Fic: A Curious Puzzle
Title: A Curious Puzzle
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jon/Tyrion
Summary: c_quinn blamed me for her fic, so now I shall blame her. That first night staying with the Stark's, Tyrion wonders about the bastard know as Jon Snow.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.
There was something oddly curious about that boy. Tyrion couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Perhaps he was just too drunk and distracted by the first shiny thing tossed his way. He supposed that it was remarkable in itself that anyone would willingly become a member of the Night’s Watch. That might be a factor. Talking back to a lord might be another, though no one seemed to think it mattered much when it came to him. Yet there was still a missing piece to this puzzle.
Let’s face it. He was drunk and bored with yet another generic party that honored the king and his insipid family (his own sister included), so he was standing outside in the shadows, hidden behind a wooden pole while watching the bastard of the house of Stark. Snow had tired himself out from smacking that canvas enemy with his sword, it seemed, for now he sat on a makeshift bench petting his wolf. All the Stark offspring had one. A boon from the gods, or so ran the story he was told. Not even the bastard had been left out. A rare treat. Tyrion had yet to see all the wolves, but so far this was the only one with all white fur, another distinguishing characteristic to make it stand apart, as well as match the bastard’s created surname. Snow had named it Ghost (yes, Tyrion had asked). Fitting appellation. He suspected that it was not only due to its coloring. It sat, docile, at the lad’s feet, tongue sticking out just like its domesticated cousin, happy to be petted. Snow was happy, too, in this activity if not in life in general, for through the low light of a couple of lamps and some moonlight, Tyrion could barely perceive a small smile perched on his lips as he rubbed the wolf’s head. These private moments might be the only peace he experienced. And here Tyrion stood spying on them like a thief after gold. A part of him, so tiny it almost never showed its face, told him he should be ashamed of himself for intruding on this boy’s intimacy. But when had shame ever been worth a jot? However, perhaps he should go and leave Snow to it. If one was going to be voyeuristic, there were much more pleasing sights one could be espying.
Unfortunately, Tyrion was not as sneaky as he thought in his inebriated state, for he kicked over something clunky and noisy, which immediately caught Snow’s attention. Sod.
“Is someone there?” he called out.
Tyrion exhaled slowly through his nose. Oh, well. If one was caught, might as well earn up to it. He stepped out where Snow could see.
“I fear I’m giving the most awful first impression,” he said, looking up at Snow, who now stood, his wolf on guard beside his legs, not growling, not yet, but Tyrion suspected it wouldn’t take much for it to rush at him and defend its master. What did it know or care about Lannisters or Starks or less than ideal births? Tyrion hoped it wouldn’t take one his gestures amiss. He rather liked being in one piece. And Snow would suffer for it. Tyrion couldn’t figure why he would care much since he’d only known Snow two minutes, but he seemed like the kind of man who was worth a damn, and there were precious few in this world.
“Do you usually make a habit of spying on people?” Snow said.
“Would you prefer an honest answer or a skewed one?”
“You’re right. You’re not making a good impression at all.”
“I don’t care much for making a good impression. People tend to decide on one as soon as they see me, anyway. There doesn’t seem to be much of a point after that, not in most cases.”
“I’m not like that.”
“Then you’re one of the few. Even most of the bastards I’ve met imagine they have an advantage over me because they possess the proper height.”
“I wager your name makes up for most of that.”
“Ah, yes. The mighty House of Lannister. Even my father couldn’t deny me his name, as grudgingly as he gave it. That and his gold. I suppose some would be content with that.”
Listen to him, carrying on like a drunken fool. Well, he was drunk, and at times he was still very much a fool despite the hard earned lessons time slapped into him, but he really should be better by now about letting his guard down.
“It appears that, despite my best efforts, alcohol has yet to replace blood in my veins,” Tyrion said, aware that he was continuing with an apparent non sequitur. “I think I best leave you to it. No more spying, I promise.”
He started turning away, trying to remember where his chamber was supposed to be, when Snow spoke.
“I’m sorry about your father.”
Oh? Tyrion turned back around, frowning at Snow.
“I guess I hadn’t considered that,” Snow continued.
This was new. It appeared that impetuousness was not the lad’s only quality.
“Thank you,” Tyrion said. “Though I wasn’t looking for pity.”
“It’s not pity.”
“No, I can hear that. It’s not simply an empty platitude for you. You really are a most curious man, Jon Snow.”
“I don’t like seeing people unhappy. What’s curious about that?”
“Most people don’t care if strangers are unhappy or not. They’re too wrapped up in their own miseries. But you take the opposite approach, making you the exception, therefore, curious.”
“There are plenty here who are equally curious, not just me.”
“Lady Stark isn’t.”
Snow’s enervated sigh would be audible to anyone in the vicinity.
“Do you make a habit of pinching people where it hurts or is it just me?”
“I’ve been pinched and stabbed my whole life and I’ve survived.”
“Yet you’re not happy. Not much of a life.”
“Who says I’m not happy? Oh. Right. I didn’t correct you just now. I’m afraid I slipped there.”
