"Tyrion…would you play me in a game of cyvasse tonight?" Daenerys asked her Hand after a long evening of council meetings at Dragonstone.
Tyrion Lannister had taught Daenerys Targaryen how to play cyvasse while they sailed together across the Narrow Sea. Dany had been unfamiliar with the game and he had enjoyed explaining the rules and basic strategic principles. Quickly, she had grown into one of the most formidable opponents Tyrion had encountered across a cyvasse board. Although she lacked Tyrion's experience and mastery of classic stratagems, her gameplay was unpredictable and frequently brilliant.
Tyrion happily complied with her request, as it had been a long time since he had the opportunity to play with his queen. He took out his golden and rubby-studded cyvasse set, arranged the boards on the table and began placing miniature dragons, elephants, horses, spearmen, crossbowmen, rabble and other pieces in their official places.
Daenerys poured two cups of wine and sat across from Tyrion.
Tyrion's heart pounded as he watched Daenerys quietly observe the board. As Daenery's skill at cyvasse had improved, Tyrion found himself more conflicted whenever they played. At first, he had been happy just to teach her. Now, part him wanted to prove his cleverness and worth as a Hand by continuing to win. Another part felt uncomfortable playing against his queen instead of with her.
They each made basic opening moves, keeping their dragon close and making measured sacrifices of rabble, spearmen and crossbowmen.
Then, Daenerys made a move that would seem phenomenally foolish if made by most players. Tyrion could tell from the audacity of her choice that she was either making a huge mistake or was baiting him with with the false simplicity of the play.
She smiled up at Tyrion as she leaned back in her chair, flashing him an expression that was a strange mixture of "I am just a young girl, what could I possibly know?" affectation and actual confusion.
He sighed, scratching his nose where his scars from the Battle of the Blackwater still itched. He tried to recall if there were any matches from Masters of Cyvasse that resembled the board formation he faced.
"You've been thinking so long," said Daenerys. "There is a funny look on your face. It's almost as if you're playing with yourself."
He pursed his lips and peered at her skeptically. Suddenly, he thought he recognized the strike she intended. He placed an elephant by the left of a spearman in defense of his king. Dany shook her head bemusedly, and he couldn't tell whether she was reacting good-humoredly to being foiled or with amusement that he thought he had prevailed.
Their play continued back and forth, with Daenerys making provocative moves that forced him to respond defensively while leaving her open to attack. By the end, Daenerys had hardly any pieces left on the board but was within spaces of securing victory. Tyrion brought them to a stalemate, with both of their dragons about to strike each of their respective Kings.
"That was a great game," said Tyrion. "I don't believe I've ever tied in cyvasse before."
"I'm not sure if I really like this game," said Daenerys wistfully, as she helped him to clean up. "I don't like how you have to sacrifice all of your common folk to keep around your elephants. Where is the game where the goal is to make the world better without inadvertently making it worse or getting yourself killed in the process?"
"I am not sure if that game has been invented yet, or whether it would be quite so fun."
"No, perhaps not…" she agreed.
"Daenerys Targaryen, where do you come from?"
"I don't know. Essos? Westeros, maybe? Valeria, originally, I believe…" There was a sad look in her eyes. She had told Tyrion of her many travels through different lands since her childhood. He knew she sometimes felt out of place even in her old family castle of Dragonstone. A pang in his heart went out to the lovely but outcast queen.
Tyrion had never met anyone quite like Daenerys before and her effect on him was undeniable. As he poured himself another glass of wine, Tyrion thought what a fool he was.
He knew falling for her was a bad idea- that he was her Hand and needed to remain impartial, to give her good advice for the establishment of her realm. He had told her to leave her lover Daario Naharis so that she could marry a lord who would help her win power and rule the realm. Besides considering himself a terrible choice for such a future ruler, Tyrion knew she could not possibly return his feelings and doubted he could survive another broken heart.
Tyrion had tried to stop his feelings, but to little avail. Trying not to fall for Daenerys was about as futile as trying not to slide down one of the slanted moon cells in the Eyrie.
"It's probably time we checked on the dragons," said Tyrion, putting the board game away on the lower rung of a shelf.
