The Breach

Tyrion inspected Joe's pure face, and a warmth in his heart ensued.

This youth had been so kind and revering, gods knows why, to the point where Tyrion genuinely believed he had himself an ally. It was hard to explain.

As if he'd grown an extra limb.

"Let's play a game," Tyrion said, the Eyrie breeze starting to feel pleasant with each sip he took.

"Knockout?"

"Gods, no!" Tyrion replied, a phantom pain itching at his ass.

"There's a Braavosi knife game I could teach you," said Bronn.

Tyrion squirmed a tad, "Does it involve the potential for losing fingers?"

"Not if you win."

"No," said Tyrion, defiant, "No ale chugging, no knife games. Let's do something *I'm* good at."

Bronn was quick to zip, "Staying low?"

"Our Tyrion here happens to be a great judge of character," said Joe.

"Sounds like a boring game."

"It's not," replied Tyrion, eager to prove Bronn wrong, "Here's how it works: I make a statement about your past. If I'm right, you drink. If I'm wrong, I drink. And no lying! I'll know if you're lying."

"Alright, Bronn first," Joe said.

Tyrion turned to Bronn and held the candle near the sell sword's face to get a clearer image. After a quick scan, Tyrion smirked knowingly, "Your father beat you."

Bronn didn't allow himself to be impressed. He just drank, "but my mother hit harder."

"You killed your first man before you were 12."

"It was a woman."

As he drank, Tyrion gave a defeated scoff, and Bronn could see Joe's disapproving look.

". . ? She swung an axe at me," Bronn explained, to which Joe nodded with a 'fair enough'.

Tyrion continued, "You've been north of the wall."

This time, Bronn allowed himself to be impressed. He drank.

"What brought you up there?" asked the curious Joe.

"Work."

"And. . ," Tyrion said before Joe could inquire more about Bronn's adventures, "you once loved a woman many years ago, but it turned out badly, so you've never let yourself love again."

Joe and Bronn couldn't help but raise a brow at how specific that was.

"Oh, wait, that's me."

Considering Tyrion was finding an excuse to load off his baggage, Joe figured he might as well do the same, "Do you guys believe in the afterlife? You know, in something after. . ?"

Bronn answered casually, "You eat. You shit. You die. That's it, as far as I'm concerned."

"How grim," boo'd Tyrion, "What about the in-between? What about—"

"Love?" Joe said, leaving Tyrion struck as if his mind had been read.

"Yes," said Tyrion, regarding Bronn with curiosity, "What about love?"

"Aye, I've been cunt struck once or twice," Bronn admitted.

"Ugh, jeez. . ." Joe groaned and massaged his temples.

"What?" asked Bronn.

Tyrion was surprised at the sudden disgust from Joe. "You disagree?"

"It's not that," said Joe, "I just kind of cringe at the whole misogyny thing."

"Do explain."

"Gladly," said Joe, as Tyrion poured him more wine, "Cunt struck. When you say 'cunt struck', You don't love the woman, just the thing between her legs."

"And?" argued Bronn, "I can love whatever the fook I want."

"Nah, that's cool, man," Joe's voice replied with a placating resonance, "I respect that. All power to you. But you do recognize the problem."

"It's not my fault that after a good fight, all I want is a good woman," Bronn said.

Tyrion could back that kind of logic, "Here here."

Joe ignored them, "The fault lies in the culture. Women are seen largely as cum buckets. Bastards tossed aside, dwarfs and cripples alike. Look anywhere in Westeros, and you'll find assholes asserting some form of hegemony."

"That's how it's always been," Bronn stated like it was common sense, "The big guy fooks the little guy. And the little guys find ways to fook each other."

"Trickle down fuckenomics," chuckled Joe, "You should be master of coin."

Tyrion shuddered at the thought. "And what say you, Ser?" he asked Joe, "Have you been in love?"

"Once or twice," said Joe. Roxanne perched on his shoulder, her eyes closed, seemingly sleeping after a long flight, "In a past life."

