A fortnight of peace saw no more murders in the dark, and Tyrion had even brought the High Priestess of the faith devoted to the Lord of Light to spread word to the masses of Daenerys being the Chosen One of their Flaming Lord. Kinvara was her name. Although Rhaena shared in Varys's scepticism of a supposed Lord of Light wielding divine power through his priests and priestesses, Rhaena had to admit that they were effective in winning over the opinions of the people. It simply irked her when her name was also spoken with such reverence, supposedly another chosen champion of the Lord of Light who had blessed her with flames of retribution. It was only magic, but for the sake of convincing the people, Rhaena had gone out to give a display of her power, allowing her flames to dance across her body and cast fire into the sky. Now those who called her sister did so with awe and veneration. No one dared disobey her now. All the same, Rhaena wished that Daenerys would return soon, because now that Meereen was secure and flourishing, the woes of Westeros were now chief in her mind. Trystane was adamant he wanted to return to Dorne in order to secure his position as the next Prince of Dorne, and Myrcella of course would never allow herself to be parted from him. It was Robb who concerned Rhaena most of all. Robb and Jon. Varys had taken great pains to receive reports of Sansa's family, providing them with the truth that Stannis had been killed in an attempt to take Winterfell against the Boltons and his army decimated. Robb had escaped back to Castle Black, but it appears that although Jon was now the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, he too faced his own difficulties.

This as well as the rumours of a greater threat in the North walking at night, Rhaena could not keep herself still. It was time for her to return. There was little else she could do here other than wait for Daenerys to return, and when she did, she would lead her people as she had before. Rhaena intended to make use of herself elsewhere and save those that she could. Daenerys would require allies when she landed upon the shores of their ancestor's conquest, and Rhaena intended to get them for her. Old houses who had fought for their brother Rhaegar may yet still feel loyalty to the Targaryen House, and they will undoubtedly love Daenerys far more than they had loved their mad father. Her place was now in Westeros. It had always been in Westeros. Perhaps Rhaena should never have left in the first place, but now that did not matter. She was going back, and she would not be going alone. Despite her attempts to persuade Sansa to stay where she would be safer, Sansa refused to allow Rhaena to leave without her. "We have been together for years, ever since we first met in Winterfell. You are going to help my family, and I shall not stay behind in safety whilst you risk your life for them. I too wish to protect the ones I love." Speaking so decisively, Rhaena had laughed and not argued any further on the subject. Instead, she had embraced Sansa and kissed her cheek before suggesting that they prepare for the journey.

They wanted to return as swiftly as possible, and what could be swifter than on the back of a dragon? They could not take both Rhaegal and Viserion, for it was not Rhaena's place to take from her sister, but Rhaegal had developed a special bond with her. They were meant for one another. Their blood, their minds…everything seemed connected on a level far deeper than anything else. Rhaena wondered if this was how it felt for her ancestors when they bonded with a particular dragon who accepted them as a rider and became their mount. They would take only what was necessary and nothing more. They would no doubt be going to war. Silks, jewels and fineries would be of little use to them where they intended to go. Still, Sansa insisted upon preparing properly, ensuring that they would have provisions and coin as Rhaena prepared her weapons. Word soon spread of what they intended and one by one, their friends came to visit them. Having already shared a rather passionate farewell with Kaydyn, both had agreed to continue with their lives separately as Rhaena knew in her heart that she would never again return to Meereen. Syrio chose to remain behind to continue guarding Myrcella and Trystane, but promised that they would meet again soon. Myrcella cried to say farewell, but Rhaena had kissed her face and assured her that once the wars were over, she would be able to choose where she wished to return to. To Trystane she had clasped his arm and told him to speak to her sister upon her return, to convince her to allow him to return to Dorne with some soldiers in order to take back his home and establish himself as the rightful Prince, and swear for Daenerys and her claim to the throne. Trystane gave his word he would do so, even bowing to Rhaena with the respect he had gradually developed for her.

