The Dark Knight (A Game of Thrones)

The imp sat in a whicker chair facing the dark stranger. It was a summer evening and they had found the terrace secluded. Nearby a wedding reception was happening at the base of the castle and was permeating the air with music and laughter. The Imp, you should know, was Tyrion. The stranger was from a different story altogether. Tyrion didn’t truly know him well. They were both guests of the party and it became the perfect cover to meet in secret. Tyrion’s short legs dangled over his chair as he grinned over at the man seated in the shadow. He was drunk and although his better judgment would have turned the last cup away, he had felt secure enough to indulge. To him, the game of thrones ended a long time ago.

He talked too much. Truly, it was the wine that made him do it. And he wasn’t even finished speaking as little by little black tendrils began seeping from the shadow behind the man’s chair. He saw him and stopped mid-sentence as his eyes grew wide with panic. There in the dark, two enormous black wings took shape. Besides all his talk, in the end he was very superstitious and sudden dread took his heart. In a moment his throne had crumbled.

He panicked and ran from the terrace down towards the sounds of the wedding reception. He understood how easily his words he had just been speaking might’ve been taken out of context; though he wasn’t afraid of being misunderstood, he was terrified of justice, and the void in his heart was a screaming accusation.

From the terrace the man still wrapped in shadows looked down in great pity as Tyrion went stumbling into the night. This really shouldn’t come as a surprise to you because, after all, Tyrion was a very likable character. He stood with a foot propped up on the railing, his black cape rippling in the wind, appearing every bit heroic as any worthy portrayal of the Bat. He then removed his cowl, he removed Bruce’s mask as well; disguises upon disguises; and as a simple man Christian Bale leapt from the terrace intending to reach his friend in time.

The sounds of laughter were a great comfort to Tyrion who was still running in darkness. He believed there could be nothing done to harm him in the midst of such joy, if he could only reach it in time! It was also where he knew the Doctor would be, and this was where his hope was (That is, Doctor Who; the 11th incarnation; Matt Smith’s). Even before he reached the lamps he was calling out, “Doctor! Doctor!” It was as if he didn’t know it was all a fiction, it was all a lie, and he was running from darkness into darkness.

In his better mind these things become obvious, but in the midst of a panic attack it was all he could hold on to keep his mind functioning; like a desperate man drowning would grab on to whatever appears to float. In his mind I’m certain he went through a list of things that comforted him in the past: Youtube, a good book, his laptop computer, perhaps even a poem he once forced himself to remember. One by one they were burned up like stubble and sunk beneath him. The Doctor, well, he at least seemed strong at the moment; he was, in reality, the glimmer of an actual savior, but in the end he would fail too. It was all these things Christian wanted so desperately to tell him but was too far away.

My heart even had a little hope as he turned down the orchard path, and thought perhaps he could be reached. Christian’s legs were so much longer and fully charged from playing Batman in so many movies, and he even took the shorter way! But in the end, the man was too late. He reached the reception and right beside the tent, sitting as an off-camera director would, the King of Glory was seated on His throne. My heart leapt when I saw Him. And when He rose out of His seat with arms opening wide towards Tyrion I could feel my soul rising with Him, and I took in a deep breath as if I’d been holding it a long time. I recognized He had done the same for me: Christ The Redeemer. I imagined the little lion running up into those arms and becoming as a lamb, but Tyrion did not see Him. He ran right past Him into the tent! Christ’s arms dropped. His face so sorrowful; so sorrowful! And I wept, I wept, I wept.

Copyright 2015 Jason S Cooper
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