A Coat of Red
A Berserk/ASOIAF One-Shot by Yung Warrior
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"Why does he do that?"
Tyrion couldn't help but wonder as he observed his cousin, Orson Lannister, crushing insects in the garden with a round rock. The wet nurse had dropped Orson on his head as a newborn, leaving him simple. Tyrion found the happiness Orson gained from such an endeavor amusing at first – laughing at a child with a more crippling affliction than himself made Tyrion feel normal, most unlike the dwarf he was. But now, it captured his curiosity more than he could say.
"Who knows?" Tyrion's older brother Jaime said with a bored shrug. "I doubt the reason is as compelling as you think, dear brother."
"But you admit he must have his reasons. You don't find it a bit fascinating?" Tyrion mused. It was a rhetorical question. Besides swordplay and the affections of their sister Cersei, Jaime found little fascinating, the inner workings of a moron especially so. It was a far cry from Tyrion's natural inquisitiveness about the world.
Of course, Jaime had scarce need to be inquisitive – as the tall, strong, handsome heir to Casterly Rock, it was others who found him interesting. His skill with the blade was prodigious as a child, and it had only improved during his fostering with Lord Sumner Crakehall.
Tyrion did not enjoy such interest. As a dwarf, he would often spend feasts and balls closeted in the library or in his personal chambers, away from the cold, disapproving eyes of his father and sister. They made no secret about him being the shame of the family, a freak. Sometimes it was hard not to wonder if he truly was the little demon that Tywin and Cersei thought of him as.
But Jaime, he was always there. He had always loved Tyrion as any older brother would love the younger – there was teasing and boyish jokes, but Jaime had always protected him. Gifted though the older brother was, Tyrion could not resent him.
Jaime rolled his eyes. "No, I don't find it particularly interesting. In fact, I doubt he has any reason at all for what he does."
The words were spoken casually, but they scared Tyrion deeply.
"No reason at all? How terrible, that all these beetles should die senselessly." Tyrion muttered, peering over a shrub at Orson, who had stacked up a pile of dried out, smashed beetle husks.
"People die every day by the score. Who gives a dusty fuck about a bunch of beetles?" Jaime chuckled, but Tyrion was even further sobered by his brother's callous dismissal of the dread that was quickly consuming him.
A red-cloaked guardsman strolled into the garden, paying the simple-minded Orson no heed. "Master Jaime, it is nearly time for sparring."
"Alright!" At the mere mention of swordplay, Jaime's cat-green eyes lit up. "I shall see you at supper, Tyrion." Jaime sped out of the garden and towards the training yard, the guard struggling to keep pace with him. Tyrion waved after him, but Jaime had already turned his back by then.
Alone, Tyrion watched Orson for a time. The boy's intense focus on killing the beetles made the dwarf more uncomfortable by the moment. Finally, a madness seized Tyrion's heart and he moved to stop Orson, not wanting to see more insects die.
Orson was twice Tyrion's size, and easily shoved the imp away, not even taking his eyes off the ground. Barely delayed, he returned to his mission with all due haste.
Tyrion tumbled into a flowerbed, ruining a bloom of golden roses as he did so. Gasping, he struggled to regain his breath, Orson knocking the wind out of him quite easily. He heard the brute return to his work.
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"In this world, is the destiny of mankind controlled by some transcendental entity or law?"
Orson's hand rose into the air, the stone stained a dark yellow from the bugs' blood and guts.
Is it like the hand of God, hovering above? At least it is true that man has no control, even over his own will." Tyrion recalled a passage he read in a book once, during his many evenings in Casterly Rock's library.
Orson's hand fell, and another insect met its grisly end. CLUNK
Tyrion's eye caught an unusually red stone in the flowerbed, near the smashed rosebush. "Odd." He thought. Rocks were rarely so red in the Westerlands, such a color more suited to the wastes of Dorne.
Stranger still, the stone – more of an egg in terms of shape – had weird, human-like features scattered across its surface. A nose here, a closed mouth there, an eye there. It was so red, redder than blood. And it seemed…alive, somehow.
Tyrion felt an inexplicable fascination towards the egg, and picked it up.
