To epitomize the world in which we live, we must first step back and remember that we are flawed.
But to understand the world in which we live, we must recognize that man realizes just this: the good exploit the flaws and the wicked jeopardize their...
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Gabrielle is rather grateful when she sees Tyrion begin to come-about, her one-sided conversations with Jorah tempting her to throw him into the sea if only to save herself. And though she has letters to write, there are no ravens to use and the sea is not the best place in which to write clearly. So, instead, she tries to make figures out of the clouds as the hours spin into afternoon and Trident growls at any shifting in the water nearby.
Hesitantly at first, and then entirely, Tyrion's eyes flutter open and he heaves himself upright, watched by Gabrielle with a small smile. His hand gropes his hair for any wound or blood, imparting nothing of consequence except a massive bruise and headache that has him flinching. Noticing Jorah's lack of care for his consciousness and forgetting the man's violent streak, Tyrion quips, "Don't worry. I'll be fine. Nothing broken, I don't think."
"You do not bleed. You are fine," Gabrielle reassures him, having checked for the blood, as his eyes finally turn to hers and notice her complete health, likely not suffering under the same blow as himself.
Sitting up straighter, Tyrion's struck with the fog now blocking the sun, eyes shifting about to notice plantlife and silence in the deepset river somewhere in Essos. Thinking fast but still confused, he asks, "Where are we now? Not the Rhoyne." Jorah does not respond to him and Gabrielle appears to be as confused as himself, though she has a lingering suspicion that puts her on edge. Despite it all, Tyrion chuckles slightly, "Long, sullen silences and an occasional punch in the face. The Mormont way." Gabrielle's laugh rings happily in his ears, and Tyrion immediately finds himself in a more pleasant mood, returning his eyes to Jorah with the offer, "Let's start over. I apologize for before. My mouth sometimes runs away from me."
"It often runs away from him," Gabrielle corrects, prompting Tyrion to correct her angelic image, "And she'll run away with us both if you don't watch her. This doesn't have to be an unpleasant trip. We're going to be spending a lot of time together on the way to Meereen."
"We are," Jorah nods and imparts for the first time in many hours.
Tyrion grins at the small victory, clapping his hands together as he remarks, "What would make our time together truly enjoyable would be some wine."
"No wine," Jorah's eyes bolt to Tyrion's in his address, and the dwarf does not hesitate to release a huff of frustration.
"I am a person who drinks. People who drink need to keep drinking. Otherwise, they're not..."
Their voices drown out as Jorah's eyes focus on the sight before Gabrielle's eyes, the older man standing to his feet as Tyrion turns in due cause. Ahead of them--and confirming her suspicions--a thicker layer of fog gathers from the sky to the river, like a curtain hiding the horrors behind it--and do not be mistaken, there are true terrors. Like a foreboding chime, Trident begins to growl as they pass into the cool air, shivers raking down their backs and setting them on edge.
