Tyrion's Bride

The eastern coast of the Westeros Continent.

The sprawling Kingswood stretched for a thousand miles, facing the coastal city of King's Landing across a river.

Few people ventured into the Kingswood. Since the Targaryen Dynasty, it had served as the private hunting grounds of the Kings of Westeros.

That day, it welcomed two more distinguished guests:

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

And the clever dwarf—Tyrion Lannister, the "Imp."

Though they called it a hunt, their minds were clearly elsewhere.

After allowing the accompanying hunters and guards to move freely, the two set off alone together, gradually disappearing into the deep forest.

The Kingswood was a paradise for trees.

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

The Imp took detours everywhere on his short little legs, slowing more and more until he finally had no choice but to stop.

"Have mercy, dear Prince. The paths in the Kingswood are no easy going, especially for your uncle."

Tyrion's trademark mocking tone rang out.

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

Beneath the dense canopy, the two stood facing each other.

Tyrion could not help wondering if he was dreaming.

Prince Joffrey had actually invited the Imp for a private talk.

Most strange of all, Joffrey did not seem to be looking at his embarrassing dwarf uncle, but at a person—an ordinary, normal person.

Tyrion would have traded everything for looks like that.

"Whatever secret you have, say it here. Some unremarkable corner of the Kingswood is the perfect place for murder. Completely private."

Could this be another prank?

His mismatched black and blue eyes fixed tightly on Joffrey's pale face.

Joffrey lowered his gaze at his dwarf uncle, who stood more than a head shorter than him, and let out a soft sigh.

Tyrion, Tyrion.

From our first meeting onward, I am Joffrey.

Having somehow crossed into the world of A Song of Ice and Fire and Game of Thrones...

He was excited, but also uneasy.

According to the story, in merely two years, "he" would be poisoned to death.

To avoid such a tragic end, he had to act at once and unite every force he could.

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

Tyrion nearly burst out laughing.

"Ha! You win, dear Joffrey, you win! This is absolutely the funniest joke I have ever heard!"

Here and now, Joffrey no longer needed to bother pretending to be foolish.

"Look at this place. Perfect for friends to have a heart-to-heart. No spies everywhere in the city, no Secret Passages running throughout the Red Keep, and no weirwoods of the Old Gods."

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

Could this be the eunuch's secret weapon?

How could he know about it?

Tyrion was utterly astonished.

Why did Joffrey suddenly seem like a true Heir to the Kingdom? What a miracle.

Had the Gods gone blind?

"So then, my Close Friend, what exactly do you wish to discuss?"

Tyrion grew more and more curious.

Joffrey fell silent for several breaths, a perfectly measured trace of confusion on his face.

Then he shook his head and sighed.

"It feels like a dream. Even now, I do not want to believe those things will truly happen."

"I saw countless scenes I had never seen before. Betrayal, war, weddings, death—Familiar People and unfamiliar faces alike."

"And of course, you too, Uncle Tyrion."

He stared into Tyrion's eyes, his face grave and earnest.

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

A breeze swept through at just the right moment, and the rustling leaves seemed to laugh for Tyrion.

So, did you see who your real father is?

Sorry. That was too cruel.

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

The sarcasm was not particularly subtle, but Joffrey did not mind in the slightest.

He smiled back. "Friend, if I were you, I would not jump to conclusions so quickly."

Recalling those stirring plotlines and scenes from the show, Joffrey's expression grew increasingly distant.

"I truly wish it had all been nothing more than an empty dream."

"The future is too terrifying. Truth is always cruel. Power is dangerous and alluring. Secrets, conspiracies, slaughter—there is no end to them."

"But I grew because of them."

Tyrion did not say a word, seemingly intending to listen until the end.

Joffrey decided to reveal some intelligence of little practical use. "I saw it. Hand of the King Jon Arryn will soon die, and Father will ride north to Winterfell to invite Lord Eddard to succeed him."

Tyrion's expression shifted slightly. "Mm-hm. A fine story, just do not let Lord Jon hear it."

"I also saw Varys, the Master of Whisperers, plotting to restore the Targaryen Dynasty—or Blackfyre. Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin, covets the Iron Throne and schemes to incite war."

"They are certainly no good men, but isn't that accusation a bit much?"

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

"I will wait and see."

"The Long Night is coming."

