A/N: Double update! Ha! I've still got it.

So we're getting a Game of Thrones prequel, are we? How many of those have been canceled now? I've genuinely lost track by this point.

Still, I promised an update for this, so here we are. No long author's note this time, just a simple tale. Hope you enjoy~!

Getting another surgery in a few days, so I'm trying to update as much as I can before then.

Ugggh...anesthesia and I are NOT friends but I definitely need it...

"They're calling you the boy who lived."

"Please, don't. That title doesn't belong to me."

~?

The Price of Freedom

Tyrion Lannister watched the door to his cell open and wondered if death had finally come to claim him. Ideally, he'd hoped many things when he first saw the faint torchlight gleaming through the cracks, when he heard the rusty squeal of worn hinges. Wine would have been nice. Jaime would've been better. Frankly, at this point he would've settled for Bronn.

On this stormy evening the door to his cell creaked open and light pierced the black cell in which he found himself.

Squinting against the dull light, the dwarf shielded his face with a hand and sighed softly as the torchbearer emerged. His "guest" had hidden their face with a hood and a dark cloth mask, which didn't exactly do wonders for his confidence. Anyone who would go to such great lengths to hide their appearance likely didn't want to be seen. An assassin, then? He wouldn't put it past Cersei. Gold moved blades these days just as much as it opened legs perhaps even more so.

The assassin set the torch in a brazier and waited. Dithered in place.

Tyrion tensed, waiting for a blade to be drawn. It never came. The moment dragged on.

Finally, the last thread of his patience snapped. "Oh, just get on with with you son of a whore."

"Well, that's a little rude."

As he looked on, his would-be killer peeled back their hood, removed their mask, and without word or warning, Tyrion found himself face to face with a dead man. At first he thought him a ghost; he was certainly pale enough to be one. But no, his eyes didn't deceive him. He almost wished they had.

"Come to torment me, have you?"

"No." Jofrrey said. "I've come to bargain."

A flagon of wine sailed through the air and landed in his arms. Tyrion fumbled at it for a moment, uncertain, then gave in and drank greedily. Ah, sweet bliss. He hadn't had anything to drink for days. If this was to be the last thing he tasted, then he would die a happy man. Well, happier at any rate. He was beginning to think it was impossible for a Lannister to truly be happy these days. Maybe they didn't deserve to be; not after all they'd said and done.

And now this!

"I've also come to...apologize."

Tyrion nearly spat out his drink when the boy shed his cloak and sat before him. As far as jokes went, that was a bad one. Among the worst. Joffrey had never apologized for a single thing in his wretched life. Seven hells, he'd seen the boy die. Wasted and gasping for air, retching violently, face turning purple as the muscles in his throat clamped shut and cut off his air.

And his last spiteful action had been to cast the blame at his feet.

Yet here he was. Hale and whole, if a little pale.

"Please don't look at me like that." the boy actually scratched the back of his head, looking all the more bashful beneath his withering glare. "You're not exactly doing wonders for my confidence."

Confidence, he said. Ha!

Just the thought of it made Tyrion scowl.

"Hrmph. You'll forgive me if I don't get scrap and bow."

A nervous peal of laughter greeted him. "Don't blame you. I wouldn't either."

Confusion twisted Tyrion's guts into an ugly red knot, one he couldn't find a way to untangle.

Joffrey was a monster, a tyrant, and a vicious little shit, capricious and cruel. And this was his nephew, of that there could be no doubt. He looked exactly like him, from his hair to his eyes, every part of him was just as he remembered. But the expression was all wrong. Gone was that selfsame sneer, gone as the arrogance, the confidence, the pride that had turned all the realm against them. He almost thought it the work of a Faceless Man or somesuch, but no, even that beggared belief. Not even Cersei wouldn't have gone to such lengths to torment him.

Come to think of it, he hadn't seen hide nor hair of her or Jaime for the last few days. That didn't bode well.

The gods really were a cruel bunch if they'd seen fit to resurrect Joffrey.

"Have you come to kill me?" he asked.

To his credit, the reply was swift.

...no."

Tyrion's gaze strayed to the boy's bet. Noted the distinct lack of weapon there. "Then why are you here? Come to exchange words with a condemned man?

"Not that, either." Jofrrey -was it him?- shook his head slowly. "We're alone, here. We can speak freely."

"Is that a good thing?"

Without warning the young man fell to his knees, knelt and pressed his head to the filthy floor of the cell. Words were spoken between them, soft words, quiet words, word mumbled into dirty stone. Tyrion blinked, not trusting his ears, not believing what he'd just heard. He cocked his head, squinted in the fading light, wondering if he he'd imagined it. Almost felt like he had. Perhaps that was the wine at work. Perhaps he was just hearing things. Perhaps this was all a dream. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Very well. He'd play along for a little while longer.

