The tourney ended at dusk.
The shadows of Harrenhal's five towers stretched long, like five charred fingers pointing one last time at the crowds about to disperse.
The waters of the Gods Eye reflected the last light of sunset, staining everything blood-red.
Leon stood on the steps of the east wing, watching the great houses' convoys depart like an ebbing tide.
House Stark's party left first.
Brandon sat on his horse, his face as dark as the sky before a storm, his grip almost snapping the reins.
Eddard rode beside him, his expression grave, occasionally pressing a hand against his brother's arm.
The curtains of Lyanna's carriage were tightly drawn, hiding her face, but all of Harrenhal was whispering that she had not returned to her own tent last night.
The Baratheon convoy followed close behind.
Robert rode his great black horse without looking back.
His back was as taut as a fully drawn bow, but Leon noticed a warhammer hanging beside his saddle rather than a ceremonial longsword.
The royal convoy departed last.
King Aerys sat in his golden carriage, his purple eyes gazing out the window as he laughed nervously.
His laughter was shrill and grating; even the Kingsguard could not help frowning.
Jaime rode beside the royal carriage, his white cloak snapping in the wind. His gaze kept searching the crowd, but the Lannister banners had yet to appear.
Tyrion emerged from the east wing carrying a small bundle and stood beside Leon, watching the banners gradually disappear.
"Seven Hells!"
He clicked his tongue twice. "Look at this. House Stark looks like it's heading to a funeral, House Baratheon looks ready to murder someone, and the royal family looks like a traveling circus.
"And our dear sister nearly clawed a maid's face to ribbons just now, all because the girl looked at Rhaegar once too often."
Leon turned to him.
"How do you know?"
"I passed her tent." Tyrion shrugged. "I heard her cursing 'that little northern bitch,' followed by the sound of shattering crockery.
"I slipped away at once. I had no wish to be her punching bag."
The corners of Leon's mouth lifted slightly.
"Clever of you."
"Clever?" Tyrion's mismatched eyes widened. "That's survival instinct. That sister of ours is more terrifying than the Mad King when she loses her mind.
"At least the Mad King's wildfire only burns other people. She doesn't even blink when she burns her own."
He had barely finished when a golden figure rushed around the corner.
Cersei Lannister stood before them, fury blazing in her green eyes.
Her hair was somewhat disheveled, and wine stained her skirts. Clearly, she had not slept well last night either.
"What are you two little monsters gawking at here?" Her voice was sharp as a knife.
Tyrion took half a step back, but Leon did not move.
"Sister," Leon said calmly. "We're watching the great houses leave. If you'd like to watch with us, would you move aside a little? You're blocking the light."
Cersei's face flushed red.
"You-!"
She drew a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down, but a sneer crept back onto her lips. "Who do you think you are? The purple-eyed 'miracle'?
"Does everyone revolve around you? The king dotes on you, Rhaegar protects you, and even that northern bumpkin of a woman gets less attention than you?"
Leon activated his [Eye of Insight].
He saw dark red and black intertwined in Cersei's chest, their edges fluctuating violently.
It was anger, but beneath it lay fear.
He could not clearly discern the source of that fear, but it seemed vaguely connected to "younger and more beautiful."
"You jest, Sister."
Leon's voice remained calm. "I'm only a dwarf, someone Father has branded a 'curse.' I cannot compare with you, the jewel of House Lannister, the future queen."
Cersei's smile froze.
"Are you mocking me?"
"I'm stating a fact."
Leon tilted his head slightly. "If you think that's mockery, perhaps you're beginning to doubt that fact yourself."
Cersei's hand shot up as though she meant to slap him.
Tyrion immediately stepped forward, shielding Leon, and tipped his head back with a brilliant smile:
"Calm yourself, Sister! That slap would ruin your reputation.
"Beating even your disabled brother-imagine how awful that would sound if word got out. Besides, your hand is so precious. What if you hurt it?"
Cersei's hand hung in midair, trembling violently.