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That night
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Tyrion never learned why Orson smashed beetles so. But ever since that day, he had always kept his lucky charm with him, wearing the red egg looped around black string as a pendant. Jaime found it mildly amusing, his sister Cersei found it creepy, while Lord Tywin had never given any indication that he even noticed it. In fact, hardly anyone seemed to find the thing as interesting as Tyrion did. He couldn't explain why, and he usually never lacked for words. Even while bathing, he would not take the pendant off.
The first he had ever heard of the stone's origin was when he was wallowing in the dungeons of King's Landing, awaiting the next stage of his farcical trial for the murder of King Joffrey. Podrick had already bent sent on his futile quest to find witnesses who might speak on his behalf. Now Jaime and Ser Kevan were the only ones who visited him, acting each as go-betweens for the battle of wills going on between himself and Lord Tywin.
When he heard the chamber door open, he expected the visitor to be either one of them. Perhaps Ser Kevan had come by to sing more songs of Tywin Lannister's just and fair disposition. Tyrion wondered if the sycophant would say the same if lady Dorna received the same treatment as Tysha did.
The anger and hatred welled up inside him, volcanic flow in his veins. He felt the charm around his neck shift around, but the rage clouding his mind made it all to easy to ignore the egg.
The visitor was Jaime, come to deliver a generous compromise on Lord Tywin's behalf. Admit guilt to an act that he never did (though Tyrion would have liked to end Joffrey's life personally) and take the black. Join the Night's Watch, and his life would be saved.
"Would it really?" He wondered. The Night's Watch was only death by slower means. To freeze up at the Wall surrounded by rapists and murderers (and bastards, he thought wryly, thinking of the ever-serious Jon Snow and what "honors" the Watch had doubtless bestowed upon him) was not a fate Tyrion relished. Besides, Ned Stark was offered the same "mercy" and he lost his head anyways.
But he agreed anyways, and Jaime gave him a wan smile, promising that things would turn out alright…somehow. Even through the slanderous testimonies that Cersei's goons gave, Tyrion kept stoic, trying to stick to the plan.
Until Shae stood the podium on behalf of the crown. On behalf of Lord Tywin.
"I know he is guilty. He and Lady Sansa planned it."
"He stole poison from the Grandmaester's stores to do the deed."
"He stole me from one of your knight's chambers and made me call him "the Giant of Lannister"."
Every word drove the stake deeper into Tyrion's heart. This whore, the woman he had raised from nothing, was damning him before the entirety of Westeros. He dared to love her, to love again after so long, but Lord Tywin won again. "Father always wins in the end…"
"Shae…please don't." He croaked out lowly from the witness stand. She turned to look at him, her dark eyes devoid of emotion. After a moment, she turned back to the three judges.
"He did not want me after marrying Lady Sansa, but she would not let him into her bed. So he promised to kill King Joffrey for her." The people gathered in the courtroom let out a collective gasp, signaling virtue amongst their empty-headed peers. Even Lord Mace Tyrell sputtered in shock, up in the judge's seat. Tyrion doubted he had seen a man so retarded since…Orson…
Everything seemed to rush up to the surface at that moment. These people, they all thought him a horrible monster, to be ridiculed at best and despised at worst. It had been that way since the very beginning – he had killed his mother in order to come into this world, or so others had told him. He saved King's Landing from the relentless assault of Stannis Baratheon, and no one even spared him a "thank you". His birthright, Casterly Rock, was purposefully being held from him, even though Jaime could not hold any lands or father any children as a Kingsguard. And now, a woman he loved, a woman he thought loved him, was tying his noose with her words.
"It's not fair. It's never been fair." Tyrion thought as the lying whore finished her testimony. He barely even registered it, but he was clenching his fists so hard he had drawn blood from his palm.
"I am not on trial for killing Joffrey. I am on trial for being born. For staining the pride of Tywin Lannister with my life." It may well have been the truth. The gods were vicious cunts, after all. In that moment, Tyrion felt utter and total despair.
He rubbed the pendant with his bloodied palm, a habit he had developed over the years. He dimly registered the features on the egg's surface rearranging themselves.
"BWWWWAAHHHHH!" Tyrion froze in horror as an unearthly keel emanated from the egg, the features forming a face. Its eyes were open, and rivers of blood poured from its tear ducts.
The smallfolk shrieked in fear, startled by the noise. "ORDER!" Lord Tywin commanded. "Defendant, explain yourself!"
