She felt humiliated.
When did she become so indecisive and desperate?
Because yes. She was desperate.
Not for attention, but for friendship…she wanted a friend, and it hurt when he would not admit to her that he was her friend.
Dany pulled the wrap closer and looked out of the window. Why was it so important that he was her friend? She had Missandei…
She looked down as she swallowed.
What was happening to her? She hardly recognized herself.
Dany went to her bed and laid down. She was exhausted, and desired nothing more than to close her eyes and rest.
Tyrion had arrived back in his chambers shaking a bit. He couldn't decide if he was upset or not, and this was causing disquiet. He had been wondering at his reactions to the Queen lately. Her attentions were distracting and he misliked it. He had a job to do, and she was preventing it.
He poured himself some wine and sat at his small table. He wasn't tired…at least not in the sense that he required sleep.
He was tired in that everything was exhausting, and he wanted it all to be over, one way or another.
He was tired of machinations and trying to outsmart Cersei. He was tired of being afraid of losing. Tired of trying to stay one step ahead.
In truth, though he was honored to have been the chosen Hand, he was feeling as though he may not have been the best choice. He felt tainted by his affiliation to the Queen sitting on the Iron Throne. By his dwarfism.
He sat and poured more wine. Some day, this would be the death of him.
This caused him concern but little. There were worse ways to die, he'd seen it. Seen too much, if he was being honest.
Which he seldom was.
Tyrion looked out of the window. He was honest to Daenerys, really. Mostly. He had given her his honest opinion on most things. Told her what he knew.
But there were things that he had never intimated to her, or to anyone. To do so would have been suicide.
He barely admitted some of them to himself.
Tyrion knew that Jaime had thrown Bran Stark from that tower…he could guess why. But he hadn't really said anything, not really. So much had happened because of that…that one incident.
And so much had happened because of Jaime and Cersei's relationship. So much pain…he wondered how much longer his brother would tolerate her. Jaime was a good enough man.
He sipped and closed his eyes.
He wasn't even certain any longer what he was trying to accomplish. Once upon a time he had been trying to survive. Then he was trying to impress his father enough to have him accept him. Then he searched for love. Then power and influence.
Then wine.
He was drinking himself to death, and he really did not care. He didn't care because he had no idea what he was living for any longer.
But then, he thought, who did, really? In this realm, in this age…who wanted to live for the sake of living? Most were just terrified to die.
Or terrified of pain.
He opened his eyes. He wasn't terrified any longer. No, he was not scared.
There was a soft knock on his door. He looked over at it, surprised at its presence. "Come in," he called, sipping again.
He heard the door open, and he looked over at its closing.
Daenerys was standing there, looking at him.
He stood immediately, and cleared his throat. "Your Highness," he nodded. "Pardon me, but was there something I forgot upon my departure?"
She shook her head. "Might I sit down?"
"Of course," and he waited for her to sit, then sat across from her.
"I am come to apologize."
"I'm sorry?"
"I suppose I was a bit too playful just now. But in my defense, things have been so very dire for so very long…perhaps a reprieve was warranted."
He nodded. "Indeed, a reprieve is always good, if one executes it in wise measure."
She swallowed. "Tyrion…?"
"Hm?" he looked at her deliberately as she played with the hem once more of her dressing gown. He had never seen her so unsettled.
"Why did you kill your father?"
He sighed. "Why are you asking me this now?"
"Because," and she looked at him. "You promised to tell me. Because I am not sleepy. And because I do not wish to be alone."
He looked rather with some sympathy. It would be torturous to tell this…he had done a good job in burying the whole episode. "Well, I suppose I did, didn't I?"
She nodded, and sat back.
He played with his cup, then poured some more. Daenerys stood and retrieved two more carafes of it, placing them on the table. "You keep much of the stuff."
He smiled. "You're about to discover why," he downed an entire cup. He looked out into the dark that was cloaking the night. "My birth killed my mother," he began. "Everything begins in my life with death, it seems. And once she was dead, my sister decided that I was not worth the trouble to love," he looked at her then poured more wine, his gaze fixed on the carafe. "So I lived at Casterly Rock, a dwarf and a shadow. Jaime was the only person who paid me any attention, and while it stung at first, I learned to live with it. My father never cared much for me. He was mostly ashamed," he drank long of his wine. "And I hid myself away. Existed mostly in shadows…"
"And because he was ashamed of you, you murdered him?"
"I haven't finished, Your Grace."
Dany blanched, nodded, and waited.
