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"Ser Loras, I recall you weren't assigned to guard the drawbridge today," Tyrion said, though a sense of foreboding grew within him.
The white knight sneered, his gaze fixed on the dwarf.
"I am temporarily relieving Ser Boros Blount, my lord." His eyes remained unwavering, and Tyrion could see the cruelty lurking within them.
"Loras." A voice called from behind. Hearing the familiar tone, the Knight of Flowers shifted his eyes slightly to see his second brother Garlan.
"This is the king's guest, Ser Cole, invited to attend the royal wedding," Tyrion explained to Loras.
"I know. I recognize him."
The Knight of Flowers slowly moved aside, clearing the drawbridge. "Welcome, Ser Snow. I've heard tales of your martial prowess. I shall certainly seek your counsel when time permits."
His voice carried the unmistakable edge of a threat.
"Swords have no eyes, ser. Fortune will not always favor you," Cole answered.
Tyrion saw anger flash in the Knight of Flowers' eyes as he struggled to maintain his composure. "Don't draw your sword, boy," the dwarf silently implored.
Ser Garlan approached his brother. "It's been too long since we last spoke. My brother and I require a moment. Please proceed, my lords."
Once the group had moved a safe distance away, Garlan muttered, "You're too impulsive, Loras."
"He mocks me."
"You wanted to kill him just now." Garlan stared directly into his eyes. "Remember your position and duty. You are a Kingsguard sworn to the king. Father remains their captive."
"They were invited to my sister's wedding. They are guests of both the king and our house," Garlan continued.
"Don't expect me to show him kindness. I would gladly separate his head from his shoulders myself," Loras replied venomously.
"Your opportunity may come, but for now, you must learn restraint. Don't act foolishly."
Tyrion had arranged a feast for Cole's party. The northerner had brought only thirty men with him. Whether this reflected his confidence or the realization that bringing more men to King's Landing would prove futile, Tyrion couldn't say.
"I genuinely feared his sword might strike me. Ser Loras has never been known for recklessness. Until recently, he was unfailingly courteous and beloved by maidens," Tyrion remarked to Cole. Yet everyone could see the murderous intent in the knight's eyes.
Cole understood perfectly well the source of the Knight of Flowers' hatred.
"Love sometimes causes men to lose their senses," Cole said enigmatically.
Tyrion swallowed his red wine. He recalled that Cole couldn't be very old. When stationed at the Wall, he hadn't even celebrated his sixteenth nameday. Such words seemed strange coming from one so young.
"My love died when I was thirteen," Tyrion said with self-deprecation.
That year, he and his brother Jaime had rescued a farm girl from bandits. He still remembered her name—Tysha—and the ballads she often sang.
Tysha had not possessed the noble bearing or beauty of Sansa Stark, his bride-to-be. Yet she remained a painful scar upon his heart.
Jaime had gone to hunt the remaining bandits, leaving Tyrion to watch over the farm girl.
They fell in love and exchanged vows before a septon. But their married life lasted barely two weeks.
It had all been a cruel jest. Dwarfs were born to be mocked. The love between Tysha and himself had been merely a performance. The great Lord of Casterly Rock had arranged a charade to amuse his dwarf son.
His brother had revealed that the girl was simply a whore hired to introduce Tyrion to womanhood. Lord Tywin then commanded his guards to take turns with Tyrion's new wife.
Each man paid a silver stag—her whore's fee.
It was fair. Most prostitutes in the Seven Kingdoms didn't command such a price.
The noble Lannisters always paid a gold dragon. They invariably offered more than others.
"Tyrion, as this is my first visit, perhaps you might show your friend around?" Cole suggested after dinner. "Of course, if your duties prevent it, perhaps Ser Bronn could guide me instead."
Tyrion readily agreed. The crown's finances were in disarray, and as Master of Coin—replacing Littlefinger—he labored daily to scrape together funds for both his wedding and the king's. Yet he worried about another confrontation within the castle.
Cole and his party had been lodged in a remote corner of the Red Keep, as far from the Highgarden contingent as possible. On the battlefield, they feared Cole like a tiger, but here, the men of the Reach growled, eager to create a spectacle.
Maegor's Holdfast stood at the heart of the Red Keep—a square fortress housing the royal apartments. The tall tower opposite was the Tower of the Hand, where the King's Hand worked and resided. Tyrion had enjoyed the privilege of sleeping there briefly.
The White Sword Tower—quarters of the Kingsguard—was a slender, four-story structure built at a particular angle to overlook the entire bay. Across the courtyard stood the throne room, where the Iron Throne rested upon its dais.
Tyrion introduced each building and tower like a practiced guide, though he noted the younger man's lack of interest.
He himself felt increasingly uneasy.
Eyes followed them everywhere, and even a noblewoman approached to greet them.
"The king's wedding approaches, bringing many additional guests to the castle," Tyrion explained as lords and ladies in magnificent attire passed by.
They wore garments of vibrant colors, meticulously styled to appear elegant and dignified.
"Weddings should be festive affairs."
The royal wedding would naturally be extraordinarily lavish. His own marriage to the Stark girl was merely an appetizer before the main course. The entire castle now bustled with preparations for young Joffrey's celebration.
"Show me the dragons, Tyrion. At the Wall, you once boasted to me of dragons," Cole requested after a pause.
During the Targaryen dynasty, dragon bones had been displayed in the Great Hall. After King Robert's ascension, these remains were relegated to the dark, damp cellars.
"You'll be astonished by their size. They dwarf even direwolves," Tyrion said, leading him toward the darkness.
As he opened the door, cool air rushed outward. In truth, Tyrion disliked this place entirely.
Cole's expression remained impassive, though in the basement's darkness, no one could discern another's features.
They carried torches down the spiral staircase, their footsteps echoing in the silent chamber.
"We've arrived," Tyrion announced, stopping.
Cole glanced at the seemingly empty space before noticing Tyrion looking upward. He followed the dwarf's gaze.
They stood directly beneath the massive dragon bones.
"Is this Balerion the Black Dread?!" Cole exclaimed.
"He's considerably more than a hair larger than your direwolf, Tyrion!"
The two looked at each other, both seeing the amazement reflected in the other's eyes, and burst into laughter.