TYRION

It had been a long morning.

It had been a long trip.

Trapped on a boat with some of the most powerful people in the country, watching them all and their silly little politics and wargames. It wouldn't matter, not when they reached the wall. Their best laid plans would fall to bits when they faced the white walkers. Half their armies would run, of that he was sure. The other half would die, and join the army of the dead, only to chase down the other half and have them die and join the army of the dead.

Tyrion sighed. He took a sip of wine.

The northern lords were a problem. Idiotic bunch that they were. He would be surprised if they didn't turn their backs on Jon the moment they found out he had bent the knee. And he knew Sansa never would bend the knee if the Lords decided to ...ah...reappoint the crown...she wouldn't, not anymore. He was glad she was finally coming into her own and learning how smart she was, that at least Tyrion was grateful for. She had suffered so much at the hands of his family, and it ached his heart...he had wanted to help her in anyway he could. But the old Sansa would have done whatever those more powerful than her wished, just so she could survive to play another day at this horrible game.

Tyrion had been mostly silent this trip. Waiting. Watching. Drinking. Learning. Counting up those he saw come into realization that his Queen had fallen for the King in the North.

Missandei knew first. Of course she would. If Daenerys didn't tell her, she would have noticed when she changed the Queen's sheets. Tyrion knew she would not tell a soul. Varys was next, Tyrion had saw his sharp, beady eyes flick between the two of them at dinner, as they exchanged a secret glance they thought no one would see. Who knows what he was planning to do with the information, and Tyrion was fearful to find out, though he knew the eunuch would probably mean no harm to the Queen.

Less so than himself.

He breathed out hard and took a long sip of wine as if it would make him forget.

Pregnant, he spat out in his mind. Pregnant.

How stupid. How foolish. Why now. Why.

He forcefully pushed it to the back of his mind.

Then Davos, surprisingly. Though he should have realized he would have figured it out. He was the Hand to the King in the North in all but name. Tyrion had quickly realised Davos had taken Jon under his wing as a second son, perhaps to replace the one he had lost.

My fault.

Tyrion took a long draught of wine and swallowed hard.

Jorah knew. Jorah knew long before Tyrion had even seen Jon go into the Queen's cabin. Tyrion could tell the poor man was heartbroken...but he really didn't feel sorry for him, somehow. It just made Jorah boringly predictable. When would the man ever give it up? It was clear to everyone the Queen valued him much more as a friend and advisor than anything else.

Then there were a few of the sharper crewmen, and Tyrion would have to keep an eye on them. They were loyal to the Dragon Queen, but only insofar as the younger Greyjoys were loyal to the Queen.

If they saw it begining to turn against them, if they were threatened by his sister...they would talk at the first sight of trouble. And once they hit the taverns in White Harbor, he feared the gossip that would spread...

They only needed to keep it hidden till they made it to Winterfell. And a little bit past that. If they could introduce the Queen to the Northern Lords, if Tyrion and the others could keep their superstitions at bay, just until they saw her fight for them...save their lives as she always would...her natural charm and leadership would sway them...or so Jon said.

Tyrion wasn't sure whether he trusted Jon's judgement so far.

Although he was courageous. He would give him that at least.

If he could convince the sisters and the younger brother...then perhaps they would have a chance...

He sighed. They had had to make things difficult by falling in love with each other.

Tyrion wasn't mad at them, not really. He knew how difficult it was to resist falling in love.

He refused to think of that treacherous woman's name. How had he not seen...

But never again.

He had thought about it, back in Meeren. Thought about letting it go and saying something...but it was never more than a fleeting thought, a passing glance he had shared with her, and then they had both remembered their seperate pain and left it at that. He'd never revisited it since. Neither of them would.

Was he in love with her, Jon Snow had had the audacity to ask.

Tyrion tsked.

Beautiful their Queen might be, he had always known she was meant for bigger things than him.

Tyrion tutted again.

Oh, look, now I'm the one making dwarf jokes, he thought dryly.

Perhaps he had missed them in some twisted part of his brain, for no one had dared make a dwarf joke to him since he had become Hand to the Dragon Queen, no one except Euron Greyjoy.

The coward, thought Tyrion. Or perhaps he was wiser than them all. They, after all, were the ones going on a suicide mission...

He sighed.

The boat beneath his feet rocked suddenly, hard, and he went into high alert. Were they under attack?

He discarded his wine and rushed above decks. He was just in time to see Jon Fucking Snow step onto the dragon's wing and take off with their Queen.

"Fffff-uck," he cursed quietly, sharply.