“Are you denying it now, then?”
“I spend quite a lot of my time being happy. It’s not all melancholy reminiscing and crying over my woes.”
“Whoring and drinking. I’ve heard. It’s not the same thing.”
“It is to me. It does the trick quite nicely. But you’re a stalwart, young man. Surely you don’t need me to explain to you the joys that a whorehouse can provide.”
Snow ducked his head, looking down to the side. It was hard to determine in this gloom, but his whole frame did appear a bit tenser. Could it be possible that a fine man such as this didn’t indulge in what all male bodies most yearned for so keenly?
“You’ve never been,” Tyrion said.
“One virgin joke out of you and I’ll leave you to find your way in the dark.”
Snow’s glower was palpable in his narrowing eyes.
“Alright. I shall retire my skin-thickening lesson plan for the night.”
Snow couldn’t be saving himself for a special girl. If he held that sort of attachment, he wouldn’t be headed for the wall. Unless it was doomed. Or perhaps his desires ran in a different direction.
“You can stop trying to figure out why,” Snow said. “I can hear you thinking.”
“Sorry. I do try to keep my thoughts to a dull murmur. I am willing to change the subject if you would prefer, which I suppose you would.”
Or he could leave. That would be best and not only because the conversation had taken a bit more of an awkward turn than he had expected, but his legs were growing sluggish and his sight a bit bleary. Perhaps it was time to call it a night.
Snow glanced away to the side, his wolf looking up at him, standing up, hackles slightly raised. Tyrion fancied it was only waiting for Snow’s word to attack him for distressing its master.
“Actually,” Snow said. “I think I would rather go to bed if your lordship doesn’t mind.”
“Not at all. I was considering the same thing myself.”
“Do you know where you’re staying?”
“Oh, I’ll find my way to it. Don’t worry about me.”
“You sure? I can accompany you inside the house.”
“That is very kind of you, Lord Snow. I do appreciate it. But I have been missing the moonlight of late. I think I’ll stay out and pay the old lady a visit.”
Snow frowned at him in puzzlement.
“Have it your way, then,” he said. “But I don’t recommend staying the whole night. It gets cold out here.”
“With a name like Winterfell, it better. Good night, Lord Bastard.”
Snow had started walking away, but at that last he stopped and turned back to Tyrion, who honestly did not know why he’d just said that, not at all, other than it seemed fun at the time and he was drunk and the lad truly did need a thicker skin if he was going to survive in this world.
“Good night, Lord Dwarf,” Snow said, the phrase no more curt than his own had been, before continuing toward the house.
The lad was starting to catch on.
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jon/Tyrion
Summary: c_quinn blamed me for her fic, so now I shall blame her. That first night staying with the Stark's, Tyrion wonders about the bastard know as Jon Snow.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.
There was something oddly curious about that boy. Tyrion couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Perhaps he was just too drunk and distracted by the first shiny thing tossed his way. He supposed that it was remarkable in itself that anyone would willingly become a member of the Night’s Watch. That might be a factor. Talking back to a lord might be another, though no one seemed to think it mattered much when it came to him. Yet there was still a missing piece to this puzzle.
Let’s face it. He was drunk and bored with yet another generic party that honored the king and his insipid family (his own sister included), so he was standing outside in the shadows, hidden behind a wooden pole while watching the bastard of the house of Stark. Snow had tired himself out from smacking that canvas enemy with his sword, it seemed, for now he sat on a makeshift bench petting his wolf. All the Stark offspring had one. A boon from the gods, or so ran the story he was told. Not even the bastard had been left out. A rare treat. Tyrion had yet to see all the wolves, but so far this was the only one with all white fur, another distinguishing characteristic to make it stand apart, as well as match the bastard’s created surname. Snow had named it Ghost (yes, Tyrion had asked). Fitting appellation. He suspected that it was not only due to its coloring. It sat, docile, at the lad’s feet, tongue sticking out just like its domesticated cousin, happy to be petted. Snow was happy, too, in this activity if not in life in general, for through the low light of a couple of lamps and some moonlight, Tyrion could barely perceive a small smile perched on his lips as he rubbed the wolf’s head. These private moments might be the only peace he experienced. And here Tyrion stood spying on them like a thief after gold. A part of him, so tiny it almost never showed its face, told him he should be ashamed of himself for intruding on this boy’s intimacy. But when had shame ever been worth a jot? However, perhaps he should go and leave Snow to it. If one was going to be voyeuristic, there were much more pleasing sights one could be espying.
Unfortunately, Tyrion was not as sneaky as he thought in his inebriated state, for he kicked over something clunky and noisy, which immediately caught Snow’s attention. Sod.
“Is someone there?” he called out.
Tyrion exhaled slowly through his nose. Oh, well. If one was caught, might as well earn up to it. He stepped out where Snow could see.