"Excuse me? What did you say?"

"I said I'm sorry." the boy didn't raise his head. "If its my life you want, you can have. He's already made a mess of things."

He? Tyrion took that tidbit of information for what it was and filed it away for later. This...this had to be a joke. A trick. Some fever dream brought on by the wine perhaps. But the boy made no effort to move. None at all, none whatsoever. Almost embarrassing, really. In another life, Joffrey wouldn't be caught dead doing such a thing.

"Oh, do get up." he sighed at last. "You're making a fool of yourself."

Remarkably, the young man did as he was bade.

He looked...lost. Alone. Afraid.

"I want to make amends." he babbled. "To fix things. But I don't know how."

"And so you came to me?"

"Of course." A strange, almost nostalgic look flitted across the boy's face. "You're the smartest man I know. Please. Help me."

Well.

Well, well, well!

This was certainly a night of surprises, wasn't it? Tyrion took back everything he'd just said. Who was this impostor and what had been done with the real Joffrey? It almost seemed too good to be true; that the boy would actually scrape and bow before him...it seemed absurd. And yet...

"Death has a way of opening your eyes." the boy muttered, turning his head. "I would know."

"And what did you see?" he whispered.

Joffrey gave him a haunted look. "Nothing."

That lone word echoed in the cell between them, harsh and flat. A cold chill swept through Tyrion like the winds of winter. Wasn't that what the Starks always said? Winter was coming. In that moment, it almost felt like it, and the thought turned his blood to ice in his veins.

"What makes you so sure?" Tyrion grimaced despite himself. "You might've imagined it."

"No." a shake of the head followed. "I know what I saw. There was only darkness. That was when I knew." He paused, seemed to weigh what he was about to say, and shook his head. "I'm not him. I'm not Joffrey."

...what?"

"This is his body." the boy babbled on before he could speak, before he could condemn him, shout him down, or call him a fool, "But its not him. I woke up in it. Cold. Alone." his words took on a hysteric note. "This is his voice, his face," he palmed at himself, "But I can't pretend to be him." his shook his head feverishly. "I've seen what he's done. I won't do that. I won't be a monster. I can't. I won't. But if I can't play the part, I'll die again. And I don't want to die."

"Why tell me this?"

"Because," the hope in his eyes was almost too painful to behold. "You're a good person, Tyrion. One of the few genuinely GOOD people in Westeros." he sounded incredibly small in that moment. "And like I said, I don't want to die. I have to trust someone. You're the only one within reach. Everyone else wouldn't believe me. They'd declare me mad, have me killed, or just lock me up and throw away the key.

A pause followed, before the boy -Joffrey?- bulled onward.

"Please," he begged, hands clasped before him. "Help me. I'll do whatever you want. I'll even set you free. Just...please. I need your help."

Such a tale beggared belief. Dead men did not rise again. It just wasn't done. They certainly didn't come back to life as...someone else. And yet the haunted look in the boy's eyes was all too real. Joffrey would never act like this. Not for any reason, ever. He'd sooner throw himself on his own sword than ask for help. Spirits, he'd seen him die. It shouldn't be him, couldn't be real.

Yet when one dismissed the impossible, what was left but the impossible?

Magic was real. Dragons were rising across the Narrow Sea. And now, the dead rose.

This boy had brought him wine, told him his tale and offered to release him if he complied.

Tyrian sighed. That settled it, then. He was far, far, FAR too sober to be listening to such a yarn at this hour.

The dwarf paused. Considered the half full wineksin in his hand. With a reluctant sigh, he bid the boy to rise. "We're going to need more wine...

A/N: And there we have it!

Sorry if this is short, I'm a bit of a mess at the moment, worked up and worried about surgery and whatnot.

Tyrion's fate has changed. For better or worse, who can say? He's still in a nest of vipers. I'm sure you've also realize something else, dear reader. Without Tyrian to guide Daenerys, to temper her impulses...well. Things are bound to change. Then again, given the mess the final season made of him, I'd call this a far better fate.

Sooo In the Immortal Words of Atlas...

...Review, Would You Kindly?

And enjoy the previews.

(Previews)

Margaery beckoned. "Come back to bed."

"Oh, dear...

"You want to send a missive to that blasted Targaryen?" Tywin scoffed. "You do realize she's likely to tear it apart rather than look at it."

He was pleasantly surprised when the King stood his ground. "Nevertheless, this needs to be done."

...very well. What do you wish to say?"

"A fine edict, if an unpopular one." Tyrion pattered my back. "I don't believe the Starks will thank you for it, assuming they ever learn of it.

I slapped a hand against my forehead. "What else could I do?"

Of all the people to be reborn as. Why Joffrey?

This felt like a sick joke...

R&R~! =D