m_findlow: (Wolf)
[personal profile] m_findlow
Title: Bestowment
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Author: m_findlow
Rating: M (language)
Length: 1,000 words
Content notes: Spoilers for Season 8.
Author notes: Written for Challenge 98 - Legacy at
[community profile] fandomweekly
Summary: Tyrion is left to decide what kind of legacy the Lannisters should be remembered for.



Tyrion gazed out through the arched windows from his lofty heights above King's Landing, surveying the slow rebuilding of the city.

'D'you realise this makes it the third ruler of the Seven Kingdoms you've been Hand to?' Bronn said.

'The fact had not escaped me.'

'Which either means you're very good at it, or that you're very shit at it.'

'Why thank you, Bronn. It's always refreshing to hear such an honest opinion of my life's deeds.' Bad enough the Grand Maester had left him out entirely from his record of all things from Robert Baratheon's death through to the crowning of Brandon Stark. Surely the man who had been Hand to three different rulers should warrant some small mention.

'I'm only saying that nobody else has managed to be Hand of the King twice and lived to tell the tale.'

'Ah, you forget my father already,' Tyrion replied. 'Hand to both Aerys and to Joffrey, for what little it was worth.'

Bronn smirked. 'Aye, and didn't he do such a bang up job? Both of them completely hell bent on killing, not to mention that dragon queen of yours. All those Targaryens were mad fuckers. This is why the world needs whores. When you've got a whore you don't need to go around fucking your brothers and sisters for fun.'

'They aren't alone in that,' Tyrion reminded him, thinking wistfully about his own siblings. He may not have loved Cersei but he had loved his brother, and yet seeing them lying there dead, arm in arm beneath the crumbling halls of the Red Keep made his heart break. Perhaps if Cersei had been allowed to openly love her brother she might never have married into power and had it corrupt her so deeply.

He cast his gaze out through the window of the Tower of the Hand again. Remarkably, despite Danaerys having razed almost all of the city to the ground with dragonfire, some small parts of the Red Keep remained almost intact. Perhaps it was a sign, though Tyrion had long ago learned to dismiss such things. Visions in fire, messages from invisible gods and belief in one's own destiny had led more innocent lives to ruin than any singular lust for power. If there were gods, they were looking down and laughing upon the ruin their lessers had wrought upon themselves.

Bronn kicked a dusty boot up onto the table and poured himself a goblet of wine. Whence he'd found such a thing, let alone such a fine looking Arbor Gold, was anyone's guess. Food of any kind had been scarce to find and taken even longer to reach the city than normal. Highgarden had been pillaged by Lannister armies months ago and those left had fled further south and west. Dorne was still cut off, refusing to send aid, and the Riverlands west of King's Landing were still recovering from the unnatural winter and years of armies having passed through their lands, stripping them of every vital supply. It would take years to rebuild, Tyrion realised. A lifetime's work to bring the kingdom back to how it had been before the last seven years of war and civil unrest. Decades more to improve upon how it had once been. His job, as Hand of the King.

'So, what now?' Bronn asked. 'Hand of the fucking King and Lord of Casterly Rock. How are you going to manage both?'

It was a fine question. Tyrion, the last of the Lannisters, or at least the last Lannister of any import. There were a few lesser cousins, but he was the last surviving Lannister of his lineage. That made the impenetrable fortress of Casterly Rock his. Not so impenetrable, he reminded himself, having guided opposing forces through its sewers to take the castle by force, flushing out the family and kin that had been his Queen's enemies.

Years ago he'd begged his father the right to inherit that familial home and been denied. He was the lesser son, if considered a son at all. It would have been an embarrassment to his father's reputation and family name to have a dwarf inherit Casterly Rock, yet now it was finally his, he no longer wanted it. It represented everything he hated about the world and the way it had led itself to destruction. Danaerys had been right in some respects. Breaking the wheel had its merits, as did razing things to the ground in order to start again.

'I considered having it demolished, if you must know,' Tyrion replied.

Bronn spat his wine and coughed on the rest that escaped down the back of his throat. 'Have you lost your mind?'

'Several times over, I should think. But I've decided against such drastic actions. I spent a lot of time in my youth designing those sewers. It would seem such a waste to destroy them now. Rather I thought I might hand the castle over to those displaced by the war we brought through the westlands.'

Bronn appeared incredulous. 'Come again? You just said you're giving it over to the peasants?'

'It's about time the Lannisters were known for more than just their gold.' In fact, thanks to recent events, his namesake was built on a reputation of wealth only. Apart from the castle and lands themselves, from which he might eventually regain an income, he was for now entirely penniless. A fine thing he had the position he did! 'Time to begin a new legacy, don't you think?' Not all of Danaerys' good intentions should be lost for the sake of this new world.

Bronn refilled his glass and pushed a second in Tyrion's direction. 'I think you're fucking mad, but I'm lord of Highgarden and Master of Coin now, so why should I give two shits what you do?'

Because someone should, Tyrion thought, folding his arms behind his back as he stared out over the ruined waste of King's Landing. Otherwise what had they all fought for?




July 2025

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