Daenerys' three dragons had become accustomed to the rocky cliffs of Dragonstone. When the queen and her Hand came to check on them at mealtimes, the dragons soared to land beside them. Daenerys greeted Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal. They responded by flapping their wings, wriggling their chests and stamping their claws.
Viserion reacted joyfully as she sniffed Tyrion. Tyrion scratched Viserion's chin while Viserion smoked and huffed.
Ever since he was a child, Tyrion Lannister had dreamed of dragons. He had read many books about the history of the Targaryen dynasty while secluded in Casterly Rock. Staring into flames, he would imagine towering over Casterly Rock on a dragon's back, experiencing the freedom of flight and unleashing fire as revenge on his sadistic father and sister.
Real dragons awed Tyrion even more than the legendary stories. Since he had first met them in Meereen, he had discovered how Daenery's dragons were each unique, with their own temperaments, intellects, likes and dislikes. Tyrion particularly noticed how Viserion reacted to his moods and nonverbal communication.
As Tyrion continued scratching Viserion's chin, the dragon's ears began to droop. Viserion yawned like a young princess, perhaps like Myrcella after a meal, then spun around and lay her long scaly tail tucked by her head.
Daenerys watched Tyrion out of the corner of her eye, a half smile on her lips.
"I've never seen Viserion respond to another person the way she responds to you," said Daenerys fondly. "I wish for you to become her rider."
"Me, your grace?"
"Well, who else? I can tell that you have thought about it," she said, cocking her eyebrows. "She is more bonded with you than with anyone else. But I am also afraid, I must admit. I worry that she might throw you off if you tried to mount her. Viserion is a very proud dragon and doesn't like to kneel to anyone."
Tyrion watched the sleeping dragon and he knew that Daenerys had a realistic concern. For though Viserion behaved like Myrcella when indulged, the dragon could also act out like Joffrey whenever anyone other than Daenerys tried to make it obey their commands.
"I suppose I can sympathize," said Tyrion. "I've always felt a certain kinship for dragons. Frightening as they can be at times, they seem to me rather misunderstood."
Daenerys nodded. "Many men speak of my children as if they had no feelings at all, as though they were merely ornaments to display or weapons to use in war."
"Funny, that's exactly how my father always saw his own children, though I suppose I am ill-suited as either ornament or weapon."
Daenerys looked at the sea beyond them. "I wouldn't know about that. You led the charge in the Battle of the Blackwater, did you not?"
"Yes, and received these scars as recompense."
"I like your scars," said Daenerys. "They are like my braids, signs of victory in battle."
Tyrion could feel himself blushing. It warmed his pride to hear her speak of his accomplishment so highly, though he couldn't agree on her opinion of his face.
"I'm not sure if that counts exactly as 'leading a charge.' Mostly I just gave a speech."
"So? Have you not said before that words can be weapons? I do not breathe fire, but I command my dragons to do so for me. Maybe you could persuade Viserion to let you ride her, if you knew how to speak proper Valerian."
Tyrion looked at the golden ridges of the Viserion's back. He could sense a connection between himself and the dragon, but he also wondered if he could manage such an unruly and massive creature. His Valerian, it was true, was rusty, with an out-of-date accent and grammar. And Viserion could become violent-tempered when provoked, spewing flame at all who tried to chain her.
That night, Tyrion had one of his dragon dreams.
In the dream, Tyrion was clutching Viserion's back as they soared through the clouds. Tyrion felt a rush of freedom and power as the dragon soared above the castle and into the clouds.
With that rush of freedom came a blurring of clarity. Tyrion's belly was full of wine and the intoxication of drink mixed with the natural high of flight to create a mad, senseless rush.
At a moment of greatest exhilaration, Tyrion commanded the dragon to soar upwards at a pure horizontal angle. The dragon resisted but Tyrion insisted it obey him. Viserion flapped her wings wildly as it lost control and began to slide onto its back in the air.
Viserion screamed and Tyrion felt himself plummeting faster and faster, the ground moving closer to meet them in an inevitable crash. As they both spun towards the rocks and the sea, Tyrion imagined the grief and fury Daenerys would feel when she learned her Hand had crashed her child.
Tyron startled from the nightmare, his breath gasping. He lay awake until the dawn, listening to the echoes of the sea and wondering if his dream was a warning.