The New Hand

"Well?" Stannis asked.

He watched the red priestess without blinking. Melisandre smiled. "Your Grace will win this war."

The simple sentence plucked the string Stannis guarded most carefully. Joy came, but not foolishness. Victory could mean many things.

A costly victory could ruin a man almost as surely as defeat. When he asked for detail, Melisandre admitted that the vision would not give her more.

Davos spoke before Stannis could press. "Does the victory depend on the Blood Wolf Company?" The question sharpened the room. Melisandre nodded.

"Without the Blood Wolf Company, victory will cost far more."

"How much more?" Stannis asked.

"Blood sacrifice," she said. "Three lives carrying king's blood."

Stannis frowned. That was the sort of thing he hated in her faith. He wanted to defeat his enemies openly, not buy victory through acts that made his own soul smaller.

Davos then told him everything he knew.

Stannis listened in silence. On one side stood the greedy Blood Wolf, asking for Dragonstone and a place in his future kingdom. On the other stood a victory bought with royal blood and fire.

Neither choice sat well. When Davos finished, Stannis sent both him and Melisandre away. Davos waited outside, worried.

As he passed the priestess, he could not keep the coldness from his voice.

"How reliable is your Lord of Light?"

He left before she answered. Not long after Melisandre had gone, Stannis opened the door.

"Your Grace."

"Contact the Blood Wolf Company," Stannis said. "Their terms are accepted."

...

In King's Landing, Ronan benefited from sleeping in the queen mother's chambers. He learned of Tywin's latest instructions before most of the court.

The letter began with a scolding so harsh that anger seemed to press through the parchment. Cersei's face went dark as she read, but she was used to her father's contempt.

The real insult came after the rebuke. Her most hated brother was returning. And he was returning as Hand of the King.

Tywin, in the end, did not trust an outsider to hold the capital together. Tyrion Lannister would organize the defense of King's Landing. Ronan found the decision interesting.

Before Eddard was imprisoned, Tyrion had been taken by Catelyn Stark and dragged to the Eyrie for trial. By luck, cleverness, or both, he had survived the Vale and even gained some military credit in the fighting that followed.

Now Tywin had given him importance. Tyrion likely believed his father had finally seen his value. Ronan doubted that was the full truth.

Being pushed aside irritated him. Tywin's decision was cold. Ronan had worked diligently for Lannister interests. He had even served Tywin's daughter with unusual thoroughness.

If not merit, surely effort deserved some consideration. Letting a dwarf command the defense was not absurd under the circumstances. Letting that dwarf order Ronan around was another matter.

Their first meeting took place in a room Ronan already knew too well. Seeing the Hand seated behind a table that nearly swallowed him gave the scene an unfortunate comedy. Tyrion's serious expression only sharpened it.

The little man did not try to hide from the absurdity. That earned a small measure of respect. Many men with uglier flaws and less excuse spent their lives pretending no one noticed them.

Ronan did not mistake short stature for stupidity. Tyrion looked more like Tywin than either Jaime or Cersei did, except in height. The twins had more of their mother in their faces.

Then Ronan thought of Joffrey. A ridiculous possibility flickered through his mind.

"Commander Ronan."

"Lord Hand."

Tyrion studied him openly. "You do not strike me as dull."

"The post of commander has made me forget the joys of sellsword work."

Tyrion laughed. "I have heard you are close to my sister." The sudden test made Ronan pause.

So that rumor had already traveled. In King's Landing, bedchambers had thinner walls than battlements, and servants carried more messages than ravens.

"Queen Cersei is a very charming woman. As a man, should I not find her company pleasant?"

For once, Tyrion looked honestly startled. A trace of embarrassment crossed his face before wit covered it.

"Then let us discuss a less dangerous woman: King's Landing."

The necessary pleasantries were over. The two men moved to business.

"What suggestions do you have for the city's defense?" Tyrion asked.

"If we are not rebuilding the walls, King's Landing is weak before a real army. Spend coin on repairs. If coin permits, put trebuchets near every gate."

"That is all?"

"If the Hand can satisfy those two conditions, I can speak further. If not, there is little point."

Tyrion did not like that answer, because he could not promise like a drunk spending in a brothel. The city's defenses demanded coin. Tywin would not have left the capital a bottomless purse.

Repairing walls and engines would be expensive. Still, he needed more than refusal.

"I can satisfy part of it," Tyrion said. "Stannis and Renly have not yet moved on King's Landing. We should have time. I want as many practical suggestions as possible. This city belongs to all of us to defend."

Ronan looked at him.

"Does it?"

The question left a small silence between them. Tyrion heard the warning inside it. Ronan would defend King's Landing while the work served him, the Lannisters, or both. He would not pretend love for a city that had never earned it.

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