munebox | The Valonqar

"I have a terrible fondness of books. As a child, I learned much from my maester. Valyrian, for instance. From his books, I learned a great deal more."

He tried to feel proud of that fact, but the truth was, his work was sloppy. A true maester would scoff to see his work and then set themselves down to work it all over again. But Tyrion had made do. It was the best he could do, all things considered.

"You'd make a great Watcher." Hmm. "Or, considering the potential for sexual harassment cases? A really really bad one."

"As I said. The Watch is not for me."

"Watcher. Bookish, brain-having types, all whose main purposes seem to be glaring at me in frustration. Of course, most of them are dead now...

Coincidentally. I mean -- I didn't kill them."

I don't kill.

"A group of learned men all for the purpose of watching you? Either you're more interesting than I give you credit for or your world is remarkably dull."

"They're the dull ones, usually. And they don't all watch at once. It's..."

She hadn't yet spoken the word to him. Slayer. And this topic was coming dangerously close to requiring it. "I had one. One Watcher. At a time, at least. Kinda like you and Pod, here. You wouldn't have two of him at once, right...? Except for now you've got me and--"

She trailed off with a shrug. Hey, at least Podrick got the nickname treatment.

Naturally, Tyrion drew only one conclusion from all this. "You were a squire?"

"...Wrong way around."

It wasn't intended that a Watcher should serve at the pleasure of a Slayer, but Giles had been an uncommonly supportive sort. She could not have asked for anyone better, and she missed him. He would know how to handle a man like Tyrion. "Doesn't matter, now. The point is that I meant it as a compliment. Every solid gang needs someone who can stomach the researchy bits."

"Are you attempting to try and make me feel more valuable? Rest assured, Ned, I am already well convinced I am the most valuable member of our little company here. You need not look for ways to make me feel needed."

I don't need your pity, Lady Summers. Nor your friendship.

Wow. Cold, much? Her brows raised and she dropped any pretension of doing the right thing. Some people are asses, she had to remind herself. Buffy offered him a sassy and dismissive wave of her hand, noting that it was a touch too effeminate and she would have to work on that. For now, she stood up.

"Whatever. I give up. Gimme a fifteen minute cat-nap and I'll be good to go. I figure I deserve a bit of bed-time since from here on in it's gonna be me and Pod in the stables. Right?"

Maybe she just wanted to set the squire off-balance with that one.

Edited 2013-12-12 03:47 (UTC)

Blood rushed to the poor lad's cheek and he seemed terribly panicked. "Us? Together? B-but... my lord, surely she won't be--"

Tyrion raised a hand to keep the poor squire's head from exploding. "Take the bed. We'll be staying the night. Until I've seen your injury heal, I'll not have you riding about on it. More importantly, all the sleep I've had was entirely against my will. I should like to sleep a bit more peacefully before we continue to our doom."

Oh, Podrick. He was like Jonathan: sweet, but ultimately the sort of person who could be led. Wasn't that how he'd gotten mucked up with Warren? Buffy only hoped an association with Tyrion wouldn't see this boy killed. Or worse, an association with her. But it was a comfort to know she could fluster him in ways she couldn't fluster Tyrion.

"I hope you don't find it ungentlemanly if I ask you to take the chair this time, my lord." Unfortunately, flippancy was all she could muster to meet his honest concern. It didn't help that she didn't fret over her wound the way he seemed to.

Tyrion graced her with a sarcastic smile and wondered why it was he decided to save her. But he took a chair, uncomfortable as it was, and sat by the window. With the two hired swords outside his door, he felt no shame in eventually drifting to sleep. As evening came, they had their supper brought up to them, though it was hardly a happy affair. Night came and went and when Tyrion was at last convinced his lady wife was healing more than adequately, they took to the road again.

Five horses left the small village, newly provisioned and with a northerly destination. Tyrion had taken time the previous evening to plot out the safest course for them on the map.

"The real trouble shall be passing through the North. My nephew cut the head off of their liege a year ago and there has been war ever since. Their boy king was recently killed and though the Lannisters were not involved directly, we certainly benefited from his loss. Should they discover who we are, they would take great joy in visiting vengeance upon us."

