Disclaimer: Obvs ain't my IP. It's a fanfic, for goodness sake.
Chapter One
The Dornish Farmgirl
"To a father growing old, nothing is dearer than a daughter."
- Euripides
They don't shun bastards in Dorne. That's what my mother told me, when I asked her why she fled to there. She never told me who or what we ran from, who my father was, or what even our surnames were. I was born here, in the far South of Westeros, to a sad and scarred woman with listless eyes that always seemed watery. I looked nothing like a Dornish woman, which never escaped the notice of the other children in the village. They teased me for my golden colored hair, my pale skin that always burned in the harsh sun, my bright blue eyes. Mother always said, in the few sad times she mentioned him, that I had the coloring of my father and the body of herself. She said I reminded her of him - and she always said it fondly - that I had the same intelligent eyes. That I had his curls and wavy hair, but her skin. His shoulders, her height. I more wanted to think that I had her beauty and his kindness, for she always spoke of him as kind.
But she was gone now. As the Dragon Queen battled the Mad Lannister Queen and the tales of death came in from the North, she fell ill. It wasn't greyscale, it wasn't even age or general sickness. Mother was always a sad woman, and with me at the ripe age of two and twenty, she merely... faded. My whole life, she'd worked hard as a farm hand under the name Myrna. We never starved, living in a shack at the edges of the woods just off the farm owner's property. But the older I got, the more she just... faded. Until, with the whole country just clawing itself out of the endless spiral of death and war it found itself in, she left me. That was three year ago.
The farm owner and his family had been kind to me. Simple men and women for simple work, the Eddars let me stay on after my mother's death. They even helped me bury her, in a little plot next to our shack, where I could pay my respects every day before work. They had a daughter named Averill, who was my dearest friend, and a son, Braddeck. In the three years since Mother died, their parents Maenys and Edward would subtly nudge me in their son's direction. It wasn't a poor match, fitting for a poor bastard and a farmer's son, but the poor boy's affections lied far elsewhere.
As I left my home at the edge of the woods, I knelt before my mother's grave. Dusted off the fine covering of leaves that had fallen during the night, and smiled.
"Good morning, mother. More leaves are falling and changing colors," I rested my hand on the small, flat stone Averill and I found in the woods that marked where she lay. In one of the few times she talked of my Father, Mother said she he'd taught her to read some. And that teaching passed to me, then to the rest of the family that took us in. I'd used that bare-bones knowledge to carve her name as deep into the stone as old farming tools allowed. On the top side, it read 'Myrna" for the world to see. Yet, hidden away against the dirt and facing where she lay, I'd carved her true name in secret, "It's still warmer than some of the stories you told me of the Crownlands. But it is weird seeing the trees changing color so much. Uncle Edward even told me of a story he'd heard in town of snow in the Vale. Snow!" I laughed, hand now resting on the dewy grass that had grown in the the three years since I buried her, "White falling from the ceiling in big old clumps, coating the ground in white... I can't even imagine it, Mother." We only got sunshine and wind here in Dorne. And sand, a lot of sand. The southern seas of white. Or more of a beige, really.
"Synne!"
I twisted, sad smile growing true when I saw Averill racing towards the shack from the main house. She had the look of a Dornish woman, all dark hair, tanned skin, and voluptuous curves. Although she was younger than me by a full five years, I loved her more than anything else still alive. I stood and patted off my old patched up dress and opened my arms for the equally smiling girl, "Averill! Come to help me in the fields for once, hmm?"
"For once? I helped three days ago!" We laughed. I always liked to make fun of her for helping out in the farm less than her brother, but she also worked in a tavern in the town, so it was nothing more than good-natured fun, "No, no; Mother sent me to get your help in the barn again."
I sighed, shoulders sinking, "Did the pigs get out again?"
"No, better!" Her bell-like laughter was infectious, and the insistent tugging at my arm transferred some to me. So soon we were both running down the winding path too the house, passed it, and further still to the tall homely barn behind, "Fortune is foaling!"
"Really?!" I gathered up my skirts and willed my legs faster. Fortune was the Eddars family horse, an old thing that the family wasn't sure could even foal anymore when they'd scrounged the money to purchase her. But, with some effort and help from a couple friendly families nearby, the old mare actually became pregnant. It would be a huge boost to the family, and I was so excited for them.
