During the banquet, in addition to dramatic performances, there were seven pyromancer masters recruited by Illyrio.
They had originally prepared wildfire for Aegon, but today they also took the stage. Using fire-controlling sorcery, they summoned seven giant dragons that clawed and bit at each other with flames, drawing thunderous applause.
However, the real climax of the banquet was the bedding ceremony.
Before the feast officially ended, the newlyweds had to be escorted to their chamber.
The guests swarmed forward. The women hoisted Aegon up, while the men grabbed Sansa and carried her on their shoulders.
On the way to the marriage chamber, dozens of burly men tore Sansa's clothing off as they walked, shouting the crudest, filthiest jokes.
It was savage.
But this was the bedding ceremony, a Westerosi custom that everyone had gone through.
In the South, people restrained themselves somewhat and did not go too far. But in the Riverlands and farther North, even if you were the queen, you entered the bedchamber completely bare.
The women did the same to Aegon.
They would not actually grope or take advantage of the king and queen. Their hands behaved, though their eyes certainly did not.
The two groups took different routes and met before the large bed in the bridal chamber, where they tossed the naked king and queen onto it.
But they would not leave. Many lingered outside the door, listening in and shouting out suggestions for interesting positions.
"Here, take this." Before leaving, the Imp quietly slipped a small glass vial into Aegon's hand.
"What is it?" Aegon looked down and was instantly moved.
"Thank you."
It was a small bottle of the Emperor's Blessing.
One of the few doses of the divine medicine that Zhalo had gifted the Imp.
"Ah." The Imp gave a bitter smile, shook his head, and left the bridal chamber.
On his way back to his own room, Tyrion unexpectedly—though not really—ran into Uncle Littlefinger.
"Hi. Long time no see. We two old friends ought to catch up properly."
Littlefinger's smile was as warm as ever.
"Forgetful, are you? We've seen each other many times today."
Tyrion was no easy mark either and grinned even brighter than Littlefinger.
"A few polite exchanges in public don't count. We've been friends for many years. Perhaps there were some misunderstandings, and I'd like to clear them up."
Littlefinger beckoned Tyrion, then turned and walked toward the castle's rear exit.
The dwarf touched the Valyrian steel dagger at his waist, glanced at Littlefinger's thin, small frame, gained confidence, and followed.
They twisted through corridor after corridor and finally reached the labyrinth garden in the rear courtyard.
A cold wind howling down from the North made Littlefinger tighten his cloak. He stomped the snow off his boots and exhaled a cloud of white breath. "We now share a common goal—helping His Majesty Aegon ascend the Iron Throne, correct?"
But Tyrion refused to follow his rhythm and said with a cold smile, "Littlefinger, your courage is far larger than your body."
Littlefinger's brows pinched together, but he remained courteous. "My old friend, I know you have some misunderstandings about me. Tonight, right now, I came to you specifically to address them."
"Go on," Tyrion said, still sneering.
"You know about my relationship with Sansa's mother, don't you?" Littlefinger asked sadly.
"You said you took her maidenhead."
Littlefinger nodded earnestly. "I truly loved her and would have done anything for her. That is why I could not tolerate seeing the Lannisters toy with her daughter like a plaything.
"As for Joffrey's wedding, I never intended harm. Yes, his death has something to do with me, but I did not mean to commit regicide.
"I only wanted chaos."
"Mmm. That part I believe," Tyrion mocked.
"I know you don't believe me, but do you realize how difficult it is to spirit a living person out of the Red Keep?
"Fortunately, Lady Olenna found me. She felt Joffrey could not make Margaery happy and needed me to provide some additional assistance.
"For Sansa's sake, and to let Catelyn rest in peace, I was willing to bear any sin."
Littlefinger's eyes reddened, his voice thick with emotion.
"Heh." Tyrion still only sneered.
"I am guilty, but I never intended to frame you. You know better than anyone that the only reason people thought you killed Joffrey was because Cersei said you did."
"It's freezing out here. If you don't start talking sense, I'm leaving."
Littlefinger spoke with genuine emotion, but Tyrion's expression never changed—a cold sneer.
"Tyrion, have you forgotten? We were once so close. Whenever my brothel had new girls, I always reserved them for you first. We even… I've only ever had friendship for you, never hostility," Littlefinger sighed.
Tyrion felt as if he had been force-fed two pounds of dung. His face twisted in disgust. "You can deny the business with Joffrey, but what about the dragonbone dagger?"
"The dragonbone dagger?" Littlefinger looked blank, confused. "What about it? I remember—it was Robert's, wasn't it? What does that have to do with you?"
"Don't play dumb. I nearly got thrown off the Eyrie because of that thing. How many lords don't know that?"
Tyrion pointed toward the Eyrie, cold beneath the crescent moon, his sneer deepening.
"Are you misunderstanding something?" Littlefinger still looked genuinely puzzled.
Tyrion no longer wanted to circle around and said bluntly, "I was arrested by Lady Catelyn because of that dagger.
"You told her the dragonbone dagger was mine and that I arranged the assassin who tried to kill her son Bran.
"The war between lion and wolf, the War of the Four Kings—everything started from that lie of yours. That was exactly what you wanted.
"So spare me the theatrics."
"A massive misunderstanding!"
Littlefinger grew anxious, waving his arms and hopping in frustration. "At the time, I merely suggested—uncertainly—that you might know where the dagger came from.
"I never said you sent someone to kill Bran.
"Think about the absurdity of that claim. No one with a working brain would give an assassin an obvious piece of evidence like a dragonbone dagger. Wouldn't a common knife kill just as well?
"And Catelyn isn't stupid. Had I said something that outrageous, do you think she wouldn't notice such an obvious lie?"
The woman was exactly that stupid. Her husband Eddard was just as stupid—stupid enough to believe a bastard like you.
