The night of the battle, Sandor Clegane had come to her chambers to take her from the city, but Sansa had refused. Sometimes she lay awake at night, wondering if she’d been wise. She had his stained white cloak hidden in a cedar chest beneath her summer silks. She could not say why she’d kept it.
I’ve never written for this fandom before but I cannot believe they left out this absolutely canon scene um what the fuck?
Bronn/Jaime, during s07e07, ~600 words
Jaime saddles his horse in a hurry, knowing that Cersei could change her mind at any moment. She could send The Mountain after him, or any of the other men in her army - they belong to the Queen, not him, after all. He doesn’t plan on stopping for one second until he’s out of her reach, heading north and only stopping when tiredness would make him fall of his horse or hunger pain him so much he’d scream.
There is one voice though, that could make him pause.
“Leaving?” Bronn asks, and Jaime turns around to see him leaned against the stable’s wall. He looks even more haggard than usual, having clearly not slept well since meeting in the Dragon Pit. “Never thought I’d see you desert Cersei.”
“And I never thought I’d leave before you do,” Jaime replies, turning back and trying to fasten the saddle. It’s harder with one hand, but he’s gotten used to it by now, after months of having to re-learn how to do everything in his life. “Why are you still here?”
Bronn shrugs, pushing himself off the wall. With a light shove he takes Jaime’s place, fastening the buckles for him with deft and quick fingers. “Figured I’d watch till shit really starts stinking, I guess.”
Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Bronn/Tyrion Lannister Characters: Bronn (GoT), Tyrion Lannister Additional Tags: Boots - Freeform, Power Imbalance Summary:
“I’ll go get us dinner,” Bronn says, “but I want you to give me your boots first.”
“I don’t think they’ll fit you,” Tyrion says, sweet as honey.
“Don’t pretend you’re stupider than you are,” Bronn says, exactly as sweet.
So our erstwhile protagonist is reeling and leering through a haze of trauma, alienation, depression, self-loathing, misogyny, and only the best berry-based booze; even the sharpest, most engaged of his words and thoughts are merely the muscle-memory responses of the mind we loved, now on the brink of self-destruction. As Illyrio points out, Tyrion is killing himself, he’s just going about it rather patiently:
“If you would sooner drown in wine, say the word and it shall be done, and quickly. Drowning cup by cup wastes time and wine both.”
His narrative at this point isn’t an arc so much as an abyss, the Eternal Void of timeless pain and compensatory excess, visualized at the end of his second chapter:
The dwarf rolled over, pressing half a nose deep into the silken pillows. Sleep opened beneath him like a well, and he threw himself into it with a will and let the darkness eat him up.
In essence, he’s trying to write himself out of the story…and so naturally, GRRM responds by dropping a Ye Olde Pre-Deconstruction Fantasy Quest on him like a fucking meteor. The moment Tyrion realizes what kind of song he’s about to walk into is utterly priceless.
“I doubt if he could kill a duck.”
Tyrion shrugged. “Fetch the duck.”
“If you insist.” The rider glanced at his companion.
The brawny man unsheathed a bastard sword. “I’m Duck, you mouthy little pisspot.”