Tyrion Lannister, waiting in the Sky Cells

Tyrion Lannister, son of Tywin Lannister, the Imp, the Half Man, as he was called… Was so incredibly bored. He had been waiting in his sky cell for some time, waiting and waiting for his eventual trial for his imaginary crime of trying to have young Brandon Stark assassinated. He didn’t have anything to keep him busy. No succulent drink, no warm embrace of a woman, not even a good book…

Then he felt something slam into his head, seeming to fly into his cell from the open wall leading to a long plunge. He rubbed at his head before looking at what had just joined him in his own slice of misery. Laying there at his feet was a little book, and conveniently enough, a pen and ink well strapped along with it.

“A sex note? What kind of cruel trickery is this?” He spoke, picking the book up and opening it. To his disappointment it held neither tales of debauchery or drawings of the same, just empty pages. The only bit of writing was on the front cover, some kind of list…

“Whomever‘s name is written in this book shall be made to have sex? Ha! Imagine the horror if my father got his hands on this.” Tyrion laughed, then started to imagine that if it were true, there might be just as much horror from getting it himself. Still, it was the only entertainment he had available to him… assuming the guards didn’t come in and rip it away. He might as well indulge.

He sat in the corner and thought about what he should write in it. Perhaps chronicle his sexual escapades up until this point. The Old Gods and the New were sure to be quite familiar with his endeavors. Perhaps detail his thoughts into a memoir of sort, but did he really want his memoirs to be written in a sex note?

“Hmmm. Aw seven hells, I’m dead either way.” Tyrion sighed to himself as he took the pen and ink and begun to write.