I found them on an airy terrace squeezed between the godswood and one of the smaller inner gardens of the Red Keep. The sun had remained hidden behind a slow-moving wave of clouds all morning, but now it blazed high up in the open blue sky like a beacon. The giant elms and alders of the godswood sheltered the terrace from the heat like silent guardians.

I was down to a simple shirt and a light golden coat that seemed to shimmer under the sunlight, but I was glad to enter the shade of the terrace. “Uncle, Bronn,” I greeted them with a beaming smile. “Just who I wanted to see. Who would’ve thought I’d find you tucked away here like two forbidden lovers?”

“Ah.” Tyrion sighed. “My dear nephew.” He dropped the feathered quill he’d been holding and rubbed his eyes. He looked as sleep deprived as he was during his captivity, sitting slumped over a small desk littered with papers and notes and scrolls. “What brings you here? Have you come with another grand idea you intend to throw down my lap and expect me to fix it as if I had a magic wand?”

Bronn grumbled from where he sat in the corner, “I think we’re the only idiots in this shit of a kingdom who actually work for a living.” He was picking under his nails with a pocket knife and flicking the dirt over to the table. I think that man went to sleep with knives as if they were his lovers.

I tutted with my tongue and pretended I didn’t hear them. “You were hard men to find, I’ll say.” I walked up to Tyrion’s table and picked up the wine jug. I swore I saw him snarl when I started pouring myself a cup. “It couldn’t be you were avoiding the king, could it?”

“Depends,” Tyrion grunted, still eyeing the wine. I’d be selfish with my alcohol too if all I had to drink in that prison he’d stayed was dirty water and my own piss. He’d confessed that to me in a drunken stupor a few days after his trial, and I had yet to use it against him. “If you execute me for hiding, does it mean I don’t have to work on this tourney of yours anymore?”

“That’s something you’ll have to take to the grave, I’m afraid.” I sipped at the drink, tasting the sweetness of it. Arbor gold, old and expensive—a typical Lannister drink. “The lords of the land have been arriving in droves. Dornish, Reachmen, Westerlanders… even some from the Stormlands and the Riverlands. I’ve been in audiences and family reunions and greeting duty for the past week.”

“You mean all these powerful, important men kissing your feet and all the beautiful women fawning over you?” Tyrion asked. To the side, Bronn rolled his eyes. “Yes, how dreadful your days must have been, Your Grace.”

“Oh you have no idea,” I said, dead serious. I sank into the chair opposite him and closed my eyes. Who ever said being the centre of attention was easy has never had a whole Kingdom’s spotlight aimed right at them. Everything I did was cause for gossip and stories, be they good or bad.

The Freys had arrived yesterday—in astonishing number despite the ongoing siege the family had been holding around Riverrun, and this morning there were already rumors circulating the Keep of a supposed orgy I hosted with Gatehouse Ami and three different Waldas.

I’m half-sure they were the ones who spread it themselves, to besmirch my image or maybe even to get my attention. I thought of punishing them somehow, maybe publicly calling the truth out, but when I’d met Margaery earlier on the way here, she just laughed it off saying she’d take care of it. Now I almost felt bad for the Frey girls.

“So, is everything ready, uncle?”

“Yes, yes, you don’t have to worry,” Tyrion said. I’d yet to open my eyes back up, but I could almost see the exasperation set in on the lines of his face. “The Crown will even make some money off all this.”

I hid a smile. He was setting himself up for more work this way. “Oh, how did you manage that?”

He started picking off papers and listing, “Higher taxes in brothels and inns and blacksmiths for this next moon, vendors now have to pay a small tithe to sell their wares on the tourney grounds, and the entry fees for each competition were increased by five percent. Not a lot for participants to notice, but it’ll stack up our way.”

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

I smiled. “Congratulations, Tyrion Lannister.” Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a golden dragon and flicked it his way. “You’ve just been promoted to future Master of Coin. It will be even more of a thankless job than this, but at least you’ll have your own lackeys to do the grunt work and all that. Oh, and you can’t tell anyone about it. We don’t want the mockingbird to get spooked.”

