"Bronn." Tyrion wobbled in the saddle, his legs aching. "How did things go at Stokeworth?"
"Perfectly," Bronn said. "The fool actually challenged me to a one-on-one duel."
"A one-on-one duel? What was he thinking?"
"Who knows? Maybe he thought he was Jaime Lannister." Bronn laughed. "He said the Longspear was a knight's weapon and I wasn't a true knight."
"Fair enough. I can't joust either. Seems my station is beneath his." Tyrion said. "And then?"
"I drove my spear through his poor horse. Fine animal—so fine it snapped his leg the moment it fell on him," Boron said. "He screamed for mercy, so I gave it to him. Quick."
"Clean work. And Lady Falyse?"
"My men tossed her in the dungeon. I've no idea how things stand for you in King's Landing. If you still run the place, I can send her anywhere you want."
"Keep her locked up," Tyrion said. "And Lollys? How's your lady?"
"She's a fool, but she's mad for me," Bronn said. "A few sweet words and she does whatever I ask. Who could resist a man willing to father her bastard?"
Some people race to find a father for their child; others race to find a child for their father.
"So how do you know she actually likes you?" Tyrion perked up. "Much as I hate to admit it, you're better at judging these things than I am."
Bronn grinned, showing his black teeth. "Easy. Every woman who beds you swears she loves you till the end of days."
Tyrion clicked his tongue, thinking. "Seems that way, doesn't it? They all love me?"
"No. That trick only tells you when a woman doesn't love you," Bronn said. "If you try to kiss her and she turns away, she's not interested. But kissing you like a madwoman doesn't prove love either."
"Gods, love-master, you're losing me."
"When you've got something they want, they'll put on a show," Bronn said. "Those whores pretend they'd leave the trade for you if it'll get them coin."
Tyrion drifted into thought. "So they only want something from me."
"Why are you asking all this now?" Bronn asked.
"Nothing," Tyrion lied. "Maybe I've just got doubts."
"Sansa? She doesn't seem that cold," Bronn said. "When you're not looking, she's always watching you."
When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back.
"What about Rosby? I heard the poor lord finally died." Tyrion changed the subject. During the War of the Five Kings, half of King's Landing's grain had come from Rosby and Stokeworth. If war broke out again, both places would be vital.
"Gyles Rosby. The old man who coughed day and night," Bronn said. "If Stokeworth is fertile, Rosby is rich. Gyles' horses dress better than most knights."
"Who inherits?"
"His bastard son? I get along with the boy—drinking, whores, the usual," Bronn said. "But he says plenty of people are eyeing that castle."
"Pycelle never mentioned it. I suppose the Small Council doesn't bother with trifles."
"Forget Rosby. Worry about yourself," Bronn said. "I've heard whispers about your father, Tywin…"
"Rumors."
"True or false, it helps you," Bronn said. "Haven't you noticed how friendly everyone's become?"
"No. My sister rules King's Landing now," Tyrion said. "And I'd wager there are far more people waiting to carve up Casterly Rock than trying to curry favor with me."
"The farther they are from Casterly Rock, the more they'll flatter you. The closer they are, the more they want to eat you alive," Bronn said.
"Befriend the distant, strike the near," Tyrion agreed. "A master of love and a strategist. Once we get back to Tywin's stronghold, we have to divide our forces."
"Divide our forces? With how many men?"
"Do you think the Twins are easy to take?"
"The Twins? That's two castles," Bronn said after a moment. "Two castles are always harder than one."
Indeed, the Twins were two castles standing on either side of the Green Fork, linked by a stone arch bridge wide enough for two four-wheeled wagons to pass side by side. In its center stood the Guard Tower, keeping watch over all who crossed.
"It took the Freys three generations to build this stronghold," Tyrion said. "It's not as solid as Riverrun, but the real problem is that if you want to besiege it, you need two armies to block the castles on both sides of the river."
From the North to the Riverlands, this was the only crossing for hundreds of leagues along the Green Fork, sitting squarely on the road from Winterfell to Riverrun.
"Right. And those two armies can't support each other," Bronn said. "You really want to tempt that fate?"
"Why not?" Tyrion said. "The Freys have over a thousand men at Riverrun and five hundred at Seagard, mostly their main cavalry. Who knows how many they'll send north? Either way, they won't leave many behind."
"You've got a bigger appetite than I thought," Bronn said. "What do you need from me?"
"Take the mountain clansmen and the beggar army. March north from Darry along the Kingsroad to the north side of The Twins."
"Guerrilla work?" Bronn said. "Perfect for a Sellsword, a beggar army, and savages. But we've got fewer than four hundred between us."
"Find Timett," Tyrion said. "You remember him—the red-handed man from the Burned Men in the Mountains of the Moon. I think he worked well with us last time. Track him down. He'll be willing."
"I remember. The madman who burned out one of his own eyes, and the other's blue," Bronn said with a nod. "The spoils go to them. You know their rules."
"Fine," Tyrion said. "What would I do with spoils anyway? Any convoy, supplies, or grain traveling from The Twins north to the Bay of Moat Cailin—handle it. Eat it, take it, burn it. Not a single grain crosses the Bay of Moat Cailin."
"And you?" Bronn asked.
"I take whoever's left and destroy the Freys."
"Good. If you die, I'm going back to Stokeworth. I'll name Lollys's first bastard Tyrion, to honor your brave idiocy."
"Thanks a fucking lot."
...
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