She looked at Tyrion's smiling face, then at Leon's calm, pale purple eyes, and suddenly felt a chill.
Younger. More beautiful. Two younger brothers. Maggy's prophecy echoed in her mind.
Not a woman.
These two monsters.
She slowly lowered her hand and stepped back.
"You two," she said through gritted teeth, "don't get smug. You'll suffer once we return to Casterly Rock. Father will teach you who truly rules House Lannister."
She turned and left, her skirts trailing a line across the ground.
Tyrion let out a relieved breath and turned to Leon.
"She nearly hit you just now."
"She wouldn't," Leon said. "She's afraid of me."
"Afraid of you?"
Leon did not explain. He merely watched Cersei's retreating figure and said softly:
"She can't even put into words what she fears. But she is afraid."
Tyrion scratched his head.
"Do all you purple-eyed people speak in such riddles?"
The corners of Leon's mouth rose, and he thought silently.
You have purple eyes too...
The Lannister convoy was ready to depart.
Tywin stood beside a carriage, speaking quietly with Kevan.
His face was expressionless, like a statue carved from black marble.
Leon approached and stopped three paces behind his father.
Tywin turned.
"Are you returning to the Wendwater?"
"Yes, Father."
Tywin was silent for two seconds.
His green eyes swept over Leon, then Tyrion standing in the distance, a flicker of disgust passing through them...
Disgust for that dwarf, for that "heir" who brought him shame.
"Jaime has left with the king."
His voice was as level as though he were discussing the weather. "My heir is now a dwarf. A thing the gods use to mock me."
Leon said nothing.
"Those things you've been doing at the Wendwater.
"The docks, the warehouses, the doubling of tax revenues-I know about all of it."
Tywin continued, "You've proven yourself somewhat useful. But remember, your usefulness is to serve the family, not to pursue your own private gain."
"I understand."
Tywin gave a slight nod and turned to enter the carriage.
"Father," Leon said.
Tywin stopped without turning back.
"Tyrion is coming with me to the Wendwater."
Silence.
Tywin slowly turned to look at Leon.
His eyes held nothing but cold scrutiny.
"You want to take that useless wretch to your little holding?"
"Tyrion is not useless." Leon's voice was steady. "He understands alchemy, can keep accounts, and can help me monitor news from King's Landing. The Wendwater needs someone like him."
Tywin stared at him for a long time.
"But he is not your servant," he said. "He is an heir who disgusts me. Take him if you like, but don't expect the family to give him any support. If he dies, I can simply replace him."
Leon's [Eye of Insight] caught the truth behind those words: they were a statement of fact.
Tywin truly did not care whether Tyrion lived or died.
"I understand," Leon repeated, then hurried to Tywin's side. "Then Rosso, Melon, and the others..."
"I have other arrangements for them." Tywin cut him off, climbed into the carriage, and let the curtain fall.
The carriage slowly started moving, heading west.
Tyrion approached, watching the golden lion banners recede, and asked softly, "What did he say?"
"He agreed to let you go to the Wendwater," Leon said. "He said that if you died, he could simply replace his heir."
Tyrion froze for a moment, then laughed.
There was no sadness in that smile, only self-mockery.
"The old man is as heartwarming as ever. I'm quite touched."
Leon looked at him.
"You're not upset?"
"Upset about what?" Tyrion shrugged. "I've long known what I am in his eyes.
"A talking insect, a mistake that disgusts him. Alive or dead, it makes no difference to him."
He turned to Leon.
"So thank you, little brother. At least you're willing to take in a useless wretch like me."
Leon was silent for a few seconds.
"You're not useless," he said. "You're a Lannister."
"A short one."
"Still a Lannister."
Tyrion grinned.
"Come on, my lord tax collector. Take me to see this legendary holding of yours."
"It's not a holding. It's only a bridge."
The carriage rolled onto the Kingsroad and headed south.
Inside, Leon spread out a map. Tyrion sat opposite him, toying with a gold coin he had pilfered from Jaime.
