Your Majesty, I can also help you dig for gold in the Westerlands!"
Tyrion Lannister, the Imp, was anxious.
He didn't want to be beheaded just for taking two extra glances at a beautiful woman.
As the only rightful son of the Lord of the Westerlands, he could even help Viserys Targaryen recruit Lord Tywin's former retainers.
"The gold mines in the Westerlands are depleted, don't you know?"
Hearing this, Viserys Targaryen curled his lips with interest.
Looking at the strangely formed dwarf in front of him, Viserys Targaryen remembered his cheap father, Aerys Targaryen, the Mad King.
There was always a rumor among the common folk that the Mad King had once forced Tywin's wife to stay in The Red Keep for a night, and that was how the Imp, this monstrosity, came to be.
What's more, from the moment he was born, he possessed the physical characteristics of both the Targaryen Family and House Lannister.
His hair was pale gold, with messy silver curls at the ends.
His eyes were mismatched, one green and one black, ugly, deformed, and his features were asymmetrical!
Even Viserys Targaryen at this moment couldn't tell whose offspring he truly was!
"..."
Listening to Viserys Targaryen's reply, the Imp fell silent once again.
As the sole heir to the Lord of the Westerlands, he enjoyed no benefits whatsoever, and now he had to start taking the blame for his father and brothers!
"That... Your Majesty, before I die, could you grant me a beautiful woman and some fine wine, so I can die happily!"
Tyrion Targaryen, like a deflated ball, slumped into the corner.
At this moment, he, who prided himself on his cleverness, truly couldn't think of any bargaining chip to make Viserys Targaryen pardon him!
"You wicked little monster, how dare you ask for a beautiful woman as a reward?"
Sansa Stark impatiently interrupted the ugly dwarf's plea.
In her eyes, he was just a useless freak who spent his days in brothels and taverns.
"Deal!"
Listening to Tyrion's dying jest, Viserys Targaryen said in a deep voice.
Hearing this, Sansa Stark and Tyrion both widened their eyes, standing frozen in place.
"Did I hear wrong, Your Majesty!"
Sansa Stark almost suspected there was something wrong with her ears.
Had her 'pillow talk' ended before it even began?
This was completely different from what Littlefinger Petyr Baelish, her uncle who taught her schemes, had told her!
Tyrion Lannister, on the other hand, was ecstatic.
This was not just a simple reward!
It meant that Viserys Targaryen valued his talent.
He didn't have to die!
Just as he was overjoyed and waiting, a middle-aged beautiful woman, ragged and with a messy blonde mane, was unexpectedly pushed into his arms.
Looking at the newcomer, Tyrion Lannister was deeply shaken, even his lips trembled: "Cer... Cersei..."
"How were you captured too? Where's Father? Where's Jaime?"
At this moment, Tyrion Lannister was burning with anxiety.
However, before Cersei Lannister could recover, one, two, three blonde children were all kicked in!
"Joffrey, Tommen, Myrcella..."
Looking at these nieces and nephews, whose height already surpassed his own, Tyrion Lannister was greatly alarmed.
Had House Lannister been wiped out so quickly by Viserys Targaryen?
"The wights breached Casterly Rock, no human could defeat such beings!"
Joffrey Baratheon said, sobbing, his eyes red: "Except for Uncle Jaime, who insisted on marching to King's Landing to provide aid and disappeared, everyone else was betrayed by the Mountain and captured in King's Landing!"
At these words, Tyrion Lannister's heart immediately turned to ashes.
If even Lord Tywin's most loyal dog—Gregor Clegane, the Mountain—had betrayed them, what leverage did House Lannister have left!
Thinking of this, he could only pray to the Seven Gods in his heart that his brother, Jaime Lannister, would not be captured by Viserys Targaryen.
Otherwise, the whole family would truly be laid out neatly in their coffins.
Just as he hesitated, a long, thin whip was thrown in front of the Imp, Tyrion Lannister.
"Imp, it's time to shovel dung for His Majesty!"
Following the voice, the person who came was an old man dressed in coarse linen.
He was hunched over, his body covered in wrinkles.
"Shovel dung?"
Looking at the whip on the ground, which seemed extraordinarily long, the Imp was utterly bewildered.
King's Landing had so many dung shovelers, why would Viserys Targaryen set his sights on him?
But, as things stood, he could only take it one step at a time.
