezed her small firm breasts, stroked her short dark hair, touched her lips, her cheeks, her ears. All the times he had opened her with a finger to probe her secret sweetness and make her moan. “Did you ever like my touch?”
“More than anything,” she said, “my giant of Lannister.”
That was the worst thing you could have said, sweetling.
Tyrion slid a hand under his father’s chain, and twisted. The links tightened, digging into her neck. “For hands of gold are always cold, but a woman’s hands are warm,” he said. He gave cold hands another twist as the warm ones beat away his tears.
Afterward he found Lord Tywin’s dagger on the bedside table and shoved it through his belt. A lion-headed mace, a poleaxe, and a crossbow had been hung on the walls. The poleaxe would be clumsy to wield inside a castle, and the mace was too high to reach, but a large wood-and-iron chest had been placed against the wall directly under the crossbow. He climbed up, pulled down the bow and a leather quiver packed with quarrels, jammed a foot into the stirrup, and pushed down until the bowstring cocked. Then he slipped a bolt into the notch.
Jaime had lectured him more than once on the drawbacks of crossbows. If Lum and Lester emerged from wherever they were talking, he’d never have time to reload, but at least he’d take one down to hell with him. Lum, if he had a choice. You’ll have to clean your own mail, Lum. You lose.
Waddling to the door, he listened a moment, then eased it open slowly. A lamp burned in a stone niche, casting wan yellow light over the empty hallway. Only the flame was moving. Tyrion slid out, holding the crossbow down against his leg.
He found his father where he knew he’d find him, seated in the dimness of the privy tower, bedrobe hiked up around his hips. At the sound of steps, Lord Tywin raised his eyes.
Tyrion gave him a mocking half bow. “My lord.”
“Tyrion.” If he was afraid, Tywin Lannister gave no hint of it. “Who released you from your cell?”
“I’d love to tell you, but I swore a holy oath.”
“The eunuch,” his father decided. “I’ll have his head for this. Is that my crossbow? Put it down.”
“Will you punish me if I refuse, Father?”
“This escape is folly. You are not to be killed, if that is what you fear. It’s still my intent to send you to the Wall, but I could not do it without Lord Tyrell’s consent. Put down the crossbow and we will go back to my chambers and talk of it.”
“We can talk here just as well. Perhaps I don’t choose to go to the Wall, Father. It’s bloody cold up there, and I believe I’ve had enough coldness from you. So just tell me something, and I’ll be on my way. One simple question, you owe me that much.”
“I owe you nothing.”
“You’ve given me less than that, all my life, but you’ll give me this. What did you do with Tysha?”
“Tysha?”
He does not even remember her name. “The girl I married.”
The girl that you did not think was fit to be a Lannister, so you told my brother to lie to me, to tell me she was a whore, when all she was a sweet girl who loved me. Little, thirteen year old me, timid and scared, who only wanted to be loved.
Then you had your guards rape her, one after another, putting silver into her hands, and you made me go last, you bastard, you lying old bastard, and put a gold coin in her hand. Because a Lannister always pays gold...
“Oh, yes. Your first whore.”
Tyrion took aim at his father’s chest. “The next time you say that word, I’ll kill you.”
“You do not have the courage.”
“Shall we find out? It’s a short word, and it seems to come so easily to your lips.” Tyrion gestured impatiently with the bow. “Tysha. What did you do with her, after my little lesson?”
“I don’t recall.”
“Try harder. Did you have her killed?”
His father pursed his lips. “There was no reason for that, she’d learned her place… and had been well paid for her day’s work, I seem to recall. I suppose the steward sent her on her way. I never thought to inquire.”
“On her way where?”
“Wherever whores go.”
Tyrion’s finger clenched. The crossbow whanged just as Lord Tywin started to rise. The bolt slammed into him above the groin and he sat back down with a grunt. The quarrel had sunk deep, right to the fletching. Blood seeped out around the shaft, dripping down into his pubic hair and over his bare thighs. “You shot me,” he said incredulously, his eyes glassy with shock.
“You always were quick to grasp a situation, my lord,” Tyrion said. “That must be why you’re the Hand of the King.”
“You… you are no… no son of mine.”
“Now that’s where you’re wrong, Father. Why, I believe I’m you writ small. Do me a kindness now, and die quickly. I have a ship to catch.”
For once, his father did what Tyrion asked him. The proof was the sudden stench, as his bowels loosened in the moment of death. Well, he was in the right place for it, Tyrion thought. But the stink that filled the privy gave ample evidence that the oft-repeated jape about his father was just another lie.
Lord Tywin Lannister did not, in the end, shit gold.
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You have my sympathy. I would offer you those of my father as well, but he cares little where my sympathies lie.
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Fathers are bastards, are they not?
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You also did not know your mother.
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My birth was her death. Something my father and sister never forgave me for.
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Come, we must seek to leave this foul place. What is behind the door?
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Freedom, but I cannot go with you.
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Fare well, Tyrion Lannister.
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[He bowed, without leaving his chair.]
Fair morning to you ... Nyssa al Ghul.