But as the Great Lion of the Rock demanded order, things were inexorably moving out of his control. The Red Keep's walls morphed and shifted, becoming fleshy and organic. Existential fear began to creep up the spines of everyone in the room as the line between reality and nightmare began to blur. It looked as though they were inside of an organ, veins running up and down the walls.
Then, the angels manifested. From the rats and vermin of Flea Bottom came forth the squinting, corpulent form of Conrad, the Source of all Pestilence.
The color bled from a Baratheon tapestry, giving form and shape to Ubik, the One Who Speaks Truth.
From the walls themselves came Slan, the Whore Princess of the Uterine Sea.
A black falcon flew into the throne room from atop the castle, changing shape into the humanoid body of Femto, the Wings of Darkness. Beneath his hawkish helm, placid red eyes surveyed Tyrion coldly.
Finally, the shadows from the flickering torches became solid, turning three-dimensional and creating the body of Void, the First of the Godhand.
No Westerosi had ever known a sight so terrible as these demons – even the Red Priests of Asshai would have been paralyzed with terror upon confrontation with these demon lords. Even men of power like Oberyn Martell and Tywin Lannister could scarcely register the sight in front of them. These beings were clearly of the purest, deepest evil, and yet there was also something…human there.
They asked for his wish, and the answer rose, practically unbidden, to the forefront of his mind.
"To be tall, beautiful, and to fly on dragon's wings."
But all power came a price. The five angels needed a sacrifice. "Tywin Lannister. Cersei Lannister." Tyrion croaked. After everything those two had done to him, Tyrion would happily take revenge.
"Oh, my! Father or sister…both would make for suitable sacrifices, no?" Slan smirked with raised eyebrows.
"Do not be coy, Slan. He holds those people in naught but contempt. The sacrifice must be one who he holds dear." Femto chuckled arrogantly, lifelessly.
"Everything has led to this moment. You already know who you must offer to the altar of causality." Void intoned.
Through the din of the smallfolk attempting to escape the throne room and the guards attempting to restore order, Tyrion met Jaime's eyes, and understood.
"My brother…"
Jaime managed to work his way through the mob, a task made more difficult due to only having one good hand. But he pushed through, sensing his brother to be in some sort of danger. He was a very flawed man – many would call him evil for the acts he committed throughout his life. But Jaime would walk through hell for Tyrion's sake, no matter what.
"He has always sheltered me as best he could. But now I see the truth of this world. My eyes are open. What was it you once said of Bran Stark? That it would be better to die than to live as a cripple?" Tyrion's thoughts, cruel though they were, could not cover the pain that seemed to be tearing him asunder.
"Tyrion, why are you talking to these…things? Come with me, I'll bring you to safety." He said breathlessly, one of the few not frozen with terror at the sight of the Godhand.
Tyrion stared him in the eye. Safety. Where the fuck's that? At the wall, a frozen prison camp? In King's Landing, surrounded by plots and betrayals at every turn? In the west, where the Ironborn reaved and raped? In the east, where Stannis Baratheon licked his wounds and dragons waited beyond the horizon? In the south, where the Dornish coiled like vipers waiting to strike? Where? Where? No. There was only one way out of this. This was the only way.
"Jaime…I'm sorry."
The one-handed knight looked at him quizzically. "What are you talking about? Hurry, let's get out of here."
"I sacrifice." The imp whispered. He wasn't sure if it was real or not, but they seemed to be somewhere else, somewhere above and beyond the courtroom, beyond the vision of the others.
"It is as causality wills it." Void raised his unusually long arm. In his palm was a strange light, a symbol that pulsed green and white. It resembled a straight line intersecting two simplistic lightning bolts. With a flourish, the brand shot out of Void's hand towards Jaime's body, like a spool of thread zipping through the air.
It seared through the knight's glove and imprinted on the back of his left hand. "Wha…why? He reached out to Tyrion, but for what purpose, none would ever know. Tyrion was already ensconced inside an egg-like structure, far beyond the power of mortals to reach.
Jaime Lannister's death would bring about a new child of darkness, and as the demons descended from the shadows, Jaime's mind was filled with regret and despair. If he had both hands, he may have been able to fend off one or two apostles, but without his right he was no swordsman. The demons feasted upon him and cleaned his bones most meticulously.
