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What is dead may never die (Chapter 80)
🕑 Added 2023-07-10 07:54:08 +0000 UTCThe Wedding
Tyrion POV
The first day of the year and the first day of the new century. I started the day started with the breakfast. I could see that the servants scurried about the corridors and courtyards of the chosen venue for the wedding before I arrived for breakfast, ensuring that every detail was meticulously attended to.
But what else could I expect? The day of the wedding dawned with an air of anticipation and festivity. As the sun began its ascent over the horizon, the bustling preparations for the grand event were already well underway. The sound of hooves and the murmur of conversations filled the air, making me wake up earlier than usual.
The breakfast was held in the Queen’s ballroom within the Red Keep. I wasn’t drunk enough to enjoy the smug face of Joffrey as he received various gifts. At least he behaved himself, but I didn’t think it would last long. I hoped he would read it someday, so I gave him a book called Lives of Four Kings. The book was huge, bound in leather, and gorgeously illuminated—a well-suited gift for a king.
"My father had no time for books." Joffrey shoved the tome across the table. “You should read less, Uncle Imp. Then perhaps you would find a fine lady too, one day. After all, everyone can dream.”
I didn’t expect anything more from Joffrey. It was a shame. He might have learned one or two things from the book. But he wouldn’t even try to learn from his father’s mistakes, so it wasn’t reasonable to think he would care to learn anything. Lord Mace Tyrell came forward to present his gift: a golden chalice three feet tall, with two ornate curved handles and seven faces glittering with gemstones.
"Seven faces for Your Grace's seven kingdoms," the bride's father explained as he showed them how each face bore the sigil of one of the great houses: ruby lion, emerald rose, onyx stag, silver trout, blue jade falcon, opal sun, and pearl direwolf.
Too bad Joffrey had only two kingdoms. It seems Mace doesn’t have a great memory. But it appears that Joffrey didn’t care as he lifted the chalice above his head for everyone to admire and promised to drink from it at the feast with Margaery. I thought Joffrey would fall drunk after drinking from the massive chalice. That would be a sight to see.
My father waited until last to present the king with his gift: a longsword. Its scabbard was made of cherrywood, gold, and red oil leather, studded with golden lions' heads. The lions had ruby eyes. It was a magnificent sword, and for a second, I thought that he had melted down Ice and made this sword from the Valyrian steel. I was glad to be mistaken, as Robb Stark wouldn’t leave Uncle Kevan alive after hearing it.
"A great sword must have a great name, my lords! What shall I call it?” Joffrey asked as he swung the sword around a bit. “Oh, I know. It will be called Widows Wail! Yes, it is a great name for the sword as it will make many a widow too.”
Joffrey brought Widow's Wail down in a savage two-handed slice onto the book I had given him. The heavy leather cover parted at a stroke. It took him half a dozen further cuts to hack the thick tome apart, and the boy was breathless by the time he was done. I had to hide my fury in a cup of wine as men congratulated Joffrey on the sword’s sharpness.
…
Even I had to concede that Joffrey and Margaery made a royal couple as they stood between the towering gilded statues of the Father and the Mother. But maybe I was already too drunk to see straight. But what else could I do but drink as the day went on? I wished the day would end soon and we would stop pretending that we had three kings that wanted to kill us all.
Too bad Jaime wasn’t here, nor was Garlan Tyrell, the bride’s brother. It was easy to forget that they were at war, fighting our enemies. Of course, listening to the High Septon as he proceeded through the ceremony was more important. Well, it didn’t matter. The sooner the ceremony was finished, the sooner I could return to work and try to save us.
Mace Tyrell removed his daughter's maiden cloak tenderly while Joffrey accepted the folded bride's cloak from his brother Tommen and shook it out with a flourish. The boy king was as tall at thirteen as his bride was at sixteen. He draped Margaery in the crimson-and-gold and leaned close to fasten it at her throat. And that easily she passed from her father's protection to her husband's. But who will protect her from Joffrey?
I glanced at the Knight of Flowers, standing with the rest of his family. I didn’t need to warn him to keep his sword well-honed, as Ser Loras was gripping his sword with much strength. It felt like, at any moment, he would draw his sword and carve his way to my nephew. But the bride’s brother stood still with a calm face.
“With this kiss, I pledge my love!” Joffrey declared.
When Margaery echoed the exact words, he pulled her close and kissed her long and deep. Rainbow lights danced on the High Septon's crown as he solemnly declared Joffrey of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister and Margaery of House Tyrell to be one flesh, heart, and soul. Finally, it was over. Now I can get back to the bloody castle to have a piss.
The Kingsguard led the procession from the Sept to the Red Keep. Prince Tommen was close behind them, scattering rose petals before the newlywed couple. He heard them cheering outside even before he reached the doors. The mob loved Margaery so much that they were willing to love Joffrey again.
By now, I was tired and annoyed. It made me remember Tysha. She was a crofter's daughter, orphaned when her father died of an illness. I fell in love with her when I took her maidenhood, and she sang to me. I was a foolish boy of thirteen, just like Joffrey is now. Yet my love was a lie. It wasn’t long before my father found out, and Jaime confessed that Tysha was a whore he hired.
When we returned to the Red Keep, I returned to my chambers as the feast should begin in an hour. Podrick was waiting for me with a new doublet. He was very considerate of me. Podrick was the only good man in the city, or maybe in the seven kingdoms. After changing my clothes to fresh ones, I drank more wine by my window.
The sun had not yet peaked, but I could smell bread baking and meats roasting. The guests would soon be pouring into the throne room, full of anticipation. This would be an evening of splendor. It will show the united front of Highgarden and Casterly Rock. It will warn others of how powerful and wealthy we have become.
