A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

attacks.” He grinned. “That will be the death of him, the day he
faces me.”
    â€œHe’s pledged to Joffrey; he’s not like to face you.” They set off across the
bailey, Bronn matching his long stride to Tyrion’s short one. These days the
sellsword was looking almost respectable. His dark hair was washed and brushed,
he was freshly shaved, and he wore the black breastplate of an officer of the
City Watch. From his shoulders trailed a cloak of Lannister crimson patterned
with golden hands. Tyrion had made him a gift of it when he named him captain
of his personal guard. “How many supplicants do we have today?” he
inquired.
    â€œThirty odd,” answered Bronn. “Most with complaints, or wanting
something, as ever. Your pet was back.”
    He groaned. “Lady Tanda?”
    â€œHer page. She invites you to sup with her again. There’s to be a haunch of
venison, she says, a brace of stuffed geese sauced with mulberries,
and—”
    â€œâ€”her daughter,” Tyrion finished sourly. Since the hour he had arrived
in the Red Keep, Lady Tanda had been stalking him, armed with a never-ending
arsenal of lamprey pies, wild boars, and savory cream stews. Somehow she had
gotten the notion that a dwarf lordling would be the perfect consort for her
daughter Lollys, a large, soft, dim-witted girl who rumor said was still a
maid at thirty-and-three. “Send her my regrets.”
    â€œNo taste for stuffed goose?” Bronn grinned evilly.
    â€œPerhaps you should eat the goose and marry the maid. Or better still, send
Shagga.”
    â€œShagga’s more like to eat the maid and marry the goose,” observed Bronn.
“Anyway, Lollys outweighs him.”
    â€œThere is that,” Tyrion admitted as they passed under the shadow of a covered
walkway between two towers. “Who else wants me?”
    The sellsword grew more serious. “There’s a
moneylender from Braavos, holding
fancy papers and the like, requests to see the king about payment on some
loan.”
    â€œAs if Joff could count past twenty. Send the man to Littlefinger, he’ll find
a way to put him off. Next?”
    â€œA lordling down from the Trident, says your father’s men

burned his keep, raped his wife, and killed all his peasants.”
    â€œI believe they call that
war.
” Tyrion smelled Gregor Clegane’s
work, or that of Ser Amory Lorch or his father’s other pet hellhound, the
Qohorik. “What does he want of Joffrey?”
    â€œNew peasants,” Bronn said. “He walked all this way to sing how loyal he is
and beg for recompense.”
    â€œI’ll make time for him on the morrow.” Whether truly loyal or merely
desperate, a compliant river lord might have his uses. “See that he’s given a
comfortable chamber and a hot meal. Send him a new pair of boots as well, good
ones, courtesy of King Joffrey.” A show of generosity never hurt.
    Bronn gave a curt nod. “There’s also a great gaggle of bakers, butchers, and
greengrocers clamoring to be heard.”
    â€œI told them last time, I have nothing to give them.” Only a thin trickle of
food was coming into King’s Landing, most of it earmarked for castle and
garrison. Prices had risen sickeningly high on greens, roots, flour, and fruit,
and Tyrion did not want to think about what sorts of flesh might be going into
the kettles of the pot-shops down in Flea Bottom. Fish, he hoped. They still
had the river and the sea . . . at least until Lord Stannis
sailed.
    â€œThey want protection. Last night a baker was roasted in his own oven. The mob
claimed he charged too much for bread.”
    â€œDid he?”
    â€œHe’s not apt to deny it.”
    â€œThey didn’t eat him, did they?”
    â€œNot that I’ve heard.”
    â€œNext time they will,” Tyrion said grimly. “I give them what
protection I can. The gold cloaks—”
    â€œThey claim there were gold cloaks in the mob,” Bronn said. “They’re
demanding to speak to the king himself.”
    â€œFools.” Tyrion had sent them off with regrets; his nephew would send them
off with whips and spears. He was half-tempted to allow
it . . . but no, he dare not. Soon or late, some enemy would
march on King’s Landing, and the last thing he wanted was willing traitors
within the city walls.