Chapter Text
While he always liked to jape—in his head, of course, because provoking the Great Lion never ended well, son or not—that his lord father refused to meet the Stranger without securing his line and legacy that “would last for a thousand years” as his father so often said, Tyrion, never in his wildest imaginations, never expected this.
Certainly not like this.
Never like this.
Tyrion readjusted his position in his saddle. He wasn’t much of a rider and sitting on a warhorse like this - no matter that Podrick was leading the horse by its reins in front - was something that he wasn’t used to. The amour he had on, dented and bloodied from the battle, made riding even more difficult than usual.
Certainly, being a talented rider was yet another trait he failed to inherit from his father, he sardonically snorted.
Podrick resumed his walk, guiding the horse through the cluttered streets of wounded men groaning in pain and scattered pieces of rubble and stone on the cobblestone. Tyrion didn’t want to imagine how much worse Flea Bottom, with its wooden structures, likely was after tonight’s battle with Stannis.
Passing through another throng of Gold Cloaks struggling with their buckets of water to put out yet another building on fire, Tyrion finally saw the Lion Gate… and the Lannister gold color of his father’s hair. The contingent of red-cloaked Lannister soldiers surrounding his father was smaller than expected, their number not even a full dozen. The men all held a torch in hand - they evidently served not to protect the Lord Lannister from Stannis’ men but to protect him and his horse from tripping on the uneven road, ha!
“Brace yourself Podrick. This is going to be a battle unlike anything else.” Tyrion warned. He cleared his throat and readjusted his seat again. “Don’t smile and avoid talking.”
The Payne boy’s head bobbed up and down. Tyrion figured that he probably uttered something like “yes, my lord,” but he couldn’t hear much of anything above the din of clanging armor and horses trotting on what little crowded cobblestone was cleared.
“And try to look less anxious. Shoulders back, head up.” Tyrion added for good measure, adjusting his own posture as well before they approached the sea of Lannister red men. He swiped his hands on his breeches again in a vain attempt to dry the nervous sweat as Podrick’s pace slowed down. Preparing to approach Tywin Lannister left even his own son apprehensive.
The half a dozen or so torches held up by the red cloaks caused the shadows on the ground to flicker and move strangely, but Tyrion paid no mind to such details.
“Father,” he nodded. He waited to be acknowledged.
As per usual, Tywin Lannister’s first words to him were not ones of greetings but a scowl and a command.
After making him wait, of course.
“Broach,” Tywin held out a hand with an imperious huff. Even sitting astride a horse failed to give Tyrion a boost to his height to be able to pass along the golden broach that represented the powers granted to the most powerful appointed position, the Hand of the King. Tyrion passed the pin to Podrick who handed it over to the new Hand with a bobbled bow.
Upon getting all that he needed from Tyrion - because of course, Tywin never wanted Tyrion for purely the delight of his company - his father spared not another glance and turned to continue addressing his men, faces that Tyrion was more than familiar with, having seen said men in the training fields as bumbling pimple-faced squires growing up. “Erbolt, return to camp and inform Sir Cerland that his platoon is to escort the servants to the Red Keep and remain standing guard at the Tower of the Hand until Sir Gewin’s platoon goes to replace their shift. Sir Jamond, you will take a battalion to restore order starting from the Gate of Gods, Sir Lotos’s men begin from the Old Gate and-”
Tyrion tuned out Tywin’s list of orders. He figured that the absence of Uncle Kevan by Tywin’s side meant that most of the chaos was well under hand. Instead, a better use of his time as he waited for Tywin’s attention to return to him was to observe the man under the flickering torchlight.
What did it say that his aging father appeared to be no older than the seasoned soldiers surrounding him? At seven and 60 namesdays, Tywin Lannister bore none of the sagging skin or whitened hairs that was typical for such an age. Tyrion would even dare say that some of the servants would mistake the Hand for Jaime Lannister if not for the attire. Of the golden amour bearing roaring lion motifs and the grand red cloak billowing behind, Tywin portrayed the image of a man in his prime, a gallant knight and lord of the fairytale songs sung by naive young maidens.
