Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen

Chapter 386: Tysha

Now that only Casterly Rock remained in the Westerlands, Tywin had no way to turn the tide of war unless he could conjure up a host of dragons. From a strategic perspective, Viserys decided to withdraw some of his troops to reduce consumption. As he was contemplating who to leave behind, Young Connington entered his tent.

"Your Grace, a sellsword claiming to be Tyrion's squire says he needs to see you. His name is Bronn."

"Bronn?" Viserys, of course, knew the man, but couldn't fathom why Bronn was in the Westerlands—much less why he was seeking him out. Hadn't Viserys given strict orders for any sellswords siding with Robert to be executed on sight? So why would Bronn come to him?

"What does he want?" Viserys asked.

"Your Grace, this Bronn has brought a woman with him."

"A woman?" Viserys was even more perplexed. What could he possibly want by bringing a woman here? Yet, he didn’t press the matter further. Instead, he ordered his guards to bring the man in for questioning.

Moments later, Bronn entered the spacious tent, bringing with him a dark-haired woman in her thirties. Bronn glanced around the room as he entered, taking note of the surprisingly simple furnishings. He had imagined lords, even at war, would surround themselves with luxuries—opulent tables, benches, and tapestries bearing their house sigils. Yet here, there wasn’t even a carpet. A simple but large table stood in the center, with a map of the Westerlands hung behind it. Next to it, an armor stand displayed an unadorned suit of armor.

Bronn quickly turned his attention to Viserys, who wore plain black clothes and a dragonbone ring on each finger. His silver hair and violet eyes, combined with an almost ethereal handsomeness, radiated such power that Bronn found his breath catching in his throat.

"Your Grace, I am Bronn the Sellsword. I have brought someone who may help you take King’s Landing."

"Speak clearly. My time is precious," Viserys replied curtly, uninterested in exchanging pleasantries with a sellsword he deemed beneath him.

Bronn quickly nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. This woman... her name is Tysha. Tyrion asked me to find her in the Westerlands—"

"Tysha!?" Viserys’s interest piqued immediately. Bronn noticed the sudden shift and felt a sense of relief—his life was likely safe for now.

Viserys turned his attention to the woman. When Tyrion's name was mentioned, her expression changed noticeably, confirming to him that this was no ordinary peasant. He was well aware of the story between Tyrion and Tysha, and he knew the deep emotional weight she held in the dwarf’s heart.

He walked up to her, examining her closely. She was less than 1.5 meters tall, her skin weathered by time and hardship. She could only be described as thin, her appearance far from what one would call petite. A woman in her thirties, Viserys mused, no matter how much makeup she once wore, could never look like a woman in her twenties.

In an era as harsh as theirs, a common woman had no access to luxuries like makeup or skincare. Even Margaery Tyrell, the famed "Little Rose," could only afford to wash her face with milk to preserve her beauty. Time and the elements had stripped this woman of the allure she might have once possessed. If Tyrion were standing before her now, he might not even recognize her.

But if she truly was Tysha, Viserys knew there was a way to make her useful—he could use blood magic to temporarily restore her youthful appearance.

“Look up,” Viserys commanded, instantly regretting his words as an uncomfortable silence fell over the tent. Tysha didn’t obey; instead, her body trembled.

“Answer me. Are you Tysha?”

“I... I’m not,” she said stubbornly, her voice shaky. “I don’t know any Tysha.”

Viserys leaned in, his voice softer but laced with authority. “Tysha, Tyrion has thought about you all this time. He misses you more than you know.”

His words seemed to cut through her defenses. A mist of tears clouded Tysha’s eyes, though she tried to hide it.

“Tyrion has set wildfires throughout King’s Landing. You must have heard of them. He plans to die there—with me. But if you come with me to see him, many lives can be spared. If he surrenders, I will allow you to leave Westeros and live out your days in peace. You, Tysha, are the only one who can save him now.”

Tysha slowly looked up, her gaze finally meeting Viserys’.

“But, Your Grace,” she began, her voice filled with doubt, “I’m not the same person I was ten years ago. I’m old now. He won’t even recognize me.”

Ah, women, Viserys thought, studying her face. Unlike the pampered Cersei or Catelyn, or the young girls of ten or twenty summers, Tysha’s features bore the wear of time. Yet, as a peasant woman, untouched by the rigors of childbirth, she didn’t appear that old.

“Don’t worry about that,” Viserys said smoothly. “I have a way to make you look like your younger self for a time, as long as you agree to cooperate.”

Tysha hesitated, visibly tempted by the offer, but something still held her back. “No, Your Grace,” she murmured. “I’m not worthy of him anymore. Not only am I a peasant girl now, but... but I also...”

Viserys knew what she was referring to: the brutal gang rape Tywin had ordered. He suppressed his disgust. The old lion deserved his death in his pile of dung.

“He’s still a dwarf, and you weren’t in control of what happened. It’s not your fault,” Viserys said, attempting to reassure her. He weighed her significance based on Tyrion’s actions in the past. After all, Tyrion had killed his own father over her—that’s impressive.

“If Tyrion surrenders, will you promise not to kill him?” she asked cautiously.

“You dare bargain with His Grace?!” Bronn barked, stepping forward.

“Stay out of this,” Viserys said sharply, his patience with Bronn thin. The sellsword quickly fell silent, realizing he had overstepped.

In truth, Viserys had once entertained the thought of killing Tyrion, especially after discovering Tyrion had hired someone to attack the dragon. But things had changed. If Tyrion could deliver King’s Landing intact, many lives could be saved, and perhaps even Tyrion’s crimes forgiven. What could a dwarf without a house do now? Sparing him isn’t impossible.

“Of course,” Viserys said finally, his tone calm. “I give you my word. If Tyrion surrenders, not only will I spare his life, but I’ll give you both a ship to go wherever you wish—so long as it’s far from Westeros.”

Tysha looked into Viserys’ eyes, searching for any sign of deception. At last, she nodded. She was convinced.