The Terms of Power

"It seems the Imp of legend is less useless than people say," Ronan said. "You are sharper than your brother and sister."

Tyrion's mouth twitched. "Is that so? Does Captain Ronan not wonder how I know who he is?"

"It is not a great secret. Should I be shocked?"

"Perhaps not. The Blood Wolf Company is famous east of the Narrow Sea."

When Tyrion first learned Ronan's true identity, even he had been startled. He had expected a hedge knight, a wandering sword, perhaps some bold adventurer with more muscle than pedigree.

Instead, the man had a sellsword company of more than three thousand men behind him, ties to the Dothraki, and a reputation that traveled faster than ships.

Such a man had arrived at the Hand's tourney by chance, gained Robert's public praise as Warrior Among Warriors, crossed paths with Cersei, and let his sister mistake strategy for seduction.

It was almost too careful to be accident. Sometimes Tyrion even wondered whether Eddard Stark's death had touched Ronan's design. The thought was absurd, perhaps. Then again, King's Landing rewarded absurd thoughts when they proved true.

He did not dare follow that suspicion too far. Some conclusions were too large to hold without evidence.

Without Bronn beside him, Tyrion chose his words carefully. He had seen the gold cloaks outside. He had seen their discipline. He did not mistake Ronan's table for a safe place simply because it had chairs.

"The Lannisters pay their debts," Tyrion said. "We repay useful friends as well. If you aid us now, Captain Ronan, my house will remember it richly."

Ronan stared at him as if Tyrion had tried to buy a castle with a song.

"Is that all? Empty promises do not purchase blades."

Tyrion smiled. "If your appetite is larger, you might look toward the Reach. Highgarden sits on the fattest soil in the realm. Few prizes would be better."

"Put away the bait, little lion. You are not offering me the Reach. You want me to trouble the Reach lords backing Renly and keep them too busy to help him properly."

It was a clean reading of the move.

If Renly lost the Reach, he would no longer tower over Stannis. The brothers would be forced into a bloodier balance, and the Lannisters would benefit from every day they spent weakening one another.

Tyrion would have enjoyed seeing the plan work. Ronan had no intention of handing him that pleasure.

The Hand rose. "Then I cannot satisfy your requirements." He left quickly enough to make Ronan's smile deepen.

The little man feared being kept here. He likely believed knowing Ronan's identity made him dangerous. In truth, Tyrion was not important enough to kill for that alone.

Open hostility with the Lannisters would be a tedious waste while their usefulness had not been spent.

As for his identity being exposed, what of it? The Blood Wolf Company was not shameful. Let Westeros hear the name. Let the nobles reveal how they reacted.

Playing great houses against one another was an old game, and Ronan had no objection to using an old game well.

Sansa's soft footsteps drew him back from thought.

She carried a strawberry tart with both hands, careful not to spill crumbs onto the plate. Ronan accepted it and ate in a few quick bites. The fruit's sharp sweetness mixed well with warm bread.

"This is good," he said. "Thank you, Sansa."

Happiness lit her face at once. She was painfully easy to reward.

"Sansa, do you want to return north? To Winterfell?"

Her smile vanished. She did not answer. She did not need to. Silence had become the most honest thing she owned.

Ronan did not press. In truth, the Stark girls had already lost much of their value as Lannister bargaining pieces. His own identity would make the Lannisters guard against him more carefully.

If he let Arya and Sansa become Cersei's bargaining pieces again, he would be handing away pieces he had already taken.

Better to release them at the right time and purchase a measure of Stark goodwill.

The Lannisters had given him what they could. What remained between them would have to become more honest, and honesty in King's Landing usually meant sharpened steel.

He did not notice at first that Sansa had made a decision.

She came closer, stopping just within reach. Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing uneven, and her hands twisted together as if she were holding back words that frightened her.

Ronan understood more than she could say.

This was more than gratitude. It was fear, safety, grief, and dependence knotting themselves around the nearest strong thing. King's Landing had broken the shape of her old dreams. Ronan had become the wall she could see.

He set a hand lightly over hers, calming rather than inviting. She looked up, eyes bright and full of unsaid things. Whatever confession tried to form died before it reached her lips.

Then Rovyn's voice came from outside.

"Commander."

Ronan stepped away. Sansa moved suddenly and caught him from behind, clinging with more force than he expected.

"Do not go, Lord Ronan."

He loosened her hands gently and turned enough to look at her.

"Stay here. Wait for me."

The words steadied her in a way comfort alone would not have done. Emotion gathered in her face, then settled into a small, fragile nod, as if the door she feared losing had been promised back to her.

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