The camp rang with the thud of wooden mallets as a brand-new siege tower took shape. Two others already stood nearby, half-shrouded in rawhide. Between them hung a battering ram, fashioned from a massive tree trunk and suspended by iron chains. Its tip had been sharpened, fire-hardened, and covered by a wooden canopy.
The soldiers were hardly idle.
"What are you thinking about?" Jaime asked his brother. He had changed into a red velvet coat trimmed with gold thread, with a black diamond set in a gold necklace at his throat. Since leaving King's Landing, he had no desire to wear pure white. Only when he was with his brother did he truly feel like a Lannister again.
"I was thinking about the first battle I ever fought," Tyrion said. "The Battle of the Green Fork. The river on one side, the road on the other. Father's formation was beautiful, like a sunflower in full bloom, a crimson rose growing from iron briar. He looked more radiant than I had ever seen him. Red armor, a vast cloak woven with gold thread, lions carved into his shoulders and another atop his helm. Even the great stallion beneath him looked magnificent. He and his counselors sat their horses, surveying the entire battlefield. The enemy couldn't come within a hundred yards of him."
"Great Lord Tywin never moved, never changed expression, didn't even break a sweat, while hundreds died at his feet," Jaime said. "Are you nervous?"
"I still remember your lesson," Tyrion replied. "Cutting men down is delightful, but being cut down is less so. A siege is different, though. Are you worried about dying?"
"Not in the least," Jaime said. "No one can take my life unless I choose to give it. Not the Mad King, and not the Young Wolf either."
"But you're not like me," he added.
"Why not?"
"You don't have children." Jaime grinned at him. "The heir to Casterly Rock. If something were to happen to you, what would become of the Lannister future?"
"Are you mocking me?" Tyrion laughed. "You've got three children yourself, and you're already a grandfather. Of course you can laugh at me."
Jaime burst out laughing.
"Lower your voice, little brother. You'll get us into trouble. Tell me, you don't like that Stark girl?"
"How could you think that? I like her very much," Tyrion said. "She's beautiful, kind-hearted, and a proper lady. With her, I can hold the North, the Riverlands, and even gain a foothold in the Vale. What more could I ask for?"
"But you still have no children," Jaime said. "You're not allowed to climb the siege ladders."
"As if I ever planned to," Tyrion snorted. "You overestimate me, brother. We should both stay in our tents. Thoros of Myr has nearly recovered, and he's willing to lead the assault on the walls, just like when he stormed Pyke."
"He alone won't be enough," Jaime shook his head. "I've seen him fight. He's got skill, but that's all. How are the siege engines coming along?"
"Brynden Tully is supervising the construction, especially the ladders. Yohn Royce insists on not damaging the walls…"
Tyrion went on at length about their various engines. The scorpions hauled from Redfort were old and poorly maintained, and Runestone was too far away to transport anything else. Most of the forest at the foot of the mountain had been cut down. Those standing on the battlements stared down at them, silently calculating how long they had left to live.
Servants brought out fish, river pike cooked with crushed nuts and herbs. Tyrion tasted it first, praised it generously, and ordered the best portion set aside for Jaime.
Elsewhere in the camp, more people ate in the open. Soldiers lit a dozen bonfires to fend off the chill of dusk, thick sausages sizzling over the flames. Tyrion's men, together with those from Runestone and Redfort and the mountain clans, numbered six or seven thousand. So many mouths to feed. By the time the castle fell, perhaps a thousand would be dead. And after that? Only a pre-battle meal could be this lavish. With late autumn already upon them, a good harvest was little more than a hope.
The brothers drank until they were thoroughly drunk.
"I ought to have my friends' tongues cut out," Jaime said as he refilled his cup. "I hear that's what Euron Greyjoy does. All his crew are mutes. How sweet Cersei would be if she couldn't speak. Though I suppose I'd miss her tongue when it came time to kiss her."
Tyrion drained his own cup. The wine was strong but clean, warming him from head to toe.
"You should keep your distance from her, brother."
More than once, he nearly blurted out his secret to Jaime, but each time he stopped himself.
"I remember you saying that most whores won't kiss you," Jaime went on. "They just close their eyes and let you do what you like. You said there's no feeling at all in their lips."
"That was probably Bronn," Tyrion said. "I should tell you, I didn't go back to King's Landing to mend a broken family. Still, if we dragged our dear sister back to Casterly Rock by force, what would that really accomplish?"
"Unless you tied her up, it would kill her," Jaime said. "And I have to remain in King's Landing, bound by my oath as a Kingsguard. Separating us would be like cutting off my right hand. Without Cersei, I'm no different from a man who can't wield a sword."
"Speaking of swords, brother, this is for you." Tyrion drew the blade from his belt and laid it gently across the table. The edge shimmered with shifting colors in the candlelight. "A gift."
At the pommel gleamed that familiar ruby, Lady Forlorn.
"Didn't you promise to return this sword to Lord Corbray of Heart's Home?" Jaime asked, startled.
"I'll find a reason to deal with him. It won't be difficult," Tyrion said. "You gave me Ice. Otherwise, Father would have melted it down. You deserve a Valyrian steel sword too. I owe you this. Lannisters always pay their debts."
"There's no need to talk about debts between family." Jaime picked up the sword and examined it closely. "A Kingsguard doesn't need a lady."
"You should try other ladies." Tyrion could see how much his brother loved the blade in his eyes.
Jaime kept running his hand along it, from hilt to edge, polishing it again and again, his face glowing with delight. Perhaps this was the same expression he had worn the day he first put on the white cloak. Tyrion seemed to glimpse his own twelve-year-old self, young and untested.
No man could refuse a Valyrian steel sword, least of all a skilled swordsman.
"It's sharp enough to shave my… down there," Jaime said in awe. "Thank you, little brother."
"No need for thanks between family, big brother."
...
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