Fffc Bingo Card - Any port in a storm

[m_findlow]

Title: Any port in a storm
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Characters: Tyrion, Bronn
Author: m_findlow
Rating: M
Length: 500 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for Bingo Card Prompt - Improvisation at fffc
Summary: Tyrion is liking the wider world less and less.

Camping out in the middle of nowhere without so much as a single blanket to act as shelter was becoming tiresome, Tyrion decided. In fact, being outside of castle walls of any kind had rather lost its appeal since leaving Winterfell. Even for someone of his standing, the Kingsroad was a dangerous place, made more so by people who were seemingly conspiring to have him killed. He could still barely believe his good fortune at being allowed to leave the Vale of Arryn a free man.

Tyrion was about to regale Bronn with yet another of his stories when an arrow flew past his face with a whistling hiss, before lodging in the tree trunk just to the left of his head, missing him by mere inches.

'Fuck,' Bronn sworn, already unsheathing his sword from its battered scabbard. He reached over the saddle of the single horse and threw a crude steel shield in Tyrion's direction.

He fumbled as he tried to catch the weighty item, frowning at it in the growing confusion. A free man he might be, but for just a few hours he'd forgotten all about the mountain clans that roamed these hills. They didn't care for laws or Houses. They considered this land theirs, and any trespassers faced their own unique brand of justice. 'And what am I supposed to do with this?' he asked, gripping the edges awkwardly. With his small stature, the shield was unwieldy and heavy. Perhaps he was supposed to hide behind it.

'I tell you what you do,' Bronn said, relaxing into a fighting stance that seemed to come naturally to him, as if this were a game and not a battle for their lives. 'You go other there, and when he comes at you you stick this fucker somewhere the sun don't shine and when he's down, you finish the job and cleave his head open with it.'

Through the trees he could hear the rustle of the approaching clansmen. 'This isn't a weapon!' he sputtered at Bronn, incredulous that the man had the audacity to think he could fend off a bunch of Stone Crows and Black Ears with a useless round of metal.  

'Aye, it's not a weapon,' Bronn admitted, 'but do you see any fucking armory around here? Maybe where you come from you don't need to worry about that, but where I'm from you don't go anywhere without a sword. And when your back's against the wall and you don't have a a sword, you improvise so that some other cunt doesn't fuck you bloody with his.'

Tyrion gripped each of the shield's leather straps tightly. 'I prefer to win over my enemies with coin.'

'Fine if your daddy shits gold,' Bronn replied. 'Now, hold that up and try not to die. You die and I won't get paid.'

Tyrion braced for the unthinkable. Winterfell, The Wall, escaping the Eyrie without leaving it via its moon door, and this was how it was going to end.