When Tyrion left Maegors Holdfast, he encountered Joffrey, who had also come to visit Sansa. He was now looking forward every day to Sansa's flowering coming early so that he could marry her.
"Oh, isn't this my dear uncle?" Joffrey's shrill voice carried a hint of mockery.
Behind him followed two white-robed Kingsguard, Meryn Trant and Mandon Moore; the latter was the one who, in the original story, ambushed Tyrion during the Battle of the Blackwater.
Additionally, there was a dog from the Westerlands—The Hound, Sandor Clegane.
Because King's Landing was currently unsafe and Joffrey was a restless sort who liked to run around, Cersei had sent her own guard, The Hound, to protect him as well.
After all, in Cersei's eyes, among the current white-robed knights, only Jaime was qualified. The others, whether in terms of martial prowess or character, could not put her mind at ease at all.
"What are you doing here? You monster, surely you didn't come to see my fiancée?" Joffrey had originally only intended to mock Tyrion upon seeing him, but now he suddenly remembered this was Sansa's quarters, and his expression instantly soured.
Hearing Joffrey's question, Tyrion stopped and narrowed his eyes slightly at his nephew, thinking to himself that he really was quite like Cersei.
"Your Majesty." But he was only dazed for a moment before bowing slightly, paying no heed to the ugly expression on Joffrey's face.
He said in a flat tone, "That is correct. I have come to see Miss Stark to ensure she remains safe and sound during these turbulent times. After all, she is your future queen."
Joffrey flew into a rage upon hearing this, stepping forward to grab Tyrion by the collar and staring down at him intensely. "Whether she is safe or not is none of your concern! I think you have ulterior motives. Imp, Grandfather sent you back to King's Landing, but not to interfere in my private affairs."
"Your Majesty misunderstands," Tyrion responded neither humbly nor arrogantly. "I am merely fulfilling my duties as the hand of the king. Now that the Targaryens are approaching King's Landing, Miss Stark's safety is also tied to the stability of the realm. You must realize that besides being your fiancée, she is our only bargaining chip against the Northmen."
"Stability?" Joffrey spoke as if he had heard a joke. "With me here, the Seven Kingdoms will be stable. That Targaryen remnant will soon be crushed by my army. Once I personally cut off his head, I will hold my wedding with Sansa. Then, those traitors in the North will know the consequences of making an enemy of the iron throne."
As he spoke, a cruel smile appeared on his face, and his eyes swept toward the location of Sansa's room, filled with possessiveness. Tyrion sighed inwardly; this child had been spoiled by Cersei and had no idea of the heights of heaven or the depths of the earth.
"It is good that Your Majesty has confidence," Tyrion continued to advise Joffrey in a flat tone. "But caution is also required. Viserys Targaryen is not someone to be trifled with; he destroyed many city-states in Essos, and moreover, he has brought back dragons."
"What of dragons?" Joffrey shouted, as if his tail had been stepped on, his voice rising with the rebellion and arrogance of a youth. "We have scorpion crossbows and countless loyal soldiers. When he comes, I'll show him what I'm capable of."
Tyrion looked at his crazed appearance, knowing there was no point in continuing the conversation.
"Your Majesty is wise, Your Majesty is valiant," he began to say perfunctorily. "However, it is getting late. Your Majesty should hurry to see Miss Sansa and then return early."
Joffrey gave a cold snort, pushed Tyrion aside, straightened his somewhat disheveled clothes, and ignored him, leading his men pompously toward Sansa's room.
The guards, long accustomed to Joffrey's arrival, immediately opened the door. Joffrey strode inside, and the door closed behind them.
Tyrion stood there, his brow furrowing deeper as he heard Joffrey's arrogant voice and Sansa's faint sobbing coming from the room.
He shook his head and turned toward his own quarters. He still had to prepare the defenses of King's Landing, and so many other problems were waiting for him; he had no time to waste in leisure.
However, everything seemed to go against his wishes. On his way back to the Tower of the Hand, footsteps sounded behind him.
"Lord Tyrion, I've been looking for you for a long time." A small squire, looking no more than ten years old, ran over, saying breathlessly, "Queen Regent Cersei wants you to see her."
Hearing the familiar voice, Tyrion immediately frowned. He stopped and turned around to ask, "Podrick, didn't I tell you to find news about the wildfire?"
"My lord, I have a lead on that matter. I found a Alchemist from the Alchemists' Guild who used to be in charge of the wildfire. If you wish to know the details, I can take you to see him right now."
"Very good." A flash of excitement crossed Tyrion's eyes; this was the only piece of good news he had heard in the past two days.
"But now that Cersei has summoned me, I must go; she is a difficult person to deal with. Go to the Tower of the Hand and wait for me. Once I've seen Cersei, I will go with you to see that Alchemist immediately. Remember, this matter is of the utmost importance; not a word of it must be leaked."
"Yes, my lord." Podrick nodded vigorously, his face serious and solemn. He understood how heavy the burden on Lord Tyrion's shoulders was at this moment.
Although many things had changed because of Viserys's appearance, Podrick had still become Tyrion's squire.
Podrick's father had died in battle, and just as in the original story, he followed a Westerlands noble, Cedric Payne, but Ser Cedric had also died in the recent war in the The Riverlands.
Then Podrick was implicated by another knight's thievery and was to be hanged by Tywin. However, Kevan, because of the boy's surname and age, stepped in to save him and arranged for him to be Tyrion's squire.
Tyrion looked at Podrick's slightly youthful but exceptionally serious face, a complex emotion welling up in his heart. This child, when he first took him in from Uncle Kevan, had been very shy, only daring to shrug his shoulders and look down at his toes.
Initially, he had only treated him as an ordinary little follower, tossing him some trivial daily chores to handle. But gradually, Tyrion discovered a quality in Podrick—a nearly stubborn loyalty and a steadiness far beyond his years.
He was never slick like other squires, nor was he arrogant. He didn't speak much, but he could always accurately understand Tyrion's intentions and execute them cleanly and efficiently, never lingering or gossiping about unnecessary news.
Just like when he replied moments ago, though he appeared a bit breathless, he was articulate, and there wasn't a hint of cowardice or desire to claim credit in his eyes.
In this world filled with betrayal and lies, such purity and reliability were as rare as a virgin in a brothel.
Tyrion felt that Podrick was much more important than the so-called "high officials" and "allies" currently around him. Even relying solely on his absolute loyalty, he appeared very precious in this moment when a storm was brewing.
Tyrion even began to feel that keeping him by his side might have been one of the few good decisions in his life that wasn't tainted by political calculation.
He patted Podrick on the back and said in a gentle tone, "Go on. I'll be back soon."
Watching Podrick's retreating figure as he jogged away, the corners of Tyrion's mouth curled up unconsciously.
After all, in the treacherous whirlpool of King's Landing, this seemingly unremarkable little squire might become an unexpected help to him.
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