Tyrion Lannister was very good at adapting to the given situation. It was how he'd survived for so long as a dwarf. If he hadn't had the good luck to be born a nobleman, he'd have likely been drowned as a babe. As it was, Tyrion could roll with the punches and, when everything collapsed into chaos, he was fairly talented at finding his way out of it. If nothing else, no one could accuse Tyrion of not being cunning.
But still, he found himself at a loss for how to handle the current situation.
His brother and sister were caught in their incestuous affair. Jaime, naturally, had tried to kill the witness, a mere 7-year-old boy, but the child had been saved by technology given by the Visitors, these people from a different world. Now Jaime was taking the black, and Cersei was bound for the Silent Sisters. Tyrion's nephews and niece were exposed as bastards and bound to be imprisoned within Casterly Rock (which, to be fair, was a lovely place to be on house arrest). So, in a nutshell, unless Father remarried and had another child, Tyrion was the next Lord Lannister. He represented House Lannister in the royal party.
Tyrion couldn't decide whether he was elated or terrified. Maybe both.
As he often did, he dealt with his emotions by buying a nice whore for a few hours. Something about a good fuck did wonders to clear Tyrion's head. He walked, half-drunk, back from the brothel to Winterfell, ignoring the guards with the ease of a lifetime of practice. Tyrion went to his suite and paused.
"I hear tell that you're watching and listening to everything, everywhere, at all times. If that's true, I'd like to speak to one of you if you're free," Tyrion said to the empty room.
Ten minutes later, when Tyrion had reached the bottom of his bottle, there was a knock on the door. Tyrion reached up to turn the knob and let in Inari, the Blue Woman.
"How may I help you, Tyrion Lannister?" asked the exotic woman, her expression patient but distant.
"How are dwarves treated on your world?" Tyrion asked, very curious.
"As with any minority, there is a portion of the population that mock and insult little people. For the most part, though, so-called dwarves are treated like any other member of the population. Some embrace their shortness and have formed a culture around it. Others elect to get the surgery to correct their stunted growth. In general, no one cares how tall you are on our world, only how smart or capable you are. That's how a blind meritocracy works," the Science Officer said smoothly.
Tyrion blinked. "You can… make dwarves tall?"
"Yes," Inari said simply.
"If I asked you to make me whole, would you?" Tyrion asked, too drunk and tired after a long day to show how excited he was.
"If you asked, then yes I would," Inari stated.
Tyrion considered it. It was hardly even a choice for him. "Please. Make me a normal man," Tyrion begged.
Inari pulled out some kind of tube with a needle at the end from her belt. She crouched down so that she was level with him. "Please don't move," she asked as she tilted his head and pushed the needle into his skin. "There. Go to sleep. You will wake up very hungry and the height you were meant to be. I'll see to it that you get a bodysuit since none of your clothes will fit in the morning. Anything else, Tyrion Lannister?"
"Will you be going north to the Wall, Inari? I would like to have someone to talk with," Tyrion said, feeling very tired all of a sudden.
"Yes, I am. I will look forward to talking with you, Tyrion. You seem intelligent for your people," she said with a hint of a sly grin. Then she walked out of the room. Tyrion walked over to his bed, disrobed, and jumped up and onto his bed. He got comfortable, half-convinced this was all a drunk dream, and faded into sleep.
When Tyrion awoke to the sun in his eyes, he rolled over. Unfortunately, he was in an unfamiliar bed and happened to roll out of it onto the floor. Grumbling, he got to his feet only to pause. He wasn't used to seeing the world from this high up. He was… taller.
Looking down at his naked body, Tyrion almost burst into tears. Legs. Long, strong legs, holding him up. A normally proportioned torso. Hands that could stretch twice or thrice as far as his old ones. Tyrion went for the mirror in the corner and marveled at himself. He looked like a new man. He saw traces of his old face, and his scars were still where they were supposed to be, but otherwise he was unrecognizable.
He was also absolutely starving. He wondered what to wear before he noticed a black bodysuit like Robert had worn to the feast on the floor as if slid under the door. Tyrion slid it on, feeling the alien fabric stretch and constrict until it fit him like a glove. He walked down to the feast hall, servants and passerby giving him second looks. Tyrion came to the stunning realization that he was handsome instead of grotesque now. Maybe he could actually win a woman the old-fashioned way rather than with gold.
Tyrion entered the feast hall and walked down the aisle up to the high table. The King looked up and narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
"You wound me, my King. Am I really so hard to remember?" Tyrion said in his usual voice, with all its usual sarcastic wit.
Robert's eyes went wide. "The Imp? I mean, Tyrion?"