But I knew why Maenys had wanted me specifically, and as we slowed outside the barn entrance and peered in, I couldn't keep the half-giddy smile off my face. I was very good with animals. Mother always said it was my gentle nature, but I'd never met one I couldn't calm down.
And poor Fortune needed some calming.
"Ah, there you are Synne! Come here, come here quickly!" Kind old Maenys gestured me over with a hand.
Fortune the horse was on her side, Edward around her rear and Maenys by the head. I took Maenys's place quickly, as the horse was squirming and her tail was thrashing. Her legs kicked once or twice, without strength and only in fear and pain. She was an old horse, after all.
"Hey, hey there old girl," I leaned over her head a bit, tilting my own to catch her beady black eyes. I ran a hand through her brown fur and black mane, humming some random tune as the horse huffed and heaved hot air into my thigh. She whinnied and jerked once, but when I ran a hand down her long neck, the horse slowly stopped her thrashing, "There you go, Fortune. Easy now. You've done this before, you know?" I could feel she had. Fortune had never fowled with the Eddars, but I could feel it. If I had to guess, the horse had had three little ones before this. I don't know how I know, I just did.
Just like how I knew she was scared and in pain. I leaned over more, resting my head on her neck just passed her head, shifting in the hay to get more comfortable, "I know, Fortune, I know. But you'll be so happy when you see your baby, hmm...?"
The horse blew out a huff of air. She was old, but she was strong. She would pull through this. And as I patted her more and ran my hands over her fur and through her mane, she settled even more into the hay of the barn. Then, with the horse now calm, it didn't take long for Edward to proclaim, "Well I'll be damned! I knew she was gettin' big, but by the gods!"
I lifted my head, but kept my hands running soothing circles over the horse's neck. The squelching was unpleasant, but with a bit more heaving, not one but two tiny stick-legged creatures slipped out of Fortune's rear. Twins. Born healthy and alive, already struggling to get their bearings in this bright new world.
"I don't believe it..." Maenys put her hands on her hips and sighed happily, "A blessing from the gods, this is! I knew she was havin' a bit of trouble, but lookit that girls! Barely even a tear to her old womb. I ain't never heard of a horse birthing twins without a lot more blood and usually the death of the mother."
"Mother!" Averill half-shrieked.
I rubbed one of Fortune's ears and the horse looked up at me. I leaned down again to half-whisper, "Good job, old girl. Knew you had it in you."
"I heard that," Maenys smacked a hand down on my shoulder a bit hard. She was a strong, large woman. Had to be, to run a little farm like this with barely any help, "I dunno how you do it, my girl, but you calmed her down and now we've got three horses to work the fields."
"I didn't really do much," I shrugged and, with a few more pats and rubs, extracted myself from Fortune - who whinnied again - "I just... feel what they feel, you know? Fortune just wanted to be held, and told she would be alright."
"Doesn't mean we can't he thankful. You know what? Take a late day. Not much to do on the farm til the wheat comes in, anyway."
My eyes glittered, "Really?"
"Aye, and I wouldn't say no if you wanted to take Braddeck on a hike, I wouldn't stop-"
"Thank you, Maenys!" I ran off before the headstrong farmer's wife foisted her unfortunate son on me. It wasn't that I didn't like Braddeck - he was like a brother to me - it's just... we both knew very well that I was the furthest thing he wanted in a wife. In fact, he didn't want a wife, per se.
So I took off, out of the barn and back to my little shack at the edges of the reddening forest. I laughed as I went, the wind in my long, long hair feeling just divine. I didn't get days off a lot, though this was only a half-day off really. Maenys would need my help in the afternoon, but I would make the best of it. Most of Dorne was vast deserts and rocky, dry mountains, but here and there greenery grew. Granted, even here it was mostly because of the artificial irrigation canals and the nearby river, and even then the 'forest' was more sparse woods and plains grasses, but still. It was home.
Perhaps I would gather some flowers for Mother's grave. Yes, I smiled to myself, I liked that idea a lot. So I stopped by the shack and gathered a few things; a small trowel Edward's blacksmith friend in town made for my tenth name day, some worn gloves I really should mend, a slice of jerky as a snack, and a threadbare rucksack. Mother's grave deserved more than cut flowers; I would cover the whole thing in her favorite, Dornish roses. It didn't take long to find the plant I had in mind; they were rare in this part of Dorne, but I'd found a couple growing last week deep in the sparse woods. Their 'stem' was more like a small tree trunk, all thick and woody, but from the top smaller stems shot and deep green leaves with beautiful pink-purple flowers burst from the top. I found a smaller one, with maybe a half dozen flowers, and went to work with the trowel. Like the trunk, the roots were thick and dug deep, so it look a while. That's when I spied a few other flowers nearby. Wild ones, with Dornish daisy's and wild echinacea and calendula. A few of those would look beautiful all around the Dornish rose, that I would place just behind mother's headstone.
