In the immortal words of Game of Thrones superfan Donna Meagle, "Everybody on that show can get it." And it's very, very true. But even in a family of people so hot that his siblings are down to clown, one particular individual can get all of it, every last bit of it: Tyrion Lannister.
Those beautiful soulful eyes. That perfectly tousle-able hair. That... accent... look, no one is perfect. But Tyrion comes close.
When we first meet him, he's a hedonistic party boy, and literally the only character you'd actually want to hang out with (imagine getting drunk with Jon Snow, ugh). He is the cleverest man in any room at any given time — quick, funny, and seemingly far above his family's desperate quest for power at any cost. His jaded eyerolling at the things his family holds so very dear is a refreshing kind of sexy. He appeals to our messier bits, a sloppy kind of thirst. He's hot in that hyperliterate bad boy way, like that toxic English major from undergrad you deeply wanted to bone down with despite every red flag: he might read poetry and ignore you, then rock your whole entire world all night long. Be still my beating everything.
But his humor and proclivities mask lifelong pain (also totally our type, honestly — we are tragic and love a broken man). Some might say "damaged," but they're probably talking about my pants. He spends his life wholly and entirely othered, treated as a monster even as a baby, and still he fights for those who would just as soon leave him to die. He saves King's Landing at the Battle of Blackwater and it still isn't enough for this shady-ass town. Forget the god of tits and wine — Tyrion is the god of "listen here you ungrateful little sh*ts."
Yet after everything, his weak spot has always been his family. He believed in Cersei's potential for goodness — despite literally every indication otherwise — until the very end. He bid farewell to his brother Jaime, the only member of his family to ever treat him with minimal humanity, let alone love, so that Jaime and Cersei could have one final chance. His family whittles away his ability to strategize, to "know things." It's politically and narratively frustrating, but emotionally speaking, it's relatable. We get it. And it paws at that gentle part of our hearts like a kitten making paw pizza on our backs. Tyrion is a kitten. A drunk kitten.
Above all else, Tyrion is kind, almost in spite of himself. He is better to the world than the world has been to him. Life has hardened his exterior but there is overwhelming warmth bursting through the cracks. This has often been his downfall — his trust in others, his belief in their capacity for goodness. They disappoint him every time, and yet he keeps going. Or he kills them on the toilet. Then he keeps going.
Over the course of eight seasons, we've come to know and love every bit of Tyrion Lannister — drunk, sober, snarky, tragic, merciful, and trying against every odd to do something resembling the right thing. Sometimes he succeeds and sometimes he fails. But through it all, he retains his truth, self-awareness, and passion. And we would very much be interested in experiencing that passion. Yes and please.
Of course, none of this would be possible without the performance and nonstop hotness of Peter Dinklage. Dinklage brings a sparkle to Tyrion even in the character's darkest moments. Perhaps more than any other character, we not only understand his motivations but root for them. We feel for this character because Dinklage brings this powerful depth, activates our empathies, and makes us care so, so deeply about Tyrion. We want more than anyone else for him to thrive, to finally have a happy ending in a world where that is all but impossible.
The views and opinions expressed in this article are the author's, and do not necessarily reflect those of SYFY WIRE, SYFY, or NBC Universal.