Chapter XXII: Tyrion II – An Unlikely Friendship of Hands
“Ah, Ser Davos, will you join me?” Tyrion asked. It was one of those rare evenings where he could retire to the gardens and enjoy a nice cup of wine or two while looking out over the bay. It was rather warm too, and the evening sun cast a long shadow of the Keep onto the sea.
“I wanted to talk to you about the fleet, actually,” Davos told him, but Tyrion cut him off before he could get any further.
“Not today. I want one evening off, can you understand that?”
“Fair enough,” Davos said. “I was busy enough when I was Hand in the Narrow Sea and Hand in the North. Running six kingdoms … well, I’m glad it’s you and not me.”
Tyrion took the carafe or wine and poured Davos a cup as well. “That sounds like you don’t like me,” Tyrion joked when he handed him the cup.
“I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” Davos said.
“You would have every right to dislike me, though.” Tyrion nodded out at the bay that glowed red in the dusky light. When he looked at Davos, he saw the man’s eyes darken. Finally, Davos sighed and took a sip.
“I have. But it’s no use. It was war and you wanted to win it. I wanted to win it too, and we both did our best. In the end, I lost and you won. Holding a grudge won’t bring my son back. Killing you wouldn’t be justice. Putting you on trial for it would only mean putting myself on trial as well, for King’s Landing.”
“So you forgive me?”
Davos laughed. “No. But I choose to ignore it, for my own sake.”
“You are a wise man, Ser Davos. I can see why you became a Hand.”
“And you are a crafty one. I can see why you did, too.”
For a moment, Tyrion looked into his swirling cup, thinking how much sea and wine looked alike at this time of day. “What is better, you thing? Being wise or being crafty?”
Ser Davos sighed and Tyrion watched as he mulled over the question.
“Being wise didn’t help me choose a good king,” Davos said in the end. “At least the first time.”
“Being crafty didn’t help either,” Tyrion replied.
He didn’t know when he’d last thought of her, but it had been a while. She had been so bright, Tyrion thought. Maybe that had been the problem. One moment she had been as bright as the sun, the next as bright as dragon fire. Maybe monarchs shouldn’t be bright. Westeros was certainly better off with King Bran, eerie though he was.
“We served, what, five different kings and queens, between the two of us?” Davos asked.
Tyrion nodded. “Although I knew a couple more.”
The sun was almost beneath the horizon now and Davos raised his cup. “May this one be our last,” he toasted.
Tyrion heartily agreed.
Fin