The Death of Duty

Chapter 1

TYRION

The bells. The bells ring every morning to awake him but all it reminds Tyrion of is the person he chose as his queen and what she did when those bells rang and the city surrendered. Thousands burned for no reason, and he just sat there and watched helplessly unable to do anything. Now here he is, Hand of the King trying to rectify all his mistakes. He rises out of his bed feeling the effects of the heavy drinking of the previous night. During the days he's been sober for the most part but during the nights he drinks his sorrows away in the privacy of his chambers. He slowly put his clothes on and his Hand of the King pin. Opening the door, he was met with Bronn, his hand balled into a fist about to knock. "Took you long enough to wake," he said. "We're all waiting for you." Tyrion closed his eyes and sighed but gave a nod and miserably walked his way to the small council room. Over the course of the past few weeks he was beginning to realize that Bran might not have been the wisest choice for the position of King. He was constantly being brutally honest to his subjects and occasionally refusing to attend to certain matters for reasons as he put it: 'fate wills this to happen, I will not stand in its way.' It was always left to Tyrion to attend to the matters in which the king would not and stand in the way of fate.

Once they arrived at the small council room everyone was already there including the King. Bronn took his seat as did Tyrion and the meeting commenced. "Well first order of business, Ser Bronn." Bronn turned his head to face Tyrion questioningly. "You have proven within the past few weeks to not be the best Master of Coin," Tyrion said. "Can't argue with that," Bronn responded. He seemed rather discontented with his position on the small council as all he really wanted was a castle, not the responsibilities that came with it. "We believe your abilities would be better suited towards Master of War," Tyrion said. "Well then I suppose my seat is over there," he said rising to his feet and pulling out a chair at the other end of the table. "King Bran, I believe that the need for a Master of Whispers is unnecessary in light of your abilities." Tyrion suggested and Bran nodded in agreeance. Tyrion turned his head to the empty seat next to the seat that belonged to Master of Coin. He turned his attention to Samwell Tarly who stood next to him. "Where is Ser Brienne?" he asked. "She has been falling sick as of late and will not be attending the small council meeting today," Tyrion nodded and turned his attention back to the King. "Well we're meeting with Yara Greyjoy of the Iron Islands to work out our alliance. Perhaps we should discuss that." Bran nodded and the meeting went on. After the plan for the Iron Islands was laid out they moved on to other matters. "Have we finally located Drogon?" Tyrion asked and Bronn shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "We lost sight of him a few days ago," Sam mumbled. "How do you lose sight of a giant fucking beast like that?" Bronn asked as he started tapping his foot nervously. "I will find him in time, do not worry about him for now." Bran said. His emotionless state often allowed Tyrion to completely forget he was even there as for the most part he just sat there at the small council meetings. "Well I can only hope that time is soon," Tyrion said. The meeting adjourned and Tyrion left in a hurry to get back to drinking.

Once he arrived to his chambers he immediately grabbed a glass and poured himself his wine. Before he could begin drinking there was a knock at his door. Tyrion sighed but went to open it to find Bronn there once again. "Mind if I join you for a drink?" he asked. Tyrion welcomed him in and poured another glass for his friend as he joined him on his balcony overlooking the city. King's Landing was far from full recovery from when Daenerys razed it to the ground but it was looked far better compared to the day it happened. "Glad I wasn't here for that dragon," Bronn said interrupting the silence and Tyrion's thoughts. Tyrion didn't answer and just stared into his drink not wanting to think about that day. "How do you feel about Bran being King?" Tyrion asked abruptly. "Is this a test?" Bronn asked raising an eyebrow. "I'm asking for your opinion not whether you're planning on committing treason," Tyrion corrected him. Bronn sat there for a few seconds pondering his answer before he came to a conclusion. "I must say, you could have chosen better." Tyrion nodded in agreement. "I'm starting to think that too." The two sat there for a few more seconds until Bronn looked at turned his attention back to his friend. He recognized that face. Tyrion had shown it multiple times ever since he became the Hand of the King. "You couldn't have known," Bronn said abruptly as if he read Tyrion's mind. "Of course I couldn't of known, nobody could have." Tyrion responded. "Then why are you so glum?" Bronn asked. Tyrion took a moment to think about why it was exactly before he realized it. "I had been a cynic for my entire life. I never believed in anything, not even myself. And then there I was, believing in her." He turned his attention back to the city that was still being rebuilt. "And look where it got me," he said before gulping down the rest of his wine. They sat in silence for the rest of the time. But Tyrion didn't mind, it was just nice to not drink alone this time.