It was just as I finished gathering the flowers that I heard twigs snapping. I didn't feel danger, but set down my trowel anyway and slowly twisted around. There, half hidden by a nearby dusty brush, was a fennec fox. We saw them from time to time outside the farm and in town, but never alone. It was a tiny, shivering little thing, with ribs sticking out and casting shadows on it's white-tan fur. I could feel how scared and hungry it was. How... sad. It was all alone in the world, probably the offspring of a hunter's catch.
"Your mother leave you too, hmm?" I turned fully. Just like with Fortune, I could feel what it felt. Mother called it 'empathy', but I knew it was more than that. Sometimes, it was almost like I could hear their wild thoughts, "Come here, hmm?"
I patted the dry grass and upturned dirt next to me. The little thing stared with it's huge gray eyes, but didn't move. It just shivered.
"Don't be scared, here," I slowly reached into my back for the chunk of jerky and smiled warmly. I tore off a large piece before taking a bit of the rest, then held the piece out for the fox, "I know you're hungry."
That was the part of me that my mother both loved and hated the most. I wanted to help, I always did... even when food was scarce like now, two years after the end of the war. But it was only a small bit of jerky, and Mother wasn't around anymore to tell me no.
The fennec fox took a shaky step forward, then another, and soon was close enough to lean in and sniff the piece. It looked up at me with it's large eyes, and I only smiled wider and set the piece down for it. Her, I reminded myself. Like usual, I could tell it was a her without checking. She leaped at the piece, tearing into it with wild abandon. I drew my knees up and rested my chin on them, "There you go, little one."
Soon, the piece was gone, so I tore it off another. I wasn't that hungry anyway. But I had been gone long, and I still needed to plant the flowers before Maenys sent for me. I stood and patted off my skirts, "Well, little one..." For a moment, I was at a loss. It still looked so... little, and hungry, and alone. It probably wouldn't survive as the long winter got colder, but on the other side, could I take care of it? The Eddars always paid my mother and I in food from the farm, and we'd make small coin through selling widdled figurines and trinkets in town, but it wasn't much. Then again, the fox was small and wouldn't need a lot...
"Oh, why not?" I motioned to the fox, "Come on, then, if you want."
She did this little jump, and I felt her happiness as it trotted along beside me. I guessed I would have to think of a name for the fox now. Averill would love her.
As I stepped over some brush at the treeline behind my shack, I saw a stranger peering through the side window on the opposite end from Mother's grave. He had an aged face and dark hair, flecked with gray and slicked back from his face. The man was alone, and clothed in expensive but worn armor with a sword at his hip. He looked closer to a knight than I'd ever seen, but nothing like the stories I'd heard. But what was he doing here?
I made to hide, but he'd heard me already. I froze as his hard eyes and stern face met mine. He spoke with a low, gruff voice, "This hut yours?"
"Y-yes..." Please don't be a raper or murderer. The fox whimpered and hid behind my calves, My eyes darted to the Eddars home. In my thin skirt and his heavy armor, I could probably outrun him...
"Don't look so damn scared, lass, I ain't here to hurt you," He didn't smile, but his grim face did smooth out a bit. I couldn't decide if that made his less threatening or not, "I'm lookin' for a woman named Tysha. Took an age and a half, but heard she was here."
I paled and stepped back. The fox yelped, and I felt a shot of panic that wasn't mine. I fell to my knees and gathered up the whimpering creature, "Oh, I'm sorry, are you alright?" She shivered, scared little thing, and I smoothed back her fur as I looked back at the man, "I... why are you looking for Tysha?" My mother's voice whispered in my ear. I couldn't let on the truth to this man, not until I was sure of his intentions.
He straightened up, hands falling from the windowsill. From the crinkle at the edges of his mouth, I could tell he knew I knew something, "Man I work for's lookin' for her. Don't give me that look, he don't want her hurt. Just wants to make sure she's still alive, maybe talk to her some."
