Chapter 8 – To Protect You, My Lord
"Damn it!"
Lord Lefford's face darkened at the words, but he had no answer to Tyrion's pressure — Tywin Lannister had indeed promised to outfit Tyrion's men. Tyrion's grin widened; he'd won this small victory.
"I'll have them come in batches to collect their gear, Lord Lefford," Tyrion said.
Then, turning his head, he looked at Podrick Payne, who had remained respectfully quiet behind him.
"Podrick, tell me — name your choice. Anything we can spare, in thanks for your service."
Lefford flushed red with fury at Tyrion's casual tone.
"Listen, Tyrion — this isn't your brothel. Don't go throwing your tricks around here."
Tyrion stepped back from the spray of spittle and shrugged.
"I haven't been charged for anything, have I? Don't make this awkward. My father's baggage needs your care, Lord Lefford."
"I'll tell my lord Father everything you say," Lefford snapped, teeth bared. The thought of furnishing weapons and armor for three hundred of Tyrion's mountain savages felt like an insult — like being asked to hand over his own daughter.
Tyrion only shrugged with a bored expression. "If that makes you feel better, then be my guest."
Podrick seized the opening. He had understood Tyrion's earlier offer the instant it was made. He also understood what this chance meant.
"My lord—may I have a spear?" he asked, voice steady.
The question cut through the bickering. Both Tyrion and Lord Lefford looked toward him in surprise.
"I don't know how to use a sword yet," Podrick continued earnestly. "A spear might suit me better."
Lord Lefford sneered, contempt dripping from the question. "You, boy — can you even lift such a thing? Maybe what you want is a hard slap and a noose."
Podrick's answer was quiet, but firm:
"To protect you, my lord."
Podrick met Tyrion's gaze, his expression even more earnest than before.
"…"
The moment those words left his mouth, both Tyrion and Lord Leo Lefford fell silent.
"Ha… a dwarf needing a child to protect him? Very well, Tyrion—now I do believe he's yours. Your loyal little squire."
Lefford's face was no longer red with anger—only amusement. He laughed mockingly, as if watching a circus trick.
Now it was Tyrion who clenched his teeth.
He—needing protection from a twelve-year-old?
He shot Lefford a murderous glare, then stepped up to Podrick and jabbed a short finger into the boy's chest. His voice lowered to a dangerous whisper, as if giving Podrick one last chance to rephrase himself:
"I need your protection?"
"Think very carefully about your answer."
Podrick lowered his gaze to the dwarf who was half a head shorter than him, finger still poking his chest. He paused… just two seconds… then nodded seriously.
"Yes, my lord. I am your squire."
"Seven hells, Lefford! You hear my loyal squire?" Tyrion spun back around, shouting so half the quartermaster's staff looked over before quickly pretending not to. "I'll need a spear—and a full set of armor for him!"
He waved his short arms dramatically, looking ready to bite someone's nose off.
The bustling camp instinctively turned to look, then turned away just as quickly.
Tyrion didn't care. His glare fixed on Lord Lefford, and for a moment it seemed very possible the dwarf might leap up, break the lord's knee, and stomp his precious manhood flat if he dared say "no."
Lefford only sneered back, unafraid and unashamed of his disdain.
"Lord Tyrion, this army isn't a free-for-all where anyone gets whatever they ask for. What this boy needs is a slap."
"If you're too soft to do it, I'll happily do it for you."
Tyrion didn't flinch. His stare grew colder, sharper.
"I don't want to hear another word. Lord Lefford—prepare the equipment for my squire."
"I've no intention of wasting my time arguing with you," Lefford snapped, patience gone. "What can a child do? Perhaps he's only useful at stealing things. You should slap some sense into him."
He turned a scornful look toward Podrick.
But the boy's calm blue eyes didn't waver.
Clear as the sky, still as a lake—untouched by mockery or fear.
Something in those eyes made Lefford's heart skip—he couldn't explain why.
The words he'd been about to spit came out softer than intended:
"Fine… if he can lift what he asks for, I'll grant it."
"Really?" Podrick brightened instantly, speaking before Tyrion could. "Thank you for your generosity, my lord!"
Gone was the cool stillness of a moment ago—now he looked like a boy given his favorite toy, joy overflowing from his face.
Lefford's gut twisted. Something felt wrong, but he'd already spoken; pride forced him to continue.
"Of course—if you can carry it out of here, you can have it."
A spear is nothing… what harm could it do? Lefford scoffed inwardly.
And what is that damned imp playing at? Trying to show me up?
His gaze flicked to Tyrion again—and it finally struck him that something felt off.
But before he could put a finger on what, Tyrion and Podrick were already walking toward the supply wagons at the back.
He shook his head and returned to work.
A few minutes later—he froze.
There, wobbling out of his supply line, was that "small child"…
Arms full with:
a longsword,
a spear,
a bow and a quiver of arrows,
A short dagger at his belt,
an iron helmet on his head,
and an entire set of armor strapped to his back—
staggering but moving.
Lord Leo Lefford could only stare.
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