What a pity for those tittering noble ladies that his father was apparently a sword swallower.
Tyrion found it amusing that the kingdoms all dismissed the rumor as merely that, a rumor, an outlandish rumor. Reputation was power and power was the easiest to destroy with a few bad rumors planted. Lords and ladies thought themselves cunning to see through such “rumors” as merely a disgruntled but bumbling noble’s attempt to desecrate the Great Lion’s standing.
It made no logical sense, they reasoned.
Who would have ever thought that the Great Lion Tywin Lannister, the man who put down the Reyne-Tarbeck revolt while but a mere nine and ten years of age, the man who pushed his daughter onto the throne as queen, the man who was known to be the real king during Mad King Aerys reign as king… a paramount lord famed for pragmatism and lacking any emotions would never lower himself into bed with a man. There was no power to be gained from such a decision!
Even his siblings believed their lord father to have a cold empty bed than a male bed warmer, to say nothing of a male lover.
Scanning for signs of new wrinkles and aging yet finding none on his father’s face, Tyrion saw his shadow twitching even more without abandon while he had fallen lost in thought about his father. Like a young child excited for dessert to arrive except the dessert was their liege lord, the shadowy guards that resided within his shadows were eager to be reunited with the ones in his father’s shadow. Tyrion held back a shiver.
It still felt wrong knowing such monstrous creatures always lurked behind him. He tried to keep it out of his mind, often quite successfully with a liberal application of good wine and whores, but none were at hand. But the latest incident that happened but an hour prior where a shadow demon deprived him of a heroic scar across his cheek brought it sharply to the front of his mind again.
(It was quite a pity. He thought he would look quite dashing with a heroic scar across his cheek.)
He had naught a single injury to show for all his heroic actions during the battle at the Blackwater Bay because his shadowy guards were far too effective at defending him from threats. The shadows weren’t particularly, however. Now, if he could command them to also attack invading soldiers, it would be a different story, but Tyrion wasn’t in a habit of risking limb and skin wading out into the heaviest of the battle to test a theory of how far his father’s creatures would protect his most loathed son.
Tyrion particularly didn’t want to find out why he was Father’s only child to have such eyes hidden in his shadows either.
A few pairs of eyes in Father’s shadows casted an inquiring look in Tyrion’s direction. He couldn’t hold back the shiver that went up his spine.
(He especially didn’t want to know the shape and size of Father’s monsters either.)
Observing Tywin’s cloak was a safer option until Tyrion could find time to escape to a nice room with wine and a flat surface to collapse on. Or so Tyrion thought until he noticed that the bottom hem of Father’s cloak was trimmed with a purple and black flame motif, the sigil of his father’s… paramour—no, this wasn’t Dorne—Lover—he shuddered at the thought of Tywin Lannister being something as silly as being in love—husband—the Seven disapproved of men lying with men and women with women—partner. Yes, let’s settle with “partner”.
“-and arrange for grain distribution to begin on the morrow.” With that, Father dismissed the soldiers - one remained behind but the others left to complete their instructions - and turned to Tyrion. “Speak.”
“Are the other members of your household coming to Kings Landing?” It was a roundabout way of asking whether to expect Father’s partner to be in the keep anytime soon.
“This is how you spend your time? Drinking away with whores and asking inane questions?” Father snapped. He looked like he wished to physically slap Tyrion as well, if not for the presence of straggling smallfolk gawking through the windows and on the streets.
“Uncle Kevan,” Tyrion quickly inserted. “Is he at Casterly Rock or-”
“The former.” Father swung back onto his horse, a towering black beast that blew black smoke from its nostrils and had a menacingly purple mane. His horse began a slow trot westward, in the direction of the Lion’s Gate. “Come,” he ordered. He didn't turn around to confirm that his word was followed. “Update me how the king’s men fared in battle. You, squire, run back to the keep and have the Tower of the Hand emptied for my household to move in.”
Podrick stumbled. “Uh, my lord.” He looked back, casting a worried glance at Tyrion.
