The empty ship moved through water, and Tyrion drank copious amounts of wine. He'd found four barrels the pirates had missed in a hidden cupboard within the captain's quarters. Without sailors, the aimless ship floated with no fixed destination. Tyrion could only hope to see land before the wine ran out.

He fed from what was left of the wretched food, which tasted even worse when retched back up. In the larders, he could only find salt beef, hard cheese, and green bread crawling with maggots. The rocking of the ship made his stomach feel even worse.

The rotten food made him not only retch, but shit too. It was rancid, which was why he ended up sticking to wine. Why die from the retching and shitting of food poisoning, when he had wine? It didn't make him shit and was far better company.

Not that the wine was good. Far from it. It was cheap, red, sour, but at least it was strong. He often heaved the wine up, and once done, he returned to drinking.

"The world is full of wine. But this ship is not, I should hope it does not run dry before I see land."

Below deck was eternal darkness, while above the winds blew colder every day. Tyrion marked the passage of time by the sunrise and sunset from inside what was once the Captain's cabin, for at least it had a window and was warmer.

Where will I end up? He wondered, scratching another line on his five-bar gate with a dagger he'd found, enabling him to count the days since the ship had been attacked.

Tyrion had been alone for seven days, judging by the notches he'd scratched into the cabin wall. Of course, he might have passed out for a day from the wine, but that couldn't be helped.

Above the scratches, he had written his name with the dagger. He could have written it in the captains log, but if the ship was ever found, a log could disappear. It would be more difficult to hide the large marks on the wall. And Tyrion wanted to show he had been on this ship, to let those who found the ship, to find out how long he had been alone.

Despite his drunken state, he had written the direction of the ship in a morning and at evening, using the angle of the sun, when he could see it, for the skies were becoming greyer and greyer as the days passed. The ship had drifted in the winds and was heading east. All Tyrion could hope for was Braavos, for Ibben would be too cold for his constitution.

Braavos wasn't his ideal port either. He would have preferred Tyrosh, Myr, or Pentos, if he could not stay in the Seven Kingdoms. If he could, Tyrion would have preferred Dorne.

The Wall would have been the safest option to hide from Cersei. Old Bear Mormont said the Night's Watch needed men like Tyrion. If he sailed to Braavos, should he ask to be taken to Eastwatch? Do I want to spend the rest of my life freezing my arse off, eating salt beef and porridge with murderers and thieves? No was his immediate answer.

After a multitude of drunken conversations with himself, which was one of the most intellectual ones in his entire life, he decided he needed to get to Braavos. There he would visit the Sealord of Braavos and beg for his mercy, and hope the old man could offer him some position where Tyrion could put his mind to good use. He could even speak the language.

Tyrion had learned to read High Valyrian as a child at his maester's knee. It wasn't exactly the same as what what was spoken in the Free Cities, but it meant he could get by. The language was more like a dialect in each of the nine cities. All different enough to be on the way to becoming separate tongues. Tyrion knew some Braavosi and a handful of words in Myrish.

That evening, Tyrion tried to get some sleep, with little success, which was not unusual. Sleep was no friend of Tyrion Lannister. He snatched a few hours here and there. Aboard the ship, alone on the Narrow Sea, or was it the Shivering Sea, he had no clue, but it seldom came at all. He attempted to rest by drinking enough wine to pass out for a while. He usually fell into a dreamless state, although he had dreamt of Jaime more than once. It saddened him how he wouldn't see his brother ever again.

Sat in the captains cabin, Tyrion found a fresh skin of wine, hoping to pass out again. He put it to his lips and drank hard, as if his life depended on it. The ship felt as if it were rocking. He stood, and the deck swayed beneath his feet, and when he tried to walk, the room twisted sideways and smashed him hard against the table.

Tyrion screwed his eyes and looked out the window and saw dark grey clouds and rain pelting down. A storm, he realized, or else I am even drunker than I thought. The rocking of the ship turned his stomach, and before he knew it, he retched the wine up. Not bothering to get up, he and lay in his own vomit for a while, wondering if the ship would sink. At least it would make Cersei happy, he thought in his wine addled brain. After that, he passed out.

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When he stirred again, his head felt like to burst. Tyrion opened his eyes and squinted. It was daylight, and the wooden floor looked to be uneven. He could hear the crunching of wood. I more than likely drank myself to death. He thought to himself, for a moment forgetting about the storm.

