Tyrion slumped over his tankard of ale, his head swimming. He was drunk, but not drunk enough to forget his troubles. He hadn't even been able to perform for the girl he had paid for with Lannister gold.
He had not taken to Braavos like he had hoped he would; the passage across the Narrow Sea had weakened his body and spirit alike. His legs still cramped and throbbed and his mind was still twisted with hatred. The city was brutal and harsh for a mere half-man like himself, particularly a half-man with a price on his head, and danger lurked around every corner. So here he was, a lion of Casterly Rock, alone in a grimy whorehouse, drunken and despondent, far from home.
Hear me roar, he thought to himself, attempting to make light of the situation, as he always did. He had always had a gift for such; laughing along at his own misfortune tended to take the sting out of crueller japes. In the viper pit that was Kings Landing, you bit or you got bitten. What would his lady wife think of him now? Courtesy is a lady's armour, and mockery is mine.
But there was a deeper sort of emptiness beneath his imagined bravado. He knew he was alone. Oh, he was used to being alone, alright. But he was also used to filling the void with mummers, paid for with Lannister gold, playing the part of a friend, a lover, a companion. Shae had been a particularly good pretender. She had fit perfectly into the void, as if it had been created for her alone.
Alone.... Shae was dead now. Strangled like the runt of a litter of pups, and all at his own hands. Bronn was probably Littlefinger's man already, now that Tyrion's purse was closed to him. Varys had vanished into thin air , as the eunuch was prone to do. He hiccuped into his cup. And as for his family… Tyrion cracked a small smile at the thought. His father still could be crouched on the privy for all he cared. And Jaime was probably fucking Cersei this very instant. He snorted, and drank deeply again.
He sat for hours, calling for tankard after tankard. Girls came and went, inviting him to try what they had to offer until he waved them away. He sank deeply into his cups and deeply into his thoughts. Eventually his mind turned back to its old familiar lament. Where whores go, he reflected bitterly. I am where whores go.