TYRION
If only I had been an eldest son, I would have been on the winning side.
Tyrion Lannister looked out over the great city of Meereen, seemingly holding its breath in anticipation. If you hold your breath too long you turn purple and you die. Joff proved that. And also that your uncle turns overnight into a kingslayer. Perhaps I am truly Lord Tywin's son as much as dear Jaime.
Jaime was not a Second Son, though. Nor was he a dwarf. Tyrion was both of these things, however, those and about to be incinerated by a dragon. The dragon queen, Daenerys Targaryen, was reputed to be dead, to be ashes, to have flown away on her great black beast, the one they called Drogon.
If all that was not enough, the nights were made sleepless by great roars and cries, rumored to be those of the dragon queen's other two dragons. It's not fair, I need my beauty sleep!
Penny snuck up behind him. "I'm scared, Tyrion."
The older dwarf was annoyed. "When are you not scared, girl? We're in a middle of a war, and what's more, on the losing side!" But Penny only whimpered. Tyrion slapped her. It felt good. It reminds me of my dear Joff. Pity about him, he was so much fun to slap!
Penny wept, and walked away. Tyrion had no sympathy for her. She should not have escaped from Yezzan's household. Nor should Ser Jorah Mormont have. The exile knight who'd kidnapped Tyrion back in the brothel at Selhorys never smiled, and this day was no exception. "Ready for the Commander, Imp?" he asked Tyrion, with no trace of any joy at yet another day of life. Tyrion nodded. They walked to the tent of Brown Ben Plumm, commander of the Second Sons, each looking away from another. There was never any love lost between the two. Does he miss his little silver queen? Does he slide a hand between his legs at night and think of her? He wondered as they lifted the tent flap and beheld the war council.
At the wooden table were seated Brown Ben plus two other officers: Kasporio the second-in-command and Inkpots the paymaster. "Shall we begin, Imp?" asked Ben Plumm, as if announcing the entrance of a demon. "Yes." said Tyrion, taking a seat. Ser Jorah nodded and did the same. Kasporio growled at them: "What do you deign to intervene in, boy-man?" Tyrion smiled and said: "The Second Sons are on the wrong side. Look around you. Who are we fighting for? Those fat Yunkish 'generals'? The slave soldiers of Volantis and New Ghis? And what are we fighting against?"
Ser Jorah spoke up. "We Second Sons fight for gold. But dead men do not pay anyone, especially not the burned kind." Tyrion, annoyed at the interruption, went on. "Against Yunkai, Volantis, and New Ghis's slaves who would take any chance at freedom, Meereen has eight thousand Unsullied, who are loyal unto death to their master and have no manly wants. And then there are two dragons on the loose."
Tyrion had always wanted a dragon. But even at the fighting pits, when the dragon queen disappeared, he did not get anything but a snippet of a glimpse of Drogon the black beast. But there were still two more on the loose. Perhaps the lion can tame the dragon? He laughed inside. If he was a lion, he would be the wounded one who is cast out of the pride so that he does not take up valuable resources. In the meantime Brown Ben looked thoughtful. "I used to fight for the dragon queen myself, you know." he said. "I have a drop of the dragon blood myself. Viserion had a particular fondness for me, if I recall correctly."
Tyrion only grunted. There was no time for idle boasts now. "Commander, we cannot risk the fortunes of our company fighting for the losing side. We must join up with Meereen before the battle begins. Dragon blood is no use when dragonflame is boiling it to vapor."
Kasporio shook his head, his pointy beard swinging from side to side. "The Unsullied and the dragons are nothing without their queen, and she's dead."
Ser Jorah drew his sword, taken from the Second Sons armory. "We will yet see her return on Drogon's back, 'cunning', but you will certainly not!"
Brown Ben stood up and motioned for him to calm down. "Put up your steel, ser. We will gain nothing from fighting among ourselves, especially not any coin. Now, I suggest we send a representative to the Meereenese council to see if it would be worth our while to turn our cloaks a third time. Imp, I nominate you."
Tyrion Lannister smiled, and said: "Leave it to me, commander. Those dragons will be on our enemies soon."
The Meereenese clearly did not know how to welcome guests. Iron and winches make bad hosts. Wenches, however, are good ones. Tyrion cried out, in his dwarfish voice, "I am an emissary of the great free company of the Second Sons. I wish to negotiate our possible employment with the great people of Meereen!"
The watchman on the wall, an Unsullied by his spiked helmet, only laughed. "Where is your older brother, boy? Perhaps he should have gone instead of you. I have killed better than you, child. Off with you, or perhaps you wish to wait around for the big black dragon to return? I'm told he likes little boys like you!"
If he had really ever been a boy, it was not now. "Get your master, slave, or you will die like the others when the Volantenes get here."
"I will bring him to the gate, but be sure my brothers will keep a close watch on you while you wait."
My brother didn't. He was too busy watching Cersei with lust and Robert with fear.
His waiting ended twenty minutes of remembering later, when a white-haired old man appeared at the other side of the iron gate. He looked familiar. When the gate lifted he recognized him.
"Ser Barristan Selmy. This is a long way for an old man such as you. Is my brother all that bad?" Selmy did not acknowledge the insult. "Imp. It seems you have joined your brother in kingslaying."
"Ah yes, my repulsive nephew. No, that was not me, Gregor Clegane to the contrary."
"Never mind that now, Halfman. Brown Ben wishes to turn his cloak again?"
"I do, at least." said Tyrion.
"I think three thousand should do it?" Barristan Selmy said, trying to read Tyrion's face.
"I like counting coppers, but unfortunately that's Inkpots's job. But I say yes. The money, please?"
"Not with me. You will be paid once the battle is over. If any of us still live, gods have mercy." Selmy said, his voice seemingly betraying his age.
"I have a knack for surviving battles," Tyrion said, twisting his mouth in a smile that highlighted what used to be his nose, "although it usually costs me quite a bit."
The white-haired old knight opened his mouth to speak, but then a great shout assailed them from the walls of Meereen. "Sails on the horizon! Volantenes! Everyone to the walls!"
Ser Barristan quickly ordered the gate shut, the iron speaking a harsh cry of denial to Tyrion, then slamming into the ground. Barristan ran up to the walls, and looked towards Slaver's Bay. Tyrion did the same, and saw the sails. And then he heard the flames erupt in roars.
"Blackwater…" he said, dropping to his knees.