TYRION
The tallest dwarf in Westeros was smiling from ear to ear as he sat to draft his letter to Bronn. The mushroom Tyrion had eaten was still going strong almost two hours later, and now the texture of the wood was a delight under his fingers. He spent a few minutes just touching every part of the desk that he could reach. Then he got back in the chair and began to write.
"Dearest… favoritest… Bronn," Tyrion said aloud as he scribbled. A laughing spell overtook him and soon he was feeling the desk again, searching for hidden warps and secret grain patterns meant for his eyes only. And while he was down there feeling around, his mind whirled.
The letter Tyrion eventually finished sprawled to six pages, covered front and back with nearly microscopic cursive. In it were various ideas, commands, confessions, anecdotes, and threats. On page four, he spent an entire paragraph admonishing Bronn for a recent bad haircut before switching gears completely and inviting the sellsword knight to share the management duties of a new aquarium business Tyrion was planning to start. One of the pages started with a story about growing up on Casterly Rock and eventually turned into an exhaustive grocery list. At the bottom of the final page, Tyrion drew over two hundred tiny mushrooms.
The letter was a masterpiece. He'd put to words things that were impossible to even mentally articulate. It was his finest work, the very finest of all. He danced out of his apartments and off to find a raven.
"Find Bronn!" he screamed at the little bird as he tied the letter to its leg.
"Find bomb," the bird said.
"Find Bronn," Tyrion corrected, and tossed the bird into the sky. It flapped, rose, and sailed off over the rooftops of King's Landing. Tyrion stood proudly on the steps of the rookery, smiling a giant's smile as he watched the bird depart.
"Bronn can't read, can he?" Tyrion said aloud. He was still grinning. "He's illiterate."
The bird flew out of sight.