Clandestine. 》 Tyrion Lannister 《

Heartache

“You can't go!” he expressed loudly, throwing his hands in the air.

They were in the sitting room, where Galena had been since dinner ended. The scroll sat in her lap, and she hadn’t taken her eyes off of it. She was ignoring him, and had been for quite some time. It was well passed midnight now, but neither one of them was going to bed anytime soon. Neither one was going to budge.

“Lena,” he said as he softened his voice and sat beside her. “Please!”

“I'm going, Tyrion. You aren't going to stop me, and neither is Jon.” She ran her fingers along the writing on the scroll.

He wanted to snatch it out of her hands and stomp on it. It was one thing to be shocked by the news of her father, but to obsess over Sansa’s handwriting the way she was? It was maddening, and he was starting to lose his temper. This was their first real fight, and it wasn't going to end well.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, took a deep breath, and slowly released it. “You worry about Jon going against the White Walkers, and I know that isn't what you intend to do, but what makes you think that you won't die? What makes you think they won't kill you?”

She laid the scroll on the small table beside her. Tyrion leaned his head against the back of the chair with relief, thinking he had finally gotten through to her, but he was mistaken.

“Jon has dragon’s glass,” she said with a shrug. “He'll have a sword made for me. I'll be fine.”

“How can you be so nonchalant about this?! He doesn't want you to go, either!” he bellowed. “You. Will. Die!”

“He'll make it! Jon knows neither of you can stop me!” she yelled back, waving her hands wildly. “If he doesn't want to see me dead, he will have no choice but to give me what I need!”

"And how are you going to get there?" he sneered.

"The same way I got here." She crossed her arms over her chest and sat straight up in the chair.

He snorted insensitively. "Good luck. No one will agree to take you."

She glared at him with bitterness. “You obviously know nothing about me if you can't understand how important this is.”

He rubbed his face with frustration. “Lena, please,” he said as he squatted in front of her. “I do understand. But I need you to understand me. Please listen to me.” He took her hands in his. “I want you to go. I do. I know how much you miss Benjen, and I know how badly you want to see him.”

She was starting to calm down, and looked at him softly, but he knew he still had a lot of convincing to do.

“Lena, I love you. I can't even begin to explain how much I love you. I've been hurt, and broken down, and it was you who made me smile again. I want to keep smiling because of you, and I want to continue seeing your smile.” He turned his face from her, and quickly swiped at the tears escaping his eyes. “Without you,” he said as his voice caught in his throat, "yesterday isn't worth remembering, and tomorrow isn't worth waiting for.”

She leaned forward and took his face in her hands. She gently pressed her quivering lips to his, and looked deep into his eyes when she pulled away. “I have to do this,” she whispered as she forced back her own tears. “I'm sorry.”

He searched her face, and saw that she was at least struggling with her decision. “What happens if you don't come back?”

She looked away from him and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know."

He wasn't winning this argument. There was nothing he could do or say to convince her to stay in Dragonstone. He stood up, downed his glass of wine, and nodded his head softly. He gave her one last glance, and left the room.

Maybe Jon was right. Maybe she didn't love him as much as he loved her. Maybe he was just an infatuation. Maybe she only loved in the moment, and not for a lifetime. Tyrion climbed into bed feeling lower than ever. It felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest, chewed up by a dog, and spit out.

He tried to sleep that night, but if he wasn’t tossing and turning, he was having atrocious, vivid nightmares. He couldn't bear to fall back asleep when he awoke from them. He laid there, resisting sleep. He refused to see what his imagination was showing him. Staying awake wasn't any better, though. Even if he wasn't asleep, Galena’s horrible death still flashed before his eyes.