Grand Maester, Pycelle sat across from Tyrion, the age spots on his scalp making one queasy, the maester's chain dangling beneath his beard, a symbol of honor.
After Cersei retreated to her chambers, the Grand Maester became a headless fly, flitting about to curry favor with others.
Yesterday, Tyrion had seen the old man personally visit Uncle Kevan's quarters, though it was clear the uncle held little regard for him.
He had served the Seven Kingdoms as Grand Maester for forty-two years, his chain forged during the reign of King Aerys I Ironhand.
Before he became Hand of the King, his predecessors had all died within less than three years: the eighty-year-old Kaeth died less than a year after serving Aegon V; Kaeth's successor, the eighty-nine-year-old Ellendor, also succumbed to the strain within a year; Ellendor's successor, Merion, caught a cold on his way to take up his post in King's Landing and died. Consequently, Aegon V demanded the Conclave of the Kingsguard nominate a "young man." Thus, at only forty-two years of age, Pycelle was selected as the new Grand Maester.
His loyalty lay less with the realm than with House Lannister.
Tyrion knew well that during the final stages of the War of the Usurper, Petyr Baelish believed Great Lord Tywin would seize the throne. To this end, he persuaded King Aerys II to open the gates of King's Landing to Great Lord Tywin. When Maester Colemon successfully detoxified the poisoned Hand of the King Jon Arryn and the latter showed signs of recovery, Petyr decisively dismissed the maester, ultimately leading to Arryn's death. He kept his brother and sister's affairs strictly confidential, guarding their secrets with utmost discretion. At the Small Council, his actions invariably served the House Lannister's interests.
"Lord, I am overjoyed at your return," Pycelle murmured his loyalty, nearly prostrating himself before the heir of Casterly Rock.
"These days... since Lord Tywin overworked himself, King's Landing has been in chaos. It was much the same when King Aerys banished him."
Indeed, my sister was the Mad King without her second son, Tyrion thought, asking, "How did our beloved King Joffrey die? Did you examine the body? Perform an autopsy?"
"The king... The soldiers found only his legs and one arm, and part of his torso..." He trembled as he spoke, looking terribly weak. "By the gods, those mobs were too cruel. Rumors say eating the king's flesh grants longevity and cures all ailments."
"Perhaps it only drives them mad," Tyrion said. "I've heard whispers that Joff drew his sword first."
"Those scoundrels provoked the King, so..."
"Why?" Tyrion pressed him. "Joff may be cruel, but I doubt he'd slaughter hundreds of commoners. And surely..." But where were the Kingsguard? They should have given their lives to protect the king."
"The Kingsguard are few now, Lord. Ser Aegon Oakheart went to Dorne and died there," Pycelle said. "After his death, Ser Balon Swann went again..."
"And the Hound?" Tyrion asked. "Where was Sandor? Arya values her good dog most, and this dog has sharp teeth. He should be the second most formidable fighter among the Kingsguard."
"He fled, Lord," the Grand Maester answered. "The mob wielded tongs and torches. Caught in the crossfire, the Hound shed his white cloak and fled in shame. He broke his sacred vow. The gods will curse him."
"Not surprising. The Cleganes have no honor whatsoever," Tyrion said. "Issue the order. Notify every corner of the realm. He is to be captured. Alive."
"He may have returned to Castle Clegane, my lord. You are unaware that Ser Gregor fell in the Dornish Marches, slain by Dornish hands."
"Not surprising," Tyrion said. "Wearing full plate armor in the desert, black armor at that. Had the battle lasted longer, he'd have been roasted alive, or at least lost half his life. Let me guess—Qyburn took care of his body?"
"Lord, that is correct," Pycelle nodded. "And Ser Amory Lorch—he too fell by the hands of the Dornish."
"Thank the gods there are seven levels of hell, for one would not suffice for Gregor Clegane and Amory Loach," Tyrion said. "Their deaths are regrettable, but only because they never served me. Grand Maester, remember to capture Good Dog."
"As you command, my lord." The Grand Maester nodded. "One more matter, though unsurprising, demands your attention. Some items from my private collection have been stolen."
"Private collection? Stolen?" Tyrion frowned. "Jewels? Antiques? What do you collect?" The old man must have some peculiar hobby—to him, maesters were all odd creatures.
"Medicinal substances, Lord." The Grand Maester leaned closer, and Tyrion caught the stench of rotten breath. "Certain... poisons."
"What poisons?"
"Widow's Blood and Lizard Venom." He trembled as he spoke. "Widow's Blood, named for its color, is exceptionally potent. Once ingested, it blocks both urination and defecation. Within days, the victim dies as toxins cannot be expelled. The lizard, or stone lizard, is a dreadful, ugly, ferocious reptile. They are said to roam in packs through the jungles of the Yi Ti. When smeared on food, it emits an abnormally enticing aroma. Warm-blooded creatures who consume it become rabid and violent—both men and beasts alike. I know them both inside out."
"A trifling matter," Tyrion said. "Have you told anyone else? My brothers and sisters, perhaps? Or Uncle Kevan?"
"No one, my lord."
"Good. People lose things in this city every day—a loaf of bread, a bottle of wine. It could be spoilage, or perhaps it simply vanished." Tyrion patted his shoulder. "Thank you for your service to the Iron Throne, but don't trouble others with such trifles. From now on, lock away your collection and forget these matters. And speak of them to no one—it could become ammunition for your enemies to attack you. The loss of poison is a failure of the Grand Maester."
Pycelle's face flushed crimson at these words.
Tyrion rose and gazed through the window of the Tower of the Hand at the Great Sept of Baelor beyond. Eddard Stark had been beheaded there. Margaery Tyrell was imprisoned there. Joff's body had been displayed there. The gods witnessed life and death, and lies.
Yet during his first tenure as Hand of the King, he had never once visited that place.
"Serve me well," Tyrion said, turning to the Grand Maester. "The Lannisters pay their debts, especially to me. You shall not be shortchanged."
"As you command, my lord," Pycelle bowed, leaning heavily on his twisted cane and shuffling tremulously from the study.
...
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