The people around him were all whispering as he made his way to the captain. He heard the gossip as he passed.

"Was that the King in the North...with the Queen...?"

"Where are they going?"

"Perhaps they've decided to abandon us all..."

"No, you idiot, they're in love, are you blind?"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Tyrion kept up a steady, silent stream of curses until he reached the hardened, sea-sailed man at the helm.

"Call everyone back to work, now," growled Tyrion.

The Captain, who had been watching the Dragons, looked down at Tyrion, scoffed.

"The lads have earned a bit of entertainment," he said, "if they want to watch the Dragon Queen fuck the King in the North on the back of a dragon, who am I to stop th-"

"Shut up, you idiot," said Tyrion harshly. "There's more at stake here than you realize. I don't want them blabbering about it. It endangers us all."

"They're not blind," said the Captain. "Like you thought they wouldn't notice. Have you seen the way he looks at her, and she at him? If I had a love like that and I knew what was ahead of me, I'd sail for the farthest, most deserted island I could find and not return till winter's over."

Tyrion took a deep breath. The man was trying his patience.

"Please-" he started.

Suddenly, there were screams.

Tyrion turned to the sky.

His best two hopes for the world were engulfed in flame.

His jaw dropped, heart stopped. He took a step towards them, as if he could stop it.

But then they emerged from the fireball, Drogon flying high once again in the sky. He saw a speck of white and a speck of brown on Drogon's back as the flames extinguished, and Daenerys wasn't flying back down...nor did he see anyone plummeting to the sea... so he thought he could reasonably assume nobody was dead.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

When they get back, I swear to all seven hells...

He looked back at the Captain. The man huffed.

"Alright, everyone, show's over, get back to work," the captain called. He heard sounds of disappointment from the main deck, and then all but a few shuffled back to what they were doing.

"Thank you," said Tyrion to the Iron-Borne.

All but Jorah, Varys, Missandei, and Davos, who stood on the bow of the ship, exchanging worried looks.

He quickly made his way to them. They all knew, and they all knew each other knew, now.

"Well," said Davos gruffly. "There's no hidin' it now. Everyone saw him ride off with her."

"Stupid idea," said Tyrion angrily. "What the fuck were they thinking."

Varys shook his head.

"We could pay the crew off," said Jorah, "but gold only holds tongues until more gold loosens it...and it's a long way to Winterfell yet."

"It might be the best we can do for now," said Tyrion. "Gold, and threaten them with Dragonfire should they gossip once we reach White Harbor. Word of this must not reach the north."

"I'll talk to the Captain," said Davos. He left.

Tyrion nodded. He looked up to Drogon and his riders as they flew away to nothing but a speck in the sky.

"Fuck," he muttered. Ignoring the rest of them, he walked away to fetch his wine.

When he returned, only Varys remained, ever watchful of the black speck in the sky.

Tyrion sat down next to him. Offered him the wineskin.

Varys looked at it. Hesitated. Then took it and took a long drink.

"Seems the more time we spend together, the more of your bad habits I pick up," said Varys bitterly.

"Fucking idiots," spat Tyrion, anger boiling at him. "I told them-I told Snow-"

"Since when do they ever listen to us?" said Varys defeatedly.

"Keep it hidden till Winterfell-that's all I asked of them. That's it. And they couldn't even fucking do that-"

"You intended them to marry," concluded Varys.

"Yes," said Tyrion.

"Then you'd reached the same conclusion I had. But this complicates things."

"I didn't know they'd fall for one another. Not so quickly at least. I thought they could wait. I thought they were smart enough to wait. But no."

Varys side-eyed him.

"We're the only smart ones," said Varys. "The only ones left that can see the wheels turning in this game."

Tyrion glanced at him.

Varys exchanged a quick look with the dwarf.

"Littlefinger is dead," said the eunuch. "His throat slit by his own dagger. I received a raven from one of my little birds."

"You've been rebuilding," said Tyrion.

"Did you think I was sitting idly by, drinking wine, like you? No. Our Queen needs little birds now more than ever."

"Who killed him?"

Varys gave him an amused look, but his eyes were concerned.

"'Winter came for Lord Baelish.'" he quoted.

Tyrion eyed Varys warily.

"As it came for the Freys," he said.

"Yes. As it came for the Freys. Except this time they were all in on it-all of the Starks except Jon. Arya Stark was the one to draw the blade across his throat, although Sansa gave the order."

Tyrion took a long drink of wine.

"Good riddance," said Tyrion after a while. "He was a dangerous man who would see the kingdom burn."