Sometimes, when I was really little, men would visit my mother. They would threaten her, about me, about my father, that they'd kill us both if we ever went near him again. Mother always shied me into the nearest cupboard or closet when they were here. Sometime's... I could hear them forcing themselves on her. But as we fled further and further into Dorne and stayed as far from the large towns and cities as possible, eventually they stopped coming. I didn't know the names of the one who sent them, just that they were close to my father, whoever he was.
So I straightened up myself, clutching the orphaned fox to my chest. It had been a decade since the last 'visitor' and they usually came in groups of at least two. This man was one, and didn't have the same look as the others, "Who is looking for my mother?"
The man started, grim mask falling for a moment. He was genuinely surprised, meaning that he didn't know about me. That meant it probably wasn't the same person who sent him. He gathered his wits quickly, eyes narrowing as he looked me over again with new eyes, "How old're you, girl? Where's your father?"
"Answer my question and I'll answer yours," It might not be bright, faced with a seasoned soldier, but I squared my shoulders and tried to look as impressive as possible for a dirt-and-sand smeared farm girl.
He crossed his arms, "Tyrion Lannister's lookin' for Tysha. Now answer my questions, or we're gonna have a problem. He paid me a lotta gold to track down her down with Varys's help, and I ain't about to let a waif stop me." I didn't like how he stressed the man's name, as though to scare me.
I gulped, but held firm. This man was not going to scare me, "My name is Synne Sand, and I am five and twenty. Tysha is my mother, and I her bastard daughter. You know she went by Myrna here, right?" He nodded, "Well, that was for a reason. Now, please good ser, I have work to do."
Keeping him in sight, I moved around the other side of the hut to my mother's grave. He hadn't attacked me, though I had no idea why someone as grand and important as the Lannister dwarf would be looking for my mother. Unless... I nearly dropped my rucksack, covering the shock by sinking to my knees at my mother's grave to start planting the flowers. The fox danced around me before curling up nearby, eyeing the man as he turned around the corner of the hut.
"I ain't done girl, and you won't want to make me angry. Where is your... mother?" There was something in his voice, something between shock and curiosity.
Just to make sure, I had to ask, "Where's the money?"
"Money? Now listen here, girl, I ain't payin' you to talk to your damn-!"
"I don't want your money," I muttered with a shake of my head. Mother said to never take money you didn't earn, and even then, "Every time that man sent those... those monsters to harass and rape my mother, he always sent coin to 'pay' her for her 'silence and services'. She never took it, and always threw it at those monsters when they left." I looked him dead in the eyes, narrowing my own, "Is that what you're here to do? Rape her? Or are did he decide to start harassing me, now that she's dead?"
"You've got a tongue on you, girl," He uncrossed his arms, and looked like he wanted to say something else until the rest of my words sank in, "... Tysha is dead?"
I motioned to the tiny grave marker before starting on my planting again, "You're standing at the head of her grave, ser."
"Fuckin' hell," The man groaned, running a hand through his hair and muttering under his breath, "Tyrion is not going to like this."
I had to ask. With the knot forming in my stomach, I had to, and I could feel a strange weary kindness from this man. He was a sellsword, that was obvious, but not totally the dishonorable kind, "Ser, my mother never told me my father's name." I watched his reaction out of the corner of my eye, "She never told me who sent her harassers, though I'm pretty sure it was one of my father's uncles or aunts or his father." I bit my lip, but kept digging flower holes with my trowel, "This Tyrion Lannister, what was he to my mother?"
"I don't know, girl," The man was clearly unsettled by something, and no way was he telling me the whole truth, "But if she's dead under there as you say, then I have no more business here."
That was it? Not even his own name, just some questions? I looked at the man in shock, but he'd already turned tail and started walking away. Before I could think, I called after him, "Wait!" He stopped and looked over his shoulder, but said nothing, "First off, I don't know your noble high-born customs, but isn't it rude to demand information without even giving your own name, ser?" It was stupid, to stand up to an armed man, but I wasn't about to let this opportunity slip away, "And second, you tell this Tyrion Lannister that my mother never used that man's money. Every coin he tried to mockingly force on her was either thrown back, or kept as a reminder." I looked back at the hut, "You tell this Tyrion Lannister that my birth nearly killed her, and she could never carry again. You tell this Tyrion Lannister that she never took a lover, a husband, or anything else, and raised me alone. You tell this Tyrion Lannister that she kept those hundred silver and the single gold coin. You tell him-"
"Keep your speeches for someone who cares, girl," He rolled his eyes and I felt angry flash white-hot through me. But, for the first time in our brief meeting, he gave me a lopsided smile, "The name's Bronn. Ser Bronn of the Blackwater."
