TYRION
This morning, Tyrion Lannister felt bored. Very bored.
That feeling gnawed at him like a moth chewing on old parchment. He wanted to do something completely new. Usually, if this suffocating boredom struck, he would lock himself in the library, bury his nose in thick books smelling of dust, or write stories he thought of on paper. However, for some reason, right now he had no spirit to touch a quill.
He also had the thought that he really wanted to see a stage play. But lately, even the theater troupes coming to Casterly Rock could not raise his interest.
Why? Because their acting was stiff, their dialogue too dramatic, and the stories sucked, just the same old repetitions of knights saving maidens from dragons. Tyrion had a mind too sharp to be fooled by cheap stage props, and therefore, he could no longer find solace in something so shallow.
Sighing heavily, he shook his head. His short legs stepped along the stone hallways of Casterly Rock, walking around the castle just to overcome the emptiness in his heart. His age had reached one and ten namedays now, yet physically, he had stopped growing. His head was large, his legs stunted, and he did not look like other children his age. That was a sad fact he had accepted a long time ago. Crying over it would not make his leg bones lengthen.
Tyrion liked music. When he heard the plucking of a harp played expertly, he felt his soul could fly free, leaving his deformed body below. He wanted so much to be able to play the harp, lute, or even flute. But his thick and short fingers, as well as his small arms, made it impossible for him to do so gracefully. He always struggled to reach the right strings. Even when Uncle Kevan called a special craftsman to make a musical instrument adjusted to his size, the sound was still never satisfying. His fingers were too stiff.
It was very annoying. The world felt unfair.
"Why are you pacing back and forth like that, Tyrion? This has been going on for half an hour."
A voice broke his reverie. Tyrion stopped his footsteps and turned around.
It was his cousin, Cleos Frey. Cleos was a few years older than him, and of course, physically very tall compared to Tyrion. The young man had a face that could not be called handsome, but he was one of the few people in this castle who did not look at Tyrion with disgust.
"I am thinking," said Tyrion flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. "And when I am thinking, you had better not bother me, Frey."
Cleos was not offended. He just looked at him casually. "I have no intention of bothering you, Tyrion. But seeing you pacing staring at the floor like an old man who lost his gold coin just makes me feel restless. You make me dizzy."
"Sorry if I bother you with my existence. In that case, you better go inside and do... whatever it is you usually do. Counting flies, perhaps?" replied Tyrion with his usual sharp tongue.
Cleos shrugged, a gesture that was impolite according to the etiquette books Tyrion had read, but Tyrion himself often did it too.
"Honestly, I have nothing I want to do inside," admitted Cleos innocently. "So I am here, standing like a fool. So, rather than both of us doing futile things here, do you want to come with me for a walk outside? To the city?"
Tyrion thought about it for a moment. Staying silent in the castle clearly didn't help him. Breathing the sea air might clear his head. He nodded.
"Alright. Maybe I can find some inspiration there. Where exactly are we going?"
"Just walking around Lannisport. Looking around and finding something interesting, what else?" Cleos started walking, and Tyrion was forced to follow him.
"Not so fast!" grumbled Tyrion after a few steps, his breath starting to heave slightly because his legs had to take steps twice as fast to keep up with Cleos's long legs. "I have to run to keep up with you."
Cleos stopped and turned, grinning wittily. "Want me to carry you?"
Tyrion stared at him with a fake serious face. "A great idea. I will climb on your shoulders, make you wear a horse collar, and hold reins in your mouth. You can neigh when we reach the market."
Cleos chuckled loudly hearing that, then deliberately slowed his pace.
As they walked down the wide path towards the port city below, Tyrion observed his surroundings. King's Landing might be the center of power, but Lannisport was the heart of progress. Its streets were now made well, of concrete with stones on top.
In the distance, somewhat to the edge of the city, Tyrion saw a very vast construction area. There only stood a basic frame, a mixture of stone foundations hardened with cement and giant wooden pillars. There was no complete roof or walls yet, but its size was very impressive.
It was the 'University' project that Uncle Kevan often talked about.
Uncle Kevan said that the building would be a place that recorded history. It would allow anyone, not just nobles, but also common children who wanted to learn further after finishing primary school, to gain more knowledge there.