"The Visitors work miracles if you simply ask for their help. Now, I did a lot of growing overnight. I am hungry enough to eat a horse." As if on cue, Tyrion's stomach audibly grumbled.
Lord Stark nodded his head, looking unsurprised to see Tyrion reformed. "Take your seat and help yourself, Tyrion Lannister."
Tyrion flagged down a nearby serving girl. "Bacon, burnt black. Two of those little fish. Some of that dark bread. And beer. Please," he added at the end, never hurts to be polite.
As Tyrion waited for his breakfast, he scanned the room. "Where are my niece and nephews?" Tyrion asked the table.
"Detained to their rooms," Lord Stark said flatly. "By order of the King."
"Ah, of course. And are they aware of their true parentage or the crimes thereof?" Tyrion asked lightly.
"I didn't order them to be told but people talk," Robert said dismissively.
Tyrion resolved to visit his brother and sister's children before the party heading north left. Though his new appearance might take some explaining.
"So, Tyrion, I understand you intend to journey north to the Wall. Why the urge to visit?" Prophet, the Captain of the Visitors, asked as he cut his meal into bite-sized pieces.
"It would be a wasted opportunity not to go see it while I'm so near. I want to see the great construction. I want to piss off the edge of the world," Tyrion said with his typical crass honesty.
"I see," Prophet said simply.
"I understand your son Jon is joining the Night's Watch, Lord Stark?" Tyrion brought up.
"He's made his choice to take the black," Lord Stark said flatly. Lady Stark laid her hand on his in a gesture of support.
Tyrion stopped asking questions in favor of eating once his food arrived.
After a hearty breakfast and a visit to a howling mad Joffrey, teary Myrcella, and confused Tommen, Tyrion packed his bags and went to wave the royal party farewell. King Robert, Lord Stark, three of the Stark children, five of the Visitors, and all the bannermen who'd come north with the king's party exited out the main gate of Winterfell. The massive wheelhouse, carrying the disgraced Queen and her three bastard children, creaked and moaned as it followed after the swift riders.
The great keep of Winterfell felt diminished with her Lord gone. The duties of Lord Stark now fell on a 14-year-old, though his mother Lady Stark would surely help to guide him. Tyrion mused on the nature of succession and coming-of-age as he went for the north gate where the party headed for the Wall, led by Benjen Stark, was gathered. Tyrion noted his brother in manacles and walked up to him. "So you and Cersei finally got caught. I expected more from you, dear brother."
Jaime turned to look at where Tyrion's head would have been yesterday, tracking up the body to stare at Tyrion's face in shock. "Tyrion? But… how?"
"I asked the Visitors nicely," Tyrion said simply. "So, taking the black. The great Kingslayer arrayed against the wildlings and the gremlins. They could write a song about you."
Jaime shrugged. "At least I've still got my head. That Eddard, he's not so bad. Talked Robert down from killing both of us and the children along with us. I can stand watch on a big wall for the rest of my life knowing they're alive."
"Ever the doting lover and father, huh?" Tyrion teased.
"You know, since you'll probably never see me again, I should tell you. That whore you married, what was her name?"
"Tysha," Tyrion bit out bitterly.
"Right. She wasn't a whore."
Tyrion felt like he was caught in an earthquake. "... What?"
"Father was furious that you'd married a commoner. So we lied to you about how she was a whore. It was all father's idea. I just played along. I mean, really, what were you thinking marrying a girl you just met?"
Tyrion felt a ringing in my ears. "You mean to say… you helped Father have the entire barracks rape my wife?"
Jaime shrugged. "Not my proudest moment, I will admit."
Tyrion slugged his brother across the jaw. Tyrion had never thrown a punch, but he could only hope he'd hurt Jaime at least as much as his own fist hurt.
Jaime spat out a glob of blood from biting his tongue. "Okay, I deserved that."
Tyrion breathed in and out slowly as he struggled to regain his temper. He turned for the nearest Visitor, the Red Man. "You, Visitor? You know where everyone is, right? Can you find a woman named Tysha? She's dark-haired, slender, blue eyes, probably in the Westerlands."
The Red Man nodded. "We know of whom you speak. She is alive, and unmarried. She lives with her father in a small croft."
Tyrion almost felt tears come to his eyes. "Oh, my Tysha." He covered his eyes so the Red Man couldn't see him cry. Tyrion reached into his pack and pulled out a detailed map of the Westerlands. "Where is she?"
The Red Man, Set, Tyrion remembered, took a stylus from his belt and circled a particular spot off the road between Casterly Rock and Lannisport. "Here."
Tyrion said "Thank you," with heartfelt emotion before tucking the map away in his bag. One day, when his father was out of the equation, he'd find her, and pray she could forgive him.
The party left soon after, on the way north to the Wall and the Far North.