Forkful Farewells

Joe walked out with boiling blood. He was itching for a fight — something to slice and dice. It was like a dark cloud of negativity hovered over him where the only way to get rid of the hurt was by hurting others.

But this changed when he saw his companions.

To Joe's joy, Tyrion and Bronn had been waiting for him at the stables and even taking the liberty to get Cookie out and ready for travel.

"Fucking hell," breathed Joe heavily whilst he stroked Cookie's neck, "Well, that was intense."

"You're telling me?" said Bronn, "you sure picked a shite time for a hangover."

"Excuse me, getting date-r**ped goes beyond any hangover etiquette, thank you very much. Besides, that knight could have tried a hundred times and still never beat you."

"I'm not the one with the bloody magical sword," countered Bronn.

"It's not the blade, but the one who wields it," Joe bickered back to him.

"Is that why you're so *untouchable*, eh?"

Tyrion stood there watching Bronn and Joe go back and forth for a moment with his lips sucked in. He seemed to be in quiet thought, of which was very important.

". . . My friends," He said softly, but Bronn and Joe did not hear.

Tyrion summoned his mojo, "My friends!"

Bronn and Joe stopped their antics and turned to Tyrion, "Hmm?"

". . .Thank you. For everything. I don't know how I would have fared without you both."

Joe gave Tyrion a loving smirk, "I do. You'd be dwarf paste at the bottom of the Moon Door by now."

"Yes," agreed Tyrion, "And I shall never forget it. A Lannister always pays his d—"

"Bah!" Joe stopped Tyrion right there, "Don't give me any of that shit. I helped you out because I wanted to. That's what friends are for, right?"

"To be quite honest, I'm not that experienced in the field of friendship," admitted Tyrion regretfully, "So I'll have to take your word for now."

Tyrion then looked to the sellsword, "And you?"

Bronn wasn't feeling as charitable, "Aye, we're friends. But I'm also a sell sword — I sell my sword. I don't lend it out to friends as he does."

This answer eased Tyrion more than if Bronn had suddenly switched things up. Tyrion liked Bronn in the first place because he was an evil bastard with no heart or conscience. "Of course. I wouldn't have it any other way."

Tyrion held out his hand, to which Bronn shook it. They hadn't agreed with words, but Joe could tell this was the official start of their dynamic duo.

"This is a very touching moment and all," said Joe, walking by foot and leading Cookie by the reins, "How about more walking whilst talking?"

"So eager to get among the shadow cats and hill tribes?" asked Tyrion, waddling along.

"I need to move. Got thoughts to outrun."

Bronn snickered, "I bet you do."

"Thanks, Bronn. I'm so happy that my near-death experience is such an easy source of laughs for you. Prick. . ."

"If some poor fooker was in the wrong place at the wrong time and got an arrow in the chest, I might feel bad for the cunt. But if that same fooker walked into the enemy camp and started swinging his cock about, I say he deserves whatever comes to him."

"Gee, thanks. I'm really feeling the love and support here."

Bronn poked his cheek with his tongue, "If you wanted love and support, you should have married the Lady."

"You fucking!—"

But before Joe could start reeling all his rage at Bronn in a misguided offload of baggage, Tyrion ensured he got the proper context, "Someone fill me in before this conversation continues!"

The trio got to their travels. At his behest, Joe filled Tyrion in on the gossip. Unsurprisingly, Tyrion was much more empathetic to Joe's situation than Bronn.

They then shared laughs about all the good times they had together to change the subject, and when those stories got old, they enjoyed benign banter about the weather or this, that, and the next thing.

"A pretty weird place, the Vale," concluded Joe, "Can't say I liked any of it."

"I'm sure some parts are nice," said Tyrion.

"That's probably what some dumb cunts say about Old Valyria."

"…" Bronn thought to himself in silence. He had been to many a place comparable to hell on earth during his professional career as a sellsword. When surrounded by such death and misery, you tend to develop an appreciation for simple geographic distractions.

But even Bronn had the emotional intelligence not to play the devil's advocate here. Joe just needed to have his bitch and whine about the Vale, nothing more, nothing less.

Tyrion used the easy segway, "Speaking of Valyria, what do you plan on doing with the egg?"

"With luck, it will hatch," said Joe, "You felt it, too, right? Something's alive in there."

"Hmm?" wondered Bronn, "I didn't feel anything when I had it."

". . . I wonder about that," said Tyrion in contemplation, "One moment, it was cold as rock. The next, warm and beating with life."

