They were riding tirelessly. Time was counted. Tyrion had been distracted from his pleasure in a whorehouse in Lannisport by the sudden arrival of is uncle, Ser Kevan Lannister.
He had been drinking wine while a young girl with blond hair was pleasuring him when Kevan had emerged into the room, ignoring the closed door.
“Tyrion, you must come back to Casterly Rock. Now!”
It had taken a few more seconds than usually to Tyrion to react to this unexpected appearance. “Should I explain you the meaning of a closed door in a whorehouse, Uncle?”
“Tyrion.” It was then when he looked more attentively to his uncle’s face that Tyrion realized something grave had happened. He seldom saw Ser Kevan in such a distressed state.
“There’s been an accident at the harbor. Tywin… Your father. He’s been injured. Gravely injured. He’s dying.”
Tyrion had the impression the Mountain had just struck him with all the force of his right arm.
Tywin Lannister, the Old Lion, dying? Did he drink too much? Tyrion had straightened after a moment. “Uncle, what are you saying?”
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