"The end of the world? I would quite like to see it."

Sure enough, Tyrion did not show the slightest sign of believing him, stubborn as a rock from Casterly Rock.

Though he felt some reluctance, Joffrey understood that he had to use his trump card.

"Tysha."

The smile on Tyrion's face froze instantly.

He had never imagined he would hear that name from Joffrey's mouth.

The layers of defenses around his heart collapsed at once.

All those painful memories he had never dared dwell on came rushing back, like a sharp sword viciously driven into his mind.

Tysha. Heh, Tysha.

My first woman, my true love, my bride, was a prostitute Jaime bought.

A prostitute. A lying prostitute.

At Lord Tywin's command, the Lannister soldiers had lined up—one, ten, a hundred—and Tyrion had gone last.

From that day onward, after being forced to witness and take part in his wife's "work"...

Tyrion never again hoped to receive a woman's love.

Joffrey lowered his voice, doing his best not to provoke the Imp in his current state.

"Tysha. What a wonderful girl. Frankly, I truly feel indignant for the two of you. Such a tragedy is hard to imagine. Pitiful, regrettable, tragic."

"Stop."

"One hundred Silver Stags, one Golden Dragon."

The price paid by ordinary soldiers was one Silver Stag, already above market rate. The Lannisters were naturally different. For Tyrion, Lord Tywin had thrown Tysha a full Golden Dragon.

"Shut up." Tyrion's expression grew increasingly savage.

Joffrey could not help being affected as well.

To be fair, he did not want to tear open Tyrion's wounds either. But the opportunity across the Narrow Sea could vanish in an instant, and he had to reach an agreement with Tyrion as soon as possible.

Tyrion stubbornly refused to lower his guard, so he could only disturb poor Tysha a little.

Seizing the moment, Joffrey said again, "The past cannot be changed. But as an ordinary farmer's daughter, knowing that you would kill your father for her years later would surely give her some comfort."

Tyrion was already about to be completely drowned by painful memories. But at that moment, he seemed to see a light of hope and redemption.

"A farmer's daughter?! Tysha, she wasn't... a prostitute?"

What a loving father and son. How heartwarming.

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

Jaime? Jaime. Tyrion stood stunned for several seconds, and his eyes darkened again.

From those eyes, Joffrey sensed pain, doubt, relief, hatred, and many other things beyond words.

What would Tyrion do? Hate Jaime? Kill his father again? Endure and seek revenge?

Joffrey could not be certain, but he was prepared.

"I am sorry, but it is true. Go ask Uncle Jaime. Ask him seriously."

Joffrey was utterly sincere.

"I do not want to hurt you, and I will not hurt you."

"We can be true friends, helping each other."

He truly meant it.

Now that he knew the truth of Tysha, Tyrion could no longer possibly fit into the Lannister family.

Such a Tyrion would surely become his true right hand.

The wind whispered for a long time...

Tyrion did not explode as he had in the story.

He merely asked, "How is Tysha? Where is she now?"

His voice was weary and dry. His face was full of hope.

But Joffrey was helpless too.

"I only saw the conversation between you two. Grandfather did not know either, but he did not have her killed. He merely drove her away."

"Where could a prostitute go?" That question had troubled countless readers and viewers as well.

Perhaps she was in Braavos, perhaps in King's Landing, perhaps living in some forgotten corner, perhaps...

Joffrey could only do his best to comfort him and make a promise.

"Pull yourself together, Tyrion."

"Once I become king, I can mobilize the strength of the entire kingdom to help you. Tysha must still be alive. We will definitely find her!"

"There is still hope!"

So long as one did not completely collapse, time and hope could heal almost every wound.

Tyrion tried hard to calm his expression. Before Joffrey, he truly did not wish to expose his weakness.

He buried every ripple deep within his heart.

That's right. There is still hope.

I cannot give up! Tysha... Tysha is still waiting for me.

I will become a better man.

Gradually, all the "special treatment" he had received as a dwarf over the past twenty-odd years—those looks, whispers, and gestures—kept surfacing in his mind.

Tyrion resolved not to let the world have its way.

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

Just watch me.

I will live well, and watch Father's corpse be laid in the ground with my own eyes.

Just watch me.

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

Before the eyes of all the people...

I will inherit Casterly Rock!!