"And now?"

"Nothing."

There was no remorse in Joe's words. Then he asked Tyrion playfully, "What about you?"

"Me?"

*Sniff, sniff*

Joe sniffed the air, "You've been in love before."

*Sniff, sniff*

"I can smell it."

Bronn raised a hand to his nose, "I think that's just a day and a half's ride worth of piss and sweat. . ."

"Now that you mention it," Tyrion said accusingly, "You two look like you've bathed."

Joe laughed, "This room doesn't have a bath? How terrible!"

Tyrion was sniffing the air now, "You've washed your hair and everything!"

"Now, now," calmed Bronn with a smirk, "You don't want to wake up miss daisy."

They all glanced back to Mord, who was snoring away in the corner, content.

Tyrion shivered, as if brushing off the violation of Mord's previous behavior.

"Fair enough" hushed Joe, "So how about you quit stalling and tell us about your love?"

"Not a pleasant story, I'm afraid."

"Bitch, please," replied Joe with a pop cultural sass, "Bronn's probably seen way more fucked shit than us."

Bronn silently nodded.

"And me?" continued Joe, "Don't you worry about me."

Tyrion sighed and eased himself. Far be it from him to refuse when someone offers to listen, "I was sixteen. My brother Jaime and I were riding when we heard a scream."

Joe and Bronn listened silently.

"She ran out onto the road, clothes half torn off—"

And the air began to seep with story.

It was a sad story of a niave youth. Despite his circumstances, the songs tasted like sweet honey in Tyrion's mouth back then. A tale of love and heartbreak and ash, thrown to the wind of bygone summers.

Tyrion had finished regaling how his father made his wife, Tysha, fuck the whole garrison. She was a whore, you see. His brother Jaime had arranged it all — the girl, the r**pers, everything.

A thoughtful silence loomed, until~

". . . I would have killed the man who did that to me," said Bronn.

"Hmmm," Joe placed a hand on his chin, pondering, "Sounds kind of suspect. Are you sure your brother was telling the truth?"

Tyrion was a tad insulted at the question. His brother had been his only friend for such a long time. To have the honour of their sibling relationship questioned like this was uncomfortable.

"He gave me his word," said Tyrion.

"His word? Or your fathers?"

"…" Tyrion choked up, and a dreadful feeling sank in his heart. No. . . Jaime would never hurt him like that. Never.

Joe saw the turbulence in Tyrion's face and sighed, "Look, you mope around like a lustful, drunken dwarf. And why? Because your father said your wife was a whore, and you believed him?"

That's when Joe placed a hand firmly on Tyrion's shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze, "I'm sorry you had to brave that battle alone. But it's time you fight again. If not for yourself, then for Tysha. . ."

That's when Tyrion snapped his attention away from the abyss of the cloudy, starless Vale and beamed toward Joe. Amber eyes pierced the Lannister green, "But. . . She could be anywhere. She could be dead. She could be—"

"Waiting for you?" said Joe with a cheeky smile, "Hell, she could be the queen of Sothoryos for all we know."

"Where would I even begin?"

"That's simple."

Then Joe placed his hand on Tyrion's heart, "You let the light back in."

Call it a miracle, serendipity, or just plain old chance. . . but upon saying those words, a breach in the clouds opened, and the divine light of the full moon poured out.

As if through a keyhole to a door that locked away all hope and wonder from the world.

At that moment, with the white rays of mother luna gleaming in Joe's eyes, Tyrion could feel something.

It was a feeling he had long forgotten, the kind he only knew as a child.

Magic.

Tears swelled in Tyrion's eyes, allowing a single droplet of hope to fall from his face.

Down.

Down to his lap.

Where a dragon egg laid.

*Pwop!*

Suddenly, Tyrion felt a strange warmth that replaced what had once felt like cold, hard stone.

And for a moment, Tyrion thought he heard a heartbeat.