SANSA

The day advanced as it had as normal. The North had prospered under its new independence with Sansa as its Queen. But the loneliness she would feel without her siblings was hurtful. Arya sailed west of Westeros and hasn't been seen since, Bran is running a kingdom and even if they did have time to meet Bran isn't exactly the best when it comes to conversation. And Jon rode beyond the wall to live out the rest of his life with the free folk. While he's permitted visits every now and then she's heard that he's miserable most of the time. Well more miserable than usual. While she felt sorry for her brother she was glad that he was rid of that dragon queen. She knew Daenerys never cared about Jon and he was just a tool she used to get what she wanted. She would've killed him eventually with him being the rightful heir to the iron throne. Even still it hurt that they never saw each other. Whatever happened to the pack survives? Sansa would ask herself on most days. Well now they're not a pack, they're lone wolves. The last time the pack was divided was the War of the Five Kings and that didn't bode well for the Starks. Sansa could only hold out hope that history wouldn't repeat itself.

JON

Life was far less comfortable up north of the wall. The Free Folk set course for the "real north" as they liked to call almost six months ago. They settled themselves at Hardhome which still suffered from the destruction from the massacre years ago. But the rebuilding was near complete, surveyed by Tormund. But something bothered him the entire time they were there. Jon hadn't aided in the reconstruction or in anything in particular whilst they were there. Instead of staying the wooden homes down by the water he chose to place himself in a hut at the highest hilltop. Most of the time Tormund would bring food up to him but he'd never see him, just leave the food there. He knew he was at least alive because everytime he came up he'd see the food was finished and the sac he brought it in was left outside the hut on a peg.

Today Tormund had had enough. He'd spent his entire time up there sulking and that would never do anything good for him. He was gonna knock some sense into him or throw him right off the edge if that's what it took to get him down there. He came to the tent and didn't even bother asking permission to enter. When he came in what he saw was saddening. His hair was unkempt and all the furniture was strewn along the floors. A desk they made him to write seemed to be the victim of lots of carving, there was a large tree trunk in the corner that seemed to be dented halfway through and he could tell why. Jon was lying on the bed with tear stained cheeks and bloodsoaked hands. His Night's Watch clothes were dirty and the hut reeked of dead bodies.

Tormund huffed after looking at the place and then turned his attention to the pathetic person he once called King. "You think she'd wanna see you like this?" he asked. Jon slowly turned his head as if just realizing that Tormund was there. "No," he said. "But it's not like she will ever see me again." Tears began welling up once again in Jon's eyes and Tormund rolled his head back in frustration. He strode over to the bed taking a seat at the edge to look at Jon better. "You can't live your whole life up here," he said. Jon grabbed his wineskin and chugged all the ale left in there. The Free Folk ale used to disgust him but now taste meant nothing to him. "I can try," he said tossing the wineskin aside. Tormund sighed but stood up. "At least try coming down and walking around a bit," he said, offering his hand. Jon hesitated for a moment but took it and came down.

SOMEWHERE IN ESSOS

The little girl ran through the hallways to find her. She ran past the doorways in a blur looking quickly in to them to see if she could find her. One doorway brought her to a stop and she looked inside to see the red priestess standing on the balcony in her usual red robe. "Kinvara!" The little girl screamed as she ran towards her. Kinvara turned and smiled embracing the young girl before releasing her. "Is it true?" the little girl asked. "Has the Lord of Light gifted someone with life once again?" Kinvara smiled at the little girl and nodded. "He has." The little girl released and became excited. She always desperately wanted to meet someone who had returned from the dead. "Where is this person?" Before Kinvara answered something grabbed her attention in the room behind the little girl. "Behind you," she said softly. The little girl turned and ran into the room to the woman standing in the middle. "Woah, you're pretty!" she exclaimed. The woman smiled and bent down onto her knees. "You are quite beautiful as well," she said. The woman seemed to have a fondness for children. She rose to her feet and looked to the red priestess. "How are you feeling today?" Kinvara asked. "Much better than the previous day," the woman answered. "Thank you for everything you have done for me." But Kinvara nodded in a way to say it is unnecessary to thank her. "It is my pleasure," she said. "Daenerys Stormborn."