Chapter 118 — We Can Wait and See, Lord Tyrion Lannister
After embracing the dwarf, Cleos's gaze drifted past Tyrion's shoulder.
"Did Cersei come as well?"
Cleos had indeed brought peace terms—but clearly, he did not believe this was something the dwarf alone could decide.
Fortunately, Tyrion did not seem bothered by the slight. He simply picked up the letter from the table.
"My sister happens to be busy," he said lightly. "So this must be the Stark letter?"
He glanced at the sigil stamped into the wax seal, then turned to Jacelyn Bywater.
"Ser Jacelyn, you may withdraw."
Bywater nodded, understanding at once, and left. Bronn followed him out, closing the door behind them and taking up position outside to prevent anyone from approaching.
Inside the room, Cleos frowned faintly at his cousin's words. His eyes flicked toward Podrick, who—despite everyone else leaving—had calmly claimed a corner of the room and was now sitting there with conspicuous ease.
After a moment's hesitation, Cleos spoke bluntly. "My mission is to present the peace terms to the Queen Regent."
Since Tyrion had not explained Podrick's presence, Cleos assumed the boy must be irrelevant—yet he still wondered who exactly this young man was.
Tyrion, for his part, showed no interest in clearing up his cousin's confusion. He merely waved a hand again.
"I will present them personally. You needn't worry."
As he spoke, he broke the seal and unfolded the letter, briefly glancing over the map Robb Stark had enclosed.
"So let's not rush. One matter at a time," Tyrion continued. "Sit down, cousin. You look unwell—exhausted, even. Care to tell me what you've been through?"
Cleos's face tightened for an instant when he saw the letter opened, but Tyrion's calm tone quickly eased his tension.
And truth be told, Cleos Frey did look dreadful.
He sighed and pulled over a bench, sitting heavily.
"You could say that… Tyrion. The Riverlands are in chaos—especially around the Gods Eye and the kingsroad."
"The river lords are burning their own crops, trying to starve your armies out."
"And your father's foraging parties…" Cleos swallowed. "They burn every village they pass through—and hunt down the smallfolk as they flee."
Podrick leaned against the wall, listening in silence.
As Cleos described the war, Podrick's gaze grew distant.
Until now, his understanding of war had been shaped mostly by battlefields—strategy, bloodshed, victory and defeat. He had never truly grasped how far the fire spread beyond the fighting.
This was the way war worked in this world. Captured nobles—men like Tyrion Lannister or Cleos Frey—could wait for ransom.
The smallfolk had no such mercy. They could only die.
Tyrion felt something similar, though he masked it better. Inwardly, he offered a quiet thanks to the gods—for making him a Lannister.
Cleos, unaware of either man's thoughts, ran a hand through his thinning brown hair and continued in a weary voice.
"Even under a banner of peace, we were attacked twice."
"Armored wolves, starving and desperate, eager to tear apart the weak."
"Which side they once belonged to—only the gods could say. Now they answer to no one."
"My escort lost three men on the road," he said quietly. "Six more were wounded."
The room fell silent.
It seemed the situation in the Riverlands was even more complicated than expected.
Tyrion couldn't help wondering how that Riverlands lord—who had walked all the way to King's Landing on nothing but his own two legs to swear fealty to Joffrey—had managed it.
The man had lost everything: his keep burned, his wife violated, his peasants slaughtered to the last. With nothing left, he had trudged all the way to the capital, loudly proclaiming his loyalty to the Iron Throne, demanding compensation—and even asking Joffrey to grant him new peasants.
Tyrion remembered giving him a new pair of boots.
As Cleos spoke, Tyrion's mind raced.
"And the enemy's movements?" he asked.
As Tyrion questioned him about what he had seen in the Riverlands, his gaze returned to Stark's terms.
The parchment was not overly flattering, but it was long—far too long. Robb Stark was asking for much: half the Riverlands, the release of prisoners, hostages, his father's sword… and of course, his two little sisters.
At Tyrion's question, Cleos shook his head.
"The boy idles about Riverrun. He wouldn't dare face your father."
"His forces are dwindling," Cleos continued. "He released the river lords, allowed them to return home to defend their lands."
Tyrion raised an eyebrow, recalling the devastation Cleos had just described.
