---
Tyrion, his brother, and their group met on the road. They had left Acorn Hall and were finally heading toward Harrenhal.
"It won't take six days to get there," his brother Jaime had said.
Along the way, Jaime and Tyrion spent a lot of time talking. Something both amusing and curious that Jaime noticed was that Tyrion was incredibly similar to their father, Tywin.
Their aunt Genna Lannister had once said the same thing to Tywin—it was life playing a cruel joke on him, she said.
The son Tywin hated the most was the one who most resembled him in thought and behavior.
Tyrion had a strange ability to be charismatic and to make people do things for him. His father Tywin had the same gift—he ordered others to do his dirty work, commanding hundreds or even thousands to bloody their hands at his word.
Tyrion was an exact copy of his father—the only problem was that Tyrion was a dwarf.
Cersei had inherited Tywin's cold, cruel, and decisive side, while Jaime had inherited his pride and sense of superiority. As for Tyrion, he had inherited Tywin's intelligence and pragmatism.
His aunt Genna had always been right. She often said that to Jaime when their father wasn't around, and now he finally understood what she meant—and had to admit she'd been right all along.
Even as a child, Tyrion had shown intelligence and perception beyond his years. Jaime knew that one day his brother would become a general or a counselor—something along those lines. He had a knack for it.
It was daytime, and on the road to Harrenhal they saw a greater movement of people. There were many heading to the tournament, along with rural villages where peasants worked the fields, wooden fences, and barns.
There were also many travelers along the roads, carrying clothes and supplies, pulling carts hitched to horses.
They often passed road guards—small watchtowers and outposts to protect routes and travelers.
Jaime ordered his men to stay alert—there could be bandits nearby. Many highborn people were traveling to the tournament, and groups of raiders might be waiting in ambush.
By now, the sun was nearly setting. Less than an hour of daylight remained. After a long day's journey, the group stopped to make camp. They were only a day away from Harrenhal.
Their horses were tired and thirsty, so they stopped by a stream to water them. Tyrion stood near a tree, watching his companions and his brother tend to the horses.
Once the horses were watered, they lit a fire and gathered around it. The five knights accompanying them joined as well.
"Tyrion, we're exhausted. Could you take the first watch tonight like you did before?" one knight asked.
"My brother isn't the most reliable person to trust with that," Jaime said. "Someone should stay awake with him."
"Anyone willing to volunteer for the task?" Jaime asked, clearly tired.
One knight raised his hand—Ser Cayo.
Everyone looked at Ser Cayo. From what Tyrion knew, he was the son of some lesser noble, though he didn't know much more about him.
"Alright," Jaime said. "You two won't stand watch all night. We'll take turns later."
Jaime and the others lay down under a tree nearby. Their horses and gear were close at hand.
Tyrion and Ser Cayo took the first watch. Ser Cayo was around twenty-two, rather short—not as short as Tyrion, but the smallest among the knights.
"Tyrion, tell me—what do you want to be when you grow up?" Ser Cayo asked.
"When I grow up? Is that some kind of dwarf joke?" Tyrion replied.
"No joke," said Ser Cayo. "I meant—what do you want to do when you're older?"
"Well... I don't know. I just know I'll need people I can trust by my side," Tyrion said.
"You already have your brother—and me, if that counts," said Ser Cayo.
"I appreciate that, but I'll need more than just the two of you," Tyrion said gratefully.
"I don't understand, Tyrion. You talk as if you aren't safe enough at Casterly Rock."
"I'm not. If I don't gain some kind of influence soon, I'll suffer for it. My father will never recognize me as his heir, and I doubt he'll leave me any of his lands. To him, I'm just a dwarf—a bastard in his eyes," said Tyrion.
"I see… you're very clever for your age, Tyrion. Many bastards take longer to realize that. And I don't mean to say that you are one, of course—" Ser Cayo began.
"I understand. And as for your question about what I want to be... I don't know. There are so many possibilities. Who knows what the future holds?" Tyrion said.
They were still talking when they heard the sound of rustling grass. Tyrion and Ser Cayo exchanged glances.
