Tyrion Lannister

Your servant hurries away with the letter and returns to tell you it has been delivered. You spend your time idly engaging in books and scrolls, not expecting any sort of response for some time.

You are not quite sure what to expect from the Imp, as he is known. All you have heard about Tyrion Lannister are the foul rumours of his drunkenness and pervasion. His face is said to be twisted and hideous to look upon. Still, he is supposed to be a mighty political **** in his own right, as well as having the ear of his even more powerful father and sister.

Within the hour, there is a knock at the door.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion bows and gives you a charming smile.

You are surprised by the man standing before you. Tyrion certainly is a dwarf, his height coming no further than your own waist, but he is nothing like the gruesome ugly monster you had envision. As a matter of fact his face is rather handsome, with a well sculpted chin and bushy blonde curls.

You make your pleasantries and invite him to sit with you at the table. As you take your seat he snaps his fingers at one of the servants, who quickly rushes out the door for something.

You give him a questioning look, he smiles innocently in response. “They know what I mean,” he says. “I take my wine rather early in the day I’m afraid.”

It seems there is at least some credit to Tyrion’s reputation for drunkenness, you wonder whether the same is true for her perversity.

You decide to waste no time getting to business and immediately bring up the situation at Parre. Before you finish your sentence, Tyrion raises a hand to silence you.

“I have heard of your situation, Your Grace. The iron born can make for unruly neighbours at the best of times, we in Westeros know that quite well. I am a man of history, and I know what happens when the iron born become too much powerful, if their incursions into your kingdom continue to grow it will not stop at Parre. To that end, I intend to convince the king to finance a fleet to defend your kingdom from these savages.”

You cannot believe your ears. Could it really be that easy? You thank the Lord with all your heart.

Tyrion humbly accepts your thanks. You can see that however drunk or perverted he may or may not be, he is a just man with a kind heart.

The servant returns with the wine and the two of you share it together, swapping amusing stories from your respective homelands. Tyrion tells you all about the many sex scandals and rumours of the Red Keep, and you tell him about the beautiful women of Parre who you have fathered many bastard children with.

“Do you have games in Parre?” Tyrion asks around his cup. “Stupid question. Anyway, we have this game over here with a coin, you flip it in the air and you and one other person try to guess which side it will land on. Whoever guesses correctly can ask any favour from the loser. This can be a dangerous game, not many people in Westeros would shame themselves by not following the rules when they lose a toss. Now…” Tyrion begins to laugh. “As you can probably imagine, I have played this game many a time with a buxom wench or two. In fact, I have my own trick coin with the same image on both sides. You wouldn’t imagine the tit jobs I get with this thing.” He laughs once more, and you laugh with him. You find drinking in the day to be quite fun, and are grateful for the company. Before long, the pair of you are relatively tipsy.

You decide that you will need to keep your wits about you while staying the Red Keep as to avoid offending the local nobility. Apologising, you begin to excuse yourself from the table.

Tyrion protests, insisting that the nobles of Kings Landing are so used to an alcoholic monarch that they would be suspicious of any king who wasn’t drunk.

You laugh at his jest but still insist that you should sober up.

“Just when I thought I found a new drinking partner. All right, all right, what if we flip a copper for it? If it lands on my side you sit back down with me and pour me another drink. Look, this isn’t a trick one, I promise.” He tossed it to you so you can check it.

You toss it back. You ask Tyrion what would be in it for you if it lands on heads.

He shrugs. “I will be at your command, Your Grace. Hopefully you won’t have the same intentions I had for that milkmaid in the Riverlands.”

You tell Tyrion that if you did do such a thing, it would serve him right for all the times he has done it to women. You are only half-joking, and you’re sure Tyrion can tell, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Come on,” he says, holding up the coin. “Heads or tails?”