"Well then, Ser Bronn," I shrugged once, feigning disinterest and turning once again to my work, "Good day to you."
"And to you as well, Synne Sand."
Once his footsteps faded away, I breathed a sigh of relief. My heart thumped hard in my chest. I wanted to believe it was a coincidence, that maybe there was another Tysha trying to live under another name with a bastard daughter. This Bronn hadn't expected me, so it was always a possibility, but... good god, Tyrion Lannister? The few stories I'd heard in my little hovel of the south were equal parts fantastical and worrying. How he'd defended King's Landing from the armies of Stannis Baratheon, how he had a soft spot for whores, but was one of the most intelligent men to ever take the role of Hand of the King. If that man was the one who harassed my mother, I would probably be hunted down and killed soon, now that she was dead. If... if he was my father, then... I had to take a break from planting, my hands were shaking too much. The fox padded over, nudging against one of my hands. I scratched yours ears.
"How about Florys?" It was the name of the fox from one of the funnier stories Mother would tell me as a child. The fox tilted her head, and when I scratched her ears again, she made a small, happy sound. My eyes lifted, in the direction the sellsword had vanished, "Yes, that'll be your name."
The unsettling knot in my stomach still wouldn't leave.
Bronn came to the hut a week later. Averill had already given me a giddy earful about getting visited by a dashing knight. I laughed at her. Dashing? The man was at least twice my age. He was gruff with a crudeness about him, but all she saw was his weathered gambeson and sword.
He told me that Tyrion Lannister would be visiting. He didn't ask my permission, and I didn't expect it. What noble ever asks permission? It wasn't like I didn't expect it, but still... I was nervous. Bronn didn't stay long, asking a few more questions Tyrion probably sent him via raven. The Eddars were all in a frenzy when I told them that the Hand of the King would be staying with the local Lord, Ryon Allyrion, specifically to visit me. Averill, in particular, was all in titters about it.
"You must be his bastard!" She clapped her hands together, smiling broadly, "I heard in town from Tristan, who heard from his uncle, who went to King's Landing last year that Tyrion Lannister is one of the last Lannister's alive, and has no known true or baseborn children! He could come to legitimize you!"
"It's up to King Jon to legitimize anyone," I muttered as I skinned some desert rabbits I'd caught the day before, "Besides, I don't know what he wants. Ser Bronn wouldn't say, and I wouldn't take his legitimizing if he offered it."
"What?!" Averill jumped off my hammock, startling Florys of it too, "Why wouldn't you want to be a Lady?!"
I shot her a look, "My mother always taught me that nothing comes without a price. Who tracks down a bastard just to legitimize them, unless they wanted something? I don't even know if he's... him, in the first place," I sighed, "Don't be so quick to trust nobles, Averill. They have a lot of swords and poisons in their embroidered silk clothes. Besides-" I smiled at her, "-your parents still need help, right?"
She kept on like that for a whole month. Bronn returned around once a week, first with questions about my mother (which I almost never answered) then with questions about me (that I definitely never answered). Then, as I was helping gather the wheat harvest with Maenys and Braddeck, Averill came running down the road, skirts pulled up to run faster.
"They're here!"
"Averill, where is your father?" Maenys asked dryly.
"Oh, he let me go when I told him what I saw," Averill stopped just short of me, breathless and smiling, "Six men, all on horseback, in the colors of House Lannister and House Targaryen! That sellsword friend of yours was with them, Synne. They'll be down the road soon, come from Lord Allyrion's castle!"
I felt a wave of nervousness wash over me. They were here, already? From what little I knew, shouldn't it take longer to travel through Dorne from a city as far away as King's Landing in a carriage? Unless they went straight here, taking a ship across the strait and the rest on just horseback, but that would be insane for some soft-bellied noble. Then again, from the few stories I'd heard of Tyrion Lannister, he was anything but soft.
I stood from the wheat piled, shaking like a leaf, "I... I... M-Maenys, may I...?"
"Go, go you fool girl," Maenys shooed me, a motherly look on her face, "Go home, calm yourself, pretty yourself, whatever you need to do, just go." Then she eyed her daughter, "And you are going to take her place for a spell."
