Author's Note: I don't own any of Martin's work. That's why I'm writing this. Alone.
This is centered around Tyrion Lannister – the character played in the HBO series by actor and dwarf Peter Dinklage.
Tyrion Lannister, the dwarf of the Lannister clan, was trapped. The mountain men of Vale, led by the monstrous Shagga, looked ready to slice him up into little pieces.
And they could, too. They had the swords to back it up.
Tyrion gulped a big gulp.
"So is this it?" He asked. "Has my final hour come?"
Shagga, stinking of liquor and mud, hacked and wheezed and slapped his hand across his own thigh.
"You look like a bearded fetus!" Shagga yelled. His mountain men laughed in unison while Tyrion looked on in puzzlement.
"I beg your pardon?" Tyrion asked.
"You're a tiny feller!" Shagga replied. His mountain men laughed in unison some more. Shagga was cruel for pointing it out but he wasn't wrong. Tyrion was 3 feet 10 inches.
"I am a dwarf, yes. But I resent being called a fetus." Tyrion replied. Tyrion wasn't a fetus. He was a dwarf.
"So are you going to kill me? I'll admit, I'm heavily outnumbered and I'm likely to expire.
"You are so short that you could commit suicide by jumping off of a curb!" Shagga heckled. His mountain men all cheered and laughed hysterically in unison.
"Interesting," Tyrion muttered.
Shagga pointed rudely at Tyrion. "That guy is so short," he yelled.
"How short is he?" the mountain men hollered back. In unison.
"He's so short he needs a ladder to pick up a penny!"
"Ohhhhhhhh!" the mountain men shouted and hollered. Shagga was on fire. He began circling Tyrion whilst gyrating his right arm and flicking his wrist and fingers to make a repeated snapping noise.
Tyrion stood motionless. Was this going to be how he spent his final hour in Westeros?
"Right. Well, you've landed a few blows. We all grasp that I am a dwarf. Is that it then?" Tyrion grew impatient now.
"You're so short you could hang-glide on a Dorito!" Shagga shouted. The mountain men got even rowdier. Did Shagga rehearse these in advance? He was full of them.
Tyrion was confused.
"I'm not familiar with the word Dorito." Tyrion replied. And to be honest, nobody else was, either. But the mountain men certainly weren't going to say anything to big Shagga, who by this point was firing everyone up by cupping his ear to each side of his crowd and then flexing his muscles at them.
Shagga wound up for his next pitch.
"You're so short, you use a condom for a sleeping bag!" Shagga bellowed to the shock and amazement of his mountain men further cheering in unison.
"What the hell is a condom?" Tyrion frustratingly shouted over the group, but was drowned out by their celebration. Nobody knew what condoms were either. That's why everyone in Westeros had syphilis.
"Can I say something?" Tyrion asked.
"Sure – but," Shagga paused and gestured with an over-the-top shit-eating grin to his men. "Keep it short!"
His mountain men exploded with laughter. A quarter of the mountain men in unison were visibly peeing themselves. Which created a burning sensation - because of the syphilis.
"Look – enough of this! I would rather be dead than subjected to this horrible act. So if you mountain men had any balls at all, you'd end my life right now." Tyrion shouted in protest.
Shagga suddenly froze as his mountain men gasped. Everyone was still. You could hear a pin drop. Something Shagga would have said was Tyrion's version of a battle sword – had he not been so rudely interrupted.
Shagga bent down, scratched his scruffy beard and leaned into Tyrion's face. His mountain men stood in silence. In unison.
"All right, lad." Shagga grunted.
Tyrion gulped one last big gulp.
"Time to die."
Shagga grabbed his behemoth sword out of his holster and swung it wildly into the air. Tyrion, in a moment of desperation did what any abnormally short man would do: crawled beneath his enemy's legs.
"Where did he go? He was just here!" Shagga screamed. But the mountain men saw him and tried to pounce. But just like that pesky mouse you can't swat with a broom, Shagga's men kept missing tiny Tyrion. That's what happens when you all pounce in unison. You all miss together.
Shagga and his men chased down Tyrion all the way along the field until Tyrion found his escape route: an anthill. Tyrion crawled in with ease while the mountain men stumbled by swinging their swords with vigor. They never caught him. So the mountain men went home to do what they did every night: had merciless sex with each other.
Tyrion tried to catch his short breath while he weaved through the sandy, anthill corridors. He stopped for a break.
Two red ants turned the corner and saw Tyrion.
The ants screamed. "Holy shit! A bearded fetus!"
Tyrion was one tiny son of a bitch.