Tyrion knew he should just stay the hell away from the sorting room, after encountering Robb Stark. But this? This was so much worse. After all, what was one supposed to say in this situation? "Hello, by the way, I'm sorry my horrible brat nephew beheaded you." No, that was not going to work.
"Hello, Lord Stark," the imp said simply, remaining strategically close to the door.
"She would still like to, if she only could," Tyrion replied evenly. "I have been here the better part of the last year." He did not choosse to elaborate on the fact that Tywen Lannister was dead, or the fact that Tyrion was now married to Sansa.
"Well," Tyrion returned, "At least your idea of hell isn't a place that specifically contains Lannisters. But, no, this isn't hell. This place is a good bit stranger yet."
Tyrion nodded. "That's true enough. It's a school that teaches magic. And judging from the fact that you aren't dead, I would venture to say you must have some aptitude for it."
Ned snorted at that, or rather, his head did. "I, a sorcerer? I've long known you to have a taste for jesting, Tyrion Lannister. This seems one of your poorer offerings."
Tyrion shrugged. "Oh, yes, I like a good jape as much as anyone, but not even I could make up some of the things found here." Like the fact that you could transfigure your body parts into food, he did not add aloud.
The dead were here. Ned had seen Robb and Cat, mutilated by the Freys. Yet the living were also here: Jon Snow, Lord Commander, banished no doubt by the sorcery of Stannis's red witch; Arya, looking so like Lyanna as she grew. Tyrion Lannister for his part could be either. He'd lost his nose, or most of it, it seemed. Had Ned's temperament been a lighter thing, he might have remarked on this meeting, Tyrion noseless, Ned headless (and a handless Jaime, whom Ned had not yet seen, whose handlessness Ned did not yet know, would only have added to the bleak humor of it).
"You are the first Lannister here I've yet seen. Starks aplenty, and no others of Westeros as yet. What means this?"
"There are a few others of Westeros here," Tyrion replied. "My brother for one, as well as a couple of Southren folk you perhaps would not recognize... Randyll Tarly's son and the Maid of Tarth, to be specific. I wish I knew what all of that signified, but I am at a loss."
After all, what was one supposed to say in this situation? "Hello, by the way, I'm sorry my horrible brat nephew beheaded you." No, that was not going to work.
"Hello, Lord Stark," the imp said simply, remaining strategically close to the door.
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"Tyrion Lannister," he returned evenly. "How come you to this place? Has your sister done for you as she did for me?"
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"You are the first Lannister here I've yet seen. Starks aplenty, and no others of Westeros as yet. What means this?"
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Arya had said a thing. Ned intended to hear the truth of it.
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