Tyrion's Bride

The eastern coast of Westeros Continent.

Across the river from the seaside city of King's Landing stretched the Kingswood for a thousand miles.

Few people ventured into the Kingswood. Since the Targaryen Dynasty, it had been the private hunting ground of the kings of Westeros.

That day, it welcomed two distinguished new visitors:

Joffrey Baratheon, the young crown prince who had inherited his mother's beauty as the "Light of the West."

And the clever dwarf known as "The Imp," Tyrion Lannister.

They called it a hunt, but hunting clearly wasn't what they had in mind.

After letting their hunting party and guards go their own way, the two set off alone and gradually disappeared into the deep woods.

The Kingswood was a paradise for trees.

The deeper they went, the thicker and denser the exposed roots became.

The Imp took detour after detour on his short legs, slowing until he had no choice but to stop.

"Have mercy, my dear prince. The Kingswood is hard going, especially for your uncle."

Tyrion spoke in his familiar, teasing tone.

Joffrey turned and stopped, smoothing the slightly disheveled golden curls by his ear.

Beneath the dense canopy, the two faced each other.

Tyrion couldn't help wondering if he was dreaming.

Prince Joffrey himself had invited The Imp for a private conversation.

Strangest of all, Joffrey didn't seem to be looking at his embarrassing dwarf uncle. He was looking at a person—an ordinary, normal person.

Tyrion would have given anything for people to look at him that way.

"If you have a secret to tell me, say it here. Some ordinary corner of the Kingswood—perfect for murder and absolutely private."

Was this another prank?

His mismatched eyes, one black and one blue, fixed on Joffrey's fair face.

Joffrey lowered his gaze to his dwarf uncle, more than a head shorter than he was, and sighed softly.

Tyrion, Tyrion.

This is our first meeting. From now on, I'm Joffrey.

Somehow, he had crossed over into the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, of Game of Thrones.

He was excited, but a little uneasy.

If events followed the story, "he" would be poisoned in just two years.

To avoid such a miserable end, he had to act at once and unite everyone he could.

"We've always been good friends, haven't we, Uncle Tyrion?"

Tyrion nearly doubled over laughing.

"Ha! You win, my dear Joffrey, you win! That is absolutely the funniest joke I've ever heard!"

Here, at last, Joffrey no longer had to take pains to play the fool.

"Look around. What better place for friends to talk? No ever-present spies from the city, no secret passages running through the Red Keep, and no Weirwood of the old Gods."

Secret passages in the Red Keep? Tyrion caught the crucial detail at once.

Was that the eunuch's secret weapon?

How did he know?

Tyrion was astonished.

How had Joffrey suddenly begun acting like a true Heir to the Kingdom? It was a miracle.

Had the Gods gone blind?

"Then, my dear friend, what exactly would you like to discuss?"

Tyrion grew more curious by the moment.

Joffrey was silent for several breaths, a carefully measured hint of confusion on his face.

Then he shook his head and sighed.

"It was almost like a dream. Even now, I don't want to believe those things will really happen."

"I saw so many things I'd never seen before. Betrayal, war, weddings, death. People I knew and faces I didn't."

"And you were there too, Uncle Tyrion."

He met Tyrion's eyes, his expression utterly serious.

"Perhaps it was a Gift of the Gods, or perhaps something else. The fact is—I saw the future."

A timely breeze rustled the leaves, laughing for Tyrion.

Did you see who your real father is?

Sorry. That was vicious of me.

"I see. I'd love to believe you, but friends should be honest with each other, shouldn't they?"

The sarcasm was barely veiled, but Joffrey didn't mind.

He smiled back. "My friend, if I were you, I wouldn't decide so quickly."

As Joffrey recalled the gripping events and images from the show, his expression grew distant.

"I truly wish it had been nothing but a dream."

"The future is terrifying. Truth is always cruel, power is dangerous and seductive, and there are more secrets, plots, and killings than I can count."

"But I grew because of it."

Tyrion said nothing, apparently prepared to hear him out.

Joffrey decided to share some information that was of little practical use. "I saw it. Hand of the King Jon Arryn will soon die, and Father will go north to Winterfell to ask Lord Eddard to succeed him."

Tyrion's expression shifted slightly. "Mm-hmm. Good story. Just don't let Lord Jon hear you."

"I also saw that Master of Whisperers Varys is plotting to restore the Targaryen Dynasty—or the Blackfyres. And Treasurer Petyr Baelish covets the Iron Throne and is scheming to start a war."