"I know what he was. Better than anyone in the world, I knew what he was."

They were silent.

"Is it true what they're saying about her-about Arya Stark?"

"It's even worse than what they're saying, if what i've gathered is true."

"Gods, for her to be dead all these years and then to come back like this..."

"Is it safe for our Queen to be near her?" said Tyrion.

"I don't know," said Varys. "It could go one way, could go the other. For now, it looks like a pack of Wolves awaits our coming, and who knows whether they will welcome us or..."

Varys did not finish his sentence.

Tyrion took a drink.

"Hopefully Jon can curtail them."

"Hopefully," said Varys. He was silent. "I've heard that Bran Stark is...odd."

"In what way?" said Tyrion.

Vary's thin brows furrowed.

"They say he went beyond the wall, and has now returned...and he..."

Varys trailed off, troubled.

"What?"

"I'm not sure. I've heard differing whispers. It seems they might be trying to keep it hidden...although they say he knew things...things he couldn't have possibly known...things no one could have known..."

"Chaos is a ladder..." Tyrion heard him mutter under his breath.

Varys was silent, he seemed lost in his mind. Tyrion did not push him. They were silent.

"I've always sort of rooted for the Starks," said Tyrion after a while, changing the subject. "Even when they were against my family. I like Jon. I liked Ned. I even liked Caitlyn, though she held me in captivity. She only did what she did to protect the pack. They've always been very resiliant. And Sansa...especially Sansa. I always knew she would survive us all...and perhaps she will, still. There's something about the Starks I can't help but admire. Perhaps it that whole Honer and Duty-" he said, dropping his voice into a northerner's tough, harsh growl. He waved his hand vaguely. "-thing."

"No one deserved revenge more than the Starks," said Varys quietly. "No one has had more injustices done against them since Jon Arryn died. No one suffers more at the hands of a dishonest game than honest people."

Tyrion nodded.

Tyrion had a brief moment of madness then. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad for him to know. Perhaps-It was on the tip of his tongue before he caught it and swallowed it back down. Hard.

Pregnant.

Tyrion up-ended the wine skin into his mouth.

How could they be so stupid.

The whole country would know it was Jamie's...without a doubt...everyone knew, gods, even the wildlings knew. They wouldn't be able to hide it. Even if Cersei married, and quickly, no one would believe it wasn't Jamie's. And then he could add another bastard to his pile of dead nephews and nieces. But what could he do about it, now...she sat on the Iron Throne. She could do whatever she wished...and another innocent child would suffer...or, gods forbid...the realm would suffer...they didn't need another Joffery.

He took a deep, shuddering breath.

Drank more wine.

"You're starting to drink heavily again," said Varys softly. "I've noticed it ever since we left King's Landing."

"Why do you care," said Tyrion harshly.

"Because I don't want a repeat of your vomit getting all over my clothes, and I don't want to have to watch you withdrawal again."

Tyrion had a strong urge to roll his eyes.

Instead he drank more wine, just out of spite.

Varys frowned.

"Do what you will," said Varys, standing up. "But please don't forget your duty to our Queen...or the threat which we all face when we reach Winterfell. We will need more than swords to defeat the dead." Varys leaned down to give him a glaring look. "We will need sharp, clear minds as well."

He walked away. Tyrion tsked darkly.

He sat on the bow, drinking, thinking, watching the dragon soar high above them, as the sun lowered in the sky.

Someone brought him furs, and he covered himself. It grew colder and colder as the sun set. His wineskin was almost empty when the sun slipped below the horizon, and the temperature dropped noticably.

He watched as the largest of the Dragons grew closer to the boat.

About time, he thought grumpily. He could have gone inside, it's not like he wouldn't have noticed their return and could talk to them then, but he was stubborn, and they had left him alone, and he liked to think.

He had alot to think about.

He stood, to meet them at the deck immediately upon their return, but something stopped him as he moved to pick up his wineskin.

A single snowflake had fallen delicately, gently, to the leather, before it melted into a small drop of water. Tyrion's heart stopped. He looked up to the sky to see soft flecks of snow starting to drift gently into the sea.

His heart dropped into his belly, and he closed his eyes.

Winter is coming.

A/N: I absolutely love Tyrion and Varys' unlikely 's one of the more entertaining things on the show, IMHO, and I was disappointed we only got one little snippet of a scene with them in s7. (They both had like, almost no character development this season until Tyrion's bit at the end. So disappoint) I know, sorry, no Jonerys this chapter, but I felt like we needed to feel the impact of what they'd done.

Anyway, let me know how you liked this chapter and leave a review!