274 AC
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and Tyrion's first year of life passed with no fanfare at Casterly Rock. His name day coincided with the Lady Joanna's and there would be no hint of celebration, even Jaime's visit that day was brief, cut short by a summons from their father.
That night, as moonlight spilled through the nursery windows, Tyrion lay awake in his crib, staring at the stone ceiling with unusual clarity. Something was different. The fog that had clouded his infant mind for the past year had suddenly lifted, clarity being restored,
Memory flooded back, not just the limited experiences of his short life, but knowledge from before, from elsewhere. He remembered dying. He remembered a void, endless and cold, and then a choice. A cosmic gamble.
I am Tyrion Lannister, he thought with perfect clarity, testing the name in his mind. I am in Westeros. In a story, no, a world that was once just a story to me.
His tiny fingers gripped the edge of his crib, and he drew a deep breath, savoring the sensation of a mind fully awakened within an infant's body.
[Rolling Perk]
Suddenly, a strange tug seized Tyrion's chest, as if an invisible hand had reached inside and grasped his heart. His eyes widened as the sensation intensified, accompanied by what sounded like dice tumbling and clicking against one another inside his skull. The nursery dimmed around him, and floating before his eyes appeared a translucent screen, shimmering like sunlight on water.
Words formed on this ethereal display, glowing with an inner light:
[Stone Sense - Dragon Age] – 100CP, 150CP left
Dwarves of Thedas experience a unique and all-encompassing relationship to their progenitor, the Stone. They are born of it, they serve it in their deeds and for them it is a living entity that breathes, remembers, and sings. This ancient connection has been struck into your soul, granting you the rare stone-sense of the Shaperate.
With this gift, the subterranean world becomes an open book. You can sense the location of ore veins, the structural weaknesses in the rock or the footsteps of an approaching enemy through miles of solid rock. While a surface-born man is blind in the dark, you find yourself having a moderately easier time navigating and architectural secrets of castles and keeps built into mountains. Magic associated with the earth, shaping stone, and sensing minerals becomes significantly easier for you to master and somewhat more powerful as well.
Tyrion stared at the floating text, understanding immediately what it offered. Without hesitation, he mentally reached toward it, accepting the gift. The screen dissolved, particles of light sinking into his skin.
A gasp escaped his tiny lungs as awareness flooded through him. Casterly Rock, the massive fortress he called home, suddenly became more than walls and corridors. He felt it. All of it. The ancient mountain sang to him, a deep, primal resonance that vibrated through his bones. He sensed the veins of gold and silver threading through the stone beneath him, glowing like rivers of light in his mind's eye. He perceived the weight of the fortress above, the precise thickness of each wall, the hidden chambers forgotten by generations of Lannisters.
The sensation was overwhelming yet exhilarating. Tyrion's small body trembled as his consciousness expanded outward, mapping the Rock's structure with perfect clarity. He detected the subtle shifts and groans of settling stone, felt the weaknesses where water had eroded support over centuries, sensed the difference between the oldest sections and newer additions.
He could feel people moving through distant corridors, their footsteps sending minute vibrations through the stone. Guards patrolling, servants hurrying on late errands, his father in his solar, a heavier, more deliberate tread.
Tyrion closed his eyes, but it made no difference. The Stone-Sense persisted, independent of his physical sight. In the darkness behind his eyelids, Casterly Rock glowed like a living entity, its secrets laid bare to him alone.
Tyrion's tiny mouth stretched into a gummy smile, wide and wild, the enormity of what he possessed bubbling up inside him like champagne. He wasn't just Tyrion Lannister, the malformed son of Tywin Lannister, the dwarf who killed his mother, he was a vessel for powers beyond this world's understanding. The Celestial Dwarf Grimoire had chosen him, blessed him, and would continue to bless him with abilities that would render his physical limitations meaningless.
He reached his stubby fingers toward the ceiling, flexing them in wonder. Already he could feel the changes Aulë's blessing had wrought in his bones, denser, stronger than they should be. Not the brittle things he'd been born with, but hardening like well-forged steel. His spine, once twisted, had gradually aligned itself, to make his body proportioned. His head had gradually shrunk in size, as the deformations he was born with were healed.
Tyrion rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up on his arms, testing their strength. Still weak, still short, but improving. He would never be tall, never stand eye-to-eye with his brother Jaime, but that hardly mattered now.
A thought struck him, sending another bubble of laughter through his chest. He had died and been reborn into a story, armed with knowledge of what was to come. The Rebellion, the War of Five Kings, the Long Night, all potential futures stretching before him like roads on a map. And now he had the Grimoire as well, granting him abilities beyond what any version of Tyrion Lannister had possessed before.
"This," he thought to himslef, "is going to be fun."
The door creaked open, and the wet nurse entered, humming softly. "Still awake, little lion?" she cooed, bending over his crib.
Tyrion gurgled in response, playing his part perfectly while his mind raced with possibilities. The game was afoot, and he held cards no one else could see.
As the nurse lifted him for his late feeding, Tyrion's eyes drifted to the window, where stars glittered like distant promises. Somewhere out there, beyond the realms of men, powers had taken notice of him, had deemed him worthy of gifts beyond mortal understanding.