"Neither of them is a good man, but those accusations are a bit much."

"In a few months, a Red Comet will appear, bright enough to rival the sun and moon."

"I'll keep an eye out."

"The Long Night is coming."

"The end of the world? I'd like to see that."

As expected, Tyrion showed no sign of believing him. He was as stubborn as a stone from Casterly Rock.

Joffrey hated to do it, but he knew it was time to bring out his strongest weapon.

"Tysha."

Tyrion's smile froze.

He would never have imagined hearing that name from Joffrey's mouth.

Every defense around his heart collapsed at once.

Painful memories he still dared not dwell on came rushing back, driving into his mind like a sharp sword.

Tysha. Ha, Tysha.

My first woman. My true love. My bride. A whore Jaime bought.

A whore. A lying whore.

At Lord Tywin's command, the Lannister soldiers lined up. One, ten, a hundred. Tyrion went last.

From that moment, after being forced to watch and take part in his wife's "work," Tyrion had stopped hoping any woman would love him.

Joffrey lowered his voice, doing his best not to provoke The Imp further.

"Tysha was such a good person. Honestly, what happened to you both was unjust. A tragedy like that is hard to imagine. Poor things. What a waste. How heartbreaking."

"Stop."

"A hundred Silver Stags. One Golden Dragon."

Each common soldier had paid her one Silver Stag, more than the going rate. A Lannister was different, of course: Lord Tywin had tossed Tysha an entire Golden Dragon for Tyrion.

"Shut up." Tyrion's face twisted further.

Even Joffrey felt the pain of it.

Truthfully, he didn't want to tear open Tyrion's old wound. But the opportunity across the Narrow Sea would not last, and he had to secure Tyrion's cooperation quickly.

Tyrion still refused to lower his guard, so Joffrey had no choice but to disturb poor Tysha.

Choosing his moment, Joffrey said, "The past can't be changed. But as an ordinary farm girl, perhaps she'll find some comfort in knowing you'll kill your father for her in a few years."

Tyrion was close to drowning in painful memories. Then, suddenly, he seemed to glimpse a light of hope and salvation.

"A farm girl?! Tysha wasn't... a whore?"

A loving father and a dutiful son. How heartwarming.

"Uncle Jaime admitted it himself. She was innocent."

Jaime? Jaime. Tyrion stared blankly for a few seconds, and the light faded from his eyes again.

In those eyes, Joffrey saw pain, doubt, relief, hatred, and many other things he couldn't name.

What would Tyrion do? Hate Jaime? Kill his father again? Bide his time and take revenge?

Joffrey couldn't be sure, but he had prepared for it.

"I'm sorry, but it's true. Ask Uncle Jaime. Ask him seriously."

Joffrey was utterly sincere.

"I don't want to hurt you, and I won't."

"We can be real friends. We can help each other."

He meant it.

Now that Tyrion knew the truth of Tysha, he could never belong with the Lannister family again.

This Tyrion could surely become his true right hand.

The wind rustled for a long time...

Tyrion did not explode as he had in the story.

He only asked, "What happened to Tysha? Where is she now?"

His voice was dry and weary. Hope filled his face.

But Joffrey had no answer.

"I only saw the two of you talking. Grandfather doesn't know either, but he didn't have her killed. He only drove her away."

Where could a "whore" have gone? Countless readers and viewers had wondered the same thing.

Perhaps she was in Braavos, perhaps in King's Landing, perhaps living somewhere else, perhaps...

Joffrey could only try to comfort him and make a promise.

"Stay strong, Tyrion."

"When I become king, I can put the whole kingdom to work helping you. Tysha must still be alive. We'll find her!"

"There's still hope!"

As long as he didn't break completely, time and hope could heal almost any wound.

Tyrion struggled to calm his expression. He could not bear to show his weakness in front of Joffrey.

He buried the turmoil deep in his heart.

That's right. There's still hope.

I can't give up! Tysha is still waiting for me.

I'll become a better man.

Gradually, the special "treatment" he had received for over twenty years as a dwarf—the looks, the whispers, the gestures—rose one by one in his mind.

Tyrion resolved not to give the world what it wanted.

So what if I was born a dwarf, misshapen and ugly? Even if the Gods have cursed and rejected me, I will never surrender!

Just watch me.

I'll live well, if only to see my father's body buried.

Just watch me.

Before the High Septon, in the Great Sept of Baelor, I'll exchange the sacred and solemn Sevenfold Marriage Vows with Tysha!

And with everyone watching,

I'll inherit Casterly Rock!!