Chapter 109 — "Should I Still Trust You?"
"Prince Doran Martell has a son. It would seem—"
"Myrcella?!"
Before Tyrion could finish, Cersei Lannister exploded from her seat like a lioness struck with a spear.
"You vile little maggot! Myrcella is my only daughter!"
Her voice was sharp enough to flay skin. She lunged forward, grabbing Tyrion by the collar and nearly hauling him out of his chair.
Tyrion clicked his tongue in irritation, though he quickly forced a placating smile.
"My dear sister, why call it selling a sack of oats? Myrcella is a princess. In a sense, she was born for—"
Smack.
Podrick flinched.
Tyrion had once again proven he possessed the survival instincts of a drunk goat. His mouth never learned when not to run.
Cersei's hand knocked the wine cup from his grasp and left a blooming red handprint across his face. Dark wine splashed across the fine carpet like blood.
"For that sentence alone I should tear out your tongue — brother or not!"
Her voice shook with rage.
"I am Joffrey's regent. Not you!"
She looked as though someone had stabbed straight into her heart.
"I will never put Myrcella on a ship and send her off like merchandise to Dorne — not the way I was sold to Robert Baratheon!"
By now, Cersei Lannister's eyes had reddened.
Tyrion, who had earned a slap for his loose tongue, saw the moisture gathering there and forced himself to swallow his own anger.
She cursed and shoved him away. He flicked the wine from his fingers and turned his head with a sigh.
"What's so terrible about it? Dorne is safer for her than here—"
His tone had softened; he was trying to reason with her now.
Cersei's teeth were clenched white. Her eyes cut like blades.
"Are you stupid beyond hope, or simply mad? We both know the House Martell hate us!"
"Yes," Tyrion said calmly. "They hate us deeply. And even so, I still believe they'll agree."
He met her gaze directly.
"Prince Doran Martell's hatred for the House Lannister only goes back one generation. Dorne's wars with Storm's End and Highgarden go back a thousand years."
"That favors us. Renly takes Dorne's support for granted."
"Myrcella is nine. Trystane Martell is eleven. I proposed they wed when she turns fourteen."
"Until then, she lives in Sunspear as an honored guest, under Doran's protection."
"She's a hostage," Cersei hissed.
"She's a guest," Tyrion insisted.
"And frankly, the Martells are more likely to treat her kindly than Joffrey treats Sansa Stark."
"I plan to assign Arys Oakheart to her. A Kingsguard at her side. No one will dare slight her."
He had thought it through. Every angle.
Cersei didn't believe a word of it.
"If Doran decides to kill my daughter for his sister's death, what good is one white cloak?"
Tyrion touched his swollen cheek, thinking.
"Doran is an honorable man. He would never harm a child — especially one as gentle as Myrcella."
"As long as she's in his care, he must trust we'll keep our promises. And our offer is generous: her safety, the killer of his sister, a seat on the council, castles in the marches—"
"Too much!"
Cersei cut him off with a shout. She paced like a caged lioness, skirts swirling.
"You give too much. And without my consent, it means nothing."
Tyrion's patience thinned.
"We need Dorne. Offer less, and he'll spit in our faces!"
"Too much!" she repeated.
His temper snapped.
"And what would you offer? What's between your legs?"
This time he saw the slap coming — still didn't move.
Smack.
His head snapped sideways.
"My dear sister," he said coldly, "that is the last time you strike me."
She bared her teeth.
"Don't threaten me, little man. A letter from Father won't save you. Ned Stark had paper too. Look how that ended."
Tyrion's mind ran fast.
Ned Stark didn't command the City Watch. Didn't have mountain clans. Didn't have sellswords.
His gaze flicked to Podrick, who had stayed silent the entire time.
Podrick shrugged, gave Tyrion a small, secret thumbs-up.
Tyrion sighed and softened.
"Think. If King's Landing falls, do you truly believe Myrcella is safe here?"
"Renly or Stannis Baratheon will hang her head beside yours."
---
The meeting ended in tears, reluctant compromise, and Tyrion's solemn vows.
Cersei left to spend what time she could with her daughter.
Tyrion and Podrick walked the Red Keep walls together.
Podrick spoke first, eyes on the city.
"You're cruel, my lord. No one can guarantee the princess's safety. Your sister's tears weren't wrong. Trusting your life to others is foolish."
Tyrion stopped walking and looked at the boy.
"Does that include you, Pod?"
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