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TYRION

The day following the riots, Tyrion felt like his workload had tripled overnight. Ensuring he had time available to speak with these…Jedi had proved to be quite the struggle. After several empty promises of time and polite mentions of his father's gold he had an hour or so, and the three in front of him.

It wasn't that he was not grateful, far from it. From his discussions with the Hound, the three had truly saved Sansa Stark. Regardless, he had never heard of Jedi, he had never read about Jedi, how was he supposed to trust their word? And yet, the Hound had spoken with true fear, and about something that did not involve a flame. And yesterday had been hot, and messy, and by the end of it Tyrion had just wanted wine in his mouth and Shae's mouth.

But now, he had the three standing in the Hand's Quarters, and he had time to truly observe them.

Yesterday, the Jedi had been dusty and plain in brown clothes. That had led him to believe they were smallfolk. Today, they were in dark robes, of what looked like very fine make. And they were clean—possibly even cleaner than he was. Their teeth were in remarkable condition.

Hmm.

After some lopsided reintroductions and a few moments of silence, the black haired one spoke.

"So, you kept us here overnight. Did you have a particular reason? We stayed, hoping you did."

Tyrion fingered his wine goblet—Bronn had his own (the man was sitting on a windowsill in the background, as a precaution) and the other three had declined.

"Well, yes. Our beloved Clegane told me of impossible acts. I wished to find out if they were true words, or if he were simply…"

"Making it up?" the woman asked. Tyrion couldn't help but think this wasn't one to cross.

"It wouldn't be the first time a man had made up a story to save face, my lady. I fear he has come to view his….protection of Lady Stark as a personal duty." A very twisted one. "It might be easier for our Hound to tell of impossible feats than admit three unarmed runts defeated some crazed louts." But then again, that story sounds ridiculous as well.

The black-haired one—Harry, he really must start using their names instead of their hair colors—spoke up again. "Well, it seems there is a simple solution for that."

He pulled a stick out of his pocket, and the other two did the same.

"Shall we levitate something for the Lord Tyrion?"

The redhead groaned. "Why's it always got to be that?"

The other two chuckled, and the woman answered, sweetly, "You need all the practice you can get."

The redhead grumbled something about the troll not caring, and Tyrion decided not to try to make sense of it. Then he—Ron—said, "Maybe I'll just do this one, right? No sense in scaring anyone today."

The other two assented, and suddenly, with a whisper in a strange language Tyrion had never heard before, his wine goblet started floating right in front of his face.

Huh.

Cautiously, he waved a hand under the goblet. Nothing was supporting it there. Nor was anything supporting it from above.

Tyrion cleared his throat. "So, does your power extend to lifting objects in the air? Clegane did mention something similar."

"The force—" and here the woman (Hermyone. Hermine? Definitely a foreign name.) glared at Harry. "—it has many uses. It took us seven years of education to learn even the basics. I fear all of the applications of the force would be too numerous to count. Trust when we say we did save Sansa Stark, and that we only wish to help people survive." The last phrase or so had gotten a bit testy, and she eventually was pulled back by Ron.

"Fair point. But how can I trust you? You have at least one power, I don't know your capabilities, yet you are here and say you wish to help. I wouldn't even know where to start."

Harry glanced at his partners, then asked, "What sort of issues are you dealing with? Tell us, and we'll see if we can help."

Tyrion glanced at Bronn, who had remained remarkably silent throughout. All he had to offer was a shrug. Tyrion took a gulp of wine, prayed that they spoke true, and began. If only he didn't feel like he had nowhere else to turn.

"Well, the situation here in Kings Landing has become a bit more…intense…politically than we might like. In the meantime, Stannis Baratheon means to sail on us and wage war, and we do not have the resources to defend properly against him. My father wages war with the Starks, and I fear for the ramifications of his actions, as well as those of the Starks. And everyone wants a bit of protection, including the Night's Watch." He glanced over at the rather unnerving item that had been left in his solar for weeks.

The wom—Hirmine? She noticed his glance. "What is that?"

