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Not for the first time, Tyrion thinks his father is the most brainless man on the planet. It’s become quite obvious that there will be no growth spurts, which leaves Tyrion at a height disadvantage. Why he insisted that Jamie take Tyrion hunting is seemingly beyond all reason, especially when the gun is heavier than Tyrion could ever hope to be.
Jamie ordered Tyrion to take first watch, most likely in hopes that the rain will have stopped by the time it’s Jamie’s turn. It’s just too bad for him that he hasn’t figured out that what Tyrion lacks in physical strength, he more than makes up for in brainpower. Something unpleasant is in Jamie’s future, Tyrion’s just not sure what .
With a shiver and a huff, he pulls his jacket tighter around himself. Never has he wished so much to be somewhere else, but he thinks he’d kill for a hot bowl of soup and dryness. There’s quite a difference between watching the rain from behind a window and being stuck in the rain for hours on end.
Words start floating from where Jamie’s sleeping at the back of the cave they’ve taken shelter in. Mostly their sister’s name, although that’s to be expected. Those two are so attached at the hip Tyrion’s mildly surprised they weren’t born that way. It would’ve made for great entertainment, had it happened like that.
Jamie soon begins talking clearly, rambling on about Father and Tyrion and how Jamie can’t do it. He’s apparently lost whatever argument he’s been involved in, conceding with a telltale huff. It’s not surprising, as whatever Father wants he usually gets. Except for their mother’s life.
Finally, Jamie’s words cease, mouth stilling. That’s the apparent end of it, at least until he mutters out something more.
“I’m sorry, Tyrion.”
All the pieces click into place then, snapping together like buttons on a coat. Why Father insisted Tyrion come on the trip, what he and Jamie had apparently been arguing about. Somehow, someway there’s meant to be an accident, one that ensures Tyrion won’t be making it home.
The half-man stares out into the distance, and dreams about a world better than this, someplace where he can eat, drink, and fuck to his heart’s content. It’s not a world he can have, but the dreams are nice while they last.
Xxxxx
Grotesque shadows dance along the walls, produced by the flickering candlelight. Shae breathes a soft sigh and settles in closer, the air of tension that she constantly carries dissipated in sleep. Tyrion smiles at her, lifts a thumb to stroke along her eyebrows with a feather-light touch. A sudden feeling of melancholy descends over him because their time together is limited and she’s the only one he’s ever seen forever in.
If he were a lesser man tears might be pricking at his eyes, but the loss is too much a familiar friend to even consider crying. She’s simply another glimmer of light in eternal darkness, fated to be snuffed out before her full brilliance can be realized. It’s the nature of the games they play, the world they’ll never be rid of.
He’s been lost in thought for some time, eyes lazily tracing the designs on the ceiling, when Shae begins mumbling. At first, it’s nonsense words and phrases, Bronn mixed in with Tyrion and something about dressing quickly. After a few minutes, the words halt, and he thinks she’s finished for the night.
He’s just about to blow the candle out when she starts up again, voice pricked with urgency and just the smallest amount of panic.
“Gallus, Gallus ! Go check on the kids, hurry!” She calls out, as her hands clench on the blanket. He shushes her and rubs at her hands, tells her in a low murmur that it’s alright, that everything’s okay. She relaxes partially, muscles loosening once again.
“Are the kids okay?” Shae slurs as her head loll back on the pillow.
“Yes,” he answers, with more surety than he’s ever felt. “The kids are fine.”
Xxxxx
Sansa looks an angel in the ethereal moonlight pouring in the window, hair the color of blood tangled on her pillow. In another life he could love her, he thinks, if only his heart were not fully given to another. If only her heart were not caged away like hunting dogs in their kennels, with the key withheld from anyone named Lannister. It’s a fucking tragedy, but maybe their lives aren’t fated to be good.
A stab of sympathy slices his heart because she’s got the worst end of it and is still trying to find the good in her situation. The inferno of hatred he feels for his nephew makes itself known, rage burning so strongly he has to consciously work to not go and stab the little twit. Everything might have worked out if only the seven had seen fit to give Joffrey a brain, or any amount of common sense. Even the slightest bit of decency or empathy would have been useful, but of course, he proved to be entirely devoid of all those things, which is why Ned Stark is now missing his head.
The silence in the room is broken by Sansa’s mutterings, which means the floor nearly gets to drink all his wine. He huffs a sigh and leans back in his chair, takes another healthy sip to calm his racing heart. Shae certainly talked enough in her sleep that he should be used to it, and yet it never fails to nearly cause heart failure. With a shake of the head, he goes back to his musings.
“Arya...don't,” Sansa laughs. “Mother said not to, and Father…”
Another beat passes.
“Oh, look at Bran. You know he won’t leave you ‘lone ‘till you do.”
She giggles again before quieting, and Tyrion determinedly refills his cup, to ignore how damn guilty he feels. It won’t do anyone a lick of good, least of all her, so it’s better to ignore it and pretend it was never there.
Something he’s been doing his whole life.