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51. Changes

Tyrion Lannister - Pentos

It's been a while since Tyrion had seen the outside world that wasn't through a hole in a wooden crate. A part of him believed this must be some kind of a punishment from the gods for having killed his own father, but Tyrion didn't regret it. He tried to find some remorse within, just in case he ever sees Jamie again, but he had none. Absolutely every part of Tyrion felt satisfaction, a twisted happiness deep inside that he didn't bother hiding. However, it's a bittersweet happiness. After all, he lost everything he had left to live for. Traveling across the narrow sea wasn't something he wished to do, not alone at least. 

The crate is set down, no longer swaying with every step the men carrying him made. As the top is removed, the crate opens up. Tyrion comes out with Varys standing over him.

"Apologies."

Tyrion's eyes are fixed on Varys, disgruntled, "I still don't see why I had to stay in this fucking crate once we set sail."

With a stiff upper lip, Varys narrows his eyes at Tyrion, "I saved your life. If they catch you, they catch me. I cannot say I feel overly guilty about leaving you in that fucking crate."

"Do you know what it's like to stuff your shit through one of those air holes?"

Suppressing a need to roll his eyes, Varys responds, "No. I only know what it's like to pick up your shit and throw it overboard."

Tyrion looks around, unimpressed. "Pentos?"

Varys nods. "The home of my colleague. Ilyrio Mopatis. A merchant. He and I met many years ago, through mutual friends. A group of people who saw Robert Baratheon for the disaster he was." Sighing, Varys continues, "We tried to do what was best for the realm by supporting the Targaryen restoration. And thus began the chain of mistakes that has led us both here. Things have gotten worse, not better. Westeros needs to be saved from itself."

Tyrion pours himself a cup of wine and drinks it. Inhaling, Tyrion almost smiles, "Much better."

Confused, Varys turns to Tyrion, "My lord?"

"I don't think I am anymore." Tyrion places the cup on the table, clarifying, "A lord. Are you a lord if you kill your father?" His eyebrows furrow, his gaze dropping to the ground, "I don't suppose they revoke your nobility for killing a whore. That has to be happening all the time."

Frowning, Varys gives Tyrion a disapproving glare, "You already drank yourself across the Narrow Sea."

"In a box." Raising his eyebrows, Tyrion picks up the cup again, "Why stop now?"

"Because we are talking about the future of our country." 

Tyrion finishes his wine. "The future is shit. Just like the past." The image of Shae dying crosses his mind, his stomach turning with the thought he did that. Did he regret it? No. He regrets ever trusting her, ever loving her. And he might regret looking back at her corpse, because no matter how hard he tries, it always makes him sick to his stomach.

Just as he the thought crosses his mind, he gags and in it, he pukes up his wine. Groaning, he shakes his head as he wipes his mouth with the back of his throat. Spitting the acid remains of his stomach's contents, Tyrion takes the pitcher and then pours himself another cup.

That's exactly what he did even as they found a place to stay in Pentos. He'd pour himself a cup and ignore the voices in his head that continuously tortured him with what if's. He has no room in his life for anymore what if's. They haunted him since birth. What if he wasn't born an imp? What if his mother had been alive? What if he wasn't such a pathetic excuse for a human being?