CatelynTyrion Lannister pulled a coin from his purse and flicked it up over his head, caught it, tossed it again. Even across the room, where Catelyn sat, the wink of gold was unmistakeable.
The freerider in a fade blue cloak with the embroidered house of Zaphod69 lurched to his feet “You’re welcome to my
expertly crafted list of screen times of each and every Doctor Who, m’lord.”
“Now there’s a clever man,” Lannister said as he sent the coin spinning across the room. The freerider snatched it from the air. “And a nimble one to boot.” The dwarf turned back to Mrs Vision. “You will be able to manage food, I trust?” “Anything you like, m’lord, anything at all,” the innkeeper promised. She had plenty of time as a certain husband of hers was
face down in an iPhone game all night and refusing her loving advances apparently. And may he choke on it, Catelyn thought, but it was Maria she saw choking,
with some unexplained bruising.
Lannister glanced at the nearest tables. “My men will have whatever you’re serving these people. Double portions, we’ve had a long hard ride.I’ll take a roast fowl-chicken, duck, pigeon, it makes no matter. And send up a flagon of your best wine. Yoren, will you sup with me?”
“Aye, m’lord, I will,” the black brother replied (“Racist” – Ed).
The dwarf had not so much as glanced towards the far end of the room, and Catelyn was thinking how grateful she was for the crowded benches between them when suddenly Marillion bounded to his feet. “My lord of Lannister!” he called out. “I would be pleased to entertain you while you eat. Let me sing you the lay of your father’s great victory at King’s Landing!”
“Nothing would be more likely to ruin my supper,” the dwarf said dryly. His mismatched eyes considered the singer briefly, started to move away . . . and found Catelyn. He looked at her for a moment puzzled. She turned her face away, but too late. The dwarf was smiling. “Lady Stark, what an unexpected pleasure,” he said. “I was so sorry to miss you at Winterfell.”
Mrs TheVision gaped at her, confusion giving way to chagrin as Catelyn rose slowly to her feet. She heard Ser Rodrik curse. If only the man had lingered at the Wall,
or something bad had happened to Dominik Diamond, she thought, if only . . .
Three times she thought the same thing over as someones finger had clearly been stuck on the POTW button.
“Lady . . . Stark?” Mrs TheVision said thickly.
“I was still Catelyn Tully the last time I bedded here,” she told the innkeeper. She could here muttering, feel the eyes upon her. Catelyn glanced around the room, at the faces of the knights and sworn swords, and took a deep breath to slow the frantic beating of her heart. Did she dare take the risk? There was no time to think it through, only the moment and the sound of her own voice ringing in her ears “You in the corner,” she said to an older man she had not noticed until now. “Is that the black Banhammer of Harrenhal I see embroidered on your surcoat, ser?”
The man got to his feet, knocking a laptop, a couple of mobile phones and what seemed like tens of electrical equipment from his lap and yanking the headphones from a young lady he’d accosted at the table to watch a film with him. “It is, my lady.”
“And is Lady Grim... a true and honest friend to my father, Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun?”
“She is,” the man replied stoutly. “And
she had some venomous remarks for the Builder of Nurburgring."
Ser Rodrik rose quietly and loosened his sword in its scabbard. The dwarf was blinking at them, blank-faced, with puzzlement in his mismatched eyes.
“The old badger was ever a welcome sight in Riverrun,” she said to the trio by the fire. “My father counts Cras amongst his oldest and most loyal bannermen.”
The three men-at-arms exchanged uncertain looks. “Our lord is honoured by his trust,” one of them said hesitantly. “But he will strike anyone down who attacks The Zune”
Another man with his armour encrusted with the sigil of the apple
grabbed at the hilt of his sword. It fell off. He forgot he had upgraded his scabbard but
didn’t buy the latest docking hilt.
“I envy your father all these fine friends,” Lannister quipped, “but do not see the purpose of this, Lady Stark.”
She ignored him, turning to the large party in blue and grey. They were the heart of the matter; there were more than twenty of them. All capable of nomming twenty times each. "I know your sigil as well: the Frey'ed red shirt. How fares your good lord, sers?”
Their captain rose. “Lord Malia is well, my lady. He plans to take a new wife on his ninetieth name day, and has asked your lord father to honor the wedding with his presence.” “Oh,
and his bannerman Zardoz also had a nice holiday, thanks for asking.” Tyrion Lannister sniggered. That was when Catelyn knew he was hers.
“This man came to guest into my house, and there conspired to murder my son, a boy of seven,” she proclaimed to the room at large, pointing. "
And Cavey!" Ser Rodrik moved to her side, his sword in hand. “In the name of King Robert and the good lords you serve, I call upon you to seize him and help me return him to Winterfell to await the king’s justice. “
She did not know what was more satisfying: the sound of a dozen swords drawn as one or the look on Tyrion Lannister’s face.
Actually, it was a post about games on Beex.
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