"Be reborn, Giant of Lannister." Void intoned once the sacrifice had been seen to a satisfactory conclusion. Out of the egg emerged a new man. No, he was no longer a man, but a demon in human shape. An apostle of the god made in man's image.
Tyrion's apostle form was not a warped animalistic shape or a grotesque demonic form. He was humanoid, and beautiful. His skin was stone, like a statue's, and his eyes were black like beetles. His blonde hair was now the same uniform gray as the rest of his body, built of rock. Though most of him resembled a stone statue, the black wings that sprouted from his back were purely organic, their magnificence matched only by the dread Balerion of old. His body was unmarred by scars, and he was in peak physical shape. Well-defined abdominal muscles and lean form made up the body that Tyrion had always secretly desired. His nose was back as well. This body was what he had always desired – he could not be any more unlike a dwarf in this moment.
But in that moment, Tyrion thought not of his beautiful new body, and the lease on life it represented. He thought of nothing at all. Rather, he was dominated by the ravenous impulses characteristic of all apostles. If any thoughts existed, they were of vengeance as he turned upon the attendees of the trial. Somehow, the Godhand had brought him back here.
When he looked upon them, he saw not men and women, but beetles. Bugs to be crushed.
"For what purpose is Man born into this world?"
Mace Tyrell died immediately, Tyrion gorging on his fattened flesh just as the Lord of Highgarden once feasted outside of Storm's End.
"What should he strive for?"
Oberyn Martell did not escape the Imp's wrath, though the slippery serpent was admittedly difficult to catch.
"Is it by chance that he meets those who become dear to him?"
Though Tyrion considered violating Cersei half a hundred ways before doing away with her, in the end seeing her brains scattered across the room pleased more than anything else.
"What is the future of mankind?"
He took his time with Lord Tywin, slowly tearing him limb from limb and cleaning the flesh from his bones. With each blow, Tyrion remembered the guardsmen who had raped Tysha.
"All answers flow in the river of destiny."
The smallfolk near the back of the chamber managed to escape, but those with front-row seats to the former dwarf's humiliation were not so lucky. Every one that Tyrion could reach was torn apart and devoured. It felt as though the hunger would never go away.
Finally, the throne room was empty, but for three. The newly made apostle Tyrion loomed over Tommen and Margaery. Though they personally remained untouched, the blood and guts from the carnage had rained upon them, staining Tommen's antlered crown and marring Margaery's perfect beauty. The king and queen apparent could do nothing but gape in horror at the reborn Tyrion.
When Tyrion's black eyes stared down at them, the rage and the hunger abated - he could not muster enough rage to cull them, though it would have been as easy as swatting flies. It all went back and back. To our mothers and fathers and theirs before them. Tommen and Margaery were only puppets dancing on the strings of those who came before them. Tyrion was a puppet as well, but he was no longer dancing on Tywin Lannister's strings.
He turned his back to them, casting a dark shadow over the frightened pair. On black dragon's wings, Tyrion took flight, easily punching a hole through the ceiling of the Red Keep.
He only knew one commandment: Do What Thou Wilt. And so, Tyrion Lannister took his place in the grand design of causality.
A/N
Hope you all enjoyed. Definitely something a little different than what I usually write. Thought I'd foray into a more horrific territory for Halloween.
This is for sure a blend of book/show verse on the ASOIAF end of things, as obviously Jaime being present at the trial was a show only event, whereas in the books he did not make it back to KL until after the fact. The whole Orson Lannister thing is also from the show.
Otherwise, when I think of characters in the ASOIAF verse who would plausibly become an apostle, Tyrion is definitely around the top of the list. He shares a few key traits with Griffith that make me think this. They both are ambitious and climb high in courtly politics before their tragic fall. They both have illicit sexual affairs that end biting them later on. They both are contemplative and intellectually curious – to me, if Tyrion discovered a Behelit, I could certainly imagine him using it during his trial.
To me, it also makes sense that Tyrion's apostle form would be less grotesque than someone like the Count or Rosine, because Tyrion has always wanted to be beautiful. Giving him a stone statue/angel like appearance is a reference to the fact that he hails from Casterly Rock while also giving him the inhuman quality necessary to all apostle designs. Imagine a classical greek or roman statue with living, insectoid black eyes and dragon wings – that is how I would picture Tyrion's apostle form.
Thank you for reading and have a blessed day!