one ship (friend)
→ tyrion lannister
Tyrion Lannister, the youngest of Lord Tywin’s brood, and by far the ugliest. All that the gods had given to Cersei and Jaime, they had denied Tyrion. He was a dwarf, half his brother’s height, struggling to keep pace on stunted legs. His head was too large for his body, with a brute’s squashed-in face beneath a swollen shelf of brow. One green eye and one black one peered out from under a lank fall of hair so blond it seemed white. Jon watched him with fascination.
For what it’s worth, I’ve been a cynic for as long as I can remember. Everyone is always asking me to believe in things: family, gods, kings, myself. It was often tempting until I saw where belief got people. So, I said ‘no thank you’ to belief. And yet, here I am. I believe in you.
And Arya… he missed her even more than Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and willful. Arya never seemed to fit, no more than he had… yet she could always make Jon smile. He would give anything to be with her now, to muss up her hair once more and watch her make a face, to hear her finish a sentence with him.
When I was a child, an uncle asked what gift I wanted for my name day. I begged him for one of you. “It wouldn’t even have to be a big dragon,” I told him. “It could be little like me.” Everyone laughed like it was the funniest thing they had ever heard. Then my father told me the last dragon had died a century ago. I cried myself to sleep that night. But here you are.