King's Landing, a warehouse.
The air was thick with the musty smell of old grain.
Mountains of sacks nearly reached the rafters, taking up most of the warehouse and leaving only narrow aisles.
Tyrion Lannister stood before a pile of sacks, his brow tightly furrowed.
His short figure looked especially tiny in that vast space, but his mismatched eyes swept sharply over his surroundings.
Bronn leaned against a thick wooden pillar with his arms folded, an expression of utter indifference on his face.
"This is it?"
Tyrion's voice echoed through the cavernous warehouse, breaking the deathly silence.
He pointed at the mountain of sacks before him. "The lifesaving grain we bought from that Easterner for half a gold mine in the Westerlands?"
The steward in charge of guarding the warehouse was a fat, thickheaded petty noble.
He rubbed his hands, his face wreathed in a fearful, fawning smile. "Yes, Lord Tyrion. Lord Baelish personally escorted it back. It's all here. I've guarded it day and night, and haven't let so much as a mouse inside."
Tyrion ignored his attempt to claim credit.
He strode on his short legs to the nearest pile of sacks.
The sacks looked new, bulging full and tightly sealed.
He reached out a leather-gloved hand and pressed hard against one of them.
Something about the feel seemed strange.
Rather than the plump kernels of grain, it felt hard and gritty.
A sense of foreboding rose in Tyrion's heart.
His gaze sharpened as he looked at Bronn, who was whistling nearby.
Bronn understood at once. He shrugged, drew the sword at his waist, and sliced down, easily cutting open the tough sack.
"My lord?!" the steward cried, wanting to stop him but not daring to.
Whoosh-
The expected cascade of golden wheat did not pour out.
Instead,