Chapter 29

Tyrion – walking across the camp

The parley had not gone as expected – or maybe it had – Tyrion reflected. They were both stubborn and prideful, as rulers were supposed to. The question of the dragons had scarcely been touched. A shame, Tyrion thought. He had left the tent shortly after the parley as Missandei and Grey Worm wanted to speak to her alone. Tyrion knew what that was about; Missandei had told him. If granted permission it would be some welcome news for a change.

Daenerys would seek his counsel again after that. She would want to hear his thoughts. Would it be so very bad to have an ally? If Jon was trust-worthy, perhaps even kin? Then again, that also made him a true rival – one with an actual claim. Tyrion felt the responsibility heavily on his shoulders. He didn't know either. He could not predict the future. He thought Jon had had a point when it came to the threat of the North. Once Tyrion had laughed about such tales, but no more. For Jon Snow to have Wildlings in his army, to have protected and befriended them?! Something must have caused a former Commander of the Night's Watch to do such a strange and reckless thing. The return of creatures from the stories of old would provide amble reason.

Tyrion found himself drawn to the cream and gold dragon again. He was prancing about in a bare field, snapping at birds but not devouring them. Playful almost. Tyrion laughed and Viserion looked up at him. He had caught his attention. Tyrion bit his lip as he approached. This had not been his intent, had it? The dragon stopped a few meters away from him. It gazed at Tyrion and Tyrion stared back at him, trying his best not to tremble. Viserion began to flap his wings, turned around in a big whoosh and took to the air. Tyrion gasped as it turned once more and flew right over him. "Just a day dream," he mumbled. "Just a boy's wish."

He was strangely heartbroken that afternoon. Only a very small sliver of his heart kept saying: not yet. Not yet, but soon. Tyrion shook his head. He should not believe his boyish dreams. He had been a man long enough to know that dreams often fell apart. Dreams were like broken mirrors: poor reflections of reality.


A little while later he was back in Daenerys' tent. She had granted them permission to marry; Grey Worm and Missandei were overjoyed; though only a keen observer would notice it. Daenerys herself, however, was impatient. "Clearly he seeks to disturb me, wanting me to come to him, this time," she snarled. "I had to accept his offer, but I don't like it. He means to pour salt into my wounds: Rhaegal's changing loyalty; remaining at his side, at his camp! He wants me to see it again with my own eyes…."

"Perhaps," Tyrion swallowed hard, "perhaps he does not mean it in a harmful way. Perhaps we should…" he hesitated.

"Speak!" she commanded. "That's what I need you for."

"Maybe your children do know more than we do," Tyrion said. "Maybe they are telling you to make peace. Showing it to you by already doing so themselves. If so, it would mean Rhaegal has not truly changed his loyalties, it would mean that he is showing you to trust Jon Snow. That he does, at least."

A frown appeared on her face. "If so," she said, "It would mean that he is my kin, would it not? My ally and my blood…"

Tyrion briefly bowed. "I do believe so," he whispered. "Dragons are magic after all. Maybe they can sense kinship too."

"If I grant him what he wants," she said, "which I'm not inclined to, I will look weak. Like I gave the North away without much of a fight. I have conquered the other Kingdoms; why should I give up so easily? I have plenty of fight left in me and so have my troops. His might not…"

"For the good of the realm," Tyrion said. "Or for the war to come. Fight this war with the Northerners after the other one instead of before. Become an ally before you become an enemy." He hated himself for suggesting it, yet it was a sound strategy. Use the King of the North's armies to slaughter the Night King and then claim the North thereafter – when it has weakened. "The North is vast and hard to conquer. It might take more of a fight than you imagine."

She nodded. "Your strategy does sound appealing," she smirked. "Use him for now and wait until later to take the North. I could graciously take his offer and let him think we are allies." Her eyes burned with pleasure. "He will not know what will hit him once that other threat has been dealt with…"

"He will believe your dragon has made you see the way of peace. It will appeal to him, surely. Your connection with your Children will reflect their own with their dire-wolves. I believe the King in the North will prove to be a helpful and worthy ally," Tyrion said. "And it would show that you are more than a conqueror. That you are also a Queen who is capable of making and building alliances when it is prudent. It may strengthen your reputation instead of weakening it."

His Queen smiled again. "Peace it is then," she said, "for now."


Tyrion left her tent with a heavy heart. He liked Jon Snow, the bastard King. He felt his betrayal keenly, yet it had been the only option. His Queen was so intent on war that she had to have some battle to look forward too. He had given her one – and bought some respite for the time being. His tale about the dragons' wanting peace had been his own interpretation; he had no idea what dragons thought. What might go on in those fiery heads of theirs…. All he knew what his own longing, those childhood dreams that had been stirred, how his hopes had increased when Jon Snow took to the air. How foolish the thought was, yet how he had been able to free the dragons without them harming him. They hadn't minded him approaching them, touching their skin, releasing their shackles. They had accepted him. He looked up and saw Viserion fly miles above him. "Soon, very soon," he whispered. His own speech had not just convinced his Queen, it had also convinced himself. He would give it a try; live or die.