Averill groaned. I could tell she wanted to see the Hand of the King closer up too, but we were working at the head of the field before the house. She'd see them long before I would. Knowing I didn't have a lot of time but not wanting to appear panting and exhausted from running, I walked as swiftly as I could back to my shack. Inside, Florys leaped from my hammock and circled me, sensing my excitement and frayed nerves. I set about trying to somehow make the shack more presentable for someone as important as the Hand of the King. Brushed off the small wooden table my mother hammered together with cast-off pieces from the local smithy, tried to somehow smooth out the dirt floor a bit more, closed mine and my mother's small trunks of belongings, and removing the drying rack full of rabbit and herbs outside, around the back of the shack. The last thing I did was brush off Mother's tiny headstone. I hesitated a moment, then flipped it and washed it off with a little cloth and some water from the nearest irrigation canal. It now read 'Tysha' instead of 'Myrna'.
Just as I finished that, I heard the hooves behind me. I couldn't make out too many details from here, but six horses had stopped at the Eddars house. Four tall men I didn't recognize, a fifth I could barely make out as Bronn, and a much shorter sixth on the grandest horse. They were a mess of blacks, golds, and reds. My heart leaped to my throat as nervousness took over. I darted inside just as the first horse turned towards my shack, Florys hot on my heels. For a moment, I paced. For another, I leaned against the shuttered window. Then, finally, took a spot on the hammock and messed with the frayed edges of its rough burlap.
The sound of hooves ended just outside, then the sounds of dismounting men. A few words, first I recognized from Bronn and the rest I didn't, followed by a sharp wrap on the shack door.
"Girl, we saw you run in there," I sighed with relief. It was Bronn first, giving me a few more seconds to wallow in my sudden nervousness, "Come on and open this door, will you?"
"Y-yes, o-of course!" I stumbled a bit standing and yelped. A couple laughed outside, before a quiet but powerful voice shushed them, "S-sorry!"
I hesitated at the door for a moment, worrying my lip. Then, just as Bronn knocked again, I opened it and had to jumped back lest he hit my face.
"Whoa there, girl," Bronn backed up, chuckling, "Needed a moment to calm yourself, eh?"
But I didn't listen to him. Surrounding the sellsword were the five men I'd seen in the distance. The other four tall ones were obviously guards. They were decked out in matching armor with red and gold tabards marked with the gold Lannister lion. The fifth was much shorter than even me - who was short for a girl to begin with - standing maybe to the top of my waist. His hair was a messy dark gold-blonde, eyes sharp and as aged as his scarred face. His facial hair was thick, obscuring some of the scarring, but the lines ran deep around his nose.
He looked at me for a long, silent moment. Bronn spoke first, "Didn't I tell you? Spitting image of a Lannister, if a bit short."
"She has Tysha's chin, her nose," The dwarf smiled. It creases the lines of his face deeply, accenting some of the scars, "But yes, the color of a Lannister."
My eyes widened a bit at that. Mother had always said similar when she talked about how I looked. Colored as my father was.
"Reminds me a bit of Myrcella and the paintings of your Lady mother at Casterly Rock," Bronn cast the man a sideways smirk, "At least she's managed to avoid the shrewishness of Cersei."
"We should stop talking about the girl in front of her, she looks like she's about to faint," The man, who didn't need to introduce himself as Tyrion Lannister, turned back to the rest, "The lot of you return to the Eddars house. You are to treat them with all the respect you would show me." Tyrion's bright eyes slid to Bronn, "Especially you, Bronn."
"What, don't trust me?" Bronn played the part of the wounded man well, clapping a hand on his chest.
"Not as far as I can through you, my friend," Yet Tyrion smiled, and soon the other five men were leading their horses - and Tyrion's, I noted - back towards the farmhouse. Only when they were gone did he turn to address me, giving the shack a look over - his eyes lingering on my mother's grave - before gesturing inside, "It's windy out here. Are you going to invite me in, or am I to stand here and get more sand in my hair?"
I quickly moved out of the way, stammering, "I... I have no chairs, milord. But there is the hammock, and I've laid a fur on mine and my mother's trunks so... um..."
He just moved passed me and sat on one of the trunks. With his size, it looked almost comfortable as a seat. I took the hammock, and Florys leaped into my lap. Tyrion didn't say anything for a long time, merely taking in the shack with the strangest look on his face. It was curious, maybe a touch angry, but held the same sad and forlorn look Mother always seemed to have.
