Tyrion

           "Theyhavemyson,"TywinLannistersaid.

           "Theydo,mylord."Themessenger’svoicewasdulledbyexhaustion.Onthebreastofhistornsurcoat,thebrindledboarofCrakehallwashalf-obscuredbydriedblood.

           Oneofyoursons,Tyrionthought.Hetookasipofwineandsaidnotaword,thinkingofJaime.Whenheliftedhisarm,painshotthroughhiselbow,remindinghimofhisownbrieftasteofbattle.Helovedhisbrother,buthewouldnothavewantedtobewithhimintheWhisperingWoodforallthegoldinCasterlyRock.

           Hislordfather’sassembledcaptainsandbannermenhadfallenveryquietasthecouriertoldhistale.Theonlysoundwasthecrackleandhissofthelogburninginthehearthattheendofthelong,draftycommonroom.

           Afterthehardshipsofthelongrelentlessdrivesouth,theprospectofevenasinglenightinaninnhadcheeredTyrionmightily...thoughheratherwishedithadnotbeenthisinnagain,withallitsmemories.Hisfatherhadsetagruelingpace,andithadtakenitstoll.Menwoundedinthebattlekeptupasbesttheycouldorwereabandonedtofendforthemselves.Everymorningtheyleftafewmorebytheroadside,menwhowenttosleepnevertowake.Everyafternoonafewmorecollapsedalongtheway.Andeveryeveningafewmoredeserted,stealingoffintothedusk.Tyrionhadbeenhalf-temptedtogowiththem.

           Hehadbeenupstairs,enjoyingthecomfortofafeatherbedandthewarmthofShae’sbodybesidehim,whenhissquirehadwokenhimtosaythatariderhadarrivedwithdirenewsofRiverrun.