Tyrion chapter. Tyrion's view of his execution in dream form. Chapter interspersed with current life and nightmares of the burning. Bran Stark contacts Tyrion from the future, through the weirwood tree. Flashes of another life begin to come to him, triggered by his interactions with Sansa Stark.

Where There is Smoke

"You must be ready to burn yourself in your own flame;

how could you rise anew if you have not first become ashes?"

— Friedrich Nietzsche

The stones of the Red Keep shimmered in the moonlight giving the appearance of blood. "Fitting," Tyrion thought to himself, as he walked along the corridor. He had spent the day poring through the ledgers and accounts. The crown was deep in debt. The tournaments, the extravagances—all of it needed to end, he thought.. As he made his way back to his rooms, Tyrion was only vaguely aware of the eyes that watched him as he progressed through the castle. He wanted nothing more than a good night's sleep and a stiff drink. Another part of him yearned for something more—a warm body to dull his thoughts and engage his senses and warm his bed. Of course, he was aware of his reputation, and the whispers of impropriety that might arise with him visiting whorehouses as he served at the grace of the honorable Lord Eddard Stark. Lord Stark had been gone for almost a moon's turn. Joffrey was becoming hard to manage. His mother struggled to keep him in hand. He defied Tyrion on general principles. The betrothal between Joffrey and Sansa Stark was unbroken. He could not figure out if the girl was amenable to the marriage or not. The younger Stark girl, Arya was boisterous and spent most of her time chasing cats through the castle and attending her dancing lessons. When not enjoying luncheons with Cersei and various outings with Joffrey, Sansa spent most of her time writing letters and visiting the library. Septa Mordane kept their lessons up. King Robert was hanging on by a thread of health. His sister seemed hesitant to make any aggressive moves to eliminate her husband from the picture. Though, Tyrion was still suspicious about the King's poor health, he watched warily and kept an eye on the Maester. If anyone was aiding Cersei in her bid to rid herself of her husband once and for all, it was likely Grandmaester Pycelle.

Once Tyrion reached the privacy of his chambers, he began to peel away the layers of the day. Before leaving aside his work for the day, he had arranged for the servant girls to draw him a bath, and it was still steaming and fragrant as he walked in to his chamber. After thoroughly scrubbing himself clean of the day's worries, he slipped into a silk tunic and climbed into bed. The fire in the hearth cast off an orange glow, and he settled himself deep into his furs. His mind still unquiet. The bank of Braavos loomed heavily in his thoughts. Petyr Baelish may have seemed a magician but he had built a wall of debt so thick and labyrinthine that Tyrion saw no way out of it.

Tyrion stood rooted to the spot. The Dothraki guards flanked either side of his path. The guards pushed him forward roughly. Ahead he saw the large black Dragon, its scales shimmering in the sun above. The Queen herself looked small. She was a tiny dot in the distance. As he made his way closer to her, and the huge beast at her side, his heart threatened to beat its way out of his chest. His body felt numb. The dragon eyed him suspiciously. When he reached the spot where he was supposed to stand, he came face to face with his Queen. The Queen he chose. She sat on her makeshift throne, her eyes a mirror of disappointment.

"Tyrion Lannister. You stand accused of treason," she said.

"I thought only of the realm."

"The realm?" What danger am I to it?" She scoffed.

"You wanted to burn the city," he replied.

"I wanted to free the people. Your sister has made my people into slaves."

"You consider burning an entire city of over 500,000 Westerosi to be "freeing" the people?" Tyrion asked incredulously.

"You protected your sister."

"She would disagree with you," he said.

"You conspired with your former wife, and Jon Snow to overthrow my rule. You are a traitor."

"Are you going to burn everyone in Westeros who dares to disagree with you?" He replied.

"I've only ever done what I had to do. I have no regrets."

Tyrion could see the anger in her eyes, but it didn't hurt him. She had changed, not him.

"I thought your last words would be more clever." She said with a smile,"—-Lord Tyrion Lannister, I Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Mother of Dragons, sentence you to die."