Tyrion Lannister.
That name made Ser Lynn's nerves, weary from a night of indulgence, tense up again.
He folded the letter in his hand and watched the short figure walk into the study.
"My apologies for disturbing you so early."
Tyrion bowed, his movements impeccable.
His heterochromatic eyes, one green and one black, were curiously surveying the study.
"I heard Littlefinger's taste was always dreadful; it seems the rumors are true."
He pointed to a vulgar oil painting on the wall depicting a maiden picking flowers.
"You'd best burn it and replace it with a map of King's Landing, or hang a few Valyrian steel swords. Anything would be better than this."
Ser Lynn gestured for him to sit and poured him a glass of wine.
"You certainly made a large sum of gold dragons from Lord Baelish."
Tyrion took the wine glass and drained it in one gulp.
"So, you're here to collect his debt?" Ser Lynn asked.
"Collect debt?"
Tyrion let out a short laugh.
"I wish you'd strip him of his last pair of trousers."
Tyrion set the wine glass down heavily on the table, the smile vanishing from his face.
"I'm not here for a drink, Ser Lynn."
"I'm here to buy an answer."
Tyrion's gaze sharpened.
"I'm certain you possess some prophetic ability and know everything that has happened before."
"I don't care how you know it; I just want to ask one thing."
Tyrion's voice suddenly carried a hint of bitterness.
"My... my first wife, Tysha."
The name, spoken from his lips, seemed to drain him of all his courage.
"That incident... was it truly arranged by my father?"
The study fell into a deathly silence.
A few caws from the raven outside the window sounded particularly harsh.
Ser Lynn looked at the man before him.
This man with a brilliant mind, this dwarf regarded as a disgrace by his family, this Lannister who wore a jester's mask in front of everyone.
In his heterochromatic eyes, anticipation, fear, and a trace of humble hope, almost to the dust, churned.
He was hoping Ser Lynn would tell him it was just an accident.
He was hoping that the ruthless father he admired hadn't been so cruel.
"No."
Ser Lynn only said two words.
But they savagely shattered the last line of defense in Tyrion's heart.
Tyrion's body swayed violently, nearly falling from his chair.
The color drained from his face in an instant.
The light in his eyes quickly dimmed.
"It was... him..."
Tyrion muttered, as if repeating a nightmare he had long suspected but refused to believe.
"Your father, Lord Tywin, believed that your marriage to a common stonemason's daughter was an insult to the noble Lannister name."
Ser Lynn's voice was calm, without a ripple.
"So..."
Tyrion suddenly roared, like a wounded beast.
He stood up abruptly, sweeping the wine glass on the table violently to the floor.
The crystal wine glass fell to the ground but didn't shatter, merely spinning and rolling into the corner.
Crimson wine flowed out, spreading a dazzling bloody stain on the floor.
"Haha... Hahahahaha..."
Tyrion suddenly laughed, his laughter hoarse and shrill, more unpleasant than a cry.
"My father... my great father..."
"And my valiant brother..."
His body trembled violently, tears mixed with snot, streaming uncontrollably down his distorted face.
"Jaime told me she was a whore, that I had hired her... He said it was all just a joke..."
"I believed him... I actually believed him..."
"I watched her... watched those Guards... one after another..."
"The last one was me..."
"I gave her a gold dragon, because Lannisters are nobler than others, always paying their debts..."
He crouched down, clutching his head in pain, his body curled into a ball.
All of Westeros thought him the impish demon of Casterly Rock.
But who knew that within this demon's heart lived a boy killed by the combined efforts of his own father and brother?
Tywin Lannister's child.
Cersei hated Tywin, Jaime feared Tywin.
Only Tyrion.
The son Tywin loathed most and most wanted dead, yet he genuinely admired and revered him.
How laughable.
How ironic.
Ser Lynn did not help him up, nor did he offer any words of comfort.
He simply watched quietly.
Allowing Tyrion to completely unleash the pain and despair that had accumulated for over a decade.
After a long time.
Tyrion's crying gradually stopped.
He looked up, his tear-streaked face devoid of cynicism or pain, leaving only a dead, empty stillness.
"Thank you."
He said to Ser Lynn.
"Thank you for telling me the truth."
"Even though it's uglier than I imagined."
He swayed as he bent down, picked up the fallen wine glass, and returned to the table to refill it.
"To the ugly truth, cheers."
He drained the strong liquor in his glass, the pungent liquid burning his throat, yet it was less than a thousandth of the pain in his heart.
"They don't love you, Tyrion."
Ser Lynn finally spoke.
"In your father's eyes, from the moment of your birth, you were the stain on his life."
"In your sister's eyes, you are the murderer of her mother."
"In your brother's eyes, you are a cowardly brother without courage."
"But so what?"
Ser Lynn walked to Tyrion, looking down at him.
"A person's worth is never determined by their birth or surname."
"The name Lannister is both glory and shackles to you."
"Since they don't love you, why should you live humbly like a dog for this surname?"
Tyrion looked up, a faint glimmer of light rekindled in his heterochromatic eyes.
"I'm going to Essos."
Ser Lynn said.
"To that vast eastern continent."
"There are no Seven Kingdoms there, no Iron Throne, and certainly no Lannisters."
"There, people only recognize gold and swords."
"Whether a person's name is Tyrion or Ser Lynn doesn't matter at all."
"What matters is how much value he can create, how much power he can wield."
"Come with me, Tyrion."
Ser Lynn extended his hand to him.
"Leave this disgusting cage."
"Go to a new world and use your mind to create the kingdom you desire."
Tyrion looked at Ser Lynn's outstretched hand.
Then he looked at his own short and deformed hands.
He suddenly laughed, a genuine laugh from the heart.
"To Essos?"
"Sounds good."
"Are the brothels there more interesting than in King's Landing?"
He did not take Ser Lynn's hand.
Instead, he drained the remaining wine in his glass.
He walked to the window, looking at the rising sun in the distance.
The golden light painted the entire King's Landing with a layer of false splendor.
"I am indeed tired of it here."
Tyrion said softly.
"Tired of looking up every time and seeing my father's disappointed face."
"Tired of breathing every time and smelling my sister's hypocritical perfume."
"I am tired of everything in this city."
"I think my family is eager for me to leave here."
He turned around, looking at Ser Lynn.
A light named rebirth flickered in his eyes.
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