Lannister Blood

9 - Valar Morghulis

Pentos

Tyrion Lannister, filthy and exhausted, finally crawls out of his stowaway crate on solid land. Varys stands nearby, and after a few grumbles about the long journey back and forth, Tyrion finally takes in his new surroundings. The sea sparkles in the daylight, almost making him forget about the odor emanating from all around him. The sun is warm on his way face as he immediately seeks out any form of alcohol he can get his hands on. He barely moved in that crate for days on end, practically pissing and shitting himself in order to avoid detection.

But this, this he knows is Pentos. The start of a new miserable life for him. A chance to drink himself away until there's nothing left of him to find. It's with the smell of the wine in his hand that he realizes his sister is nowhere in sight. The two hadn't spoken on the journey out of fear of giving him away, or perhaps there was simply nothing to say. He can't blame her if she hates him now. After all, he's the dwarf that's officially made them orphans. Jaime will surely kill him if they should ever meet again. Why shouldn't Lysandra despise his presence just like the rest?

With that thought, he chugs as much of the wonderful poison as he can. Then he eyes Varys. Surely he wouldn't harm her or send her away against her will...

"She departed as soon as she knew you'd be safe," Varys says smoothly, as if reading his friend's thoughts. "I had no part in it besides assisting her with obtaining a map."

Tyrion lowers the bottle. "Where has she gone?"

"I know not."

"You seem to know everything, friend," he says mockingly.

"She's travelling North towards Braavos," Varys replies. "Though I do not know if that is her destination. She seemed quite keen on not being followed."

Tyrion's eyebrows furrow. What business does Lysandra have in Braavos or anywhere in Essos? He's always known she's been to her fair share of places, but not many in Essos. His best guess, perhaps she feels that she can find the answer to her frighteningly vivid visions. He can only hope what she finds doesn't drive her to further madness.

"I do believe she wanted to bid you farewell," Varys offers. "But could not take to say such heavy words to her brother a second time."

A small, sad smile tugs at the corner of Tyrion's lips. He stares into the bottle, somehow hoping the answers to all of his desires reside in the dark colored liquid.

"I don't know if I could face her again either, I suppose." His voice is quiet.

"She did leave you this," Varys says, holding out a crumpled piece of parchment.

Tyrion takes it gingerly and smooths out the hurried creases with his free thumb and forefinger.

Be well. Know that I love you, brother.

~L

Tyrion grimaces, fighting back any painful tears that threaten to surface. His sister deserved far better than any of them had ever deserved. No one could see it until it was too late to make amends.

Not even him.

How he loved her so, and he couldn't recall the last time he had spoken the words to her. When they were naïve children, he supposed. But now, he may never get the chance. He may never see her stubborn jawline when she shows her resilience; her long, dull blonde hair hanging over her shoulder like a royal cape. He may never get to tell her how proud he is of her strength. How proud he has always been, just by being her brother.