AN: So I just recently started watching GoT and one of my dearest friends on Tumblr said that he shipped me with Tyrion Lannister. My initial opinion on him was not favourable in the least, but it was very easy to quickly fall in love with The Imp. I bring you, my incredibly disturbing fictional memoirs of TyrKi, or "What would have went down if Kiki actually got to live out her GoT fantasies"

Prompted by my dear Biderbeck, this idea poked at me and I had to give in, despite not knowing where it's going to take me, & having my terrible track record with finishing stories, I'm too invested with seeing how this plays out.

He stormed into the room, furious and frustrated. Running a hand through his hair, he slammed the door and unfastened his collar. Sighing with frustration, he notices me with a hint of surprise, barely enough for me to notice. I make my displeasure evident; I am neither willing, nor a whore, but circumstances force all our hands, and in my case, my hand was forced into servitude.

"What is your name, and who brought you here?" he barks, and for a man of his stature, it pains me to suppress my ire to see him speak so to the likes of me. Unfortunately, I must hold my tongue, no matter how obstinate.

"Kiara Kiernan, my lord. I was brought into your quarters as a gift, by a fat and rather beguiling man, even if his pleasantness did seem a little forced." I explain while pouring him a glass of wine. I sniff at it quickly, sensing it has indeed been untampered with. It would do me no good if he were to be incapacitated so soon. I pass him the goblet with a clear conscience and kneel to undress him.

"What is this, and what are you doing, girl? I do find it odd that you are undressing me while your own clothes sit fittingly atop yourself." He is skeptical, astute. This reassures me to no small end. Perhaps it would not be so trying an effort after all.

"Rest your mind, my lord, I seek to only bring you the comfort you seek after a trying day at court. Am I wrong to assume you enjoy some wine to ease your mind?" I try to evade his other question, as I do not want to simply come out and say that I find nudity distasteful, as is copulation. I have placed a robe over his shoulders and guide him to the bathing quarters. "I have drawn you a bath milord, and would be pleased to service you there." I hope he does not make assumptions here. It would do me no good. However, I was relieved to see the whore who was brought in for his entertainment before I arrived was still here, like I'd hoped. It felt like the gods were finally smiling down upon me today, and I was grateful.

As he entered the tub, sighing with pleasure, I smiled. The whore, I could not be bothered to learn her name, stepped forward, smiling brazenly, her shoulders slung back, thrusting out her meagre bosom as an offering to entice the Lannister. And as did every man before him, succumb he did. Sickening me, but then again, there was little in my life of late that I did not find sickening or unpleasant. And so, I set about to my task.

I poured in some oils after warming them over a candle I had set nearby for my use, rubbing some rose oil in my hands first, concentrating on my task. It would do me no good to get distracted by the sounds and actions taking place in front of me, and to create a dissonance of scents that would agitate the dwarf. My own feelings had to be put aside for the moment, and I had to win over Tyrion Lannister. I started with his feet, perching myself at the back of the tub, grateful for its size and the ease with which it granted me to performing my ministrations.

His appreciative moans gave me my own pleasure, and I worked with renewed zeal. At this moment, he believed the whore to be the cause of his heightened pleasure, and he would surely be thinking to request for her, exclusively, at least for now. I would be fine with this, as it would suit my purposes perfectly. She already responded positively to my requests before, and I saw us working in harmony.

His brow furrowed as I moved away, aiming to reposition myself behind his head, so I could work on his shoulders and back next. The smile I had earlier now developed into a smirk. It seems that his body is already attuned to my touch, even if his mind hasn't arrived at this conclusion yet. I reapplied some oils to my hands as I moved to work on his back, rubbing sensuously but without vigour. I did not need him to focus on the sensations I was bringing him. As I worked upwards towards his neck, I allowed myself to survey my surroundings once more, a mistake that I would commit often, I thought to myself.

The whore's face was contorted into a look of pure ecstasy, an emotion I did not envy to experience but to cause. It was easy to get lost in the emotions, the lust, the pleasure, but I had to focus. I chastised myself internally, my self-directed anger exacerbated by the confusion I could sense in my patron.

Experimenting with a slight amount of jasmine, vanilla, infused into the milky oil of coconuts, I delved into his hair, luscious locks of a dirty blonde, darkening in places but the colour reminiscent of sunshine to my nostalgic mind. This part was always my favourite, and I allowed myself to savour the moment, getting lost in the shared orgasmic entropy of pleasure as they both climaxed, both genuinely for once. As she rose to leave, her duty done, he asked her for her name.

"Neela, ser," she mewled in that high pitched tone of hers that she obviously forced, no doubt thinking it rendered her endearing. Endearing to what, I would never know, for all it reminded me of were lame cats, the sort that disturb your sleep and render you ill-tempered for hours after you wake. His facial expression seemed to mirror my thoughts, as she hurriedly gathered her loose robe and hurried out.

Apprehensive of this moment, I screwed my will and set to finish off my work. Bringing out a fresh sponge I had gathered, I soaked it in water then poured in it some oil infused milk I had prepared while he collected himself.

"You have so many bottles about you for a whore or service maid. What in the seven hells are you doing?"

"They are bottled oils, essences of flowers and other plants purported to have magical healing properties, milord."

"Purported? So you do not believe they work and yet you still use them?" he smirked, believing he had stumbled me.

"No milord, they serve their purpose, I just do not believe any magic is involved." I smile demurely, trying to placate his ire. I had always been told my tongue was too sharp for someone of my station. Oh well. Holding out a hand in front of him, I rub the milk and oil-soaked sponge along his arm, revelling in the aromas surrounding me.

"And the milk, what purpoe does it serve?" he raises an eyebrow, inhaling the scent, no doubting rallying further questions to fire at me.

"Goat's milk softens the skin and soothes the body, milord. In addition to the soothing properties of the lavendar flower's oil, and the calming effects of the oils of fennel and aniseed, this infusion is designed to clear your mind while the citrus helps to cleanse you body. " I bow my head slightly, not out of subservience but to hide my growing smirk. But he has been placated, and I have completed my task without too much ardour; I am glad for his line of questioning, as it had given me something to focus on besides the naked state of his lordship.

I hold up his robe as he rises out of the tub, and admire his stature discreetly while he covers up. He is a dwarf, there's no way about it, but he doesn't carry himself as such. I had no thoughts as to if it were his lineage, as I'd oft heard that Lannisters were amongst the highest social standing, even if they were accompanied by tales of how poorly the queen carried herself, and carried on with her brother. This man before me looked more a product of his own upbringing, a noble air about him that was his own, and I shivered, finding his presence both exhilarating and frightening. I would indeed have to be careful.

Well? Please do leave me your thoughts. They're pretty much the only reason I put it here