Tyrion laughed. "Simply a token of the affection of the Night's Watch. You three are welcome to look, no state secrets there."

Her-mi-whats-her-name went to retrieve the box, and paused, pulling out that stick again. The other two came to join her.

"What's up, Hermione?" Harry asked. Tyrion would have to keep in mind that name pronunciation.

Hermione eyed the box warily. "I think…there's something dark in there. But we haven't seen ma…the Force here at all…"

"Well, we might as well be ready while we check. What's in there, by the way?" asked Ron.

"A severed hand, cold as ice." That made the three all stop and stare for a moment.

"Well, we won't know until we check." Said Harry. "One, two, three!"

And they flung open the box, just as the hand flung itself at Ron's face. As his hands went up instinctively to pull it away, Hermione spoke some more strange words and the hand was torn from his face onto Tyrion's desk. Harry was waiting, and after speaking some more words fire flew from the stick in his hands to the hand on the desk. It twitched, and then stilled.

Harry then turned to his companions triumphantly, and crowed "I TOLD you it wasn't overpowered! We found them!"

Hermione tutted, "Yes, and you've managed to burn the desk. Can't you learn a little refinement? You don't have to brute force everything!" Tyrion glanced down: sure enough, there was a swath of charcoal where the middle of his desk had been. Thank goodness the surface had been clear of papers.

Ron spoke up. "That's easily fixed." Yet more words, and the desk looked good as new. He then looked at Tyrion, and said, "I think we'll have that drink now, if you don't mind."

Tyrion said, "I promise, normally in the Tower of the Hand hands don't go flying about trying to strangle people. And yes, please. Bronn?"

They all received a goblet of wine, and drunk in silence. Then Harry requested some time to discuss ("That hand is part of our business, and we need to decide a few things before we continue."), in private, with the other two. Tyrion granted the request, and moved with Bronn out to the balcony.

"Well, what do you think?" Tyrion asked.

"I think I'd like to fuck the girl." His trustworthy guard replied.

"No, really, what is your opinion here?"

Pause. "Well, I don't think they're likely to stab you in the back. I'd be scared if they wanted power, but I don't think they do. Pity—they could have it in spades, and you'd be set if you were their friend." Another pause. "The Force is a lie."

Tyrion scoffed. "A lie? They set fire to my desk after floating my cup. That's an awful lot of work for a lie."

"Nah, I mean what they call themselves. They can't say it naturally. The girl, in particular—she glares at the black-haired one whenever the name comes up. Don't think they're playing straight with you."

Tyrion finished his wine. "I wouldn't dare to."

Returning to the room a while later, he found the three waiting. Hermione looked disgruntled, Ron looked frustrated, and Harry had a steel in his eye that made Tyrion pause. Whatever else, he is their leader.

Harry spoke. "First of all, we want to make sure we are both on the same page. We are here for our own ends, to help people and to solve a mystery of our own. We think that we—" and he motioned at his group and Tyrion. "—can work well together. But we don't answer to you, we are here because we want to be here, and we definitely don't answer to the queen or king. We could be out of here before you bat an eye, we simply choose not to."

"Well, that's the most upfront anyone has ever been about ulterior motives, I think," said Tyrion. "Now, how do you propose to help me out?"

Harry unveiled his grand plan. Tyrion disagreed with large portions. They argued. Hermione disagreed. They argued some more. Bronn hit on Hermione, and she…returned the flirtation? And finally, Tyrion and his new secret tools had an agreement.

He would fund them while they split into three directions. Harry was headed North, to determine the true status of the Watchers of the Wall and to continue their own secret mission, which had something to do with dead hands attacking people. Ron would journey towards Harrenhall and his father. And then….Tyrion worried for this portion, but the three wished to travel towards the warfront and learn more about it. Tyrion feared what would happen when Ron met his father. And Hermione would stay at Kings Landing as a lady for Sansa, although she would be doing her own research and projects.

He had three pacifists that could burn, float, and fling. He hoped it would be enough to turn the tide.