But did it matter? Stannis was still aiming for our throats. Robb Stark still sat in Winterfell with all his might, waiting for a moment to strike. And even if Theon Greyjoy was nowhere wo seen, I expected him to see at the most unexpected time and place to crush and take whatever he wanted. We gained one ally, but we still have many enemies.
…
I didn’t have anyone to escort to the feast. So, I came in alone, and yet I had to do all the courtesies for the guests. Then it came to Tyrells. They were the second most hated family to me. The first place was still reserved for my family. At least I wasn’t the only one miserable, as I saw Ser Loras standing alone. He smiled as instructed, but I could tell from his eyes that he was ready to kill us all.
“I assumed you would be off leading a Lannister host against some wicked foe,” Lady Olenna commented.
“The master of the coin must remain at court to see that all the armies are paid for,” I replied.
Although evenfall was still an hour away, the throne room was already a blaze of light, with torches burning in every sconce. The guests stood along the tables as heralds called out the names and titles of the lords and ladies making their entrance. Pages in the royal livery escorted them down the broad central aisle. The gallery above was packed with musicians, drummers, and pipers.
It didn’t take much longer before the King and the Queen rode into the throne room on matched white horses. Pages ran before them, scattering rose petals under their hooves. The Kingsguard escorted them to the seats of honor beneath the shadow of the Iron Throne, draped for the occasion in long silk streamers of Baratheon gold, Lannister crimson, and Tyrell green.
"Let the cups be filled!" Joffrey proclaimed when the gods had been given their due. His cupbearer poured a whole flagon of dark Arbor red into the golden wedding chalice that Lord Tyrell had given him that morning. The king had to use both hands to lift it. "To my wife, the queen!"
I drank my wine with everyone else as everyone started to chant the bride’s name. But unlike them, I didn’t care for the couple. I drank, so I could get drunk and forget this day. I barely even looked at the dishes that were brought out. Mushroom soups and buttered snails didn’t give much of an appetite. I pushed them away from one bite so the servants would take them away.
Everywhere I looked, I found smiles of happiness. I wondered how many of them were true. Yet there were still people who didn’t seem to enjoy their time. Both come from the bride’s family. Ser Loras Tyrell barely touched his wine and food, and Lord Leyton Hightower looked like he wanted to be elsewhere. Not that different from me. Alas, it wouldn’t be.
My nephew is drunker than I am, as Joffrey shouted for the jousters to be brought. The gold cloaks opened the great doors at the end of the hall. Laughter spilled soon after as two riders came into view with painted lances. The jousters were a pair of dwarfs. One was mounted on an ugly grey dog with long legs and a heavy jaw. The other rode an immense spotted sow.
I glanced along the dais at all the laughing faces. Joffrey was red and breathless, Tommen was hooting and hopping up and down in his seat, Cersei was chuckling politely, and even Lord Tywin looked mildly amused. Of all those at the high table, only Ser Loras and lord Leyton were not smiling. I would thank them if I didn’t notice that they didn’t even notice the jousters and were looking somewhere far away.
To say I was furious at the blatant mockery would be an understatement. But what could I do, stand up and yell my grievances? I wasn’t drunk enough to do so. I would be laughed at and mocked even more. Should I take my anger at the dwarfs? But did they do anything wrong? No, I will find what caused his little mummers to show and repay them for it, as a Lannister should.
I didn’t even watch the joust, as I was more immersed in my wine cup that would always be empty, no matter how many times I asked for a refill. What a show it probably was, as the laughter got louder and louder. I wonder how they will react morrow when their taxes have increased. Will they laugh then too?
“A champion!” I raised my head as Joffrey shouted. “A champion was proclaimed. “Who else wishes to challenge our tiny champion? Uncle, you will defend the honor of my realm, won't you? You can ride the pig!”
“Your Grace,” I was too drunk to control myself as I replied. “I'll ride the pig, but only if you ride the dog!”
“Me? I'm no dwarf. Why me?” Joffrey looked confused.
“Why? You're the only man in the hall I'm certain of defeating!” Oh, it felt good to hear a burst of laughter to be directed at the little king.
Yet I knew that I had made a powerful brat very angry. But did it matter? Joffrey was a fool. His schemes would be visible a mile away. He will complain and whine. I wasn’t even a bit disturbed as Joffrey walked up to me. I ignored the cold as he spilled his wine from his chalice on my head. It will only give me a reason to leave the feast early.
"How do you like that, Imp?" Joffrey mocked.
“It’s a pity the wine spilled, or I would have gladly accepted the honor of drinking from the royal chalice,” I replied as calmly as possible.
“It didn’t spill!” Yes, shout as you wish. Let the world see the brat they will be serving.
“My sweet king,” The bride took Joffrey’s arm. "Come, return to your place. Another singer is waiting. And many still want to toast you."
“I have no wine,” Joffrey said. “Imp, since you do not want to joust, you'll be my cupbearer. Serve me wine!”
“As your grace commands,” I replied, picking the chalice as many laughed at me. I filled the chalice from the flagon I was provided.
I ignored it as Joffrey drank it and was called to cut the pie. I sat and wiped my face. But I didn’t stay seated long, as I stood up and apologized before stepping away from the table. Nobody would complain if I left now. After all, what a dirty dwarf had to do at the royal wedding? Yet before I walked halfway through the hall, I heard a shout.
“He's choking!” I turned to see Joffrey grasping his neck as his face turned purple.
“No!” Cersei wailed, “Father, help him, someone help him, my son, my son.”
“He choked, sweetling. He choked on the pie,” Lady Alerie tried to comfort Cercei. “It was naught to do with you. He choked. We all saw.”
“He didn’t choke. He was poisoned,” I knew I should have left when Cercei turned to me. “He did it. He killed the king. Kigsguards, do your duty and take him!”
