Tyrion moved into the Hand's bedchamber in the Tower of the Hand, the same room the Stark girl had used while he served as Hand. He lay flat on the great bed until evening, when Podrick knocked.
"My lord."
"Dinner? I've no appetite."
"No. Lady Olenna requests your presence," Podrick said. "She insists you must come."
Still unwashed and dusty, Tyrion followed Podrick to the Tyrell quarters in the Red Keep, the Maidenvault.
"Tyrion!" the Queen of Thorns rose, cheeks flushed in welcome. "Seven hells, what happened to you? You return without even taking a bath?"
She looked exactly as she always had. Seated beside her was Margaery Tyrell, and no one else. Clearly the old woman wanted a private talk.
"Your Grace, I won't kiss your hands—my lips are cracked, might irritate your skin." Tyrion sat. "Was the wedding smooth?"
"Perfectly smooth," the Queen of Thorns said. A shadow flickered across Margaery's face. "And you? Have you completed your marriage with Lady Sansa?"
"Not yet." Tyrion studied the dishes. Not a grand feast—prepared in haste, no doubt. "Lord Mace told you I'd returned, and you summoned me at once?"
"You little imp. I truly don't know why they call you a Lust Demon," the old woman said with a chuckle. "Sweetheart, fill the lord's cup."
Margaery rose quickly. She wore a long-sleeved gown. Was King's Landing really this cold?
"No need, My Queen. I can manage," Tyrion said, taking the jug himself.
"Queen is just a title. Only my foolish son craves such things," the old woman said dryly. "Honor, not titles. The words of the Queen of the Young Wolf."
"And even he couldn't resist a queen's lure," she went on. "The Young Wolf won the war on the battlefield and lost it in the bed."
"How is your father, Lord Tywin?" Queen Margaery asked.
"Very well. We've met already." Never let your enemies see weakness, Tyrion reminded himself. "Fit as ever. He even scolded me."
They were speaking in riddles. No surprise the Queen of Thorns already knew Joffrey couldn't perform his duties.
"Healthy as ever, yet nowhere to be found," the Queen of Thorns said as she ate. "Has he become like Prince Doran? Gout isn't serious. Without him, the realm is a mess."
King Joffrey could rule… Tyrion wanted to say it, but instinct stopped him. Don't touch that topic.
"I hear our king," the Queen of Thorns looked at him, "has offended you again."
Mace Tyrell must have repeated everything he'd seen. Tyrion didn't deny it. "The lamb chops are good."
"Don't you think he'll ruin the whole realm?"
"My lady, he is the king." Tyrion set down his bone. "Kings ruining kingdoms is as natural as wastrels squandering an inheritance. I'm not concerned."
"And what of the friendship between Casterly Rock and the Reach?" she asked. "Will it fade after the king's death?"
"A grim thought." Tyrion let out a thin laugh. "All I can do to maintain our friendship is look the other way. Leave me out of it. One Lannister kingslayer is enough. I don't want a matching set."
He turned to Margaery.
"You're the queen. Without a king, you lose that title."
"I've said it already—it's just a name. But you haven't wed Lady Sansa," the Queen of Thorns pressed. "Highgarden stands behind Margaery. Real armies. Real coin."
"I'm marrying no one else. A Lannister keeps his word." Tyrion shook his head. "Put that thought aside. I'm like a septon now. Other women are like R'hllor to me—I'm not interested."
"What do you think of Tommen?" the old woman asked again.
"Tommen is a good boy." Tyrion ate heartily. "Honest, sweet, gentle. I like him."
"Do you think he'd like Margaery?"
"You should ask my father or my sister. What's the point of asking me?"
"Your father refuses to receive anyone," the old woman said. "Would Cersei let Tommen marry Margaery?"
"I'd say maybe, perhaps, probably, most likely, not very likely." And I don't want Tommen dragged into this game, Tyrion thought. He's a good boy.
"Then I must speak to you." The old woman leaned forward, lowering her voice. "House Tyrell will be the Lannisters' unbreakable ally, if you help us…"
"No. Absolutely not." Tyrion's tone was flat. "I never liked Joffrey, and kingslaying doesn't trouble me much. But kinslaying? No. I won't do that. As I see it, you're just afraid of losing the queen's seat and want to drag me down with you."
"Come to think of it, Lady Margaery, why not bear little Joff a child? That way you could grasp power the way my sister did. How does that sound?"
The Queen of Thorns went quiet, staring straight into Tyrion's eyes. "You know something."
"Know what?"
"The king's condition. You know, don't you?"
"My lady, I've no idea what you're talking about." Tyrion waved a hand. "I'm useless at riddles. Better to just say it plainly."
"Joffrey cannot fulfill a husband's duties. You know this!" The Queen of Thorns' voice shook, and Margaery Tyrell trembled with her.
"Ha." Tyrion took a drink. "That's absurd. Impossible. My dear nephew lectures me constantly about bedding Sansa. Are you joking?"
"You know perfectly well I'm not joking!"
"How would I know? Am I sharing his pleasures with him?" Tyrion said. "If you ask me, maybe it's Lady Margaery who—"
"House Tyrell endure," the old woman cut in.
"Yes, endure. But have you considered that roses may bloom yet bear no fruit?"
"You…" The Queen of Thorns struggled for breath. "You… you truly know nothing of this?"
"I swear I know nothing. I've no interest at all in the royal family's ridiculous troubles." Swearing was as casual as drinking water or passing gas for Tyrion, and he showed no hint of fear.
"Tyrion Lannister!" her voice trembled. "You bastard! Say that again if you dare!"
"I swear, I know nothing."
"Fine. Fine." The Queen of Thorns pushed herself upright, and Margaery Tyrell rushed to support her.
"Lust Demon. Lust Demon. You devil. I curse you. May you and Sansa never have children," the old woman hissed. "A rose that bears no fruit? A Lannister's word as good as gold? The day your Lannister boy truly turns to gold is the day you'll have children."