Chapter 5

“How in the Seven Hells are we to get into the damned city, anyway? We must get past this rotten mess and this is the perfect moment for a sentry to catch us, you know. You two really know a passage into this miserable town?” Ser Jorah looked at Tyrion and Davos with a bit of skepticism and hesitation even now.

“Three, counting myself, Ser Jorah. Remember, with Ser Jamie’s aid, I was able to smuggle Tyrion here out of King’s Landing and on a ship to Pentos. Trust me, though. We’ll be in King’s Landing before you know it,” Lord Varys reassured Mormont as they indeed approached a point in the coast that directly led upwards into the city.

“Now, if Stannis and I had known this particular path, he’d be sitting on the Iron Throne right now. Which would have worked out wonderfully for him and me, not so well for the rest of you, I wager. The only part that I really regret about that is the way that things turned caused my son and Princess Shireen to die so horribly. She was like a daughter to me in many ways. Anyway, I see that we’re almost ashore,” Ser Davos reflected, as they finally made landfall at low tide.

“Alright, men, we’re here, so let’s split up and do what needs done. I must make my way into the Red Keep itself, ahead of everyone else. My King, perhaps you should accompany me this way. The sooner that you’re seated on the Iron Throne the better, and I’m not in any sense the soldier that you are. It will be risky and I would feel far safer with a proven warrior at my back, Imp though I am,” Tyrion urged Jon Snow, now as much his King as Daenerys was his Queen.

“As for me, it’s high time that I deal with that Qyburn fellow who has inherited my little birds. He has stepped into my shoes, Tyrion’s, and Pycelle’s as well. It will be very dangerous for me, and I do not presume that I will survive, but the Red Woman already told me that I will die in Westeros and I am resigned to it. If this is how it happens, so be it,” Varys informed the others of a little more of his plans.

“Tell me no more. The less that I know, the less that I can reveal if captured and tortured,” Jon Snow instructed the Spider, “And you, Ser Jorah?”

“Methink that the Master of Whispers needs no guard, as that would give him away, and one guard suffices for the Imp, certainly if said guard is the King himself. Ser Davos appears to have his end covered. For my part, I have a special purpose all my own. Vengeance. You’ll see soon enough. I have some old debts to repay for House Mormont, especially my sister who was slaughtered at the Red Wedding,” Ser Jorah insisted as they walked on the beach and parted company.

“Very well, then. Do not forget that we still have soldiers to let into the city. Someone will have to do that as they gather outside its gates, thankfully concealed as yet. If you’ll excuse me, my King and I have our own ... path to take,” Tyrion informed the others as he showed Jon a cavern on the beach which proved to be a tunnel that led toward the bowels of the Red Keep.

“I’d put more than even money that Ser Jorah will be the one to survive long enough to open the gates, my lord Hand,” Jon told Tyrion, who coughed as he heard that part.

“Well, Your Grace, that may very well be so. Even if we perish, though, as long as someone is able to do the job, King’s Landing and Westeros will never be the same. My sister must be spilled from the Iron Throne, her reign ended for good. I wanted to avoid such a confrontation, but now it is clear that it is inescapable for us ... for her and for me. It is now time to bring her to heel. She must kneel to you, my King, or she must die. I can only hope that she surrenders, but I fear that this is unlikely. My sister is nothing if not stubborn in her arrogance,” Tyrion concluded, even as they moved through the depths beneath the Red Keep.

“How long before you think that we’ll be stopped?” Jon asked Tyrion, who shrugged.

“Your Grace, I can’t imagine that it will be long, but I could not begin to guess. It feels as if we are in one of the Seven Hells of my Faith. Not that I’ve ever been that devout. Who knows, maybe we are in one of them? I doubt it. You’ve come back and told us all that there is nothing after death,” Tyrion mused now.

“From what I’ve been told, at least from Melisandre and other sources, the Red Priests teach that this world is the only hell around. It seems likely to me. I wonder just how much of the old ways are right and how much of the Faith, how much of the Red God’s teachings. It seems to me that they’re all right and they’re wrong in some ways. As nothing follows death, it doesn’t matter much who you worship, as long as you keep your honor and your duty,” Jon replied with some reservations.

“Well, given that you are the only man that I’ve met who’s ever come back from the beyond, I’m inclined to take your word for it, Your Grace,” Tyrion closed that topic with some deference to his new king.

“Your Grace? That hardly seems the most loyal thing to call someone other than our Queen,” a voice in the darkness caustically challenged the duo.

“Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. What brings you here? To the very deepest, lowest parts of the Red Keep, of all things. You’re a bit out of place for a soldier of the City Watch or the Lannister armies. Did you get your castle yet or are you seeking it in one of the Seven Hells?” Tyrion smirked a little, even as Bronn chuckled in response.

