And in an instant the sorcerer's spell worked.

And in an instant the sorcerer's spell worked. Lord Tyrion was gone. Transported. Tyrion was blinded by whiteness. Is this the good realm? He saw people in strange clothes. Blue

lights flashed above a sign that read Queens Shelter. Tyrion went in, hoping Cersei wasn't there. All he saw was a bunch of beggars with nary a whore nor a flagon of ale in sight.

"You look out of place dwarf", said a voice from the empty chair beside him. Tyrion looked at the chair then around and then back at the chair. He reached his hand out to the chair

and its cushion spawned a slew of slippery pink tentacles. Tyrion the dwarf recoiled in disgust from what was actually just the chair mimic's innocent handshake. "Welcome to the

living room," said the sofa, "and what sort of furniture are you?" Tyrion realized that his small stature had confused the locals and tried his best to look like an ottoman. "Oh, I

am an ottoman,” said Tyrion, “and now I’m off to find a whore!” “Hold on,” said a local, “no ottoman I know frequents whores! You’re Tyrion Lannister!” Tyrion had just enough time

to tell at the other cushions of this great empire

. The other cushions weren't particularly receptive to my telling, however, which made me very angry. So angry that I started a pillow fight, which was illegal in the cushion empir

e. I knew nothing about my heritage; my pillow guy, Mike Lindell, was my illegitimate Uncle on Mother’s side; I was nowhere on the inheritance list. Pillow fights were my outlet.

So I hoarded pillows, filling my house with them, stockpiling them so I would be ready for the ultimate pillow fight. When my neighbors declared war, I would be ready. Oh yes.