Dont forget to comment and vote, its makes me happy ...
only for 9$ read full story in patreon : CaveLeather
Tyrion Lannister had spent his life imagining every possible way he might die.
Decapitated by an enraged Lady of Winterfell. Thrown through the Moon Door by a mad Lysa Tully. Secretly executed by his own father in the name of "family honor." Or perhaps expiring mid-thrust between some whore's thighs. He had pictured them all.
But he had never once imagined that one day he would be kidnapped because someone mistook him for a child.
What the fuck kind of story was this?
By the Seven, even the worst bard in Westeros couldn't have written something this stupid.
The back of his skull throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache. He opened his eyes to total darkness, broken only by a thin crack of light high above. The air was thick and foul—stale piss, mildew, and the sweet rot of old death.
He tested his wrists. Free. His ankles too.
Small mercy.
Pushing himself upright, his palm met damp, filthy straw that had clearly soaked up years of waste. Tyrion gagged but crawled to the nearest wall and leaned his back against the cold stone.
A cellar. Roughly twenty feet square. Broken crates in one corner. A few moldy blankets along the wall. Otherwise empty.
Not quite empty.
At the far end, a cluster of children huddled together like frightened animals. The oldest looked ten or twelve, the youngest maybe four or five. Boys and girls in roughspun, faces streaked with tears and snot.
One of the smallest girls was staring straight at him, eyes bright in the gloom.
Tyrion opened his mouth, but only a dry rasp came out.
Thirst hit him like a hammer. Too much wine, knocked unconscious in an alley, no idea how long he'd been out. His throat felt like sandpaper, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth.
"Water…" he croaked. "Any water at all?"
No answer.
The little girl shrank back behind the bigger children.
Tyrion forced a smile he knew probably looked monstrous. "Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you. I'm just thirsty. Please… do you have any water?"
After a long silence, the oldest boy finally spoke. "Water… we finished the last of it at midday."
Tyrion's gut tightened. "Then how aren't you all dying of thirst?"
"We're used to it," the boy said quietly. "They only bring water every other day. One small bowl each. Nothing today."
Tyrion went still.
Every other day. One bowl.
How long had these children been locked down here?
He remembered what Humfrey had mentioned—children disappearing in King's Landing lately.
Fuck.
His luck really was spectacular.
He tried to ignore the thirst, but the more he fought it, the worse it became. He could almost taste clean, cold water sliding down his throat.
"Gods, I'm thirsty…" he muttered.
A tiny voice answered from the shadows. "I have water."
Tyrion's head snapped up. The smallest girl had crawled forward, clutching something in her small hands.
"Give it here," he said eagerly.
She hesitated, then came closer, bowl in hand.
In the dark he couldn't see the color of the liquid, but right now it looked like salvation.
"Good girl… that's a very good girl…" His voice shook. He tilted his head back, closed his eyes, opened his mouth. "Pour it in. Quick."
Warm liquid splashed across his face and into his mouth.
Tyrion gulped greedily.
Sweet. Soothing. Perfect…
Then the smell hit him.
He choked, coughing violently, retching.
The girl stood there holding the empty bowl, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter.
From the far corner came a burst of muffled giggles that quickly turned into full-throated laughter. The oldest boy was rolling on the straw, clutching his stomach.
"He drank it! He actually drank it!"
"Was it good, dwarf?!"
"I thought he'd at least sniff it first!"
"Tommy, you're a fucking genius!"
Tyrion wiped his face with a shaking hand.
It was piss.
And the little girl was laughing so hard she could barely stand, eyes sparkling with pure mischief. No fear left at all.
"You little shit…" Tyrion pointed at her, finger trembling. "How old are you, and you're already this good at lying?"
"Six," she said innocently. "Father taught me. He says city people are all idiots."
She tilted her head. "Are you an idiot, dwarf?"
Tyrion opened his mouth. Closed it.
He had nothing.
Yes. He was an idiot.
The cleverest man in Casterly Rock, outwitted by a six-year-old girl with a bowl of piss.
And he'd drunk it like it was the finest Arbor gold.
"You… you just wait…" he growled, but the threat sounded pathetic even to him.
The cellar door opened with a groan. Yellow lamplight spilled inside.
Two men stood in the doorway, oil lamps in hand, short swords at their belts.
The children instantly went silent and pressed themselves into the farthest corner.
"What's all the noise?" one of them demanded.
"Hey! Over here!" Tyrion raised his short arms. "You've made a mistake!"
