The walk to the basement rooms where the seamstresses wove was uneventful. Tyrion mostly just followed the Queen, her white-blonde hair luminescent in the darkish descent.
He had been thinking that the Queen should be more proactive in the creation of the vestments, so this was a fortuitous turn. They entered the rooms, and were both struck by the amount of women hard at work. He looked around…they were all diligently sewing, speaking with each other as they did.
He looked over at the Queen, who was smiling. "They are not unhappy, are they?" she looked around.
And Tyrion then looked. "No…they don't appear to be," and he paused. Strange how she should care. "They have work, security, and you are paying them. What more could they want?"
She looked at him. This was what she had wanted from her power as Queen. To allow freedom. "I suppose that's right," she said, then turned back to the room.
He looked at her crookedly. She wasn't the same self assured ruler she had been, and he wondered at that. Though he was loathe to comment…she was still his Queen. She could behave any way she saw fit. And this particular monarch saw to ensure the freedom and happiness of her subjects. Westeros had no idea what it was in for. "Perhaps you ought to see if they are creating garments to your liking, at least those which you will be wearing," he suggested.
"Yes," Daenerys replied dreamily, and she walked around, speaking softly to the women.
He considered her for a moment, then left. There was no point in staying.
Tyrion walked back to the map room, determined to keep his wits about him. He had not thought about this unspoken thing since the day after she had made him her Hand, and he wasn't about to start now. He entered the map room and poured some wine. He drank long and deeply, then poured some more.
He went over to the window and looked out into the bay. He sighed. Tyrion could tell that the Queen was having a time of it, but it wasn't his place to make her feel better about things.
Though he had offered her his tale weaving as a diversion while they waited.
He walked over and poured more wine, then looked down at the map of Westeros. There would be limited men, the weather would see to that. And those who were there were likely hungry, for the cold would already be effecting the crops in High Garden…but probably not enough to make a real change.
They were certainly not yet wholly reliant on Dorne.
Of course, he could not be certain. But it was a reasonable enough guess.
Tyrion sat down. He drank deeply.
He wasn't sure if was dreading Westeros more or wanting to get it over with. He felt rather conflicted about all of it.
There was the matter of his siblings, which was rather abhorrent. And also the fact that there would almost certainly be a conflict, if not war.
Also unattractive.
He sighed and sat back.
"You left."
He turned.
There was the Queen, standing in the doorway. "I did," and he turned back to the table and sipped.
Dany couldn't account for it, but Tyrion leaving made her unsettled. "I hadn't dismissed you," and she walked over and sat across from him.
"I am sorry. Sometimes I am overcome with the need for solitude," he sipped.
She nodded. "Well, as it happens, it went well enough."
"And when do you anticipate the seamstresses being done with the clothing for Westeros?"
"Mm…Missandei's estimate was likely correct."
"As I expected. So, we have a bit more time."
Dany dropped her gaze. "Yes. Perhaps you could continue the story," she said.
Tyrion considered her a moment. "I wish that I had a better, more pretty tale to tell."
"A pretty tale won't prepare me."
"No," he looked at her. She was one of the most determined people he had ever known. And that was something. "What is the cause of your unease, Your Majesty? Since I have known you, you've always had a calm assurance about you…as if your destiny was laid out before you, and you were simply walking the path."
"I have. But I suppose my hesitation is more about…well. Westeros was my brother's dream. It's my adopted one," she replied. "I wonder at that…" she dropped her gaze and swallowed. "I'm not certain that Viserys knew what he was doing, either."
"This is something you've long wanted though, isn't it?"
She looked beyond Tyrion, through the window, and to the ships beyond. "For quite some time."
"Just so. Sometimes we need another's dream to recognize what our own is."
She smiled at him. "That is a foolish statement, and you know it."
"Well, it was an attempt to assuage your worry," he winked.
Her smile faded ever so slightly. "I'm not worried, not really. Just…overwhelmed, perhaps."
"I told you," he began softly, "When you appointed me your Hand, that I believed in you. It may not be much, having the faith of a dwarf. But you have it."
And Dany smiled. "I know. Perhaps that is why I've been seeking you out…you alone have verbalized your loyalty. In all this. Well, save perhaps Missandei."
He sighed. "Everyone here is loyal to you, Your Grace. You need only believe it."
Dany shrugged. "I knew I had Daario's loyalty, but I wasn't terribly loyal to him. Loyalty fades, or it shifts. I cannot claim to possess every person's heart."
"Daario was loyal, true. But he loved you. That complicates matters. And you said yourself that you did not reciprocate those feelings."
"I did. But love and loyalty are not the same thing."
He flashed a smile. "That's true," he nodded, and he felt a pang. Dismissing it as quickly as he could, he cleared his throat. "Do you regret it?"
"Dismissing him? No. It wasn't fair to either of us to continue on in that way."
"Well. And I agree…but if this decision is causing you disquiet…"
"It isn't," Dany replied quickly. And it wasn't.
