It was dark. I didn't understand what was happening, but I felt like shit. Then a horrifying stench hit me - one that could've raised the dead. The smell was a mix of shit and blood. When I opened my eyes, I saw a clear sky above me. My body ached, but I managed to gather my strength and look around.
What I saw made my stomach drop.
Corpses in medieval armor were scattered all across the field. Some warriors were finishing off the wounded, others were looting the dead. As for me, I was lying on a wagon being dragged straight through the battlefield. Soon a very familiar man ran up to me. He was wearing riveted armor, a bloody sword in his right hand. Though what am I saying - he himself was covered in blood from head to toe, yet judging by his light step, he was perfectly fine.
When I got a good look at his face, with that unmistakable bandit grin plastered across it, everything came back to me.
I had ended up in the body of Tyrion fucking Lannister.
Along with my own memories, I inherited those of the dwarf of Casterly Rock, accompanied by a mild dizziness. Gradually, I began to feel my body, and judging by everything, Tyrion had shit himself just before handing it over to me. Everything was happening far too fast - I needed time, and wine, to process it all.
From what I could tell, I'd taken over the Imp's body at the moment of the Battle of the Green Fork - a battle that ended in disaster for Tywin Lannister. Before it, Tywin had split his army of sixty thousand men in two. One half, led by Jaime Lannister, laid siege to the capital of the Riverlands - Riverrun. The other, under Tywin himself, prepared to face Robb Stark and his army of twenty thousand.
Except at the Green Fork, only a small force of two thousand northerners had shown up - and there was no Robb Stark among them. As would soon become clear, Robb had forged an alliance with Lord Frey and struck Jaime's army instead, successfully capturing him.
"Your advice was timely, Bronn," I said with a faint smirk to my loyal sellsword.
If you really think about it, what makes us who we are? I found my answer to that question long ago - memory. All thanks to the painful experience of caring for someone close to me who suffered from Alzheimer's. So after inheriting Tyrion Lannister's memories, it was safe to say that I had become him.
"I don't give bad advice. How's your head? Hurting much?" Bronn smiled as he looked me over and asked about my condition. That was decent of him.
By the way, Bronn looked exactly like his show version. Did that mean I'd landed in the TV universe rather than Martin's book canon? If so, I could breathe a little easier - though it was still too early to be sure.
"I'll live. Thanks for asking. As I can see, we won," I said as the wagon carrying me came to a halt and I pushed myself up to look around. It was a miracle I hadn't thrown up yet from the smell of shit and rotting flesh.
"Otherwise, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Bronn noted with a slight grin.
"True enough… Looks like our savages handled themselves well and didn't butcher each other," I said, watching the mountain clans finish off the northerners and loot the corpses.
"Seems so," the sellsword replied indifferently.
"Are you wounded?" Tywin Lannister himself asked, riding up to us with two standard-bearers of our house. Tywin, too, was the show version. I wouldn't confuse Charles Dance's face with anyone else.
"Lightly. Thank you for asking. We crushed Robb Stark's army?" I asked a question I already knew the answer to.
My feelings toward Tywin Lannister were complicated. On one hand, he'd taught Tyrion a brutal lesson by ordering his soldiers to rape Tyrion's wife in front of him. On the other, he hadn't disposed of Tyrion despite having plenty of opportunities. One thing I knew for certain - Tywin Lannister was not a man anyone wanted as an enemy.
"If only… The scouts were wrong. There were two thousand, not twenty," Tywin replied with thinly veiled sarcasm. He clearly wasn't pleased.
"So we underestimated the Young Wolf… He sacrificed part of his army to distract us? But where did he go?" I mused aloud, fully aware of what was coming and equally aware that revealing it would be incredibly stupid.
"That's exactly what I'd like to know - where the remaining eighteen thousand are," he said, then rode off in a direction unknown to me.
Some time later, I found myself in the camp. The chieftains of the Vale's mountain clans enthusiastically greeted me, calling me "Halfman." Bronn went off to handle his own business after escorting me to my tent, where Shae was waiting.
She helped me remove my armor and wash up. I had to admit - the Imp hadn't lied about the size of his manhood. It wasn't dwarfish at all, perfectly normal. And to Shae's credit, she wasn't disgusted by stripping me out of my soiled armor.
In our world, it's hard to find a good woman - though at the moment, I was living in the late Middle Ages. Very different values here.
After she helped me clean up, I asked her to leave me alone. Left with my thoughts, I began to consider what had happened and what I should do next. Lost in thought, I didn't even notice the sun setting.
Bronn interrupted my brooding by entering my tent. Sitting down beside me, he asked how I was feeling. I understood him - to him, I was a ticket to a better life. He was using me, and his services would be extremely useful to me in King's Landing. Where else would you find an honest sellsword with ambition and a good brain? And he was a capable fighter to boot.
