Podrick rode ahead, leading the way as Tyrion advanced with the main force, moving slowly until they reached a low hill.
"Make camp here," Tyrion ordered. From this vantage point, he could overlook the Tyrell encampment—vast and sprawling, stretching as far as the eye could see. The scouts' report of twenty thousand men hadn't been an exaggeration.
"Send someone to the Tyrell camp every two hours to look for me. If they can't find me, or if anything unusual happens…"
"We'll charge in and pull you out," Bronn said. "I still think I should go with you."
"And if the Tyrells turn on us, we'll both be dead," Tyrion replied. "You stay here and command the men."
"You expect me to break twenty thousand with less than two? Just to rescue you?" Bronn snorted.
Before Tyrion could answer, a detachment of Tyrell cavalry emerged from their camp, galloping toward the hill. They reined in at the base of the slope, unwilling to ride farther.
"Seems I'll have to go down to them," Tyrion said, nudging his horse forward. "Bronn, for the love of the gods—keep me alive."
"I'll do my best."
The Tyrell knights gleamed in polished plate, their armor adorned with green leaves and golden roses. They looked like a garden on horseback.
I'm red, Tyrion thought. They're the green leaves to set me off.
The leading knight removed his helm, which bore three golden roses. In the torchlight behind him, Tyrion saw long brown hair and bright golden eyes.
"Ser Loras Tyrell," Tyrion greeted him. "A pleasure."
"Lord Tyrion," said Loras. "You came alone?"
"Unless I could bring twenty thousand men," Tyrion replied, his mismatched eyes catching the Knight of Flowers' attention, "it makes no difference how many guards I have."
A Highgarden knight dismounted and brought forth a silver tray bearing bread and a small heap of salt. Tyrion took a piece of bread, dipped it in the salt, and ate it before riding down with the knights toward the camp.
The Tyrell encampment sprawled across the open riverlands like a living oasis, vivid and green amid the vast gray plain. Moonlight filtered through low clouds and rain, cloaking the camp in a silver sheen. Thousands of torches burned like fallen stars, each flame a quiet declaration of Tyrell strength.
They halted before the grand pavilion at the camp's heart. Tyrion spotted Podrick sitting on a stump nearby, gave him a quick wink, and motioned for silence.
Ser Loras dismounted and offered a hand to help Tyrion down.
"How very considerate, ser," Tyrion said dryly. "But I'm not quite so frail as to need your hand."
He dismounted and followed Loras into the tent.
Inside were only two men. Lord Mace Tyrell was slightly stout but still handsome, with thick curls of brown hair and a neatly trimmed triangular beard flecked with gray.
The other knight was broad-shouldered and solidly built, his expression stern. Bald, with a short, bristling gray beard.
Randyll Tarly, Tyrion realized.
"Lord Mace," Tyrion said, bowing slightly to Mace Tyrell. "A pleasure to meet you. And this gentleman?"
"Randyll Tarly," the man introduced himself. "Lust Demon. An honor."
"Any chance of offering me a drink?" Tyrion asked.
"No need for pleasantries," said Randyll Tarly. "You're under guest right. I won't harm you. A rake like you—five hundred riders would be enough to crush the two thousand you brought."
His scouts are sharp, Tyrion thought. "My lord, you'd only need two hundred and fifty."
"Mace Tyrell," the Great Lord began, his tone curt. "What brings you here? Don't tell me it's to mourn Lord Renly. I have no patience for hypocrisy."
"Nor I for pointless speeches." Tyrion accepted a cup of wine from Ser Loras, took a sip, and composed his thoughts.
"I'm here to speak about our common enemy—Stannis Baratheon."
"Stannis isn't my enemy," said Randyll Tarly. "You are."
"When did I become yours?" Tyrion countered. "Renly was your foe, Stannis is now—but the Reachlords are not."
"I could join Stannis," said Mace Tyrell bluntly, earning a frown from Randyll Tarly. The puffed-up fish clearly wasn't born for diplomacy.
"Stannis murdered Lord Renly," Tyrion said, watching Loras Tyrell tremble with fury. "If Renly's only sin was rebellion against King Joffrey, then Stannis has done worse—treason and kinslaying both. May the Seven damn him."
"You have no proof it was him," Randyll said flatly.
"Oh, come now, Lord Tarly—you're too clever to be fooled by Stannis's games." Tyrion drained his cup. "Stannis needed an army. His brother had one. They met, and then Lord Renly conveniently died. After that, Stannis marched off with his brother's men."
He rose from his seat. "Aside from the Stormlords, who else in the Reach followed him?"
Randyll stayed silent, so Ser Loras answered, "The Florents led the way—over five thousand horse and foot joined Stannis. I brought the rest back."
"Five thousand," Tyrion mused. "Add the Stormlords—after Renly's death, Stannis is heir to the Stormlands—so that's, what, ten thousand? Include Dragonstone's men, and he's fielding twenty thousand?"
The War of the Five Kings—everyone with twenty thousand men. How convenient.
"So what?" Mace Tyrell said. "I'm still liege lord to the Florents. If I join Stannis, he'll welcome me."
"Would the Florents agree?" Tyrion asked, gesturing for Loras to refill his cup. "They've claimed more than once that their blood runs closer to the Gardeners' than yours, that they have a stronger claim to Highgarden. And they've questioned your right to rule, haven't they?"
"Lust Demon, mind your tongue," Randyll warned.
"Lord Tarly, I've always thought you a man who values truth," Tyrion said evenly. "So tell me plainly—did House Florent send men here to Bitterbridge to join Stannis?"
Randyll shot Mace a look before answering. "It was Allyn Florent. I caught him. A few Florent knights and lesser lords meant to defect—they've already lost their heads."
"You see? They've already moved first."
"That doesn't mean Stannis will turn us away," Mace protested, his cheeks flushing. He couldn't quite look Tyrion in the eye. "We could still—"
"The siege of Storm's End," Tyrion cut him off. "Stannis will never forget the siege of Storm's End."
...
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