"…no one noticed me. And though I believed that I preferred it that way, it was a lonesome existence. And I wanted to be loved, much like anyone," he sighed. It would do no good to review everything that had transpired…"After Robert Baratheon took the throne, the Lannisters were very welcome. Cersei married the King, and Jaime was named Kingsguard. This was a choice that caused some discontent, but not enough to stop it from happening. And I was there. And father looked to me for very little, but when he did, it was for logic and policy," he drained his cup and poured some more. "I thought that I was making him proud on some level. I believed that he valued my opinion…" his voice trailed and he cleared his throat. "There was a woman…a common whore…who I had taken up with on my travels from the North to King's Landing…"
"What was her name?"
"Shae," he said without feeling. "And she…she was…a bit different. I believed that she cared for me, at least a little."
"And you loved her," Dany said softly.
"And I loved her. But it did not matter, because in the end, I am a dwarf," his voice was acid. "In the end, when I was put on trial for the death of King Joffrey, my nephew, she betrayed me. In the end, I went to visit my father after Jaime helped me escape the dungeon, and she was in his chambers, waiting to fuck him…" he spat. "And after I'd killed her, I took a crossbow to him, and murdered him on the shitter. But only after he disowned me," he finished, emotion raw in his throat. "They left me nothing. I had nothing. And I was smuggled in a box on a ship while reeling from what I had done," he smiled. "And brought to Your Highness."
Her mouth was agape. "Tyrion…"
"Please, do not pity me."
"No. I don't think that I do."
He nodded. "I am a wicked person, Daenerys. I am not to be trusted."
"A poor recommendation for my Hand," she smiled.
"Yes. About that…"
She sat straight in the chair, the command of the Queen she was taking hold. "You'll not be resigning your post. I do not care what your past holds. It is your past, and it stays there."
"I often wonder how all of this came to be," he looked at her deliberately.
"I believe you just told me."
He sat back smiling. "You are a worthy Queen. I am honored to be your Hand."
Dany nodded.
"However, that does not mean that I am the best choice for the post. I'm afraid that I've been experiencing some doubt where this is concerned."
She sighed, looking at him. She knew that this was the case. "And if I do not share those doubts?"
"I think that you'll find that my doubts are persuasive. You would be wise to heed them."
"What are your concerns?" she thought it best to entertain him, that way she could dismiss his notions of not being her Hand in turn.
"I am a Lannister. I am a dwarf. I am not trusted in this realm. I remind the people of everything horrible that has happened in Westeros. My face should not be associated with your rule."
"And what is the matter with your face?"
He swallowed, ran his finger along the rim of his cup, then took it away and smiled. "Your Majesty, please. Do not placate me," and he looked at her now. "I know what I am. You do not need to issue false proclamations."
"I am doing no such thing," she said, a note of severity in her voice. "And all I see before me is my Hand. And though I have been doubting things as of late, and even, at times, him, I know what my Hand is."
His mouth was slightly open. "What is he?"
She smiled. "The wisest person I know."
He had to admit, that was a bit disappointing. He was hoping for something more substantive in her statement. He had been called wise before…"Thank you."
Dany folded her hands on her lap. She did not waver in her gaze. And she nodded. And something compelled her to go to him, to embrace him…to hold him, because she knew that that was not something that he would experience, and it was something that she could give.
So Daenerys stood and went to where Tyrion sat. She knelt before him and pulled him into a hug. She felt him stiffen, he was unaccustomed to such displays. But she did not yield, and held him closer. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "For ever doubting you," and she pulled away, and his hand was on her elbow, and she laid her palm on his shoulder as she came to look at him.
They were very close.
And something like synchronicity bade them stay…for they were so alike in so many ways, yet so completely different. Her song was different from his.
But together, they created tonality.
She leaned toward him.
And his breath hitched.
And she found his mouth.
And she kissed him…it was timid at first for both, and he wanted to deepen it, but he, too, was reticent. This was not happening…his rational brain told him it was but a dream.
But in dreams, there are no consequences.
So he did, and Dany moaned a touch.
He wrapped his right hand around her head, his left came to rest on her collar bone.
She placed one palm on his chest, her other was at his neck.
And they lazed on for what seemed a while, yet not long enough.
She pulled away in a pant.
He searched her face in some desperation.
She smiled at him. "That was unexpected."
"Does it follow that it was unwelcome?"
"No. It does not," their hands had not moved. Her eyes fell a touch. She wasn't certain how to act. She wasn't sure what she wanted.
"Are you all right?" he asked, a line creasing his brow somewhat.
Dany nodded. "Are you?"
He smiled. "Of course."
She stood at that. She turned, and walked to his bed. Dany crawled in and said, "Is my Lord tired?"
He cleared his throat and stood. "Not in the slightest."
And he joined her.
