Tyrion gazed wondrously round the castle, admiring the red flags that blew lazily in the wind, the gold lion decorations catching the sunlight with each flap. The stone wall was cold against his hands as he ran his fingers alone git, walking straight for the throne room, as Gwaine had instructed him to do so- apparently it was the only way to get council with the King.
Once in the Throne room, Tyrion was immediately unimpressed- a large cavernous room it was, but it was so bare, unadorned that it made the chamber of the Iron Throne look like a party. Windows of stained glass let colors fly in every direction, and alone in the center of the pom sat a luxurious, if not simple throne, the wood encased with gold, the red velvet plumped to perfection.
"I see you like the throne," came the King's voice, making the dwarf jump.
"I tis na honor to see you, My Lord," Tyrion said discreetly with a small nod of his head.
"And who might you be?" King Uther demanded, hs eyes turned down on the imp in cold determination- why, tyrion had no idea.
"I am Lord Tyrion of House Lannister, right Hand of King Joffrey of the Iron Throne," Tyrion repeated his title for what seems to be the third time that day. Nodding, utter strode over to the throne, his boots clapping thunderously against the wooden floor, dust being kicked up in his wake. Taking a seat, he gripped the arms of the chair tightly, a if he were protecting something dear to him- which he was.
:You believe I am to tai the Throne from ou?" Tyrion questioned, then shook his head.
"We all have something to protect, Lord Lannister," Uther said, "and for me, that is the throne." Tyrion nodded, getting annoyed by his arrogance.
"True words, my liege, spoken like a Lannister," Tyrion commented, "I have come to ask for help."
"What help is it you need?" Uther eyed the Imp warily, uncomfortable by the smirk the dwarf so easily wore when speaking of such trivial things like power and help.
"My companion and I- Khaleesi Daenerys Stormborn Taraegryn- need to get back to Westeros to help her reclaim the Iron throne, which is currently in my family's possession." Uther node,d his mind flashing back to what Arthur had told him. This must be the same Khaleesi my son spoke of, he thought as Tyrion went on, "We stopped here along the way, after the Khaleesi's brother ditched us and stole out caravan. We need safe passage back to Westeros."
"Is that all you need?" utter asked. Tyrion nodded.
"Yes, your Grace," he said, giving a small bow. As he turned to leave, Uther called after him, "I do have one question."
"Of course, your Grace."
"If your family possesses this Iron Throne yo speak of, why would you try to give it away to some desert-dweller?"
"Because sit is not rightfully mine to possess," Tyrion answered, "and how is it yu have knowledge of the Khaleesi's living arrangements?" Uther smirked, chuckling.
"My son explains fit to me," Uther said.
"I see," Tyrion muttered, "and i have met your son earlier. He is your only heir, correct?" utter nodded.
"This is true," utter confirmed.
"Well, I would like to give you and your son some advice on ruling a kingdom, if you don't mind," tyrion said, clasping his hands patiently behind his back, the leather material rubbing against the skin of his small hands.
"Proceed," Uther sid with a nod.
"When you play the Game of Thrones," Tyrion cleared his throat, "you either win or you die."
"Well, what about the middle ground? The neutral party?" Tyrion laughed, a sound that echoed in the chamber, bouncing against the walls.
"Your Grace, there is no middle ground," he said simply, "I bid you good day." Turning, he exited the throne room, leaving utter to ponder exactly what he meant.