The King of Winters

Chapter-109

Tyrion

By the time they reached Rhaenys' Hill, the sky was purple to the west and black to the east, and the stars were coming out.

Even this far to the south he could feel the bite of the late autumn air in the dusk. He had been trussed up like a goose wrapped in a large fur cloak to keep away the cold.

King's Landing closed its gates at dark in times of the war, and the guardsmen on its northern gate were grumbling impatiently at the stragglers. They joined the queue behind a wagon laden with limes and oranges. The guards motioned the wagon through with their torches but took a look at Prince Oberyn Martell on his warhorse and Tyrion and allowed them to leave without any questioning.

The guards waved them on. They were moving again, through the gate and beneath the city's massive walls. "Can I ask you where we are going, or are you determined to lead me astray to my head?"

Prince Oberyn chuckled. "If I wanted you dead, dwarf, I could kill you right in the throne room. No one in King's Landing is like to miss you, little that you are, least of all the King. It would in fact please him to know it that you are shortened by your ugly head so that he could rid your father's heir."

"That was harsh." Tyrion said looking at the Martell prince. "It was just what I wanted to hear right now. I suppose proper interaction with people is not really your strong suit, is it, Prince?"

"Just with you, imp," Prince Oberyn laughed. "You are caught in a ring of fire, Tyrion and there is no easy escape out if it. It makes for a funny dance."

"Oh, it does," Tyrion said. "Maybe I should join a mummer's troupe and entertain people on how to climb out of the flames."

"It shall be funny to see if you managed to make it out of it alive."

"I have managed to get out of dire situations many times before, Prince Oberyn," Tyrion said.

"None of those would have had your father on one side and Rhaegar Targaryen on the other."

That was true however, Tyrion could see that plainly. For now Rhaegar Targaryen had largely ignored him despite his father's presence in the rebellion. Tyrion did not know for how long though.

"I see you plain enough for where you are, Imp." Something dark had crept into the prince's tone. "I have never had any lack for trouble... but to be here whe your father is in league with Andrew Stark? Did he send you to die here?"

No, he sent me to attend a marriage. A marriage that could never happen anymore. Word of Prince Aegon's death spread around King's Landing like wildfire. For the past week the bells of Sept of Baelor rang all night in lamentations for the fallen prince. Tyrion was largely grateful that Aegon Targaryen had not lost his life in the hands of a Westerman under his father's command. No doubt King Rhaegar would have sought to pay back in kind by ridding Tyrion of his head and to no end. Lord Tywin would rather be more relieved than anything should that happen. He might even thank Rhaegar for it.

They rode past guildhalls, markets, and bathhouses as people were lighting lanterns and torches to hold the dark at bay.

As their horses plodded further down along the road, the shops grew smaller and meaner. And then there was the smell at Fleabottom. It hung in the cold, evening air, rich, rank, pervasive. There's salt in it, and flowers, and some piss as well. Something sweet and something earthy and something dead and rotten.

"The city smells worse now than it did earlier," Tyrion announced.

"You can thank these slavers for that," Prince Oberyn said as they passed a group of unsullied spearmen marching with their shields and spears and their spiked pointy hats.