The guards looked at him.
"You wanted children, right?" Tyrion said quickly. "Well, I'm an adult. Just… short. Keeping me here is pointless. I'll only bring you trouble."
One guard narrowed his eyes. "Keep talking."
Tyrion felt a flicker of hope. "My name is Tyrion Lannister. Son of Hand Tywin Lannister. Brother to the Queen Regent. I was Master of Coin until recently."
The two men exchanged a glance.
"Seven hells," the stockier one breathed. "You're actually a Lannister, my lord?"
"Of course." Tyrion lifted his chin. "A Lannister always pays his debts. Let me go and I'll make it worth your while. A thousand gold dragons. How does that sound?"
The stocky guard's eyes lit up. "A thousand gold dragons? You're serious?"
"Dead serious," Tyrion said smoothly. "Enough to live comfortably for the rest of your lives."
"My lord…" The man sounded almost emotional. "You're too generous!"
"We'll bring you food and wine right away," the taller guard added eagerly. "Good Arbor gold. Roasted beef. You rest here, my lord. We'll arrange everything."
Tyrion's heart soared.
Wine. Meat. Freedom.
A thousand dragons was nothing. He'd bill Corleone later. The man was drowning in gold these days.
The two guards turned to leave.
Tyrion watched them go, feeling triumphant for the first time since waking up.
Then the stocky one paused at the door.
"Wait."
He turned back. The friendly mask was gone. In its place was something cold and mocking.
Before Tyrion could react, the man strode forward and kicked him hard in the stomach.
Tyrion flew backward into the wall. Pain exploded through his body. He curled up, gasping, unable to draw breath.
The guard grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head up.
"A thousand gold dragons?" he sneered. "You think we're fucking idiots?"
Tyrion wheezed. "You… hit me… the money—"
The guard slammed his head against the stone floor.
Tyrion saw stars.
"We already knew who you were, dwarf," the guard said. "Short man in fine clothes wandering King's Landing? You think we wouldn't notice?"
The other guard laughed.
Tyrion lay there, shaking with pain and fury.
"Fuck you…" he spat.
"Out?" The guard chuckled. "I wouldn't count on seeing tomorrow, my lord."
Tyrion forced his eyes open. "What do you mean?"
The guard didn't answer. He just glanced at his companion, then headed for the door.
"Enjoy your last night, dwarf," he said over his shoulder. "Tomorrow morning we're sending you to meet the Stranger."
The iron door slammed shut. The lock turned with a heavy, final sound.
Darkness swallowed the cellar again.
Tyrion lay on the filthy straw, breathing hard.
They meant it. They were going to kill him.
No one was coming. His father didn't know where he was. Jaime was at the Wall. Cersei would probably throw a feast when she heard. Bronn was probably still looking for him in some brothel.
Corleone…
A small voice came from the dark.
"Are you really Tyrion Lannister?"
It was the little girl again. She had crawled over and was squatting in front of him.
"You… came back?" Tyrion rasped. "Want to trick me with more piss?"
She ignored that. "Are you really him?"
Tyrion was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "Yes."
Her eyes brightened. "My father talked about you."
Tyrion blinked. "Your father?"
She nodded. "He fought in the Battle of the Blackwater."
Tyrion went still.
The girl continued softly. "Father said we were going to lose. Stannis had too many ships, too many men. But then everyone saw this dwarf—no taller than a child—standing on the city walls, and suddenly they had courage again."
She looked at him with those bright, serious eyes.
"Father said that dwarf was a hero."
Tyrion felt something catch in his throat.
Hero.
He had been called monster, imp, demon, whoremonger, drunkard, kinslayer…
Never hero.
Not once.
"Father said that hero saved a lot of people," the girl went on. "Our family lived by the Blackwater. If the city had fallen, we would have died too."
She reached out and gently touched his face.
"Are you really that hero?"
Tyrion looked at her dirty little face, snot on her lip, eyes full of something dangerously close to hope.
He swallowed hard.
Then he reached up and patted her head.
"Yes," he said, voice rough. "I am."
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Lily."
"Lily." He pushed himself up against the wall, ignoring the pain screaming through his body. "Listen to me, Lily. We're going to get out of here."
She blinked. "But the bad men said they're selling us across the Narrow Sea tomorrow morning."
"They don't get to decide that," Tyrion said.
"Why not?"
Tyrion looked at the locked iron door, a dangerous light flickering in his eyes.
"Because…"
"This happened on that bastard's territory."1