From the Ashes (ASOIAF) (Sandor Clegane x OC)

Chapter 1: Tyrion

Tyrion made his way down the wide thoroughfare slowly. It was a dark night, but it always seemed too dark now. He supposed that was to be expected when half the city was still in ruins and less than half of it was populated. It had been four moons since the fateful day when Daenerys Targaryen, last of her name, had laid waste to this city he had called home for much of his adult life. He shuddered slightly remembering the flames and the screams of the dying, and then after, when he had been imprisoned he had the seen the smoke of the funeral pyres for days on end. So many dead, it seemed as though it would never end. But when it did, Tyrion thought, the one constant in all the horror, pain, and cruelty he had seen, and he had seen his fair share, was that life continues on. Slowly, the signs of life were beginning to spark in the city. Not life as it was, but with any hope possibly life that was better. Bran was so far a good and wise king. He was a bit odd, and may not have taken to the crown with the ease that certain others had, but if he was being honest with himself, that was part of the reason Tyrion had recommended him in the first place. Things had to be different, and so far, they had been. They had reached a sort of comfortable routine in their small council. Himself, Brienne of Tarth, Grand Maester Samwell Tarly, Ser Davos Seaworth, and Ser Bronn-no wait Tyrion corrected himself-Lord Bronn of High Garden, made a comfortable if not all together conventional team. Yet there were other positions within the city and the Kings service that needed to be filled and that's what had him out in the streets tonight.
A cold breeze came gusting down an alley making Tyrion pull his cloak tighter around his shoulders. He hated everything about winter. Here in Kings Landing the winter had been mild, especially compared to the brutality of the weather he'd endured in the North, but it set a chill in his bones none the less. He stopped to read the street signs to either side of him and then ducked down the smaller street on the left. If he was honest with himself he wasn't quite sure if he was hoping this secretive mission he had tasked himself with would be successful or a dead end. When he had first been passed the piece of information through his network of contacts, a new Master of Whispers had yet to be found so Tyrion was doing his best to control the flow of information as the Hand, he had let it churn in his mind for several days, unsure of whether he wanted to act or not. In the end, as was often the case in his life, he decided that he had to know the truth. Whatever he decided to do with the knowledge was a problem for another day, but not knowing, wasn't something he could abide.
He was counting doors now as he walked, when he reached the sixth door on the right hand side of the street he stopped and looked around quickly. He almost unconsciously pulled his hood down lower over his face. He knew that there was no real need for secrecy either the face waiting for him on the other side of the door would be one he'd known for most of his life, or more likely, it would just be another fanciful tale being spread after the battle. After all, he'd seen the Red Keep aflame, seen the aftermath and wreckage. Seen the broken bodies of his siblings, lying beneath it. No one who had been in that place could have survived, it was madness to even consider. Yet if anyone could.
"It would be him." Tyrion muttered to himself as he knocked on the door.
The door was opened by a girl who couldn't have been older than ten. She stood only slightly taller than him, and the hair on one side of he head was short and patchy where it had obviously been singed off and was only just growing back. She took one look at Tyrion and her eyes widened.

"Pa!" She called, "It's the Hand! He's come for Ray!"

The girl disappeared from the doorway and a moment later was replaced by a skinny man with greying hair and a thin beard. His left arm was in a sling tucked tight to his chest and Tyrion could see his hand was missing three fingers.

"Had a feeling we'd see you eventually M'lord Hand." He said and a deep baleful voice, "Ray always said he wasn't the type who could stay hidden away forever. Come in."

Tyrion walked over the threshold into the small house. It had a low ceiling that was hung with various smoked meats, and strands of fruits and vegetables. The man walked directly through the main part of the house and opened a door that led to the back.