She had the dream, again. The one she'd been avoiding: a word written in blood on snow, and a forest that seemed cloaked in incense. Incense, of all things. Heavy and fragrant, it left her head muddled when she woke. Even after they'd saddled up and left town, Buffy was still feeling out of sorts. She should never have given in to the temptation of sleep. But at least her side had closed over, however red and tender it still seemed to be. It was now hidden under Podrick's borrowed clothing.

The Slayer could already tell that the mercenaries were not fooled. And why would they be? A woman had walked into the room; they expected a woman to walk out. But Tyrion's promise of riches must have been a believable one, because they didn't say a word to her.

One hand sat against the saddle's pommel, while the other tried clumsily to tug at the reins and pull her horse nearer to Tyrion's. "Upon you, you mean."

"The Paynes are sworn bannermen of House Lannister. You, too, are a part of House Lannister as well."

For the moment, only as a vassal. But if they were captured and she was discovered to be a woman, it would soon become apparently she was Lady Buffy Summers- no, Lady Buffy Lannister.

"There is a simple kind of justice in this world, Ned. It is large, blind, and destroys more than just its target."

She liked it better when she was the law. Still, she did not count on being captured. Preparing for defeat was only a modest leap from defeat itself.

"So how do you propose we sneak through the North? The road we're on kinda already looks like the road less travelled."

"We shall first head to the Inn of the Kneeling Man. Not only is the brew reportedly good, hopefully much better than Lord Brewmore's, but it will be an excellent place to gather news. From there, we will travel to White Harbour. With a little gold, we might buy our passage to Eastwatch at the Wall."

Lord manderly was a fat man that Tyrion knew of by reputation only. His companions would be able to get on the ship with ease. It was him, the dwarf, that was going to be more difficult to avoid suspicious eyes.

"God, do you even know what you'd do if you didn't have the money to fall back on?"

All of his problems seemed to be solved with gold.

Edited 2013-12-12 13:59 (UTC)

For the moment, Tyrion considered correcting her. He preferred to use his wits, when he could. His name was as valuable as gold. But he doubted she would care to hear it. She would be as impressed with it as his own brother would be. They were both warriors, who saw the world only from the tip of a blade.

"I tried hitting my problems once. I'm afraid it did not work as well for me as it does you."

"You just gotta know where to hit them."

"I prefer to hit them in the empty recesses of their coinpurses, where men both high and low are always the most vulnerable. You would be wise to do the same, given your reluctance to ever finish your job once you've begun hitting somebody."

Edited 2013-12-12 14:13 (UTC)

Fine. Time to say it: "I don't kill humans. I'm not a killer. I'll end just about anything else that needs ending -- barring adorable puppies. But my law isn't the law that governs regular people. I won't interfere there."

"I don't know the laws of your land, but in this land, you'll find that people take the law into their own hands with great frequency. You should be careful that there might be some, Northerners particularly, who might take the law into their own hand against you specifically. The North remembers."

If I have to, I'll tell them the truth.

"This is some real Hatfield and McCoy crap, isn't it?" But she knew by now that her reference would garner her no real intelligence, just maybe a glare for her troubles. And she knew herself to be so terribly quick and clever at times like this, but it was a genius doomed to be unrecognised by her liege-lord-husband-charge. He'd gained so many hyphens, now, that she didn't really know what to think of him.

She earned an annoyed look and Tyrion proceeded to ignore her. The sellswords, Rock and Greech, provided him far more amiable conversation. It took only a few jests before the two were sharing their own stories. One of them had sold his sword to Renly and turned it over to Stannis. He'd fought at Blackwater and admitted that when he saw Tyrion, he was near tempted to 'shave his balls, seein' as you nearly burned me own off.'

Tyrion liked that one. Greech was an amiable sellsword who held no grudges. He worshipped only the golden coin and as he was quick to tell them both, 'I will always be able to pay more than anyone else'.

Rock was less forthcoming, but what Tyrion did learn was that he was the bastard son of some noble from Casterly Rock. He wouldn't say which one, however. This was the more dangerous of the two, though. Tyrion would need to be wary of this one. And yet he'd be all the more valuable. More than gold appealed to this one, he decided. But he could easily be split between trying to earn his favor or the favor of his sister.

And throughout the day's ride, Tyrion found a way to never speak another word to his wife-turned-squire. It suited him just fine.

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