“I fear I’m giving the most awful first impression,” he said, looking up at Snow, who now stood, his wolf on guard beside his legs, not growling, not yet, but Tyrion suspected it wouldn’t take much for it to rush at him and defend its master. What did it know or care about Lannisters or Starks or less than ideal births? Tyrion hoped it wouldn’t take one his gestures amiss. He rather liked being in one piece. And Snow would suffer for it. Tyrion couldn’t figure why he would care much since he’d only known Snow two minutes, but he seemed like the kind of man who was worth a damn, and there were precious few in this world.
“Do you usually make a habit of spying on people?” Snow said.
“Would you prefer an honest answer or a skewed one?”
“You’re right. You’re not making a good impression at all.”
“I don’t care much for making a good impression. People tend to decide on one as soon as they see me, anyway. There doesn’t seem to be much of a point after that, not in most cases.”
“I’m not like that.”
“Then you’re one of the few. Even most of the bastards I’ve met imagine they have an advantage over me because they possess the proper height.”
“I wager your name makes up for most of that.”
“Ah, yes. The mighty House of Lannister. Even my father couldn’t deny me his name, as grudgingly as he gave it. That and his gold. I suppose some would be content with that.”
Listen to him, carrying on like a drunken fool. Well, he was drunk, and at times he was still very much a fool despite the hard earned lessons time slapped into him, but he really should be better by now about letting his guard down.
“It appears that, despite my best efforts, alcohol has yet to replace blood in my veins,” Tyrion said, aware that he was continuing with an apparent non sequitur. “I think I best leave you to it. No more spying, I promise.”
He started turning away, trying to remember where his chamber was supposed to be, when Snow spoke.
“I’m sorry about your father.”
Oh? Tyrion turned back around, frowning at Snow.
“I guess I hadn’t considered that,” Snow continued.
This was new. It appeared that impetuousness was not the lad’s only quality.
“Thank you,” Tyrion said. “Though I wasn’t looking for pity.”
“It’s not pity.”
“No, I can hear that. It’s not simply an empty platitude for you. You really are a most curious man, Jon Snow.”
“I don’t like seeing people unhappy. What’s curious about that?”
“Most people don’t care if strangers are unhappy or not. They’re too wrapped up in their own miseries. But you take the opposite approach, making you the exception, therefore, curious.”
“There are plenty here who are equally curious, not just me.”
“Lady Stark isn’t.”
Snow’s enervated sigh would be audible to anyone in the vicinity.
“Do you make a habit of pinching people where it hurts or is it just me?”
“I’ve been pinched and stabbed my whole life and I’ve survived.”
“Yet you’re not happy. Not much of a life.”
“Who says I’m not happy? Oh. Right. I didn’t correct you just now. I’m afraid I slipped there.”
“Are you denying it now, then?”
“I spend quite a lot of my time being happy. It’s not all melancholy reminiscing and crying over my woes.”
“Whoring and drinking. I’ve heard. It’s not the same thing.”
“It is to me. It does the trick quite nicely. But you’re a stalwart, young man. Surely you don’t need me to explain to you the joys that a whorehouse can provide.”
Snow ducked his head, looking down to the side. It was hard to determine in this gloom, but his whole frame did appear a bit tenser. Could it be possible that a fine man such as this didn’t indulge in what all male bodies most yearned for so keenly?
“You’ve never been,” Tyrion said.
“One virgin joke out of you and I’ll leave you to find your way in the dark.”
Snow’s glower was palpable in his narrowing eyes.
“Alright. I shall retire my skin-thickening lesson plan for the night.”
Snow couldn’t be saving himself for a special girl. If he held that sort of attachment, he wouldn’t be headed for the wall. Unless it was doomed. Or perhaps his desires ran in a different direction.
“You can stop trying to figure out why,” Snow said. “I can hear you thinking.”
“Sorry. I do try to keep my thoughts to a dull murmur. I am willing to change the subject if you would prefer, which I suppose you would.”
Or he could leave. That would be best and not only because the conversation had taken a bit more of an awkward turn than he had expected, but his legs were growing sluggish and his sight a bit bleary. Perhaps it was time to call it a night.
Snow glanced away to the side, his wolf looking up at him, standing up, hackles slightly raised. Tyrion fancied it was only waiting for Snow’s word to attack him for distressing its master.
“Actually,” Snow said. “I think I would rather go to bed if your lordship doesn’t mind.”
“Not at all. I was considering the same thing myself.”
“Do you know where you’re staying?”
“Oh, I’ll find my way to it. Don’t worry about me.”
“You sure? I can accompany you inside the house.”
“That is very kind of you, Lord Snow. I do appreciate it. But I have been missing the moonlight of late. I think I’ll stay out and pay the old lady a visit.”
Snow frowned at him in puzzlement.
“Have it your way, then,” he said. “But I don’t recommend staying the whole night. It gets cold out here.”
“With a name like Winterfell, it better. Good night, Lord Bastard.”
Snow had started walking away, but at that last he stopped and turned back to Tyrion, who honestly did not know why he’d just said that, not at all, other than it seemed fun at the time and he was drunk and the lad truly did need a thicker skin if he was going to survive in this world.
“Good night, Lord Dwarf,” Snow said, the phrase no more curt than his own had been, before continuing toward the house.
The lad was starting to catch on.