The possibilities were intoxicating. Tyrion Lannister might be small, but his future, ah, his future would be anything but diminutive.
_____________________________________________________
275 AC
By his second nameday, with his body strengthened by Aulë's blessing, Tyrion would consistently escape the isolation his father forced on him, much to the frustration of the guards guarding him and his nursemaid who would have to deal with his father's wrath when he was eventually found.
Tyrion still looked unusually small for his age, and if one was exceptionally critical, possessed a slightly bigger head than the norm, but no one would be able to say he was a monster. Aside from his eye colour and his tiny size. He looked like a remarkably well proportioned, normal child.
Currently, little Tyrion Lannister scurried across the nursery floor, evading his nurse's grasping hands with preternatural agility.
"My lord!" she cried, lunging forward as he ducked between her legs. "Please come back for your bath!"
"Can't catch me!" he squealed, voice high and sweet despite the intelligence behind his mismatched eyes. He toppled a small wooden stool behind him, creating an obstacle that sent poor Nurse Dalla stumbling.
Just as many times before, he ran outside the confines of his chamber, and was gone, his little legs carrying him with surprising speed down the labyrinthine corridors of Casterly Rock.
"Milord, come back, you need to have your bath! Lord Tywin will be furious with me again."
Tyrion felt a pang of sympathy but suppressed it quickly. The indignity of being bathed like a helpless babe was too much to bear. Besides, he had plans, even in this tiny body, with stubby legs and a head slightly too large for his shoulders, he had schemes unfolding.
The stone sang beneath his feet, guiding him better than any map could. Left at the kitchens, right past the wine cellars, down the narrow corridor that even most servants had forgotten.
Tyrion ducked behind a tapestry, his small body shaking with silent laughter. He pressed his palm against the cool stone wall, feeling the vibrations of the mountain. Three guards approaching from the east passage. The nursemaid still in the west wing. Perfect.
"Seven hells, where does he keep disappearing to?" A guard's frustrated voice drifted from above as Tyrion slipped through a crack in the wall that, to his stone sense, glowed like a beacon. It was barely wide enough for his small body, but that was the advantage of being a dwarf, spaces others couldn't access became his private highways.
Today's target was the kitchens. His stomach rumbled at the thought of fresh-baked honey cakes. The cook always pretended to be cross when he appeared, but would inevitably slip him a treat when no one was looking.
Tyrion paused at an intersection, his mismatched eyes narrowing in concentration. Through the stone, he sensed a patrol of guards approaching from the left corridor. He darted right instead, his footfalls nearly silent on the polished floor move with surprising grace, his dense dwarf bones giving him a low center of gravity that made him remarkably stable on his feet.
"Little brother!" Jaime's voice called from behind. "Where are you sneaking off to now?"
Tyrion spun, having felt Jaime coming, his face breaking into a wide grin. "The kitchens," he admitted, his speech remarkably clear for a child his age. "I want some cake."
Jaime, now ten, towered over him, golden and perfect. He knelt down to Tyrion's level. "The cook will have my hide if I let you steal more sweets." A conspiratorial smile spread across his face. "Let's do it anyway."
Tyrion grabbed his brother's hand, tugging him forward. "Let's go the secret way," he announced proudly, leading Jaime to a section of wall that appeared unremarkable.
"There's nothing here, Tyrion," Jaime said, frowning.
Tyrion placed his small palm against the stone, feeling the mountain's pulse beneath his fingers. He pushed at precisely the right spot, and with a grinding noise, a narrow passage revealed itself.
"Seven hells," Jaime whispered, eyes wide. "How did you find this?"
"I know things," Tyrion replied with a shrug, already disappearing into the darkness. The passage was narrow but navigable, and Tyrion moved through it with the confidence of one who could see perfectly well in the pitch black. Behind him, Jaime stumbled along, hands outstretched to feel the walls.
"Careful," Tyrion called back. "Step down here."
"I can't see a bloody thing," Jaime complained, but followed his brother's instructions.
The passage opened suddenly into a small chamber behind the kitchens, hidden behind a stack of flour barrels. The aroma of freshly baked bread and roasting meat made Tyrion's mouth water. He peered through a crack between the barrels, watching the kitchen staff bustle about.
"Now what?" Jaime whispered.
Tyrion's eyes gleamed mischievously in the dim light. "Distraction," he said simply. He picked up a small stone from the floor and, with surprising accuracy, tossed it across the kitchen. It clattered against a stack of pots, sending them tumbling.
As the kitchen staff rushed to investigate, Tyrion darted out, quick as a cat, snatching two honey cakes from a cooling rack. He was back behind the barrels before anyone turned around, presenting one of the cakes to his brother with a flourish.
"You little demon," Jaime laughed, accepting the stolen prize. "Father would have a fit if he knew what you get up to."
Tyrion bit into his cake, savoring the sweetness. "Father doesn't need to know everything," he said, honey dripping down his chin.
They made their escape back through the passage, emerging near the practice yard where Jaime was supposed to be training. As they stepped into the sunlight, Ser Tygett Lannister stood waiting, arms crossed over his chest.
