As Tyrion lies with Shae, he remembers Tysha.

Shae's body was soft and warm against him. Her breathing was slow and peaceful as she slept with her pretty head on his chest, nude over the bed sheets, her sweet smelling hair under his nose. Tyrion had had many whores in his life, hundreds probably, but Shae, with her mysterious past, her riddles and how she did not seem to care that he was a grotesque half-man, charmed him like no other had.

No, an old memory whispered. There was another.

Yes, there was another, one skinny little girl, with dark hair and blue eyes, who had changed his life, and formed him into the whoring half-man he was now.

Tysha. The crofters daughter, his wife. The...Tyrion never called Tysha a whore, even though that's what she was.

Tyrion rarely spoke her name aloud, hurt and mortification still as fresh as it had been all those years ago. Jaime, his well-meaning brother, had told him after that he should not feel snubbed. "She's a whore," he said. "Not worth a Lannister's time." Secretly, whenever Jaime said this, Tyrion would think, "So is our sweet sister not worth your time, Jaime?"

While his brother spoke truths, Tyrion could never forget her, she had been his wife, if only for a brief time. He had loved her and found it impossible to hate her. She had been his first, his first everything. Sometimes, at night, asleep in his bed, he could feel the kiss she pressed against his brow after they ate their generous meal. It had been unexpected; her moist lips lingered a long moment before pulling away. It held no hesitance of disgust, only sweetness that planted the seed of admiration in Tyrion's heart.

The men ran off into the woods when Jaime pulled out his sword, intent on castrating them for such an insult. Such a crime as rape occurring so close to Casterly Rock was a deep insult to the Lannister's and their pride, and Jaime was set on making the men pay dearly.

She looked so small and fragile, curled up there on the side of the road, her beautiful blue eyes all teary and frightened.

She was a fine little actress, Tyrion thought sullenly.

The girl looked up at him with those wide, scared eyes when he put his cloak around her. Jaime had just gone to run the would-be-rapists though and would, no doubt, be gone for a while. As he watched her body shiver under his cloak atop the overturned tree at the side of the road, he knew she should not have to stay here. Thankfully, just up the road, there was an inn that looked comfortable enough.

When he asked her name, she murmured, "Tysha," A pretty name, he thought.

"I'm Tyrion Lannister." he watched her eyes quickly travel over his body, waiting for the disgust the usually fallowed delight at seeing one of the richest men in the realm. But when her blue eyes looked back at his, there was no greedy glint.

"Your small." She said simply. Her sweet voice had no trace of malice, not trace of pity, only a curiosity, only a statement.

"Yes, it appears I am." He replied, his voice hard, waiting for the mockery or disgust. It never came.

She only gave him a small, watery smile. "Thank you, m'lord. You are very, truly kind." She looked at his face, he recalled, only his face, as if his body didn't bother her, as though he was a full man, not an imp.

Fool, he thought to himself now, she was already half rich with the gold Jaime paid her.

When they sat at the small table in the inn, two full chickens, a loaf of warm, crusty bread, and a bowl of greens dressed with pine nuts and honey between them, he found himself watching her curiously. She was beautiful, he found as he served her a few hefty cuts of meat. But not in the way the noble women were built. Her body was lean, but her hips flared out attractively, her straight hair fell down her back, dull looking and unwashed, darker than copper and her skin was smooth and white although dirty and bruised slightly from where the men's hands had gripped.

Her hand was small as it laid there on the table, small and soft looking. Tyrion wanted to hold her hand but did not, knowing she'd wretch it away if the ugly boy across from her touched her.

After an entire flagon of bitter tasting wine, Tysha began to relax. Her tense shoulders fell, her eyes did not shift nervously, and she talked with him freely. Oh, she was so much prettier when she smiled, especially when her sweet smiles were directed at him. Her teeth were crooked, but gods, she was still gorgeous.

Later that night, as Tysha giggled hysterically from one of Tyrion's jests, a strange, warm feeling grew swiftly in his chest. Never in his entire life had he felt this remarkable feeling before, so warm and light and all consuming. Even the glee he felt when he outsmarted Cersei could not compare to what he felt when making Tysha laugh. What's more, she was not laughing at him, not at his size, his face or his fascination with her; she was laughing with him... because of him.

But it was a lie, all a lie. Her kind smiles, her robust laughter, the way she kissed him, the way she so kindly took him in the bed of the room he paid for.

Tyrion had walked her up to the room he had rented her, both of the laughing all the way. But when they reached the door, all the humour went from Tysha's eyes, but a little smile remained on her thin, pink lips. Tyrion watched her anxiously, thinking he'd done something wrong but when she leant down, and kissed his lips softly, he felt ten feet tall when the shock began to fade. They stumbled into the room, Tysha's hands trailing in his hair.

She undressed first, slowly, timidly pulling her dress up and over her head. Tysha was skinny, her breasts apple sized and her wide hip bones jutting out beneath her alabaster skin. Her legs were long and lean, and the hair between them was dark but soft looking. Tyrion felt himself harden, wanting to touch and be touched by her. She let him watch her a moment before starting on his clothes, nervous yet eager hands pulling and tugging at him, until he was as bare as her.

