Hers Is The Fury

The Mountain And The Viper

[King's Landing - Red Keep, Tyrion's Cell]

Tyrion drank wine that had been smuggled in by his brother, Jaime. They were waiting for the sound of the bell, signalling the trial by combat.

"Wine alwys helps. I thank you for it. Trial by combat. Deciding a man's guilt or innocence in the eyes of the gods by having two other men hack each other to pieces. Tells you something about the gods. How much longer?"

"Soon."

"Do you think Oberyn has a chance? The Red Viper of Dorne. You don't get a name like that unless you're deadly, right?"

"I've nevr seen him fight."

"Oh, he's going to die. I'm going to die."

"Oberyn believes in himself."

"That's putting it mildly. What's the punishment for regicide? Drawing and quartering? Hanging? Breaking at the wheel?"

"Beheading."

"Seems rather ordinary. And he was my nephew as well, so what is that? Fratricide is brothers. Filicide is sons. Nepoticide. That's the one. Matricide, patricide, infanticide, suicide. There's no kind of killing that doesn't have its own word."

"Cousins." Jaime replied.

"Cousins, you're right. There is no word for cousin killing. Well done. Do you remember cousin Orson? Orson Lannister?

"Of course. Wet-nurse dropped him on his head. Left him simple."

"Simple? Used to sit all day in the garden. Crushing beetles with a rock."

"Khuu! Khuu! Khuu!" They chanted together.

"Nothing made him happier." Tyrion added.

"Nothing made you happier. You'd think being tormented from birth would have given you some affinity for the afflicted."

"On the contrary. Laughing at another person's misery was the only thing that made me feel like everyone else."

"The joke wore thin, though." Jaime noted.

"For you. You drifted away."

"I had other interests."

"Yes, other interests. But I stayed with Orson."

"Why?"

"I was curious. Why was he smashing all those beetles? What did he get out of it? First thing I did was ask him. "Orson, why are you smashing all those beetles?" He gave me an answer. "Smash the beetles. Smash 'em. Khuu! Khuu! Khuu!" I wasn't deterred. I was the smartest person I knew. Certainly I had the wherewithal to unravel the mysteries that lay at the heart of a moron. So I went to Maester Volarik's library."

"Volarik. Tried to touch me once."

"Turns out, far too much has been written about great men and not nearly enough about morons. Doesn't seem right. In any case, I found nothing that illuminated the nature of Orson's affliction or the reason behind his relentless beetle slaughter. So I went back to the source. I may not have been able to speak with Orson, but I could observe him, watch him the way men watch animals to come to a deeper understanding of their behavior. *picks up a beetle* And as I watched, I became more and more sure of it. There was something happening there. His face was like the page of a book written in a language I didn't understand. But he wasn't mindless. He had his reasons. And I became possessed with knowing what they were. I began to spend inordinate amounts of time watching him. I would eat my lunch in the garden, chewing my mutton to the music of "khuu, khuu, khuu". And when I wasn't watching him, I was thinking about him. Father droned on about the family legacy and I thought about Orson's beetles. I read the histories of Targaryen conquests. Did I hear dragon wings? No. I heard "khuu, khuu, khuu" and I still couldn't figure out why he was doing it. And I had to know, because it was horrible that all these beetles should be dying for no reason."