Perhaps hardest of all to say goodbye to was Tyrion, who looked sombrely to Rhaena as he watched her attach an ornate hunting horn to her belt at her hip. It was made from bone white ivory, carved with images of dragons upon the body and gilded with gold and ebony with the mouth shaped in the image of a roaring dragon. Ever since that day in the pits, Rhaena had commissioned for a hunting horn and had never gone without it since. Its pitch was sharp and its voice carried far enough that even the dragons could hear it from the harbour all the way in the catacombs. She would never be cut off from them again. "So, you really are leaving." Tyrion said to her with a sadness which caused Rhaena's heart to clench painfully.

"I must. The Seven Kingdoms are about to fall apart. Cersei seems to have gone entirely mad, the great houses have all but crumbled, and the disturbing rumours of what lies in the North…I must go. I must see for myself and try to help as best I can. Do not worry, you shall be sailing with Daenerys soon enough to follow us. I am certain you'll find the ships. If you cannot buy them, then take them." With the horn now fixed Rhaena went to her pack in order to begin placing spare articles of clothing inside, including the thick cloak lined with ermine which she would need once they were in the North. "My advice would be to come not only with ships laden with soldiers, but ships full of food and livestock. Fill the cargo holds to the brim with figs and pomegranates, with corn and barely, anything you can purchase or spare from harvests. Send them in fleet ships to every harbour and give them to the people, especially those of the North and the Riverlands who have been most affected by war. Send them to King's Landing, to Maidenpool, up the Trident all the way to Riverrun, to White Harbour and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Every port you find, then take them by wagons to the villages and hamlets affected by the war. Buy the people's love with food and provisions. They will not see my sister as just another conqueror then, but a liberator. They will love her, and they will back her."

"A wise suggestion, my princess." Varys supplied as Tyrion grit his teeth, trying to think of a means to persuade Rhaena to give up this foolish idea she had taken into her head. "We will be certain to carry these suggestions to the queen. If you are to leave, I would at least see you properly outfitted as you will be entering a dangerous place." Clapping his hands, Rhaena looked up in order to see a servant enter her chambers carrying something in their arms wrapped in a deep purple cloth. It was placed upon her bed where the servant then bowed and hurried away, leaving Rhaena rather surprised as she moved to the bolt of cloth and drew it back in order to reveal what lay within. A beautiful dragonbone recurve bow took her attention first, bound with virgin leather around the grip and the tips gilded with woven threads of silver and gold. Amazed by such a gift, Rhaena lifted it and barely felt any weight as she drew back the bowstring to feel the material effortlessly bend yet remained firm, hinting at the power it held and the promise to shoot arrows at far greater distance than that of an ordinary bow. The arrows were as black as the bow itself with white feathers, light and soft to the touch as they lay in the quiver which had been stamped with the image of the three headed dragon of Rhaena's house. The bow and arrows would have been more than enough, but still there were more gifts laying upon the folds of the cloth.

Not wishing to rush her admiration, she took first one of the paired daggers after setting the bow down and drew it to find a gleaming blade of tempered steel shaped like that of a dragon fang, it's twin bound in sheathes of black leather. They were light and sharp, newly forged by the looks of them, and adorned with moonstone and amethysts around the pommel. Beautiful, yet still deadly. It was the sword which drew Rhaena's focus more than anything, however. It lay there waiting for her in its scabbard, also black virgin leather imprinted with the image of her House's dragon. There was plenty to admire before Rhaena had even unsheathed the sword, lifting it up in order to see the dragon head fashioned from what she presumed to be silver as it roared from the pommel, every detail exquisitely and painstakingly made so that you could count the individual scales, spikes and ridges of its horns. Even the fangs were sharp as Rhaena delicately touched them, feeling one prick into her finger and draw blood as if the dragon were intending to greedily lap it up. The eyes glinted from the embedded amethysts, a pale shade of violet almost identical to her own. Below the dragon head the neck melded into the sword's hilt which felt comfortable in her hand, allowing her to take a firm grip as she then looked to the cross guard and found a large, round diamond at the centre, glinting as it caught the light each time Rhaena moved it. It was already far too much, but when Rhaena drew the blade in order to look upon the metal, she almost dropped the sword in her shock. Valyrian Steel. Mottled ripples flowed down the length and breadth of the longsword, revealing the value of the sword went well beyond jewels and silver. It was so light that Rhaena even with her slight frame could hold the sword in only one hand, raising it to feel the balance which the dragon head gave to the sword so that she could balance it upon one finger, the edge so sharp that she could easily split her own hairs. She could not even begin to imagine what these treasures must have cost. "Varys…how…why…? This is too much."

