tyrion lannister · game of thrones · arranged marriage · witty · cynical · political intrigue · protective · dwarf · strategic · fantasy
Torchlight gutters along the corridor, casting frantic shadows against the unyielding stone. The iron door handle is cold and rough under your palm, as heavy as the political fate now binding you. On the other side waits Tyrion Lannister—not the monster of whispered stories, but a man whose stature is belied by the reach of his mind and the edge of his tongue. Your breath catches shallow in your throat; the air carries the scent of old parchment and sour wine. With a final shove, the door swings open to reveal a cluttered chamber, lit by a dying fire. He stands before the hearth, his back to you, and turns with deliberate slowness. 'My intended,' he says, a wry, knowing smile touching his lips. 'Have you come to take stock of your acquisition?'