Yes, I am still alive. This story will perhaps take a long time to create. Writers block and inspiration are very hard things to balance. But, I shall persevere. So read, review, follow, and favorite. I could not ask for anything more.
When playing cards in a tavern in the city of Gloomwrought, there are a few unspoken, yet well known, rules regarding the type of people others better not play against, should they be the sort who desire long lives with relatively few injuries: Never play with a person quick to explosive anger; a person who is drunk and irate; or, and this was the most important, anyone who is an Umber, a family renowned for their battle prowess, zealous devotion to Tempus, the god of war and battle, and hair-trigger tempers.
Unfortunately for Tyrion Pryde II, the rather tall and solid man sitting across the table glaring at him over a rather sizable pile of coins with drunken murder in his bloodshot eyes was all three of these things.
The 17 year old half-elf quickly considered his options and what lay before him: a drunk, angry, large Umber was sitting across from him, glaring at Tyrion with drunk, angry murder in his eyes. To make matters worse, the Umber was a cleric of Tempus, armed with a mace and garbed in plated chain mail over which was a white tabard emblazoned with both the roaring giant of his family and the flaming sword of Tempus.
Meanwhile, Tyrion was garbed in a fashionable shirt, long breeches and a sable cloak, along with two small daggers belted at his waist. He did not like those potential odds, should it come to a brawl, despite any advantage in speed. Besides, while not particularly religious, Tyrion decided that perhaps it was still best for his soul to not get on the bad side of the church of Tempus, one of, if not the, major religions in Ikemmu, by attacking one of His warrior-priests. Especially since one of Ikemmu's main temple to the god of war was situated in this city. Also, to make matters more worrisome, he could swear that he saw blood on the weapon's flanged head.
"You wore sheating, yoo miserable bugger", the Umber man slurringly swore.
Tyrion quickly adopted an expression equal parts outraged and hurt. "Cheating? Why, Orric, my good man", (it was Orric, right?) "I, cheat? Perish the thought! All the hands that I won in this game have been the results of pure luck!" That, and those few much needed Bahamut cards that he had kept hidden in his sleeves.
The Tempian narrowed his eyes. Tyrion was beginning to get slightly worried. He needed to talk fast. "Tell you what, how about we just shake hands, split the winnings, have another round of drinks, and just walk away happy and delirious tonight? What say you?"
The Umber blinked drunkenly at him for a moment, then suddenly stood up and….. Grasped Tyrion's outstretched hand strongly, and shook it with bone jarring force.
"Ha, I knew yoo wer'nt sheeting. Yore all righ'".
Tyrion gave a pained smile, glad that the worst had been avoided, until the powerful shaking suddenly dislodged the last Bahamut card he had hidden up his sleeve.
The Umber let go, and Tyrion backed away. The Umber looked down, and Tyrion looked down. The Umber looked up, and Tyrion looked up. The Umber's face was filled once again with drunken rage. Tyrion's was filled with sheepish fear.
The Umber charged. Tyrion dove out of the way. The Umber ran into another tavern patron, making him spill his ale. The irate patron punched the Umber. The Umber punched back. Then the patron's friends joined in. The barkeep sighed, donned an iron helmet, and then sank beneath the bar.
A few moments later, the entire tavern was the location of a roaring punch-up. Chairs were getting smashed, people sent flying through the windows and walls, fists smacking flesh and wood, flagons and cups breaking and denting against skulls and other bones. Tyrion surveyed the scene for a moment after scooping up the coins, shrugged, broke off two of the overturned table legs, and slowly made his way to the door, lightly bashing anyone in front of him out of the way, and sustaining more than a few bruises and a bloody lip in the process.
All of a sudden, there was the sound of horns. Thinking fast, he dived out of the way. Then, armed and armored men and women came rushing in, using blunt truncheons to beat a good deal of the brawlers into submission. The Watch had arrived. Noticing that they were too busy to notice him, Tyrion quickly but quietly moved towards the door.
Just as he was whispering a quick prayer to Tymora for being too kind to a handsome, but unworthy, half-elf, he felt a gloved hand clamp over his shoulder. Turning around, Tyrion found himself looking into a stern face rather like his own, but at least two years older, with brown eyes instead of green, and garbed in the uniform of a Gloomwrought watchman. He gave a crooked grin. "Ah, Tytos. How have you been, dear brother?"
Suddenly, Tyrion heard a roar, turned, and saw the same Umber with whom the whole affair began rush towards him and let loose a primal haymaker at his face.
As the young half elf hit the floor, he saw the Umber literally get tackled by several watchmen. Then, at that, everything went dark.
xxxxxx
Tyrion Pryde I felt the beginnings of a head ache coming on, due to the scene before him. From the look on his brother's face that he was directing at his son, he could tell that he was not alone in the feeling.
When you are busy sorting out paperwork for various trade agreements in Essos, and renegotiations for current trade agreements in Dorne and the Reach, when all of a sudden, one of your two nephews, a respected sergeant in the Gloomwrought city watch, hauls in his younger brother, a well known trouble maker, who is covered in a few bruises and a black eye, and has a bulging purse full of gold coins tied to his belt, than a head ache is bound to come.
"So, let me try my hardest to understand. You, Tyrion, were "enjoying a harmless card game with a "jovial" Umber", in which you were "repeatedly struck by good fortune". Then, as you agreed to split the winnings so as to avoid hard feelings, a Bahamut card that you "simply carry around for good luck which you keep in your sleeve at all times" fell out." At this, his namesake nodded.
"Then", the elder Tyrion continued, "the Umber misinterpreted the situation and attacked you, and from there the situation simply, as you say, "escalated quickly"."
The Pryde patriarch sighed. "To be honest, I cannot deal with this right now. Tytos, escort your brother to his chambers. This shall handled in the morning. First however, have your brother's "winnings" deposited in the treasury."
After the two had departed, Tyrion collapsed into his chair. "Well, at least this occurrence was not as terrible as that event with the Llew Twins."
Jaime sighed. The years had been relatively kind to him, as his figure was still well muscled from his years as captain of the house's guards. Tyrion on the other hand had grown somewhat plump, and now required a small cane. Both brothers had beards, accompanied by the traditional nose piercings to denote their status as non-shadar-kai nobles.
"He has always been a wild child, as a boy, and now as a man near grown. His fighting abilities though, are to be commended." Tyron the younger had displayed a rare aptitude for using a sword in each hand, a technique that he used to routinely trounce any who fought him in a duel.
Tyrion sighed. "I am sure that this will be all sorted out in the morning. We better get some rest."
Jaime did not move. Tyron glanced at him.
"You're thinking about her, are you not?"
"She is here. In Ikemmu, brother. I do not know how to feel about that." He grabbed at a necklace around his neck. Gwyndelyn, Jaime's wife, had died a few years earlier from an unknown disease. Jaime and his children still grieved. He carried a picture of his in a locket on the necklace.
"What, were you planning to simply ride to Winterfell, ask to see the wife of a visiting king so as to say, oh, hello Cersei. Remember me, one of your two brother's who ran away twenty years ago to Ikemmu?"
"No, of course not. I would not be so foolish."
"I should hope not."
Tyron looked all around, at their home. "We have worked hard. For all of this. Should our family discover us, it could all come crashing down."
"I understand. Goodnight, Tyrion."
"Goodnight, Jaime."
As Jaime walked off, Tyrion took another look around the great hall. So much had been accomplished. Too much to lose.