"For you, dear princess? These are mere cheap trinkets in comparison to your worth." Varys waved away as even Tyrion approached in order to see the weapons that the Spider Master had gathered in secret in order to present them to Rhaena, having spent a great deal of time and no small fortune in order to secure them. If she was to walk into a battlefield, then Varys intended for her to be well protected. He had even commissioned armour for her, but this was yet to be finished and so could only give her the weapons and hope that she would protect herself with alternate armour until he could give her that he had prepared for her. "You may not refuse them. They are tools to be used and who else could use them better, or for a more noble cause? Say you will take them, princess. It would gladden my heart to know that you had good steel in your hand and swift arrows to lay upon your enemies and keep them at bay." Sheathing the sword for Rhaena could not bring herself to look upon it any longer, she almost allowed herself to weep for the kindness of Varys's gifts. Instead, she turned and embraced him, holding him to her as he gradually returned her embrace with an affectionate expression, he rarely allowed himself to wear.

"I will return this gesture to you one day."

"There is no repayment for a gift, dear child." Stepping back in order to bow, Varys removed himself so that Rhaena and Tyrion might have a moment alone, however he paused by the door and looked back, seeing Rhaena was once more admiring the sword in her hands. "Will you perhaps name it? It is a fine blade after all. Although it is not the sword of your House, Blackfyre, perhaps this will become a new heirloom for future Targaryens." Rhaena smiled at the thought and pondered deeply for a few moments, considering the blade before her as it glinted in the candlelight until the name came to mind. It was the only name that would suit, in her opinion in any case, an homage to her ancestors as well as to the sword itself.

"Whitefyre. It shall be called Whitefyre." Approving with a nod of his head, Varys smiled.

"A fine name." Then he was gone, leaving Tyrion alone with Rhaena who finally settled the sword down in order to look upon him without her attention divided. He would not look at her. He looked anywhere but at her.

"Tyrion, please look at me."

"If I do then I shall fear for my own resolve. I know I cannot stop you and no amount of begging will dissuade you, but I may beg nonetheless." Understanding how he felt, Rhaena lowered herself to the ground so that their heads were even, raising a hand to gently turn his cheek so that at the very least he was facing her, even if his eyes were fixed upon a far wall.

"It is not because I wish to leave you, Tyrion, but because there are others who might now need me more than ever. I can save them. I know that I can. I will go either which way, but I would rather leave with your blessing and your love." Hearing these words, Tyrion pressed his eyes tightly shut and took in a shuddering breath as he felt his chest clench with the thought that it might rip itself open just to allow the emotions to spill out of him rather than overflow like this. "I shall see you again, Tyrion. You know that it is wise for me to go. If the Seven Kingdoms fall before Daenerys even arrives, then what point is her to ruling a broken realm? We shall not be parted for long."

"How can you make such a promise? Neither of us know what is to come. For all we know I may be betrayed by those around me and my head thrown from the top of the Great Pyramid." Shaking her head adamantly, Rhaena swore to Tyrion that this would never happen for he was one of her people. Her family. No one would dare hurt him, it was known to everyone and if Rhaena was to learn that someone had harmed Tyrion, she would gladly shed them of their skin and drive them into the desert to cook under the heat of the sun. This almost earned a smile. "You defend me valiantly, my princess."