"There you are," he said gruffly to Jaime. "The master-at-arms has been looking for you." His eyes fell on Tyrion, and his expression softened slightly. "And you, little nephew, have your nurse in tears again."
Tyrion adopted his most innocent expression. "Just exploring," he said, hiding his sticky hands behind his back.
Tygett snorted. "Exploring with your accomplice, I see." He reached down and wiped a smear of honey from Tyrion's cheek with his thumb. "One day, those little legs of yours will carry you into trouble even your clever mind can't get you out of."
"Not today," Tyrion replied cheerfully.
"No," Tygett agreed, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "Not today. Off with you now, back to your lessons."
As Jaime reluctantly headed for the training yard, Tyrion felt a familiar presence approaching through the stone. Heavy, measured footsteps that could only belong to one person. He stiffened, all mischief draining from his face.
Lord Tywin Lannister rounded the corner, his cold gaze falling immediately on his youngest son. The corridor seemed to chill by several degrees.
"Father," Tyrion said, his voice suddenly smaller.
Tywin looked down at him, expression unreadable. "You've escaped your minders again," he stated flatly.
Tyrion nodded, unable to lie in the face of such obvious truth.
"A waste of their time and yours," Tywin continued. "You should be at your lessons, not scampering about like a rat in the walls."
The words stung, but Tyrion kept his face neutral. "Yes, Father."
Tywin studied him for a long moment, taking in his son's appearance, the too-large head, the mismatched eyes, the stunted limbs, but also noting, perhaps, the straight posture, the clear gaze, the lack of the grotesque features that had been present at birth.
"You will return to your chambers now," Tywin commanded. "And you will remain there until tomorrow. Perhaps hunger will teach you discipline where your caregivers cannot."
Something twisted in Tyrion's chest at those words. He knew, with the clarity of memories from another life, another existence, exactly who Tywin Lannister was. A man who would order the slaughter of an entire house, who would hang bodies from the walls of Casterly Rock as a warning, who would send Mountain That Rides to commit unspeakable horrors. He knew his father's future cruelties, his calculated ruthlessness, his eventual fate at the hands of his own son, at another Tyrion's hands, in a privy with a crossbow bolt through his gut.
And yet, standing before him now, barely reaching the man's knee, Tyrion felt an absurd, desperate desire to earn this man's approval. His adult mind warred with childish instincts, the part of him that was still truly a two-year-old boy craving his father's love despite everything he knew.
"I'm sorry, Father," he said, hating how small his voice sounded. "I wanted to see the castle."
"There will be time enough for that when you're older," Tywin replied dismissively. "Assuming you apply yourself to your studies rather than playing games."
Tyrion nodded, biting back the retort his adult mind supplied. He knew the game of thrones that would unfold in the coming decades, knew the roles they would all play. He could see the future stretching before him, Robert's Rebellion, the Greyjoy uprising, dragons returning to Westeros. He possessed knowledge that could shake the foundations of the Seven Kingdoms.
And yet here he stood, fighting tears because his father wouldn't look at him with anything but cold disappointment.
"Master Creylen says I'm learning my letters faster than Jaime did," Tyrion offered hopefully, despising himself for the naked plea in his voice.
Tywin's expression didn't change. "And yet you waste time wandering where you shouldn't. Return to your chambers. Now."
Tyrion's shoulders slumped. "Yes, Father."
As he trudged back toward his nursery, escorted by a stern-faced guard, Tyrion contemplated the strange duality of his existence. He had the mind of a man who had lived before, and simultaneously, he was a child desperate for his father's love, despite knowing precisely how unworthy of that love Tywin Lannister truly was.
"Stupid," he muttered to himself, his small fists clenching at his sides. "Stupid, stupid."
The guard glanced down at him. "What was that, little lord?"
"Nothing," Tyrion replied, straightening his spine. He might be small, but he had the blood of dwarven warriors from another world flowing through his veins now. He would not be cowed, not even by the mighty Tywin Lannister.
Back in his chambers, Nurse Dalla fussed over him, relief and annoyance warring on her round face.
"You'll be the death of me, little lord," she scolded, helping him out of his dusty clothes. "Lord Tywin was most displeased."
"Lord Tywin is always displeased," Tyrion muttered, allowing himself to be lifted into the bath. The warm water soothed his irritation, and he leaned back, contemplating his next move.
He needed to be patient. His body was still that of a child, no matter how advanced his mind. But he had advantages no one could possibly imagine, knowledge of future events, abilities granted by the Celestial Dwarf Grimoire, and time to plan.
As Dalla washed his hair, humming softly, Tyrion closed his eyes and reached out with his stone sense, feeling the vast expanse of Casterly Rock surrounding him. He could detect the hidden passages, the forgotten chambers, the secret routes that even the Lannisters themselves had forgotten. Knowledge was power, and he was accumulating it day by day.
And if his father thought mere walls could contain him, well, Tyrion grinned to himself, Tywin Lannister clearly underestimated just how intimately his youngest son understood the very stones of Casterly Rock.
But first, he needed to grow up. Again.