“Oh Gods be damned.” I looked up to watch Tyrion fumble with the coin, his face ashen with the news. “I… had a different job in mind, nephew. Ended with ‘the King’ and started with ‘Hand’. I think you’re familiar with it.”

“Come, uncle.” I chuckled. “I’ve pushed Tywin Lannister far these past weeks, but he’d have me murdered in my sleep if I named you his replacement right after you had a trial for killing the past king.”

“A trial in which I was acquitted, I feel I must point out,” Tyrion said.

I raised both hands up in a pacifying gesture. “I know, I know. But we can’t go too big too quickly. The small council and the other lords of the realm do not respect you right now. Being Master of Coin will give you the chance to show your prowess. The Crown was in huge debt not two months ago, and I’ve been working to fix it ever since I sat the throne. You’ll continue that job, uncle. In time, I’ll pin you that ugly brooch and you’ll rule the Kingdoms while I enjoy the rest of my life as a king should; maybe I’ll start fishing or something.”

Tyrion breathed out a sigh. “I understand,” he said. “And who will take Lord Tywin’s place, then?”

“Your uncle Kevan will be Hand when grandfather leaves. He’s about just as competent as his older brother but not as… opinionated. I fear grandfather and I would start another Targaryen civil war on each other if we keep ruling together like we are now.”

He nodded. “He’s a humorless bore, to be sure, but you’ll be hard-pressed to find someone as capable as him. The King shits and the Hand wipes, so it is said, and Kevan Lannister has been wiping the richest arse in the Seven Kingdoms for the last thirty years.”

I laughed, and looked over at the sellsword. “And you, Bronn? Enjoying your little vacation?”

“I have a feeling I won’t be for long,” he muttered, sitting up. “How’s the old fucker, by the way?”

“Oh, the High Sparrow?” I glanced down at my hands. Some of my knuckles were still sore from the conversation I had with his high holiness. It was a good method of decompressing after a stressful day of kinging. In the end, the man hadn’t anything of much interest to say. I mostly interrogated him to make sure he had no backing from any outside party. I’d give it to him though, he kept up praising his Gods until the Stranger came for him. “He’s flown away, I’m afraid. Perhaps he’s with the Gods he loves so much, now.”

“That type of man?” Bronn snorted. “I doubt it.”

“Well, speaking of our dear departed. I assume you’ve seen his little sparrows still roaming around the capital, no? Preaching and proselytizing and scorning whores and just overall being nuisances.”

“Aye,” he said, “some of my boys told me about it. Let me guess, you want rid of the bastards?”

I grinned a foxy grin. “Not quite. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m that predictable, would I?” I put a hand into the same pocket I took Tyrion’s coin, only this time I came out with a full pouch clinking with silver. “Here.” I flipped it Bronn’s way and he caught it out of the air with deft hands. “You’ll need it, to pay the men and for the robes.”

Bronn stopped fingering the coins inside to look at me. “Robes?”

“Yes, my friend. You and your men will dress up like the Sparrows and cause some havoc in the city—beat up some whores, smash some taverns, spill some ale.” I waved a dismissive hand. “You know what I mean. Be annoying in general terms.”

“And if we run into the gold-cloaks?” he asked.

“One of Tywin’s men has taken command of the Watch,” I told him. “They don’t know why, but they’ll turn a blind eye to everything you and your men do, worry not.”

Bronn nodded. “You want us to make it seem it’s the Sparrows’ work, then?”

“Oh no, no,” I said. “The Sparrows are pests, to be sure, but that’s the extension of their power. When you go out into the city, you’ll make sure everyone knows you’re doing it in the name of the High Septon.”

“Wait.” This was Tyrion. He had a calculating look in his eyes. “You… you want to make it seem as if the Faith has been the ones sponsoring the Sparrows all along?” He tilted his head to the side. “Why? What do you get out of it?”

A lot, I wanted to say. Instead, I just shrugged. “Does it matter? The king commanded, and so it shall be done.”

Tyrion knew what I was doing, so he just sighed once again and went back to his papers. Bronn didn’t even blink an eye and nodded. What did it matter to him if I wanted this or that religious group blamed for something? To a sellsword, gold is gold.