"Rhaena. I shall always be your Rhaena, Tyrion." There should never be any titles between them, Rhaena felt. He was Tyrion and she was Rhaena. Other than that, nothing else mattered. He gasped for air again.

"I love you, Rhaena. Do you know that? I love you even to the point of pain." Even with these words, Rhaena did not draw away from him, merely continued to look with her unwavering and fearless gaze.

"Do you mean as a woman, or as something else?" Tyrion took hold of her hands.

"I love you in every way that matters. As a friend, a sister, a woman, even just as yourself. Were I tall and handsome, I might have even asked you to be my wife." Rhaena continued to look upon him unflinchingly. "But I know that I am not the man you love in such a way as to take as your husband, and your friendship and love has been one of the very few constants in my life that has driven me to continue living. I would not change it for all the world. So, you must promise me that we will see each other again, my Rhaena. You must promise not to die or be captured, that you will come the moment you hear that we are sailing west for Westeros. Come immediately, or I shall not forgive you for being kept away longer than what was necessary." Remaining silent for a great long while, Rhaena processed Tyrion's words to her before gradually, she allowed herself to smile. Reaching forwards she kissed at Tyrion's nose, his scarred cheek, his brow before finally placing a firm and final kiss against his lips. Tyrion dared not move or even breathe, find that all the painful pressure that had built in his chest suddenly flow away and be replaced by a tender warmth. When Rhaena drew back the warmth remained with him, and he wondered if perhaps this was Rhaena's doing, so that a part of her would remain with him even after she had gone.

"You are handsome, Tyrion. To me you are as handsome as the rest of them, and better too. The best. The cleverest. The kindest. You stand taller than all of them and will rise higher still. They shall know your name and sing of your deeds for centuries to come after we have all become dust and memory. It is not Daenerys who will liberate the Seven Kingdoms of strife, bloodshed and war, but you. You will be the one to end it all with your silver tongue, you who will negotiate the peace that will follow, and it will be you who will continue to maintain it even after my sister sits upon the throne. It will be you. It will always be you, Tyrion, because there is no one else alive who can do what you can as well as you can. It is the reason you were brought into this world. Your entire life has led you to this present moment in time, and I am honoured that I have been a part of that path which you have walked in order to get here." Now Tyrion was weeping, and he could not stop. He clutched at Rhaena and begged her not to go, so she drew him into her arms and embraced him with all her love and devotion…but still she had to let go eventually. Tyrion knew that she was right to leave, knew that only Rhaena could rally the houses to her sister's cause as well as save the Starks from their house being utterly obliterated. They would need every ally they could get, and if the Starks could retake the North and Trystane Martell could secure the south, then the only place left for his sister and the Lannister armies to go after being driven from King's Landing would be east back to Casterly Rock. They would be trapped and unable to flee. They would have no choice but to surrender. Tyrion loathed his own tactical mind now more than ever.

Still Rhaena kissed at his cheeks once more and reaffirmed her promise to return to him as soon as she was able before then rising to her feet and donning her new weapons, Whitefyre sitting neatly at her hip as if it had been beside her all this time. Tyrion watched Rhaena fly away with Sansa and Lady upon the back of the dragon named Rhaegal, who had grown an alarming amount even since the last Tyrion had seen him at the pits. Viserion sang to them in farewell, to be left alone as his brother flew into the night where a strong wind carried him west to where the sun had long since set. Tyrion watched the skies long after Rhaegal was gone from sight, counting the stars in his head and praying to any gods still listening that they would keep Rhaena safe. So long as she was alive, Tyrion reasoned that life could never truly be bleak. So long as she lived, then that was more than enough for him. As the warmth still continued to glow within his chest, Tyrion turned aside and entered the Great Pyramid once more, feeling utterly alone and in desperate need of wine.