The Dragon and the Nameless
Fifteenth Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC
Someone had been forethoughtful enough to get the young man a chair fit for his stature, but carved of the same pale goldenwood as the rest of the sitting room. If there is one thing the palace staff does not lack for, it is experience with those of odd shape or appearance, but you are glad indeed that kindness was shown here for it shall be hard enough for the former scion of House Lannister to see this to the end without the reminder of that which has followed him like a blight all his life.
'Dwarf' they had called him and other ill names besides, for it is the nature of men to think that a comely face holds a worthy soul and one less comely must be the sign of some inner blight. Some had even thought to name him bastard, softly in the hearing of his father granted, but not so soft that he would not hear. It was this latter rumor that had made you change your thought as to the name he might take. Hill which you had planned for all the former Lannisters as a mark of their casting out from the nobility of Westeros might be taken for something else entirely when it came to Tyrion, and your mother would not have the memory of Joanna Lannister, whom she had once named friend, besmirched so.
"Come to proclaim my doom, Your Majesty?" The tone is light, almost as in jest, though bitter is the smile upon the lips that speak it. "I must confess a certain curiosity in the matter and not just of the base sort. All the rumors I have been hearing rather fall flat of the proper grandeur I would expect of the proclamations of a dragon." The last was said in draconic, book learned, but well spoken. Varys had not been mistaken on this, at least.
"Whatever rumors you have been hearing, master Tyrion, I can assure you none have the ring of truth for I have shared my mind in this matter with none before coming here to speak with you," you reply in like tongue. "It seemed to me only fair that you should hear my judgement first and from mine own lips." You pause and consider him, the young man not that much older than you, with hair of gold and hair of black, one eye green and one dark, both of them watchful. "And if you would think of it as doom, I shall not stop you, but life even with dragons and devils and angels that walk among men is not a poem to be declaimed."
"Well, what is it then?" he asks, playing long gamely enough.
"A ledger and you would not wish to find yourself paying the debts of House Lannister." You offer a smile, brief but true. "Nor
should you. You find yourself a mage, master Tyrion, in an age where magic is dawning again and there is much need for the skills of sorcery, even unto the furthest parts of my realm. In Mantarys, far from the wars and the feuds of Westeros, you should have the chance to make a new life on your terms, leaving behind a name leaden with ill fortune and ill deeds. "
Tyrion snorts, though he tries to make the sound into more of a sniff at the last moment. "You could make mugwort tea smell sweet as honey, Your Majesty, but..."
"Healers use mugwort as a digestive, do they not?" you interject. "Perhaps you should not focus on what it tastes like upon the tongue, but how it may aid you through the years to come."
"I did actually choose that tea with a purpose, but now I cannot use it in my own metaphor," he replies with a mock-scowl. "You, Your Majesty, are a thief..."
Rather than speak up, you let the silence linger, guessing there is some jape and some test to it. You might have been upset at it under other circumstances, but a man disarmed and captive has no tool but his words and his boldness to guide his fate in the world.
"A thief of words, of course, for what else could you have stolen from a dwarf who had naught but his father's scorn?" he finishes and you smile, but you see in his mismatched gaze that the words are not full truth. He would ask for clemency for Gerion and for Lanna if he could, but he has no leverage and no leg to stand on. "Though on the matter it seems too much to hope that my name should be forgotten in Mantarys or elsewhere, seeing me as I am."
Ah, now you step on shifting ground and must tread with care. "The flesh-smiths ply their craft with skill and at the call of the throne with speed also."
His lips tighten, though there is longing also writ upon his face. "It'll be enough of a change to my name without a new face."
You nod in understanding, more of it perhaps than he suspects. "Mayhap when you will have gotten used to the former you may wish to make use of the latter. The offer remains open, Master Tyrion. "
For a long while there is silence, broken only by the soft sighing of the rain outside the window, then at last he asks. "What is to happen to Cersei's children, and.... well, it still feels strange to say aloud, and Jaime's. There is no point hiding that I care for them more for the sake of their father than their mother."
There is an old pain there, one that runs deeper than you imagine the thoughtless comments of one such as Cersei Lannsister might go. You do not test it, but answer honestly. "Tommen shall go to Braavos, to foster in the Palace of the Sealord. I can well attest that city can give a boy quite the education, if he has but the ears to listen and take heed. Myrcella shall go east to Quarth where the Warlock promised to care for her with all honors as a potential new recruit for their order, of which they find few, and as for Joffrey, I plan to have him squired to a knight with honor, though I have not yet decided upon the name."
"Jaime would have liked that last part." A wistful expression that is as close to unguarded as you have seen on Tyrion steals across his features. He had wept for his brother, that much you know from the mimics in his room. You imagine he would like you a good bit less if he knew you had ordered his death, but to know that he would have to see through the deceptions of Bloodraven. Clever is Tyrion no-more-a-Lannister, and not unskilled in magic, but beside Brynden Rivers he is as a child with a willow branch and a shield of wicker beside a knight in full armor.
You leave his company well content that you had tied off that thread and can move on.
What next?
[] Move on to the Opening of the Curia
[] An interlude
-[] Write in from who
[] Write in
OOC: And here we are, a good bit of Viserys being preternaturally observant, though he did not have much cause to dig deep. Not yet edited.