Joe snapped his fingers, "There you have it then. We have a sample from before and after. So, what was happening the moment you felt the egg change?"

"I'm not sure," admitted Tyrion, "I was terribly drunk. All I know is that it felt like a weight was lifted from my shoulders and that I was crying when it happened."

"I remember," said Bronn with clarity, "You two were talking about love. Any longer, and I thought you'd start bumming each other."

"I mean, that narrows it down, I guess. Love is still pretty broad, though," said Joe.

"We were talking about Tyrion's wife when you started going on about 'letting the light in', or whatever the fook."

Tyrion laughed at that, "Letting the light in? Gods be good, Joe. I had no idea you were such a romanticist."

Joe didn't take any shit when it came to stuff like this. Everyone has to believe in something. It didn't matter how stupid or realistic, "Whatever I am, this shit is the difference between cold stone or egg of life. How about you suck on that?"

Bronn laughed, "What is it with you spiritual folk and riding so hard to the defence of your beliefs? If you truly believe in what you say, why bother fooking around trying to convince everyone else?"

"Because it's fucking annoying. People who invalidate how another feels — especially regarding beliefs — are complete tossers."

Tyrion parroted one of his father's teachings, "A Lion does not concern itself with the opinions of a sheep."

"What a crock of shit," said Joe, "Get enough sheep against the Lion, and I'm pretty sure that mother fucker will think twice about starting a stampede."

At that moment, they came upon a fork in the road. Go west, and the road takes you to The Bloody Gate. And go east~

"Looks like this is where we go our separate ways," said Joe after coming to a halt.

"You're departing?" asked Tyrion.

"I'd love to stay, but—" said gazed out east with uncertainty, " I've been so focused on doing my own thing since I was little, it would be strange to change tactics now and accompany you. But before I forget—"

Joe reached into the inner pocket of his cloak and produced two weirwood medallions, "For you. A symbol you are part of House Nix."

"Nix?" asked Tyrion, "I had been meaning to ask~"

"It's a combination of shit, but basically it means 9, a number that symbolizes us as individuals as well part of the great whole. You can pronounce it as House Nine, if you'd prefer. Either way is fine. I'll have to explain the numerology to you at a later date."

"Ah, so it's spelt like Nine, replacing the 'n' with an x to make Nixe. And I take it the 'x' in the word symbolizes how we are the individual 'x' that is part of the whole?"

"Holy shit. . ," said Joe after realizing Tyrion's impromptu genius, "That was not my original intention, but I love that! Thank you, Tyrion. You're showing your worth already."

Tyrion felt honoured. This might be the most heartfelt gift anyone had ever made him, "You really shouldn't have. . ."

Tyrion took his medallion and looked down at it in his hands. One side had the smiling Shadowcat, the same as all the other Nix medallions.

On Tyrion's personal side was a Lion with a big head and small arms and legs, standing on top of a stack of thick books that let the Lion see over the tall grass to hunt.

"Wear it like armour," Joe said with a smile, hinting Tyrion how to extract the positive meaning from his medallion beyond 'You're the dwarf Lannister.'

Bronn's medallion was more straightforward. His personal side was just a swirling tidal wave that had been burnt black.

Bronn struggled to make sense of it.

"What?" asked Joe, slightly insulted, "It's Blackwater!"

Bronn raised a critical brow, "…"

"Okay, you got me," said Joe, "I'll admit that's not one of my most creative works. But in a way, it's much cooler than the others. Unique."

"Anyhow," said Joe as he mounted Cookie, "Keep those on you. Never know when being part of House Nix will come in handy. Oh, and Bronn—"

"Hmm?"

"I'm really sticking my neck out here by inviting you. If you shame the name by shafting one of our fellow members, I'll track you down to the ends of the earth. Nowhere will be safe."

"Oh?" replied Bronn, challenge accepted, "And should the time come, I'll look forward to it. Maybe I'll wait for you in the Eyrie."

"Haha, not without ten good men and some climbing spikes, you won't."

*NEIGH!!!*

Joe reared Cookie, her forelegs raised to the sky. "I'm not much for goodbyes. So Tyrion, Bronn, until next time!"

"Aye. It was interesting while it lasted," Bronn said.

Tyrion began to wave goodbye, "Indeed. Best of luck Ser— no, friend!"

With a smile and an "HYAH!", Joe and Cookie raced east.

Leaving Bronn and Tyrion behind in a small cloud of dust.