"Stay here, Tyrion," Ser Cayo said, clearly uneasy.
He stood up, hand on the hilt of his sword.
Before he could react, there was a sharp whizz—an arrow shot from the tall grass. It flew fast and struck Ser Cayo in the knee.
"Ahh!" Ser Cayo screamed in pain.
He dropped his sword.
Realizing what was happening, Tyrion shouted to alert the others.
"Wake up! Wake up! We're under attack!" Tyrion yelled.
Jaime and the others woke abruptly, startled. Instinctively, they reached for their weapons.
"Enemy attack!" Jaime shouted.
The horses, alarmed by the commotion, neighed and kicked.
Tyrion wanted to help Ser Cayo, but there was little he could do.
"Get back, Tyrion!" Jaime shouted.
Tyrion froze—he wanted to help Ser Cayo, but the arrows flying past forced him to retreat in fear.
Jaime and the others drew their swords. Following his command, they ran for their horses.
"Go! Get the crossbows!" Jaime ordered.
Two knights sprinted to the horses, grabbing crossbows as arrows rained around them.
Jaime charged into the tall grass, trusting his armor to hold against the arrows.
The two knights with crossbows loaded and fired back.
Tyrion ducked behind the tree, watching the fight unfold.
Inside the tall grass, Jaime spotted one of the attackers. The man had no armor, no fine blade—he looked poor and untrained.
The man shot at close range, but his arrow only dented Jaime's armor, barely piercing the flesh beneath.
Jaime's armor was stronger and far more expensive than the others', so it saved him.
With one swift swing of his sword, Jaime cut the man down, slicing into his belly.
He heard a sound behind him, turned, and saw another archer aiming straight at him—before the man could shoot, an allied arrow struck his neck, sending him to the ground clutching the wound.
Jaime didn't even have time to thank his savior.
His soldiers were better trained, better equipped, and more disciplined.
With their crossbows, Jaime's group quickly overpowered the small band of raiders. He and his knights hunted down the survivors and finished them off.
Tyrion, still behind the tree, came out when he saw it was over. He hurried to help Ser Cayo.
Ser Cayo was on the ground with an arrow stuck in his knee—it had pierced through his armor, but not deeply. It didn't look fatal.
"Stay calm, Ser Cayo. My brother and the others will be back soon. We'll be fine," Tyrion said, trying to comfort him.
"I hope so, Tyrion… I'm not ready to die yet," Ser Cayo groaned.
"I'm sure you'll be alright," Tyrion said.
"I hope so, my lord."
A soldier approached while Jaime and the rest were checking the area to make sure it was clear.
He helped Ser Cayo, standing beside Tyrion while waiting for the others to return.
When Jaime and the others came back, they gathered around Ser Cayo.
"What should we do? His wound needs tending soon, but we're still a day from Harrenhal, and our horses are exhausted," one knight said.
Jaime thought for a moment before answering.
"I'll take Ser Cayo ahead with one of you. The rest will stay and bring his gear to Harrenhal. We'll meet there," Jaime decided.
"Harrenhal is still a full day's ride. You'll take longer on foot—it might be better to wait until morning, let the horses rest," another suggested.
"Maybe. But we might find a cart or traveler willing to help along the way. If not, you'll catch up to us," Jaime replied.
The group exchanged uncertain looks. Some wanted to go all together, others preferred splitting up. They turned to Tyrion for a deciding voice.
"What do you think, Tyrion? What should we do?" one knight asked.
Tyrion thought about it. It would be better if Ser Cayo didn't die—sending someone ahead might be risky, but it could save him.
"I think someone should go with Ser Cayo now," Tyrion said.
The group nodded.
Jaime and the strongest among them set out that night, taking Ser Cayo with them.
The others stayed to tend the horses and planned to follow at dawn.
Before resting, they counted the raiders—ten in total. Two had crossbows, the rest looked like poor peasants with stolen swords.
They gathered the corpses together, "looted" the looters, keeping what they could, and then lay down to rest.
None of them slept well that night—still shaken by the attack and wary of another one. The stench of corpses was already starting to spread through the air.
---