1. Shae
There had never a time when Tyrion had not yearned for a mother.
Sometimes when he laid with whores, their bosoms his pillows, he thought of a mother's hand on his head. He thought of a mother's fingers against the bulge of his forehead. He thought of a mother singing songs about his black eye and his green eye, whispering melodies that turned him into a king, not just a dwarf.
Shae had many lovers before him. She had never borne a child, she swore.
When he asked her if she wanted a baby, she laughed loud, and her bosom rocked up and down until he grew hard. When she asked to be fucked, he knew she did it on purpose. She was wet around his fingers. Mouth, cunt, mouth.
I am not your mother, she teased. Unless you want me to be, Little Lion. Will you call me mother when I fuck you?
They never spoke of children again.
2. The Septa
The Septa taught him to pray.
Cripples, monsters, and sinners must pray, she said. You must pray, Tyrion.
Jaime prays to the Warrior, a small Tyrion said. Cersei prays to him too.
He did not mention that he had seen his brother and sister kissing in front of the large statue. Cersei had been in Jaime's lap. She had been giggling against his earlobe. She had looked beautiful, and Tyrion had looked away. The Warrior was theirs.
You will pray to the Crone, the Septa decided. She will give you guidance.
Tyrion pointed to a tall, sweet figure. Her head was bowed, a smile was on her mouth, and she held a child against her bosom. She reminded him of an aunt he had once seen, rocking his baby cousin while she gazed out at the sea. It had been quiet by the sea, by that aunt, by that rocking child. Tyrion had looked away.
The Mother, the Septa said.
I have never had one, little Tyrion Lannister declared. The waves brought me to Casterly Rock.
The Septa begged him to pray.
3. Catelyn
Cersei had always loved her children, but Catelyn had taught them to be warriors.
There was the boy, Robb, who would one day have Winterfell. He had the temper, the kind that would make him a lord with strength.
There was Sansa, who liked songs and lace and tourneys. But Tyrion saw it in her too: the wolf who would one day bite when the opportunity came.
There were the littler ones, Arya, Bran, Rickon. They bowed their bodies to the king. But none of them bowed their hearts.
But Catelyn Stark did not love the broken one, the bastard, Jon Snow.
Tyrion had known that long before he had even met the Stark family. Known it long before Eddard Stark even brought the bastard home.
4. Tysha
One day I will grow large with your child, my love, she said.
They will be dwarves, he muttered, still licking wine off her teats. You will not love them.
He imagined her large with a child. He would look like Jaime, miraculously, though with Tysha's pretty brown eyes. Tyrion would be a proud father, and one day the boy would stand taller than him. The boy would be knighted. Would laugh and grab his father and whirl him around.
I will, Tysha said. I will love your children as I love you.
5. Cersei
She'd whispered once to him, I wish I'd cut off your bloody cock when I'd had the chance.
She meant the day she'd twisted his baby manhood again and again, and he cried, and Jaime had told her to stop, she was hurting their baby brother. She had stopped for Jaime.
Tyrion did not remember this.
He remembered that he once climbed into his older sister's lap, intent on playing with the necklace around her neck. It was a huge, swinging ruby. He wanted to push it, so it never stopped swinging. He'd seen children in mother's laps before. Cersei was all the mother he had.
She'd been reading. She'd both the book down when she felt his hands on his thigh, and she pushed him hard. He'd only just learned to walk, and he lost his balance. His head had cracked against the floor hard. No one came running. He'd touched his head gingerly. No blood. No questions.
You disgust me, Cersei spat. I'll have to have this dressed burned now.
Tyrion stood, quivering.
He kissed her gently on the cheek, that soft, pale cheek, and left.
6. Joanna
After the Battle of Blackwater Bay, he thought about his mother. Blonde, lovely, with hands like white lilies. She would nurse him, she would sit by his side as Catelyn Stark had done with Bran Stark. She would tell him the wounds weren't so bad. She would. She would forgive him.
7. Daenerys
Mother of Dragons, they called her.
He went because if she could love dragons, with their fire and scales and hatred, she would love him too.
The Mother of Dragons was a child. The dragons flew far and fast from her.
You are no mother, he told her coldly, and then taught her what he knew. What he had seen. What he had wanted.
She wielded the dragons in battle, and he rode one. He thought, perhaps, perhaps we are one and the same. We both had no mother, only a brother. We will ride together.
The dragons flew off after Daenerys died. They left their mother's body to burn.
8. Sansa
Tyrion did not pretend he didn't see Sansa Stark's shudder. He did not pretend that she didn't glance at the Hound a strange amount of times. He did not pretend that Sansa could love him.
I will stay, Sansa said. I want a Lannister at my back when I am Queen of the North. You will be my lord husband and I will be your queen.
Tyrion coughed. They stood in the hall that he and Daenerys had just razed to the ground.
I have terms, Tyrion said.
I will give you an heir if that is what you wish.
I have terms, he said again.
What terms?
If the child is a dwarf, you must never drown it. You must never slit its throat. You must love it, Sansa Stark. For there is nothing more dangerous than the boy who is not loved.
He had burnt all of Westeros with Daenerys and her dragons. Above the fields smoke curled. There were skeletons of homes. There were no longer Others to be fought. Tyrion Lannister had brought fury.
Sansa promised, and she was good and kind in Tyrion's eyes.
He sailed to Pentos the next day, and hoped the Hound would give her a child.
He no longer knew how to be a father.