After reassuring him, we got properly drunk together. I don't know about Bronn, but the wine rebooted my brain. The next morning, I cursed myself for it - though waking up in Shae's gentle embrace did wonders for my condition.
At the start of the new day, news reached us that King Joffrey had executed old Stark. It was a shame - the man was decent enough, but there was nothing I could've done to stop it.
The mood in the camp was conflicted. Some idiots celebrated Eddard Stark's death; most understood that this meant we'd be stuck here for a long time. As for my savages, who were drinking themselves senseless, they didn't give a damn. Hard to blame them - I wouldn't have cared either in their place.
By the end of the day, a messenger from the North was brought into the camp. Soon, Father (I'd decided to live Tyrion Lannister's life, since my old one was gone for good) called an urgent council, which I was also summoned to.
Donning my armor, I headed to Tywin Lannister's tent. Inside, his bannermen were already gathered, along with his brother and my uncle - Kevan Lannister. Taking a seat at the table, Father picked up the letter delivered by the Stark messenger.
"They have my son," Tywin said grimly. His tone made it clear he was in no mood for pleasantries. The others fell silent as well - Jaime's capture meant only one thing: the thirty-thousand-strong army was gone. In a single blow, the Westerlands had lost half their forces.
"Seems the Young Wolf isn't as green as we thought," I voiced the obvious.
"They say his wolf tore a dozen men and horses to death," said one of Father's bannermen - Lord Lefford, if I wasn't mistaken.
"And what of Stannis and Renly?" Lord Marbrand asked.
"Both Baratheon brothers have risen against us. Jaime is captured, his army scattered. This is a catastrophe… It may be time to sue for peace," Uncle Kevan concluded, casting a hesitant glance at Father, who stood turned away from us, the letter clenched in his hand.
"Our 'kind-hearted' King Joffrey made sure Robb Stark won't sit down at a negotiating table with us. As for Stannis and Renly - knowing those stags, they'll deal with each other first before joining forces against us. Our real problem lies in the capital. We don't know when Joffrey will decide to kill another Stark, stripping us of any chance to trade for Jaime," I said.
…The assembled lords had nothing to say. They knew I was right.
"Get out. You - stay," Tywin ordered after a brief pause.
Sitting down beside him, I reached for the wine jug to pour us a drink, but Father beat me to it and took the jug himself.
"You were right about Eddard Stark. Had he lived, we could've bargained for peace with the North and the Riverlands, buying us time to deal with Robert's brothers. But now - madness and stupidity. I always considered you a foolish little dwarf… perhaps I was mistaken," he said thoughtfully.
"All men are prone to mistakes… What do you plan to do? Wage a prolonged war?" I asked.
"If necessary - yes. There's no reason to remain here any longer. Ser Gregor, with five hundred horsemen, will put the Riverlands to the torch, from the Gods Eye to the Red Fork. The rest will regroup at Harrenhal."After outlining his plans, Father asked, "What makes you so sure Robert's brothers won't unite against us?"
"I know people fairly well… They both want the Iron Throne, and Renly would be a complete idiot to support his elder brother's ambitions. The Reach stands behind him, along with loyal lords of the Stormlands. As for Stannis - he's an experienced strategist and a rough leader. He's also an 'honest' man, and if he had to, he won't hesitate to move against his younger brother. So, as I said before - what do two stags do when they meet? They lock horns to see whose are bigger, and fight to the death. Either way, we'll be the ones to benefit from their infighting," I explained my position.
"True. If your assumptions are correct, we'll have time to prepare for an attack from one of them. One thing you've noted with absolute precision - Joffrey is unpredictable, and that matter must be dealt with first. Prepare yourself. Tomorrow, you ride for the capital," Tywin said, with a note of approval in his voice.
"Is this what I think it is? You want to send me to rein in Joffrey?" I asked.
"No. I'm sending you there to rule in my stead. You will take the post of Hand in my absence and restore order within. If you so much as sense betrayal within the council…" Tywin replied coldly, pausing deliberately so I could finish the sentence for him.
"Heads. Spikes. Walls. I understand. I'll do my best to justify the trust you've placed in me. May I ask one last thing?" I addressed the old Lion.
"Speak."
"I need someone to knight my loyal sellsword. His birth may be low, but he's resourceful and highly useful," I stated my request.
"Very well… And no, you won't be taking the whore with you," he said after studying me for several seconds and considering my words. He granted my request and ended our conversation by forbidding me from bringing Shae along.
In the end, everything turned out far better than I'd expected. To be honest, I hadn't planned on taking Shae with me anyway - though she might've proven useful.
When I returned to my tent, Bronn was waiting at the entrance. Stepping inside, I saw Shae.