…and Tyrion couldn't account for his preoccupation with this subject, at least not in any reasonable light. "Then, Westeros."
"Westeros," she replied.
"As I had said," he poured some more wine. "It is a sordid tale, but the more I know you, the more I think you are more prepared than you realize."
"Because I am terrible?" she smirked.
"Well, yes. But because you have some conviction, and a theory of mind. You understand people, and you mean to be benevolent, but are willing to be unscrupulous if necessary."
Dany swallowed. Her heart sped, and she felt uncomfortable. "I suppose you are right."
"Of course I am. That's why you have me here," he tipped his glass as he drank.
…and she was suddenly compelled…"It's more than that, Tyrion. I consider you a friend."
He looked at her over his glass, then put it on the table. "As I aged at Casterly Rock, all but hidden from the outside world, condemned as I was due to Tywin's embarrassment, I read. I read the history of Westeros, and I learned a few tongues. The world continued its journey…the Seven Kingdoms continued their infighting, but I was safe and mostly confined. When I would see my father or either sibling, it was mostly because they required a reprieve from the politics of King's Landing. For most purposes, then, I was Lord of the Rock. Quite the opposite of what Tywin had dreamed of…" he paused, looking at Daenerys for a moment. "There was the oncoming war that most whispered about, for the Mad King was dwindling almost daily. He needed to be kept in check, which was becoming increasingly difficult. Baratheon's were on the move, and Tywin recognized the value of a Baratheon alignment. So he began grooming Cersei for marriage to Robert…an odd choice, considering he was a bear of a man, and she preferred, well, someone more subdued in his masculinity. And I read…" he sipped. "I learned of the dragons which once roamed openly. Of the Kings of old. Of the Queens. And I understood that Westeros would never be a happy place. It was stunted. There was little in terms of innovation, there was only war."
"Innovation? What do you mean?"
He poured more wine. "It occurred to me as I read, that the long summers should be spent in preparation for the winters, which are almost always equally long," he sipped. "But that almost never happens. Not since there were accurate records being kept. Why? Why doesn't any leader have any foresight to prepare? Because everyone is worrying about keeping their power, so that nothing else occupies their thoughts. It is a poor practice."
Dany considered this. "So…"
"So," he sipped. "There should be stores of clothing. Of food. There should be means to warm houses. There should be ways to preserve food so that no one starves. Yet no one thinks of this. No one bothers. It's baffling, really."
Dany stood. "Everyone is always fighting…"
"For power which is fleeting. Yes."
She shook her head. "It's a brutal existence."
"That it is."
"Then that is my charge, Tyrion. You have given it to me," she smiled, then sat and took his hands.
…and he was taken aback. "I have?"
"Yes. That is what my rule should consist of…to use time more wisely and discover ways to prepare for the winters…" she dropped his hands and folded her own on her lap.
"I'm happy I could be of help," he said with a crooked glance.
"I knew that you would be."
"Well," he clapped his hands and stood. "Then you are feeling better about the journey?"
"I am…a bit, yes."
"Good…" he smiled. "I trust I am dismissed, then?"
She nodded, and swallowed.
And he left.
Dany stood and went to the window. She had felt something when she took his hands…something unexpected. A jolt…a….she closed her eyes.
It was because she was excited. Because her purpose had suddenly become quite clear to her. Because Tyrion had proved himself to be so much more valuable than she could have imagined…
She opened her eyes, and looked out into the bay.
The sun was at its summit. There were the ships, dotted along like massive beasts. She turned away. She had no idea how to go about discovering answers to the problems Westeros had, she was completely ignorant regarding much of the place.
But she wasn't concerned.
Because she had Tyrion…
…he was walking as quickly as he could back to his rooms. He was somewhat upset, and needed to clear his head.
Upset, because he had no idea what had just occurred…
His palms were sweating, and his heart was pounding…
By the gods, he needed to regain himself. This would not do at all…
He went to his room and slammed the door shut.
He had suspected this some time ago, but this reaction made him think it was true…
Tyrion closed his eyes and hated himself more than he had in some time. He was a weakling, a fool…and one thing he could not abide was foolishness. To think! He, himself, a fool.
He then opened his eyes and went to the window. It was beginning to get hot in Meereen, the midday sun now fully realized. He loosened his collar.
He would need to find himself a whore. That should quell this unnerving feeling seeping through his cells. He nodded, then began to ring for a maid to fetch Varys.
But he stopped just before he reached the bell.
He found the idea repulsive in a way he had never heretofore…
And what did that mean?
Angered beyond reason, he poured more wine and rang for another carafe, not mentioning Varys. He slumped in his chair and sighed loudly.
Tyrion had believed that he had mastered himself, that Daenerys Targaryen would have a hold on him.
He was wrong.
And now, now he must suffer once more. He threw his glass into the hearth and rubbed his face. The whisper he had heard when she named him Hand was now a shout…
A single touch had rendered him ridiculous.
And he would need to try to avoid her now, until they set for Westeros.
For he felt himself falling for her, and needed to stop before he hit bottom.