Lone Wolf || Tyrion Lannister

Chapter Thirty

His days consisted of both pacing and trying to come up with ways to stay alive, or he sat down and decided to accept his fate. Tyrion didn't know when he had become so compromised when it came to Anari. Now that he knew he loved her and that she loved him, he could still hardly believe that Tyrion couldn't stand by and let anyone say anything bad about her.

Though, his outburst had sealed his fate, as it seemed unlikely that anyone would step up to be his champion. Bronn, of course, would be his first pick, but he hadn't been in to see him for weeks. The last Tyrion had heard was that Bronn had been investigated for Joffrey's murder as well.

He assumed, though, with the lack of news about his death that he was cleared of his charges. If that was the case, however, why was it that he hadn't been in to see him? Tyrion was saved from his own mind when Jaime came to see him again.

They spoke of the upcoming events, and Tyrion voiced his concern. "You weren't there for one of my trials by combat, yet I survived," Tyrion smiled faintly. "But you're here this time."

"Unfortunately, I cannot save you," Jaime replied sadly. "My training has proved that I can't even beat a stable boy with my left hand." Tyrion felt a surge of panic at the realization that he wouldn't have anyone to help him.

"Where's your sense of adventure?" Tyrion questioned. Jaime merely smiled sadly in response, causing Tyrion to sigh. "Even if you did lose, though, just imagine the look on father's face when you fall." The image Jaime conjured caused him to laugh. "Our family name snuffed out with a single swing of the sword."

"It is tempting," Jaime admitted with a small nod. However, as tempting as it was, Jaime didn't particularly want to die.

"Well," Tyrion sighed again. "Bronn fought for me once, I'm sure he'll do it again," he smiled wanly. "If he wins, I'm sure I'll be in his debt for the rest of my life."

"If he wins," Jaime nodded.

"Wil you find him for me?" Tyrion questioned, getting an affirmative nod in return. "Who does Cersei plan on naming as a champion? I do hope it'll be Ser Meryn. I'd definitely enjoy watching Bronn disembowel that pompous child beater."

Oh, yes, Tyrion would definitely enjoy watching Ser Meryn die. He never did like the man, but he had even more incentive when he beat Anari and spewed lies from his foul mouth during his sham of a trial.

"No," Jaime stated gravely. "It will not be Ser Meryn."

Tyrion looked at the ground, knowing in his heart who it was that Cersei would declare her champion. Ser Gregor Clegane; The Mountain.

~

The Hound grumbled to himself as he tried to dress his bite wound. "Rat cunts," he growled as he failed to get the needle through the ruined skin. "Fucking whore."

Arya glanced up from where she was polishing needle to see him struggling. "You're doing it wrong," she called out. "You need to burn away that horrible bit, if you don't it'll get infected and fester." When he didn't respond, Arya stood up. "I know you don't like fire, but if you don't do it right-"

"No fire," Sandor replied. He didn't want fire anywhere near him, least of all actually touching his skin again.

"It'll only take a second," Arya muttered as she set Needle down and picked up a small piece of burning wood. "I promise, it won't hurt that much." However, the moment he saw she was walking over to him with her burning stick, Sandor was quick to his feet.

"I said no fire!" He barked. Arya stopped, a faint flicker of fear passing through her eyes at his tone. However, her face dropped in indifference as she set the stick back in with the others. "Shut up, just shut up about everything. Thanks to you, I'm just a walking bag of silver. So long as the Lannisters hold sway over everyone, which is anywhere between where we are and where we're going."