"So this was Father's intention…"
After a moment of thought, Tyrion rolled up Stark's map and shook his head.
"These terms are unacceptable."
"Then—then could you at least agree to exchange Stark's daughters for Tion and Willem?" Cleos asked hurriedly.
Because of his Lannister blood, Cleos Frey had fought on their side from the very beginning, even after House Frey joined the Starks. Unfortunately, he had been captured alongside Jaime Lannister in the Whispering Wood—along with his brother Tion Frey and his son Willem.
Tyrion remembered Tion—Cleos's brother. As for Willem… likely his younger son by Jeyne Darry? A squire, perhaps? Tyrion couldn't quite recall.
What he did remember clearly was Cleos's eldest son, Tywin Frey—named after his father. Aunt Genna liked to call him "Little Ty."
So Tyrion softened his tone.
"No, cousin. But rest assured—we will propose a prisoner exchange."
"I must first consult with the council and with Cersei. Then you may carry our reply back to Riverrun."
Podrick nearly laughed—but restrained himself.
After all, "the council" was currently sitting in the dungeons, courtesy of him. So what council, exactly?
A triumvirate of Tyrion, Cersei… and himself?
Shall we deal cards and play a hand of tiles while we're at it?
In the world of adults, a refusal dressed as delay was still a refusal.
Cleos's spirits did not lift.
"My lord, I don't think Robb Stark will yield easily," he said, recalling Riverrun. "The one who truly wants peace is Lady Catelyn—not the boy."
"Catelyn…" Tyrion murmured.
From Winterfell to the Vale, Tyrion believed he understood that woman well.
"What she wants is her daughters."
Tyrion rose, holding the letter and map.
"I'll have Ser Jacelyn arrange food and clothing for you. You look like you need sleep more than anything."
"When we have reached a decision, I will inform you."
Podrick stood as well, brushing dust from his trousers. He gave Cleos a meaningful look and followed Tyrion out.
On the battlements by the Gate of the Gods, Podrick spoke.
"My lord, what council remains? So—what do you truly intend to do with this peace offer?"
"Refuse Robb Stark's goodwill?"
Tyrion shot him a sour look.
"This is all thanks to you and Cersei. The gods have a habit of striking when you least expect it."
Podrick only smiled.
"Retribution? What retribution?"
"Ever since your father's noose failed to turn me into a swinging corpse, I've believed one thing: my fate is mine."
"After all, if I gained power and still lived like a coward, what would be the point?"
The youth's confidence was infuriating.
Tyrion turned away, stopping by the stairs to watch hundreds of new recruits drilling in the square below—refugees turned soldiers, trading hunger for a straw bed.
"What do you want to do?" Tyrion asked.
"The council is gone. Cersei is absent. And you—well, King's Landing is effectively yours now, Lord Payne."
Podrick ignored the sarcasm.
"Renly Baratheon is already riding north," he said calmly. "We have a week."
That only worsened Tyrion's mood.
"I thank you for the reminder."
"No need. I'll deal with it—if needed."
Then Podrick's tone shifted.
"Today wasn't all bad. You lost a woman—but the city gained security."
"Wildfire is plentiful. More than you know."
"Place it at the gates. Train crews with green-painted jars first. Anyone who spills it begs naked in the streets."
"Once they're accustomed—lamp oil. Step by step."
Tyrion considered it carefully.
Clever.
"Defense alone won't be enough," he said. "These men aren't you."
"Which brings me to my real point."
Podrick nodded toward the letter in Tyrion's hand.
"We once had only one path. Now we have another—one Robb Stark delivered himself."
"So you favor peace?" Tyrion asked skeptically.
"We can't meet his demands. Nor do we have time."
Podrick smiled.
"That's why I'll handle it."
"If Renly reaches the city, I'll stop him."
"And if not… I'll go to Riverrun myself."
"War is too long. Too cruel."
"If the Lannisters stop now, they've already won."
"Any more—and they'll choke on it."
The boy looked suddenly older than his years.
Tyrion studied him, then laughed softly and shook his head.
"You can't do it, Podrick. And it isn't your burden."
Podrick met his gaze, unshaken.
"We'll see, Tyrion Lannister."