Uncle Kevan explained that they would create many 'departments', focusing on specific fields: there was structural engineering, agriculture, accounting, and basic medicine as well as others. The concept was not too different from the Citadel in Oldtown where the Maesters were. The only difference was that those who learned did not only have to be men, but women could too, and they didn't have to swear a lifelong vow, didn't have to wear iron chains, didn't have to abandon their family names, and weren't forbidden from having wives. After graduating, they could continue their lives as they wished, working for themselves or for the Lord who paid them.
This process over the past few years had opened the eyes of many in the Westerlands. Learning something to create new things was no longer just a hobby for eccentric people, but a necessity, because the effects could be massive and generate mountains of gold if their inventions were very useful. For example, just like cement or concrete.
Tyrion was born and raised amidst all this construction. Since childhood, he had been used to a Lannisport that was always changing, always noisy with the sound of hammers and saws, and always had progress that surprised many people.
And all of that was thanks to his brother Jaime, and his genius Maester, Creylen. Jaime was like a hearth god who brought new fire to this world. It was very amazing. Tyrion idolized his brother very much.
Because of that too, Tyrion wanted to be able to make something like them. If Jaime could find a way to make liquid stone, why couldn't Tyrion make something useful with his brain? He had no muscles, so he had to use his intellect.
In fact, there was one project he was thinking about and working on right now. It was top secret. He didn't talk about it to anyone, not even to Jaime. Currently, he had only reached the stage of drawing it on paper, and calculating its ratios, and of course it was very difficult for an eleven-year-old boy, no matter how smart he was.
It all started when he noticed the waterwheel at the milling manufactory. The large wooden wheel spinning due to the water current had protruding wooden pegs. Every time those pegs spun and hit the levers, they produced different sounds, depending on the length of the lever and the pressing force.
And Tyrion, with his constantly spinning brain, thought: If I could do something like that, but on a very small scale... He could create a new musical instrument. A mechanical music box.
What was clear, in his mind, he wanted the device to be able to play beautiful harp melodies automatically. If his fingers could not pluck the harp, then he would create a device that would pluck it for him. That idea was so thrilling that it often kept him awake at night.
He didn't know for sure whether this would work or not when made into a physical form. He could just ask the Maester in the castle, or send a letter to Jaime in King's Landing to ask for design help. But for now, he refused. He wanted to make it himself. He wanted to prove that 'The Imp' could also create miracles.
As they continued walking down the city streets quite crowded by cloth merchants, Cleos asked, breaking Tyrion's reverie.
"Well? Has this walk given you the inspiration you are looking for?"
"Not yet," Tyrion shook his head, sighing. "Very sad, isn't it? That we are in a city said to be experiencing the peak of progress, yet I still feel very bored."
Cleos stared into the distance, towards the busy port where ships were loading rolls of paper and cloth.
"Well, that is because the progress Jaime brought was not designed to provide entertainment, Tyrion," said Cleos with a casual tone. "It is all just to improve basic life needs. Food, roads, money. This might be very useful and amazing for common people who used to be starving. But for you? A Lannister who since birth has always lived in luxury and never worried about an empty stomach? All this concrete and these tools do not mean too much for your happiness."
Tyrion fell silent. He stared at his cousin with wide eyes.
That was true. A very sharp analysis from a Frey.
That was exactly why he felt empty. His stomach was full, but his mind hungered for something. That was why he was so obsessed with creating that musical instrument invention. It was entertainment, not a survival tool.
"You... you are right, Cleos," muttered Tyrion, impressed. "So... I guess we should also start making a new entertainment to balance this era?"
"Yes," Cleos nodded in agreement. "People's entertainment right now is still not far from things smelling of ancient violence. Like tournaments knocking each other down with lances, or dog fights. I don't understand why we can't make something more fun without having to make others bleed or get hurt. Music is good. However, it requires many days, even years, to learn it."
"Do you have an interesting idea for this new entertainment?" asked Tyrion, his boredom starting to evaporate, replaced by a spark of intrigue.
"Not yet," Cleos chuckled without burden, returning to his simple self. "That is your job. You are the smart one."
Tyrion fell silent for a moment. His brain started spinning fast, arranging the possibilities of the challenge Cleos had just spoken.