"Tell me," Tyrion began, "how big is this approaching storm?"
Leon's finger moved across the map.
"Robert Baratheon. Lyanna is his betrothed; all the Seven Kingdoms know it. Now Rhaegar may have taken her away. Whether it's a rumor or not, Robert will believe it's true."
"With Robert's temper," Tyrion said, nodding, "he's probably already polishing his warhammer."
"Brandon Stark. His temper is fierier than his sword. I hear he's already on the road to King's Landing.
"I wager he'll charge straight into the Red Keep to settle accounts with Rhaegar."
"That's asking to die."
"Yes. But the Starks don't much care whether they live or die."
Leon's finger moved to King's Landing.
"The Mad King. He's been mad for over a decade. Now his son has publicly humiliated his Dornish daughter-in-law and taken the Warden of the North's daughter. What do you think he'll do?"
Tyrion considered it, then suddenly smiled.
"He'll laugh. Then burn a few people to death. He might even arrest Brandon, summon Lord Rickard to collect the body, then burn them both."
Leon looked at him and smiled slightly.
Tyrion's clever mind could even deduce what would happen in the future.
"That big head of yours really is clever."
"Heh, I was wondering," Tyrion said, flipping the gold coin into the air and catching it, "how spectacular this show will be. House Stark will want revenge, the Baratheons may rebel, and Dorne will demand an explanation.
"And our dear father will very likely watch from Casterly Rock, wait until everyone has beaten one another bloody, then emerge to pick up the pieces."
"That's always been his style."
"Yes. But here's the problem." Tyrion stared at Leon. "We're not in Casterly Rock. We're at the Wendwater, too close to King's Landing and too close to the heart of the storm. Have you thought about how we're going to survive?"
Leon was silent for a moment.
"That's why I wanted you to come."
Tyrion raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
"I need intelligence. Those 'clowns' in King's Landing, Pudding Face, and those informants in the craft guilds-we need to get them moving.
"I need to know what the Mad King eats every day, how many curses Robert utters each day, and when the Starks enter King's Landing."
Tyrion whistled.
"Quite an appetite. What will you do, then?"
Leon pointed to the Wendwater docks on the map.
"We need to use the chaos to investigate that egg... If the storm really comes, the Wendwater won't withstand any whirlwind."
Tyrion looked at him, a flicker of something complicated passing through his mismatched eyes.
"Have you thought this through? What happens after you find the egg?"
"I have..." Leon said. "Once we find the egg, we head downstream."
"South!? Where are you going?" Tyrion asked in alarm. "You're not going to Dorne, are you?"
Leon smiled and shook his head. "Am I mad? Those Rhoynar don't even recognize their own kin." He lifted the carriage window's curtain and looked into the distance.
"Agreed, the sun has baked their brains! Where, then?"
"It's not time to say yet..."
"You know, Leon, sometimes I think you're even more likely to get beaten up than I am..."
Tyrion rolled his eyes. "Actually, I think you're more of a Lannister than our father."
"Why?"
"Because he only knows how to rule through fear. You, though-you know how to do the sums."
The corners of Leon's mouth lifted.
"Is that praise or an insult?"
"Work it out yourself." Tyrion leaned back in his seat. "Either way, I'm already aboard your ship, Master Tax Collector. You'd better keep me fed."
It was already dark when the carriage stopped outside the tax office.
Maester Loomis came out to meet them, relief written across his face.
"Young master! You're finally back! I've been worrying every day..."
Loomis and Leon embraced.
He froze when he saw Tyrion jump down from the carriage.
"Young Master Tyrion?"
"Maester Loomis, it's been a while."
Tyrion stood on tiptoe and patted his waist. "I hear your wild ginger powder sells well here? Give me ten pounds. I'll take it back to King's Landing and resell it."
Loomis did not know whether to laugh or cry.
Leon walked into the tax office. Thea and Sandor had already begun checking every corner.
