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By Emmanuel Williams

September 1, 2026 (Start of term at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry)

TYRION

Shae’s mouth is not empty. Should she roll her head in any direction she could find thigh, or more cock. There are very few options. As her eyes open, Tyrion Lannister is flaccid in her jaws. With one slam shut he’d never fuck her again. Instead she releases him, pulling on something to cover her chest from the floor beneath them, and takes refuge near the house pot.

Stirred by the cold, Tyrion’s hands reach for Shay’s face. Gripping nothing, he is wide awake. Looking around, the room is empty but for the pile of wine glasses strewn about like trapped mice dead in their sheets, pillows, plates, and table tops. Loosening himself from the constriction of his trousers, he waddles toward the window. No sign of her there.

No sign of her in bed, or down the hall of the tall cottage. A moan escapes the pot chamber, and Tyrion drops to his knees with his stubborn chin in the air as if heaven had been stolen from him, but at last has returned. As if “the imp” deserved any part of its charms.

Soon Shae emerged in one piece.

“I feared you had drowned in there,” he said.

“It would take more than piss to drown me. You barely fill it,” she replied. “Try again, my lion.”

“I am not ready,” said Tyrion. “I must tend to the fruits. Wouldn’t want the lion’s cup to run empty on us, would we?”

“Don’t leave me here with this mess… or help me clean it?”

“How can I clean when there is so much to do?”

The sun rises slowly as the trees allow its puncture. The shadow is still along the ground as Tyrion and Shae walk calmly among the trees, inspecting every bush, vine, and grove.

“I can’t let this branch grow,” said Tyrion. Stopping beneath an apple tree to detangle an ornery bush of roses. “They’ll choke themselves without proper care. Pretty. Sharp. Voluminous in their right season. But complete villains as children.”

“Why do you put up with them,” said Shae.

“Because they are still my friends. Even if I have to spank them.”

“Very well, my lion,” she said. “Spank them.”

“You’re next.”

“Maybe we move to a place with less thorns, though?”

It took him some time to detangle the bush. Occasionally he winced, flinched, and shouted, when he couldn’t avoid it. Shae had to grab him by his ankles, at which he shouted louder, but saw the look on her face, and realized this was no time to prefer the roses to his beloved…

He stood before Shae’s suddenly pleased face, covered in cuts and scratches. She took his hand and led him further along their path. Which allowed them to make rounds on every tree and every bush in their 30 acres supplied by the Lannister fortune Tyrion inherited by being the only Lannister to survive beyond the burning of King’s Landing by Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons. And when King Brandon Stark had no need of him, he was allowed to “recuperate” in his vineyard half twixt King’s Landing and The Wall to the north, which Tyrion visited just long enough to piss off the edge of the world, and share wine and ale with the Night’s Watch. Land that, at seven years into King Bran’s reign, was fair game if you could tend it.

But this was no time for the brotherhood. As he and Shae strolled deeper, she stared more and more at his arse when he dived for each plant. He had not returned to his pants from the previous night or gathered a fresh pair for the day at hand, and only roamed hand in hers without them. So while he pruned the grapevines on the ground, like a leprechaun stashing gold deep within a mountain, she bent, kneeled, and crawled her head beneath his hips, and they lived happily ever after.

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