Then his eyes fell back on me, "Bronn tells me you are Tysha's child. That she died three years ago, naturally. He also tells me you wouldn't answer most of my questions about her, or yourself. Why?"
My mouth was dry, but the Lord was patient. It was a full minute before I could answer, "I... wanted to meet you in person first, milord. There is much my mother was afraid of. I want to make sure you weren't the man who harassed her for half of my life."
"I was not," His expression turned dark. I didn't doubt that dark memories were swirling around in his head, "That particular honor goes to my Father. Tywin Lannister."
I nearly sighed with relief, but stopped myself. Something felt tense in the room, like a string pulled taunt but not yet snapped. Some of the pieces were falling into place, but I didn't want to confront the revelation they point to, "How did you find my mother?"
"My father did... unspeakable things to Tysha," Tyrion's hands clenched. I could see that ghost of anger in his eyes starting to grow, but knew it wasn't for me, "He... forced me to-"
"Milord, my mother has told me that story," I felt nervous, cutting off not only a Lord but the Hand of the King, but pressed on, "She was careful never to use names around me, but occasionally told me stories."
"You mentioned she still had the silver coins and... and the gold one," Tyrion's eyes fell to the dirt and sand floor of the shack. When he caught me gesturing to the trunk he sat on, he added, "May I?"
"They're in a cloth pouch at the bottom," I said, feeling my own sadness settling in, "She worked hard to make sure we never had to use them. Mother never took them out, called them 'blood money', and forbid me from even looking at them most times." Until she'd told me the bare bones of what happened to her, I'd always found it odd. One Gold Dragon and a hundred Silver Stags, more than enough to purchase room on a small farm, buy a horse and livestock, and food for multiple seasons for a whole family. Yet mother forbade it ever being used. When Tyrion fished out the pouch and held it, his expression darkened again. When he opened it and spilled the coins on the shack floor, his face turned to rage. Then, finally, as he knelt over to pick up the single Golden Dragon from the spilled pile, I could see water in his eyes.
"Milord?"
"Did she live well?" Tyrion's voice was thick with battling emotions. I couldn't look at the man any longer, and stared down at Florys, who stared up at me, "After my father's men stopped visiting. Did she live well?"
"She was... happy. Sort of," I smoothed down Florys's fur, who turned back to rest her head on my thigh, "I mean, Mother was always a sad woman, but she tried her best. She raised me all by herself, but it always seemed like the older I got, the more tired and sad she became. Until one day, her body just gave up... though if I had to guess, her heart was gone long before it."
"I see..." Tyrion gathered the coins and bagged them, tossing it back in the trunk. His gaze lingered inside. Her clothes, few writings, her whittling knife were all in there. I hadn't had the courage to touch them since she died, "I would like to see her grave."
I shifted Florys off my lap and tossed the fox a look when she protested. Outside, the sun rose high with a disconcerting cheeriness that belied the sadness inside the shack. Tyrion Lannister followed and knelt beside me at the head of the grave. I watched as his fingers ghosted over her name on the tiny stone, his eyes first on it before travelling to the flowers I'd planted a month and week previous.
"I assume you planted these for her."
"They were her favorites," I smiled, "I turned over the stone before you got here. Mother taught me my letters and the very little she knew of reading, but I know enough to carve both her names."
"Myrna was the other one, right?" Tyrion's hand never left the headstone, his other in the dry grasses in front of it.
I nodded, "Yes. She went by Tysha for a while after I was born, but wanted to start as fresh as possible. We went from the northern parts of Dorne when I was ten, all the way south to here, and she took the name Myrna. That's when the man's men stopped harassing us."
"I see. How..." Tyrion swallowed thickly, "How did she live before you moved to the farm here?"
My gaze fell. We didn't like remembering those times. Mother never spoke of them, and I didn't like the nightmares she gave me. Of the life we lived, of having to hide in closets and under the beds as she serviced men in the brothel... I could see in Tyrion's face that I didn't need to answer. He knew what I was thinking.
"She shouldn't be here," Tyrion said, though to me or himself I couldn't tell, "We were legally married for a short time. My father had the marriage annulled quickly. She... be the Lady of Casterly Rock right now. Or..." His thumb passed over the length of the stone, "Or possibly buried there, I suppose." Then, for the first time since we'd left the shack, he looked me full in the face, "With the timing, you were conceived when we were still wed. Had it lasted, you would have been our trueborn daughter." Then, his other hand fisted in the sand and grass, "You should be trueborn."
