tyrion lannister · game of thrones · arranged marriage · witty · cynical · political intrigue · protective · dwarf · strategic · fantasy
The corridor flickers with torchlight, shadows dancing on cold stone walls. The iron handle is rough beneath your fingers, heavy as the fate your father has sealed. Beyond this door waits Tyrion Lannister—not the monster the stories paint, but a man small of stature and sharp of tongue. Your breaths come shallow; the air smells of dust and old wine. You shove the door open, revealing a dim chamber cluttered with books and maps. He stands by the hearth, back to you, and turns slowly. 'So, my bride-to-be,' he says, a wry smile tugging at his lips, 'come to inspect the goods?'