She was a virgin, and he was baffled into silence when she pulled him on top of her and whispered that she wanted him inside her. Everything was made real at her simple words. Why would she want him? She was lovely and charming and could have any man she wanted. All the girls wanted Jaime, his handsome, tall older brother. No one wanted Tyrion, not really. His gold was more attractive than his appearance and personality. Not even his family wanted him.

Still, with the way she smiled at him, so sweet and earnest, he couldn't help but lean down to kiss her, he couldn't' stop his hands from running over her body, his young and inexperienced one taking delight in those beautiful curves and planes. She wept when he first entered her, but refused to let him pull away from her. And when her pain passed, both found themselves enjoying this newly discovered act that men and women had been doing for centuries before them.

The curves of her body were soft and beautiful, a wonder to him. That first night, between their fumbling and short rests, Tyrion marvelled at her, explored her and she took delight in it, he knew and this led to more lovemaking. She would kiss him afterward, her long fingers trailing in his hair and she would sing to him, her sweet voice lulling him to sleep before she awoke him by kissing down his stunted body toward his manhood. He knew he loved her then, but feared she felt not the same. He was never happier in a single moment than when she whispered her love for him as he hovered over her, her small hands holding his face, looking into his eyes.

Sleep claimed them finally in the early waking hours, but before darkness fully engulfed them, Tyrion whispered, "Tysha, marry me." she did not stir, but whispered a short, "Yes," against his chest. When they arose in the late afternoon, Tyrion's proposal was not forgotten nor was her answer.

As Tysha smiled in joy and led him down to the tavern of the inn, there was no ill thought within Tyrion. His father, his sister, his wealth, his family...none of it ever invaded his mind, none of it ever mattered, Tysha was all that mattered.

By their luck, a septon, throwing back a fourth mug of dark beer was sitting in the corner of the tavern. Quickly flashing a golden dragon, the septon married them in their room, leaving as the new couple began to kiss and pull at one another's clothing.

They lolled in bed for the next few days, alternating between making love, kissing or simply talking.

"I love your name," she said once as they lay naked and sated. "Not the Lannister part, t'other part, Tyrion." She drawled. "Ty-ri-on. It goes with mine I think, Tysha and Tyrion, Tyrion and Tysha." She smiled up at him. "I love your face too; your nose, your lips and all you do with them. I love your eyes, your hands and the way you touch me, your cock, I love your cock."

"It loves you too, my lady." He smiled at her.

They were silent a moment as Tysha twisted onto her belly to face him. "You don't think you're pretty," she smiled at him, and abruptly his little smile faded from his face. "I think your gorgeous. You're so smart, and clever and sweet and kind and funny and I love you. I don't care if you're small or if everyone calls you Imp and thinks you're ugly. It doesn't matter what they think, it matters what I think because you're mine, not theirs, and I think you're wonderful."

That was probably just a line she fed me to stay with her, and it worked. Tyrion's heart swelled painfully with as he thought of her beautiful words. He wanted to hate her, but never could.

Tyrion did not think his family missed him too greatly. Why would they fret over him for being gone a few days? Cersei, most defiantly. Jaime, perhaps. Tyrion, never. Gods they would probably hold a private feast if he turned up dead in a ditch somewhere.

The small cottage Tyrion had acquired for Tysha was his home, it felt more like home that Casterly Rock ever had. Her—their—cottage was small, and the nights that Tyrion slipped down from the Rock to see her, he never saw anything more than the bedroom.

Before they knew it, a month had passed.

Tyrion would only be too happy to spend the rest of his life, here with Tysha, have a few babes that looked exactly like their mother and crawl in next to Tysha every night. But the gods were always cruel to Tyrion and as he and his young wife slept, the now sober septon send a raven to Tywin Lannister, informing him of his drunken mistake.

Tyrion put a stop to those memories. He went to that place once every few years and he had no wish to go there more often, it hurt too bloody much. Even if she was what Jaime and father said she was, Tysha did not deserve what Tywin had given her...he wanted to weep at the injustice of it all, all the hurt and suffering and humiliation Jaime had caused.

Tysha was gone now...just another passing face in his life, a woman who had not loved him for him, but his name. Hurt pulsed through him, and not even Shae's soft hair under his hands was of any comfort.

Gods, what was wrong with him? Tysha was gone, Shae was here. The memory of his forlorn marriage should not be something that still pecked at him. The past was over and done. He was not under the delusion that Shae would ever love him like he had once believed Tysha had, but she was very good at pretending she did, and she was loyal enough.

Shae would be well taken care of in likes of home and material things, and he would be well taken care of in likes of companionship.

Still, even though his plans would make him content enough, he would always remember that one blissful month with Tysha, when he was the happiest, even if it was all a ploy.

If he could be happy then when it was all a lie, why couldn't he be happy with Shae when she pretended? Only this time, his father could not take her away. He swore it.


Hey my loves, this has been extended since October, into something with more detail. I did take some actual lines from the books and added some of my own! :D

I OWN NOTHING! I swear on the Seven and by the old gods,

Tyrion NEEDS love!