There it was. It fell like an anvil over me, adding a weight I hadn't felt before to my shoulders. The coins, her grave, our matching stories, his looks, my looks, her looks. There was no denying the fact that the dwarfish man kneeling next to me atop my mother's grave was my father. Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King and Lord of House Lannister, was my father.
"But I was not born in wedlock, not technically," I forced a smile, "I am a bastard."
"Aye," Tyrion almost smiled, as if at some unseen joke, "I am a dwarf and you are a bastard."
He said it so nonchalantly, with no shame or disappointment in his voice at all. As if the two distinctions were equivalent. As if they didn't matter at all. He turned to me, sizing me up with a glance, and stood, "I am leaving in a week for King's Landing. I have duties there, and the King can only spare me so long." He chuckled and muttered under his breath, "That man would be lost without me and his sister." Then Tyrion stared me in the eyes again, looking down for once as I still sat on the ground, "I would wish you to accompany me."
"I won't be legitimized as a Lannister, milord," I didn't stand. Somehow it felt easier to talk to him when we were of a more similar height.
"I didn't ask that," I could feel him wanting to roll his eyes, but he didn't, "Though the thought did cross my mind. Someday in the future, perhaps. And besides-" He looked back at the shack, then around at the farm, "-the only one whose permission I would need to legitimize you is the King's." I opened my mouth to protest, but he shushed me with a hand, "But I am not the sort of man to force anything on a woman. No, I merely wish to get to know the woman my Tysha raised all on her own. Nothing more, nothing less..." Then, a crooked smile. This one crinkled less of his scars, "Though you would have access to any of the Maester's in King's Landing. Or any of the sights around the city." He chuckled, "Better clothes and accommodations at the very least."
"Milord, I... I am sorry, but..." My gaze dropped to Mother's headstone. It would be a lie to say it wasn't tempting, but... Leaving the farm would mean leaving her. Leaving the little shack by the desert woods, leaving behind the Eddars who had been so kind to us both...
Tyrion followed my gaze and must have guessed my thoughts, for he clicked his tongue and said, "I would pay the Eddars to clean and upkeep the grave and your little shack here. I would ask for a carriage from Lord Allyrion as well, since I doubt you would be comfortable riding for a month on horseback." He eyed me, eyebrow raised, "Have you ever ridden a horse?"
"No, milord."
"I suppose you could call me Father now, as well," The comment was flippant, but upon seeing the horror on my face he quickly added, "Or not. But the 'milord' business makes me a mite uncomfortable, coming from Tysha's child. At least call me Tyrion."
"Thank you, um... T-Tyrion," It felt weird to say, but at least it was better than 'Father'.
"Well, that settles it. Would you prefer to stay here before you and I leave in a week, or come with me back to Lord Allyrion's castle?" Tyrion smiled and walked around me, now between me and the dirt path to the farmhouse.
"I... I would stay here until then," Castles and Lords and all the extravagance that would bring was... frightening. Even the golden fist emblem of the Hand adorning Tyrion's shirt was probably worth more than the whole tiny farm put together. And I needed some time to think.
Tyrion only shrugged, "That is fine. I'll return each day to talk and get to know my bastard. Until then." Then, with nothing more than an inclination of the head and a final look at my mother's grave, Tyrion Lannister turned on his heel and walked with purpose back to the Eddars's home. It took me a full five minutes to realize that I'd just been played. Technically, I'd never said I would go. But now I was in a bind. He's weaseled a sort-of agreement out of me without me even realizing it.
And now, I would be off for King's Landing in a week's time.
Author's Note: I had so much fun writing this chapter. I technically included stuff from the books, with the insinuation that Tyrion was forced to participate in Tysha's assault and forced to pay with a gold coin, since that wasn't stated in the show, but whatever. Also, it took math to figure out how old Synne should be, since in the books the whole thing with Tyrion and Tysha happened when he was thirteen whereas in the show he was sixteen (since most got aged up it seems). Oh well. Still had a lot of fun writing this. Yay, stories! And Jon will appear eventually, as well most of the cast I let survive, no worries. This is written before the series end, so when the last season or book comes out, some may be alive that weren't in the book/show or visa versa, but whatever. My fanfic, my rules.
