𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑 | arya stark

𝐢𝐢. you're on your own, kid

❝I need my golden crown of sorrow,

my blood sword to swing❞

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

"Are you truly so desperate to be killed?"

"Ah my dear niece." Tyrion said, not opening his eyes as he leant against the wall of his dingy cell. "I'm always so pleased when you visit me with your kind words and gentle demeanour."

Morgana scoffed lightly. In the shadows of his dark cell, she blended in quite well in her dark purple gown and raven black hair. She wasn't particularly tall for her age but Tyrion always felt she acted as though she was. Like a small dog who believed she was a god. That was the effect of having Cersei as a mother, he assumed.

"Well if you truly wish for kind words I'm sure I can go call upon my mother." Morgana retorted, sitting beside him, uncaring if her dress was ruined or not by the filth of the Keep's dungeons. She turned to him but he did not open his eyes. "I'm sure she has a fair amount to say to you after your outburst at your trial."

"I think I shall politely decline." Tyrion muttered and Morgana studied her uncle she had once so admired.

"I'm assuming you have no champion as of yet." She stated and Tyrion couldn't help the dry laugh that escaped his lips at that.

"You were always the clever one." He said, finally turning to look at the young girl beside him. "Perhaps you take after me in that respect."

"Don't flatter yourself." She said, although here was little humour in her voice. The room was silent for a moment before she spoke again. "So, neither Jaime nor your sell sword wish to assist you?"

"I'm indeed without a knight in shining armour, my dear." Tyrion said, looking to the ceiling of his cell before laughing lightly at a thought. "Would you perhaps fill that role for your favourite uncle?"

"Need I remind you yet again not to flatter yourself?" Morgana said and Tyrion sighed.

"It seems I shall have to leave you alone in this world then, dear one." He said, staring at the wall across from them as he spoke. "Perhaps Westeros is not ready for our great minds just yet."

It was silent once more, the only sound was the mice that were most likely running rampant with Tyrion's uneaten food in the corner.

"That's pathetic." Morgana said, breaking the silence as Tyrion raised an eyebrow at her. "Do you remember my old dancing instructor?"

"Ah yes your 'dancing instructor'." Tyrion scoffed, giving her a look. "What about him?"

"He used to tell us something every time one of us would attempt to run the other through with our play swords." Morgana said and Tyrion saw a small smile flicker onto his niece's face as she spoke. "He would say, 'What do we say to the God of Death? Not today."

"And what, pray tell, happened to your dancing instructor?" Tyrion asked dryly and Morgana's jaw tensed, not happy with the resurgence of the memory of her mentor's death. After that, she did not speak and Tyrion could not bear the silence. "Who's 'us'?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said 'he used to tell us something'." Tyrion said, turning to Morgana who was suddenly very interested in the ceiling. "Who was your partner in crime?"

For a moment, Tyrion saw a flash of the girl she had been before her father died. He was well aware of his sister and good brothers ignorance and blatant cruel indifference to the existence of their daughter and he had found a selfish kinship in her as the other 'Lannister freak'. But he had a certain memory of their time in Winterfell and had heard tales of her time briefly before of her father died where she had seemed happy. Truly happy. But now she was a ghost, a silver tongued ghost that remained him far too much of himself.