"Surely to rival something like you mentioned before," said Tyrion, "we must make that entertainment enjoyable for everyone, right? Not just for knights who have warhorses, but also for common people."
Cleos, who had to look down to stare at Tyrion, nodded his head enthusiastically. "Something like that, yes. And of course, that means we have to be in a large field. Maybe a new playing arena wider than a tournament arena, where people can gather en masse and watch the show?"
Tyrion fell silent again. He imagined a large arena, dust, and a shouting crowd. No, on second thought they were too hasty jumping into a massive scale.
"I think for the first attempt we don't have to make one that big and troublesome, Cleos," said Tyrion, starting to walk again.
"Up to you," said Cleos casually, shrugging as if he had handed all that intellectual burden back to his cousin.
They walked again, passing a tavern spreading the aroma of grilled fish and spices.
Tyrion then thought harder. He traced the hallways of his memory, looking for references from the thick books he often read in the Casterly Rock library. He remembered Cyvasse.
That board game was one of the entertainments that could truly challenge his brain. It was a game requiring deep strategy, deception, and strong memory, very fun. No real blood spilled, no bones broken, yet the tension when the opponent's dragon piece threatened your king was as thrilling as a real battle.
Perhaps, thought Tyrion, for these new things, he could follow that basic concept first. A strategy game about war, but without swords.
But what could he do? What could he use to make it different and more accessible? Cyvasse was made of wood. The board and pieces were heavy, took up space, and required skilled craftsmen weeks to carve them. That was a base material exclusive to nobles, too expensive for the smallfolk, and too slow to be mass-produced.
For something truly new, innovative, and reflecting the progress of its era... what should he use? Tyrion turned to the side as a cart passed by, carrying stacks of thick boxes towards the port.
Tyrion's eyes widened. His steps stopped again, this time with a gasp caught in his throat.
Paper!
An epiphany exploded inside his head, shining bright as a sun. He could use paper!
This was something extraordinarily good, wasn't it? Paper made in Lannisport manufactories was very versatile, now far cheaper, and easy to obtain. Paper could be drawn on using ink in contrasting colors. If he cut those thick papers to the size of a palm, then drew various symbols on them, for example, pictures of knights, kings, weapons, castles, or even the animal sigils of noble families with certain numbers representing their strength...
Then, he would create rules! Rules where people could pit those papers against each other on a table. A game where fate and intellect blended in the palm of a hand! This would be very cool. This could be played on wet tavern tables, in soldier tents, or in a Lord's solar.
But what exactly were the rules? How to balance its powers so it wouldn't be boring? His brain started working at full speed, stringing together mathematical probabilities and power hierarchies. It was a brilliant idea, but right now, designing all the rules in the middle of the street made his brain a little dizzy. He realized he would think about it further tonight, with some blank sheets of paper, a quill, and perhaps a small cup of warm milk.
"Are you really going to think about all that, Tyrion?" Cleos chuckled, breaking his reverie. His cousin saw Tyrion smiling to himself at thin air with a very serious and intense face.
"Yes, why not? I am bored," Tyrion replied with a wide grin displaying sincere satisfaction, something he rarely felt lately. His mind was already filled with images of red lions and dragons on sheets of paper.
Cleos nodded, looking like he didn't fully understand the depth of his thoughts, but still giving his simple support. "In that case, you better join the University in the future. That giant building Uncle Kevan is making. There, I hear there will be many classrooms as well as books. You will surely find many friends like you. People who like staring at books for hours without speaking."
"I do want to enroll there when I am of age," said Tyrion, his chest puffing out slightly with pride. "Uncle Kevan said that inventors will be funded directly by the Lannister treasury to make something new. From there, I will surely see many fun things and maybe show off this invention of mine. What about you, Cleos?"
Cleos stared at him for a moment. His laughter faded into a slightly resigned smile.
"Me?" Cleos pointed to himself, then shook his head. "I will be married before that building is finished, Tyrion. And before its contents are tidied up. My father has already planned some betrothal talks. My future is not to learn new things or create games."
Tyrion fell silent. "Ah, yes, right. You will marry..." he nodded slowly, his voice losing a little of its cheerful tone. He stared at the street in front of him. "In that case, I will make sure the game I create later will be your wedding gift. At least it will make you remember these times."
Cleos laughed again hearing that, and they resumed their walk.
...
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