"Young master," Loomis followed him inside and lowered his voice, "a few suspicious ships appeared at the river mouth while you were away."
Leon's gaze sharpened.
"What kind of ships?"
"They flew the flag of Volantis, but they sat very deep in the water. They didn't look like ordinary merchant ships."
"Once, they tried to come ashore, but our fishermen stopped them," Loomis said. "They asked some questions. About you, about... purple eyes."
Tyrion walked in just in time to hear the last few words. His smile vanished.
"People from Volantis?"
"Very likely." Leon walked to the window and looked out over the pitch-black sea.
"Are they still here?"
"They last appeared three days ago." Loomis pointed southeast. "They went that way. It looked as though they were heading for the Stepstones."
Tyrion came to stand beside Leon.
"What do you think?"
Leon was silent for a few seconds.
"They're looking for the Dragon Egg," he said. "And they're looking for me."
"What do they want you for? To drag you back and put you on display?"
"Perhaps," Leon said. "Perhaps they have another purpose."
He turned and looked at Tyrion.
"We need to take the initiative. Can your people find out what's happening in Volantis?"
Tyrion thought for a moment.
"Pudding Face knows a few overseas merchants in King's Landing. I can have him try. But it'll take money."
"I'll give you thirty percent of the Wendwater's tax revenue."
Tyrion's eyes lit up.
"Deal! I'll go write the letter right now."
He turned to leave, then stopped.
"Oh, Leon."
"Yes?"
"You just said 'take the initiative.'" Tyrion looked at him. "That's not like you. You always wait for someone else to make a move, then counter it. What's different today?"
Leon did not answer.
He merely looked out the window at the pitch-black sea, where a storm was about to rise.
"Because I don't want to wait anymore," he said softly. "I've waited eight years. That's enough."
Early the next morning, Leon stood on the dock, looking out over the empty sea.
"I wrote three letters last night."
Tyrion chewed on some bread. "One to Pudding Face, one to the old man at the craftsmen's guild, and one to... er, an information broker I met in a brothel.
Don't look at me like that. Brothels are the best places to gather information."
"You're only eight..." The corners of Leon's mouth lifted.
"I know! That doesn't contradict anything..." He pointed at his mouth...
"Once they reply, we'll know who's stirring up trouble in Volantis."
Tyrion swallowed his bread. "But do you really intend to meet them head-on? What if an entire fleet comes?"
"It won't," Leon said. "They want the Dragon Egg, and they want me alive. A fleet would draw too much attention and alert the royal family. They'll only send a small elite force disguised as merchants."
Tyrion looked at him and suddenly smiled.
"You know, when you're scheming, you're even more of an old fox than Father."
Leon did not answer.
Far away, a speck appeared on the horizon.
Leon's [Eye of Insight] activated instinctively.
It was a ship flying a blue flag, sitting deep in the water and approaching the Wendwater.
"A ship's coming," he said.
Tyrion followed his gaze and nearly dropped the bread in his hand.
"Seven Hells... That fast?"
Leon turned and headed toward the tax office.
"Thea, have the villagers make their preparations. Sandor, Tyrion."
Tyrion looked at him.
"We'll meet them together."
Tyrion froze for a moment, then grinned.
"The Master Tax Collector is handling this personally? Then I'll have to watch this show closely."
Leon did not look back.
He entered the tax office, sat at the desk, spread out a blank sheet of parchment, and began writing letters.
The first was to Tywin Lannister: visitors from across the sea had come to the Wendwater, and with King's Landing in turmoil, family support was needed.
The second was to Varys: my lord, people from the other side have arrived. It's time to draw your spider's web closed.
The third was for himself.
He wrote a few words:
"The storm has come. I shall stand."
Outside the window, the ship drew closer and closer.
Leon put down his pen, stood, and headed for the dock.
Tyrion followed behind him, making no wisecracks for once.
The sea breeze blew past, carrying a scent from afar.
It was the scent of a storm.
And the scent of a choice.