“No castles yet. Your brother and sister carry on the grand old Lannister family tradition of screwing me with my trousers on. You should be proud of them. What brings you here, my old friend and who is your friend, the one that you call ‘Your Grace.’ He doesn’t much resemble the Dragon Queen, either, not that I saw of her during the road from Highgarden. I didn’t get too good of a look at her, but from what I did see, she was a lot prettier. No disrespect intended, Your Grace,” Bronn scoffed a bit.

“This, my friend, is Jon Snow... , “ Tyrion began, only to be cut off.

“The King in the North! Who hasn’t heard of him? Hope for your sake and his that he doesn’t end up as headless as the last one. Death is a very permanent state of affairs, wouldn’t you say? Just ask Lord Tarly and his son,” Bronn spat some wine from the cup in his hand.

“The Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Ser Bronn. He married the Mother of Dragons, my Queen. They are man and wife now, rulers together of Westeros. North and South alike,” Tyrion corrected Bronn, making the sellsword turned knight grimace a bit.

“Clearly, I got into the wrong gig. A bastard sent to the Night’s Watch ends up ruling the North and then marrying a Dragon Queen, thus getting himself the whole bloody lot. Meanwhile, a sellsword like me gets made Lord Commander of the City Watch, knighted into the bargain, only to repeatedly get denied rich bride and castle ever since. Apparently, celibate penal colonies are more lucrative than I thought,” Bronn wallowed in a little self-pity right then.

“Yes, well, I think that your future’s about to get much rosier if you’re smart enough to defect,” Tyrion assured him.

“Yes, not like I’ve heard that before from Lannister lips,” Bronn reminded Tyrion of repeated delays and excuses.

“What about from the lips of a Stark?” Jon Snow spoke to Bronn directly at last.

“No, haven’t heard that kind of thing before from a Stark. Plenty of other, nastier things, but then you’re not a Stark by name, are you, Your Grace? Begging your royal pardon, of course. A Snow, I believe. Jon Snow, First of His Name, bastard of Winterfell, now Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. That’s an even greater rise than mine. Even so, I wager that’s a good start.

“Still, my lord Hand here made me a sacred vow once. He said that if it ever came to a time that someone bribed me to sell him out, he’d beat that price. Well, milord, care to pay up? It’s a bargain cost for now, since your brother and sister keep palming me off with mere coin instead of castles and wives,” Bronn turned to Tyrion again in anticipation.

“Well, to keep my word for most of Westeros, I must now have the assent of my King, presumably to gain that of my Queen afterward. Then again, I am the Hand and presumptive lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, Warden of the West if so granted ... Castamere is still empty, I believe, and while it requires no little upkeep, I warrant you that it would still be in my gift. A good deal of coin may yet be paid out, I gather, and well, you can guess what else. Perhaps a bride will yet come your way, too,” Tyrion thought quickly and Bronn’s eyes lit up a bit more than expected.

“Now, you’re singing my tune. The Rains of Castamere, turned into a lie. Not too many Lannisters would betray that legacy for a common sellsword. I like it. Especially the talk of a bride. Doesn’t have to be rich, but it helps. Especially with the repair and refurbishment of said castle. Can’t imagine that it’d be cheap. Giving up Lollys was still a kick in the teeth for me. She wasn’t too bright, not even that pretty, but she was very rich and sweet to me. Warm, I believe that I called her once,” Bronn referred to a bride that he was once forced to give up on the promise of a better one who never came along.

“So, then, you will swear to my King here, enter his service instead of that of my sister and brother?” Tyrion asked him outright.

“Well, between the castle, the bride talk, and the fact of fire-breathing dragons who’ve just burned up the Iron Fleet, plus your precious twins haven’t kept their end of the bargain, I’d said that you got yourself a new man, a sellsword at your service again. Let me bend the knee, if I may, Your Grace,” Bronn indeed knelt before Jon, who pulled him quickly afterward.

“You don’t have to stay on your knees. I’ve been too long among the Free Folk to like kneeling men and women that much. You’re more useful if you help us get through this dungeon here and into the Red Keep itself. We have a castle to take and a queen to depose,” Jon Snow declared, “now, Ser Bronn, consider yourself Lord of Castamere as well as Knight of the Blackwater. By royal command.”

“Perhaps even Lord Commander of the City Watch again? We could use him for that. He’s been good at it before. The soldiers of the City Watch will be more likely to follow him than others I could name. Might turn many of them mutinous,” Tyrion suggested, making Bronn grin eagerly, even as Jon nodded carefully.

“So be it. I name you Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, Lord of Castamere and Lord Commander of the City Watch of King’s Landing. Come along now, will you?” the new King of Westeros ordered Bronn, who was quite ready to follow Tyrion and he now.

“I would not be quite so sure of that,” another voice spoke up, a lady’s this time, or rather a maidservant upon closer view.