Father's horse halted and turned around. “What, boy? I don't have the patience for this.”
“Lord Tyrion, um, can’t ride…”
Tywin’s words sealed his fate: “It’s time he learned.”
“Yes, my lord.” Podrick ducked his head. His eyes darted back to Tyrion. "Should I-"
"Give me the reins." Father took the leather reins in hand. Tyrion's horse jerked back, suddenly wary and timid at the close proximity of the other horse. Or perhaps the horse was likewise intimidated by Father's unnatural beast with its smoky trail trailing behind and its purple eyes glowing in the dark.
Podrick hesitated, looking unsure whether to obey the Lannister Lord's command or remain, the good lad. Tyrion made a mental note to reward the loyalty. Tyrion jerked his head and mouthed 'go' before Podrick finally left.
As such, this was how Podrick left Tyrion, none of his questions answered and all his worries confirmed. The Great Lion had arrived and he, the Imp, was the lucky fellow to be booted out with not a thanks or token of appreciation, but a dressing down.
As per usual.
(Tyrion was glad that he left Bronn behind in the keep. He could at least trust Podrick to keep his mouth shut.)
“Wow, that’s so cringe.” Jinah burst into laughter. She double clicked on the image to zoom in. “Look look look! Minhee, look at this!” She pulled on her friend’s sleeve harder. When she failed to get Minhee to look up from the stupidly thick anatomy textbook, she kicked her friend under the table.
“What.” Minhee grunted with annoyance. “Some of us are trying to study for finals.” She shook a pen at Jinah in a scolding manner. Just because Jinah wasn’t almost failing this class like Minhee was didn’t mean she could break Minhee’s studying groove like this.
“This is worth it.” Jinah grinned. She waved at the sleek gray laptop in front of her with not a single sticker adorning the boring exterior. So plain - like her oppa’s personal life, honestly. She needed to help him spice it up or something. “So, you know this is my brother’s laptop.”
“Yeah? So what?” Minhee asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “I’m already surprised that you managed to backup all your notes and papers before your laptop permanently died because you downloaded the wrong thing from the internet. You sure you should really be risking your brother’s laptop now for something you think is funny?” Minhee flagged down a waiter to order a refill of her coffee.
“Hey!” Jinah protested. While it was true that she clicked on a link that shouldn’t be clicked (and maybe did a few other things she shouldn’t have done… like accidentally spill her entire cup of coffee while trying to get rid of said malware from her computer before proceeding to tip the entire device onto the tiled ground with a healthy thud), it wasn’t fair for her best friend to bring up her most embarrassing moment of shame like that! Especially in public in front of the hot waiter. She defended herself. “Well, oppa still doing his military service, so I might as well put it to good use.”
Jinah added another slice of the cute but pricey chocolate cake that was the cafe’s signature dessert onto the order.
When the waiter left to get their order, Jinah picked up the laptop and adjusted it so Minhee could get a good view of the screen.
Minhee’s stoic (and slightly annoyed) face dropped into an explosion of giggles. “Oh, okay yeah that is… interest. Interesting choices are being made.”
Jinah leaned in. “Okay, I know it’s all about Y2K fashion right now,” Jinah started. “But I didn’t realize that oppa is into it too. Look at this cape thingy he has custom ordered with the cheesy flame border at the bottom!” She waved her arm for emphasis. “Like, oh my gosh , it’s so ugly. I can’t believe he would drop so much money on such an ugly thing - purple flames on a red background is even worse than what Naruto has! Did he spend all of his last break from military service to customize this thing?”
“Wait, look at the top, near the neckline.” Minhee pointed. “I think those are little lions on the gold buttons.”
Jinah gasped. “Zoom in, zoom in! What is this attention to detail! There’s no way that my oppa drew this picture and designed it from scratch! Is this… some sort of cosplay? IS MY OPPA A SECRET COSPLAYER ALL THIS TIME?!”
Needless to say, Minhee ended up cussing Jinah out for making her lose an hour scrolling through hot cosplaying guys on the internet instead of studying. So much for inviting her out to a studying hangout.