But I'm not stupid.
Tyrion said with a blank face, "You came to me just to say this?"
Littlefinger sighed. He knew Tyrion had no interest in reminiscing. If he didn't present something tangible, tonight would be a waste.
"In a few days we will march out of the Vale. I hope you will support me in becoming His Majesty's Hand of the King."
Tyrion's eyes widened as he stared at the small man across from him, who wore a confident yet humble smile. Tyrion felt utterly baffled.
"Are you out of your mind? Do you actually think that's possible?"
"The army is about to march south, yet Jon Connington left the Eyrie on the night the wedding ended—just now, in fact—and headed for Slaver's Bay.
And your reputation…Old friend, as long as His Majesty doesn't go insane, he will never make you Hand of the King."
"Then let Prince Doran be the Hand. He's the king's uncle. His status, his abilities—they all fit perfectly," Tyrion said indifferently.
"Heh, Tyrion, if you were truly clever, you wouldn't say something like that."
Littlefinger stepped forward, leaning in toward the dwarf. He whispered softly in his ear, "I told you, we're old friends. I know you.
You returned to Westeros and jumped into this mess for one reason: to pull the Lannisters back from the edge of the cliff.
But the reason Prince Doran joined the True Dragon Alliance is because of hatred that has festered in his heart for years. He wants to drag the Lannisters into hell.
I'm different. I bear you no ill will, and I have no hatred for the Lannisters. Help me today, and I will help you tomorrow.
Reject my friendship today, and tomorrow—"
"Heh, Tyrion, don't disappoint the friendship we've shared for so many years," Littlefinger said with a light chuckle.
"Are you threatening me?"
Tyrion clenched his fists. His mismatched eyes—one green, one black—flashed with danger.
"I'm trying to use sincerity to remind you of our decade of deep friendship," Littlefinger said with a grin.
Tyrion stood on tiptoe, craning his neck and looking around.
"What are you looking at?" Littlefinger asked, puzzled.
"I thought I saw someone spying on us nearby," Tyrion said.
"No one's here. The garden is empty," Littlefinger replied naturally.
"You sure?" Tyrion asked suspiciously.
"Of course."
"Good. That puts me at ease," Tyrion said with a smile.
"Puts you at ease for wh—"
Before he could finish, a fist the size of a bowl smashed straight into his face.
"Bang!"
It hit Littlefinger square on the nose. Sour, sharp, bitter, numbing—every sensation exploded in his mind at once, and tears instantly burst from his eyes.
Before he could even cry out, another fist struck like lightning, hitting him right in the gut.
"Ugh—" Stomach acid surged up his throat as Littlefinger doubled over and retched.
"Bang, bang, bang!" Tyrion did not let up. He punched and kicked ferociously.
"Stop!"A roar came from the maze-like hedges. A tall old man led two guards around the corner, rushing toward them.
"Tyrion, release the duke!" the old man thundered, his voice shaking the air.
But Tyrion ignored him. "Bang, bang!" His tough leather boots slammed again and again into Littlefinger as he cursed, "Setting an ambush for me, then claiming no one's here—lying dog!"
Littlefinger lay in the filthy, snowy mud, hands covering his head, mouth full of blood. He whimpered but could not form a single word.
Well, Tyrion was acting like Lu Zhishen beating up Zhen Guanxi. The so-called ambush was just an excuse. Littlefinger had arranged guards simply because he feared Tyrion might get violent and wanted protection.
Clang!With the sound of steel being drawn, a blade flashed cold and bright under the moon as it swept past Tyrion's eyes.
The dwarf quickly retreated several steps, shouting, "Look at the sky, you fools! If you don't want to die, stay away from me!"
Before he finished speaking, the faint moonlight vanished abruptly. Total darkness enveloped the garden maze, and the roar of a wyvern seemed to echo right beside them.
Toot—toot—toot!The old man halted the guards who were charging at the dwarf, grabbed the whistle hanging from his neck, and blew it hard.
Moments later, a large group of Eyrie guards rushed over.
"You'll get to fly one day!"
Leaving that inexplicable threat behind for Littlefinger, Tyrion scrambled onto Tysha's back and soared into the night sky before the guards could surround him.
"I beat up Littlefinger. No way can I stay in the Vale now. Aegon just married, so he'll have to remain here at least three days. Let's head back to Storm's End first!" Tyrion said as he found Arianne.
"No, not Storm's End," Arianne replied. She climbed onto the dragon's back and naturally settled behind the dwarf, grinning mischievously. "Let's go to Oldtown for two days."
"What are we doing in Oldtown?" Tyrion asked blankly.
"Lynesse Hightower, of course. I adore her!" Arianne said as if it were obvious.
Tyrion's mouth fell open. He froze.
After a long moment, he muttered, "What if someone recognizes…"
Arianne leaned close, licking his earlobe, whispering, "I'll enter the city alone. Once I negotiate the price, I'll bring her to the Hightower. You ride Tysha over, pick us up, and then the three of us can…"
In an instant, Tyrion's blood—and other parts of him—ran hot.
Arianne handled everything expertly. The next night, Tyrion met Lynesse. Though her looks and bearing couldn't match Sansa, Margaery, or the Dragon Queen, Tyrion felt she had a unique aura.
He was ecstatic. He spent the two most wonderful days and nights of his life.
Arianne enjoyed them just as much.
The shameless pair returned to Storm's End with satisfied, languid expressions.
But as soon as they landed in the training yard, Aegon and a dozen soldiers rushed over to arrest Tyrion.
"No way. I only beat that bastard once, and you're locking me up?" Tyrion shouted in disbelief.
"Duke Baelish is dead. He fell… just like you said. He flew once," Aegon replied coldly.
(End of chapter)
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