Following the old man in front of him, he walked far out of King's Landing.
Just as he was utterly confused, a huge figure suddenly crawled out of the dragon pit in front of him.
"A gi... a giant dragon!"
Tyrion Lannister's eyes widened, his pupils constricted.
He had never imagined he would face a mythical beast from legends in such a manner.
That thing was less a creature and more a moving catastrophe.
When it stretched its body, the entire dragon pit seemed to groan under the unbearable weight.
Gravel and dust also fell rustling from the dome.
Fear, like a cold iron clamp, tightly gripped his ankles.
The Imp wanted to move his already clumsy short legs, but found himself as if nailed to the ground, unable to budge.
"Damn it..."
At this moment, he belatedly realized that the guards behind him, who claimed to be the bravest, were long gone.
In the empty cave, only he remained, a dwarf less than five feet tall, facing a dragon that was taller than a castle even when lying down.
The Imp couldn't help but smile bitterly.
What a wonderful irony!
Once upon a time, he had always clamored for a dragon, even a crippled, flightless small dragon would do.
However, when he truly faced this ancient mythical beast, all that remained was endless fear and uncontrollable gasps.
The dragon turned its head, and a scorching Dragonflame rushed at him, carrying the endless smell of sulfur and gunpowder.
Its eyes were like two pools of molten lava, and in the center of its golden vertical pupils, flames from hell seemed to dance.
Tyrion seemed to see his own end in those eyes: burned to charcoal, or worse, turned into a puddle of dragon dung stuck to the flagstones.
"Alright,"
Tyrion Lannister closed his eyes in resignation, muttering to himself, "at least this is far more spectacular than dying on the execution block."
However, the anticipated Dragonflame did not come.
Tyrion Lannister cautiously opened one eye.
Only then did he realize that he was not facing an ordinary dragon, but a dwarf among dragons.
Unlike other dragons, its tail was short, thick, and twisted, and its wings had an unnatural bend, just as his own legs were imperfect.
At this moment, Tyrion Lannister actually saw his own reflection in this destroyer: similarly cursed bloodline, similarly twisted form, similarly abandoned by the whole world.
The dragon's golden vertical pupil was close at hand, and what surged within it was no longer the flame of destruction, but something he was incredibly familiar with—a loneliness after being abandoned by the whole world, and beneath it, a deeply hidden pride that refused to be extinguished.
"So... you are also like this."
Tyrion murmured.
He dragged his short legs, trying to take a step forward.
This was perhaps the hardest step he had ever taken in his life, requiring more courage than openly defying his father, Lord Tywin.
The Imp raised his short right hand.
"They're all gone."
The Imp said, "Those who prided themselves on being perfect have all gone to hell, and the Seven Gods have instead left us two... 'defective products'."
Hearing this, the dark red glow in the dwarf dragon's throat gradually extinguished.
It lowered its head, its huge skull carefully suspended in mid-air, maintaining a subtle distance.
Tyrion Lannister's hand finally touched the dragon's snout.
The scales were unexpectedly smooth, carrying the warmth of life, not the searing heat of death.
"Then from now on, we're friends!"
Tyrion whispered.
Hearing this, the dwarf dragon let out a low whimper, its tail trembling slightly.
Its thick, twisted tail swayed gently, sweeping away scattered stones.
"I know that feeling."
Tyrion Lannister continued.
His fingers unconsciously traced the gaps between the scales, "When you prove yourself with strength, they only scream and run away, then hide further away to curse you as a monster."
The Imp suddenly laughed, his laughter echoing in the empty dragon pit: "But we are all monsters, aren't we? A dwarf abandoned by his family, an outcast rejected by the dragon pack."
The dwarf dragon slowly closed its eyes, as if assenting to this cruel analogy.
At this moment, an indescribable connection was established.
Not taming, not conquering, but two souls wounded by the world, recognizing each other in the ruins.
"My name is Tyrion."
The Imp said, "Tyrion Lannister. Though that surname means nothing to me now."
"Its name is Shimmerscale!"
Viserys Targaryen emerged from the shadows of the dragon pit behind him, interrupting his words: "And your true name should be Tyrion Snow, a bastard of the Targaryen Family!"
At this moment, Tyrion looked around and saw that following him was the old man who had led Tyrion Lannister out of prison—Viserys Valerion, the Dragon Guard Captain personally chosen by Viserys Targaryen!