Chapter 64: Attendance
"Early this morning, Bronn brought me two pieces of good news," Tyrion said dryly.
"First, that last night Timett killed a wine merchant's son at a gambling den on Silver Coin Street—for accusing him of cheating."
"And the second piece of good news," he continued, rubbing his temples, "is that he also killed someone else. A mercenary."
"So, Pod," Tyrion sighed, "I sincerely hope you can bring me some less stimulating 'bad news.' After all, a dwarf isn't built like a giant—I don't have a heart quite so resilient."
Wrapped in a golden woolen cloak, a gleaming gold helm tucked under his arm, Podrick—clad head to toe in black armor—ran into Tyrion and Bronn halfway through the Red Keep.
The three of them fell into step together, heading toward the council chamber.
They had barely met when Tyrion began complaining.
Hearing the grumbling—and the thinly veiled threat beneath it—Podrick raised an eyebrow and lightly tapped his helmet with his finger.
"But my lord, the matter of the wine merchant's son was handled by me personally," Podrick said with a grin.
"Has his father already run crying to you? I seem to recall I only just threw him into the dungeons and fined him a hundred gold dragons."
Podrick's shameless expression successfully irritated the dwarf. Tyrion shot him a hard sideways glare.
"I know perfectly well you handled it," Tyrion snapped.
"What I want to know is—did the boy actually cheat?"
"And for the record, it wasn't his father who came running. Lord Varys was more than happy to inform me. Which reminds me—I very much hope the wine merchant doesn't die mysteriously in his cell."
"That won't happen," Podrick replied calmly.
"I locked up the father for entirely different reasons. Once the fine is paid in full, he's free to go."
He waved a hand dismissively.
"As for the son…"
Before Podrick could finish, Bronn cut in with a grin.
"The idiot filled the dice with mercury. Won a pile of copper before Timett caught him. Probably thought a one-eyed man was easy to fool."
The mercenary didn't just smile—he laughed outright.
Then, growing animated, he raised a finger and began to demonstrate.
"Oh, and Timett pinned his wrist to the table with a dagger, then tore his throat open with his bare hands. Very efficient technique—twist the fingers, tear the throat bone, and then—"
"Enough," Tyrion cut in hastily.
"Spare me the details. I'd like to keep the excellent lunch I just ate inside my stomach."
Seeing the look of pure disgust on Tyrion's face, Podrick couldn't help but laugh.
"That's exactly why I think the honest folk of the city ought to thank Timett," he said lightly.
"Why don't I bring it up at the council later? I'm sure he'd earn a royal reward. What do you think, my lord?"
Watching Podrick not only refuse to drop the matter but actively fan the flames, Tyrion felt the corner of his mouth twitch.
He had truly surrounded himself with lunatics.
No—worse than that.
There were another hundred and fifty such lunatics down in the camp beneath the Hand's Tower.
Tyrion briefly wished the gods would grant him a second head.
Preferably without letting any other dwarfs know that he had made the wish.
"Thank you for your loyal service to the realm, Ser Podrick Payne," Tyrion said stiffly.
"But if you value your spare time, I strongly suggest you speak of literally anything else. I can assure you—my sister has absolutely no desire to hear this."
His face hardened, a clear signal that the topic was closed.
Podrick only smiled, then turned his attention to Bronn instead.
"Tyrion said you killed a mercenary. What happened there?"
Recently, Podrick had been focused almost entirely on the City Watch—purging deadweight and recruiting new blood.
Refugees who couldn't afford bread, idle troublemakers looking for coin—any strong-bodied man willing to serve was welcome. Food and pay guaranteed.
Between drilling troops and managing the Watch, he hadn't even had time to visit Chataya's, let alone follow Tyrion's affairs closely.
Public order was still nominally under his care—like Timett's very public killing the day before—but his energy was limited.
For now, the Goldcloaks were the priority. Power, after all, came first.
Fortunately, Podrick had dealt with similar situations in another life. He knew the rhythms.
And the results showed.
Though he hadn't held the post long, the City Watch was already worlds apart from the rot-ridden force Jenos Slynt had commanded.
More importantly, over a thousand men were now reliable—men he could trust, men he could use.
As for Bronn, once Podrick took command of the Watch, Tyrion had quite sensibly made the sellsword his captain of guards.
Which meant Bronn had his own mess to deal with.
At Podrick's question, Bronn shrugged.
"The halfman asked me to find people. Miserable job," he said.
"Any mercenary worth hiring is either a liar or a bastard."
"So how do you choose?" Podrick asked, intrigued.
"Watch first. Question later," Bronn replied casually.
"Figure out how much fighting they've done—and how good they are at lying."
He grinned.
"Then I give them a chance to kill me."
Podrick narrowed his eyes.
"So they get a chance, and you get one too."
"Only useless men give me chances."
"I worry that one day our esteemed Lord Tyrion will have to decide who his next captain of guards should be."
Bronn snorted.
"And wouldn't that be exactly the kind of man Tyrion needs?"
Listening to the two of them discuss killing as if it were tavern gossip, Tyrion desperately wanted to plug his ears.
Unfortunately, as a man already short in stature, every part of him was precious.
Thankfully, they had reached their destination.
"Gentlemen," Tyrion muttered, "I suggest you stop talking. We're here."
Two Kingsguard now stood at the open doors of the council chamber.
They raised their hands, blocking Bronn, but allowed Tyrion and Podrick to pass inside.
Podrick paused for a moment, struck by the sight.
He remembered their first day in King's Landing—Bronn and he had stood outside these very doors while only the poor dwarf was allowed in.
Tyrion had come out later with his face red and swollen, having earned several of Cersei's slaps.
Bronn chuckled behind them.
"Good luck. Hopefully next time we'll all be inside, discussing who to kill."
Inside the chamber, the Queen Regent had already lost patience waiting for Varys.
"Treason is unforgivable!" Cersei thundered.
"This is the conduct of despicable villains—and I have no need for that posturing eunuch to tell me how to deal with them!"