Tyrion rode on horseback with only a few men following behind—a modest five hundred in all. Of course, "modest" referred only to their number, not their arms. These five hundred Lannister infantry were well-equipped and disciplined.
Daven had already departed for Castamere. Clearing the flooded mine shafts there was an exhausting task; otherwise, that gold would have easily bought a wealth of soldiers, weapons, and grain.
Bronn had gone to Stokeworth for his wedding. Across the Seven Kingdoms, plenty of noble houses had unmarried daughters, yet even the oldest, ugliest, and poorest among them would not stoop to marry a lowborn sellsword like Bronn. A woman like Lollys—fat, foolish, violated dozens of times by mobs, and now carrying a bastard child—was an exception among exceptions. Still, Bronn was content. Stokeworth was rich enough to please him.
Neither man had returned. Beside Tyrion rode only a single carriage, inside of which sat Sansa and Arya, while Greatjon and Brienne followed on horseback. Podrick rode a small pony, carrying the greatsword Ice wrapped in red cloth.
The Lord of the Last Hearth kept glancing at him with ill intent, making Tyrion wonder if the man might push him off his horse.
Above his head, the golden lion on crimson flapped and snapped in the wind. No one had come to see him off? His father and elder sister's absence was no surprise, but why hadn't his brother appeared? Where were the usual flatterers and nobles? The once-prestigious title of Warden of the Riverlands had, in the eyes of the court, become a hollow promotion—a veiled demotion. No doubt they all feared being seen too close to him and angering the Queen.
Qyburn hadn't come either. He'd politely expressed a wish to remain in the dungeons of King's Landing. Tyrion hadn't insisted—everyone had their own ambitions. Qyburn's lay in human experimentation and dark magic, not in serving a lord.
Jaqen hadn't returned either. Tyrion had told the Tower of the Hand's guards that if they saw Syrio Forel, they were to tell him Tyrion had gone to Harrenhal—the place of their first meeting.
Tyrion sighed. Then, suddenly, he noticed two horses entering through the city gates, followed by a dozen guards. The banner was green with a golden rose.
"Ser Garlan!" Tyrion called, brightening. "The rose always blooms for those who appreciate it."
"My lord Tyrion," Garlan Tyrell said with a smile, "words like that might be misunderstood. It wouldn't do for the heir of Casterly Rock to leave all alone, so we came to see you off."
"My sister holds great power in the Red Keep," Tyrion replied. "Best not to cross me. And this isn't Ser Loras, is it?"
The other rider pulled down her veil—it was Margaery Tyrell, dressed in men's clothes to conceal herself.
"I thought it was the Knight of Flowers," Tyrion chuckled, "but it seems I've found the Rose of Highgarden instead. My betrothed will be pleased to know Ser Loras is well."
He gave extra weight to the word "betrothed."
"Loras is brave and handsome—the pride of our house," Garlan said. "But you're the sort fit for a husband. You and Lady Sansa suit each other. She's far better than any Dornishwoman."
"Thank you for your blessing." Tyrion smiled. Garlan was a good man—neither as sharp-tongued as the Queen of Thorns nor as greedy and foolish as Lord Mace. Roses bloomed eternally; he trusted Willas would be a kind soul as well.
"Will you stay in King's Landing?" Tyrion asked.
"I'll leave after the wedding," Garlan replied. "I plan to retake Brightwater Keep, which is still held by the Florents. The Dornish are gathering their armies—we must be ready."
"I heard the Redwyne fleet has sailed past the Dornish coast toward King's Landing," Tyrion said. "Is Lord Redwyne preparing to become Master of Ships?"
"Indeed, we're preparing to attack Dragonstone," said Garlan. "It's a pity I must depart soon, but Loras will remain in King's Landing to keep Margaery company."
"The fortunate queen," Tyrion remarked to the Rose of Highgarden. "By the time we meet again, you'll likely be a mother."
"And you will be a father." Margaery responded with a smile. "Lord, I notice you have few men. Might you need assistance? Lord Randyll is fighting bandits near Maidenpool. Perhaps he could aid you."
"Thank you for your kindness, my lady. It is truly touching," Tyrion politely declined Queen Margaery's offer. "But at this very moment, my mind is preoccupied with a more urgent matter. I fear it will require the queen's generous support."
"What is it?" Margaery asked eagerly. "I'm willing to help."
"The situation in the Riverlands is dire," Tyrion said. "Years of war have left that once-fertile land scarred and ravaged, and the people's lives are unbearably harsh. The farmers have lost their peace and harvests; now they're starving, struggling on the edge of survival. I am deeply troubled by this and believe the urgent priority is to provide them with sufficient grain to help them through this difficult period."
"You want grain?"
"Indeed. Casterly Rock may not lack gold, but when it comes to grain, the Reach is far more abundant," Tyrion said. "At the Blackwater Rush, we distributed grain to the farmers along the riverbanks; in King's Landing, you have been aiding the poor. I doubt the Queen would stand idly by while the Riverlands suffers."
"That is no hardship," Margaery smiled. "The Reach can spare much grain for the poor. Where shall it be sent, my lord? Harrenhal?"
"Indeed, send it to Harrenhal," Tyrion bowed slightly. "My thanks, gracious Queen. May the gods keep you. The hour is late, my lords. You should return before my sister begins to worry."
"Loras will protect me. I fear them not."
The Lion and the Rose exchanged a few pleasantries before parting ways.
"Let us depart," Tyrion commanded.
"Who was that just now?" Curiosity drove Arya Stark to peek her small head out the swaying carriage window, her gray eyes sparkling. "The queen?"
"It was Queen Margaery Tyrell," Sansa Stark answered gently, though with a hint of tension, trying to pull her sister Arya back inside the carriage.
"The scheming Lust Demon always leaves his mark," Greatjon remarked.
What? Could even this seemingly coarse fool have noticed something? A flicker of surprise crossed Tyrion's mind. Had he overstepped in any way?
"I believe Lord Tyrion has always conducted himself with integrity," Brienne interjected at the perfect moment, her voice firm and resolute. "At least, in all the time I've served him, I've never seen him harbor any improper thoughts toward Lady Sansa. He is a lord worthy of trust."
Seemed like nothing more than two muscle-brained fools making wild guesses.
"Let's go!"