The Tower of the Hand.
From behind his desk, Tyrion surveyed the men before him: Daven Lannister, Lancel Lannister, and Bronn.
"Our Warden of the Riverlands, Lord of Harrenhal, and heir to Casterly Rock—quite the sight, isn't he?" Bronn said with a grin.
"Heir to Casterly Rock, Warden of the Riverlands, Lord of Harrenhal," Tyrion corrected the order.
"Casterly Rock still comes first in your heart," Daven remarked.
"Only by a little," Tyrion admitted, no longer bothering to hide his satisfaction. "Then you must already know why I called you here."
"My lord, my sword is ever at your service," Bronn said immediately. He had already guessed what was coming—time for rewards.
"Then we'll start with you," Tyrion said with a smile. "I can tie you to a castle, provided you're willing to take a wife."
"Even better," Bronn said cheerfully. "Old widow or newborn babe, makes no difference to me."
"Good." The greedy sellsword looked like a wolf gripping a lamb's leg. "You have two choices. First, Amerei Frey. Her mother was Mariya Darry, and the Darry line at Castle Darry has died out. Marry her, and you'll live there."
Lancel and Daven burst into laughter.
"Gatehouse Ami!"
"Hm?" Bronn raised a brow. "Gatehouse Ami?"
"She opens the castle gates for every knight who approaches," Lancel said, face turning red as he tried not to laugh.
Bronn didn't flinch. "And the other one?"
"Lollys Stokeworth," Tyrion said. "She's with child, though no one knows who the father is. She's second in line to inherit, but her elder sister has been married for years without producing an heir."
"Which castle is richer?" Bronn asked.
"Stokeworth, without question," Tyrion replied. "It's untouched by war, while Darry—Seven help us—has been pillaged by the Mountain more times than anyone can count."
"Then I'll take Lollys," Bronn said without hesitation. "Her inheritance may be complicated, but that's no trouble. Better fertile lands near King's Landing than the war-scorched fields of the Riverlands."
"No issue there," Tyrion said, dipping his quill and beginning a letter. "Her family will be glad enough to have someone take her."
Bronn accepted the letter and went to one knee. "My thanks, my lord."
"Don't rush off just yet," Tyrion said. "Make the wedding quick."
"Quicker than you think, I promise."
"Then head to Flea Bottom and raise a company for me. Arm them with what you can scavenge from the Blackwater—nothing too shabby, though. That's your task as well. Bring in the prisoners."
Bronn left. Moments later, Greatjon Umber and Wylis Manderly entered the room, chains clinking as they filled half the space with their sheer size.
"My lords," Tyrion said, pouring each of them a cup of wine. "We're family now."
"Bah." Greatjon spat on the floor. "Horse shit."
"You're only betrothed, not married," Wylis Manderly muttered, his thick chin wobbling. "You've no ties to us."
"If I wished, I could bed Sansa tonight," Tyrion said calmly. "But I choose not to. So, my lords, don't test my restraint." He leaned back in his chair. "I plan to send you home to the North."
Both men froze.
"What trick is this?" Greatjon demanded.
"What sort of man do you think I am?" Tyrion frowned. "If I recall, this is the first time we've met. Why such prejudice?"
"You're vassals of my wife's family. Do I need a reason to send you home?"
"Lannister and Bolton are allies, aren't they?" Wylis Manderly's tone deepened, cautious now.
"Those who violate guest right are no allies of mine," Tyrion said evenly. "Nor are their accomplices. The North remembers, and Lannisters pay their debts. I trust your father, Lord Wyman, feels the same—especially after the weasel murdered Wendel. If White Harbor ever wishes to deal with the Dreadfort..."
Wylis said nothing.
"So, my lord, will you accept my offer?" Tyrion asked.
"If you're truly willing to let me go home, then yes," Wylis Manderly replied. "My father and I will both remember your kindness."
"If I'm not mistaken, my lord, you have two daughters—one older, one younger," Tyrion said. "And as it happens, I have two young men, also one older, one younger. Fortune works in the strangest ways."
"You want both my daughters married into House Lannister?"
"Of course not. I'd never force you. Think of it as a choice between two options." Tyrion smiled. "If you favor the elder, Daven will wed your elder daughter. If you prefer the younger, then Lancel shall marry the younger."
"You are Daven Lannister?" Wylis asked, turning toward the long-haired, bearded man beside Tyrion.
"I am," Daven answered.
"You defeated Robett Glover."
"Not alone," Daven said honestly. "Lord Randyll Tarly led the main assault. We broke him together."
"I like you, lad," said Wylis Manderly. "Do you hold any lands?"
"Not yet, my lord."
"I won't give my daughter to a man with no lands," Wylis said, glancing at Tyrion. "Forgive me."
"Daven Lannister," Tyrion said suddenly, "from this moment, you are Lord of Castamere. I grant you the title of Lord of Castamere."
What?
Daven froze. Castamere?
"Well then, Lord Wylis?" Tyrion said. "Is the Lord of Castamere worthy of your daughter now?"
Wylis Manderly nodded.
"Daven, go on—embrace your new father-in-law. I spoiled your match with the Freys, so I owe you a wife. Consider that debt paid." Tyrion grinned, then turned to Lancel. "You're less lucky. Lord Wylis doesn't know you well, but Tarbeck Hall is yours."
Lancel's face lit up, barely able to contain his joy.
"Don't celebrate too soon. I've already spoken with Uncle Kevan—you're not returning to the Westerlands yet. You'll remain in King's Landing," Tyrion went on. "Tarbeck Hall will stay under Daven's management for now. Daven—Daven."
Daven was still in the midst of hugging his round, beaming father-in-law. "Yes, my lord?"
"Go back to the Westerlands at once," Tyrion ordered. "Put Castamere and Tarbeck Hall in order. Raise me a force—nothing excessive. The Riverlands can't support too many men." He dipped his quill and began writing again. "Wait for news at Golden Tooth. Once I reach Harrenhal, I'll send the next set of orders there."
"As you command, my lord."
"And Lord Jon Umber?" Tyrion asked. "Will you be traveling with Lord Wylis?"
Greatjon Umber shook his head. "The Last Hearth can go to my brother. I have other sons. I'll stay here—to protect the lady, return to the Riverlands, and take my vengeance."
...
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