"So I have a son," Tyrion mused as he poured himself another horn of wine. "You're taller than I expected you to be, bastard."
"And you shorter than I had thought my father would be, dwarf," Tyronicus retorted. He was tall and slender, fair of hair, and admittedly had a look of Tyrion about him in the shape of his jaw and expression in his eyes. They were in one of Littlefinger's whore houses, seated across from one another at a heavy oak table laden with food and drink.
Tyrion laughed. "You have spunk for a bastard, I'll give you that."
"And why shouldn't I, father? I think you'll agree that for men like you and I, spunk is one of the few things you must have." Tyronicus leaned forward, arching his eyebrows suggestively, "And one of the few things you have to give."
Catching the innuendo, Tyrion threw his head back and laughed again. "I think I'm going to like you, boy, though I've not yet given you leave to call me father. If you're going to be a lord's bastard, you should have a lord's manners."
"I've more manners than most lords I've met, father, and better looks to boot," Tyronicus smirked. For a split second, it felt as if Tyrion was looking into a mirror. The crease around the lips, the wry tone - they were all so familiar.
"So you have," he murmured, raising his glass. "So you have. Those manners will come in handy at court."
"At court?" Tyronicus questioned.
"You shall travel with me," Tyrion asserted, idly choosing a choice piece of fruit from the platter between them. "I imagine a clever fellow like you will come in rather handy to someone like me. That you are my son is an added bonus."
Tyronicus passed a slice of pear to his father, subtly slipping Tyrion's Lannister crest ring from his finger as he did so. Smiling, he held it up, enjoying the look of mild shock on his father's face. "I do have long, sticky fingers." He passed the ring back, watching as Tyrion replaced it on the finger Tyronicus had taken it from. "Whether I'm speaking of thieving or whoring is up to you."