Tyrion tried to stand, but fell back on his arse as the ship jolted with a bang. He rose again, trying to reach look out of the window, but he couldn't reach. Worse still, the ship was at an angle, and listing, although he couldn't discern which way in his wine addled brain.

The captains chair fell over and slid down to the wall. Tyrion knew he needed to get out, for the ship was sinking. The log book slid off the table with a thud, the quill joining it.

He got on his hands and knees, crawled out the captains cabin, and onto the deck. When he surveyed the scene, the list didn't seem as bad, and from his observation, he stood a chance of survival. He also saw the cause of the sinking ship.

Whilst he was passed out, the Storm Crow had somehow sailed underneath the Titan of Braavos without crashing into it. However, without a crew to slow it down, lower the anchor and stop the ship, it crashed into another ship in the port. Men were scrambling around to offload the goods from the unlucky ship which the Storm Crow had come into contact with.

Tyrion knew if he was seen or caught, he would be sent straight back to Kings Landing and lose his head. If he could somehow escape the ship unseen, he might have a chance of survival. And what with all the surrounding chaos, it appeared he had gone unnoticed.

He scrambled back into the captain's cabin and searched through the drawers, trying to find whatever coin he could. It was with some fortune, there was a decent amount of gold dragons, which he suspected had been collected from the sale of Nights Watch goods.

More proof the ones who attacked the ship weren't pirates, but sellswords hired by Cersei. If they had been pirates, they would have taken the gold.

A cloak was hung on a coat hook, which Tyrion pulled down and wrapped around him. He put what looked to be, about gold dragons into a large pouch. Enough to buy a manse somewhere and set up some trade, if he desired.

There were two wineskins left. He attached them to his belt, and he was ready to leave. Tyrion donned the captain's hat and crawled out of the cabin once more.

The ship listed towards the bow at a greater angle than it had before. Tyrion's only option was to jump from the ship and swim to shore, in the hope he could make it to land unseen. His fortune was that nobody was paying any notice to the Storm Crow, instead they were focused on the other ship.

Tyrion crawled to the bow; now only a few feet above the water line. Tyrion needed to jump and swim before the ship sank any further, to ensure he did not get dragged down with it. Therefore, with some trepidation, Tyrion held his nose with one hand, and the pouch of gold with another and jumped.

The water was freezing cold; it took all of Tyrion's might as a swimmer to reach the surface, the gold weighing him down. However, Tyrion was a decent swimmer and soon made his way to the port. One of the men on the docks pulled him out of the water, not questioning which ship he was on. The man walked away to help unload the other sinking ship.

Tyrion slipped away and made his way through the throng of people dressed in their colourful Braavosi styles. Beards and hair dyed in various colours. Bright clothing all around, which screamed wealth, surrounded him. Yet, there was only one place he had in mind, the manse of the Sealord of Braavos.

The current Sealord of Braavos was called Ferrego Antaryon, a frail and sickly man, who Tyrion had met many times in Kings Landing. Tyrion had gotten along with the man, for they were of similar intellect. However, the same couldn't be said for the rest of the Lannisters.

The Seven Kingdoms were in significant debt to the Iron Bank, despite being run by the Lannister family, who were known for their obscene wealth. His father was rumoured to shit gold, although Tyrion knew the claim to be false. The Sealord of Braavos had tried to negotiate a trade deal to assist with the repayments, which Tyrion had found more than reasonable. He had been master of coin for a short stint; he was in a prime position to judge the deal on its merits. Tyrion's father had declined it, infuriating the Sealord of Braavos, who had returned to Braavos post haste.

Tyrion made his way to the canals, where he came across the small boats, which ferried people around the city like palanquins did in Kings Landing. Tyrion hailed one and climbed aboard the small vessel.

"I'd like you to take me to the manse of the Sealord of Braavos," he said to the oarsman in his best Valyrian. The oarsman looked confused. Tyrion repeated his request in the common tongue and the oarsman nodded.

"You have gold?"

"How much will the ride cost?"

"One Westerosi gold dragon."

Tyrion thought the man was ripping him off, but he had the gold and he needed to meet with Ferrego, so he agreed and they set off for the Purple Harbour.

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Tyrion took in the sights, sounds and smell of Braavos. Like all port cities, there was a faint smell of fish. Compared to Kings Landing, the city appeared to be far wealthier and cleaner. This was especially so as they neared the Purple Harbour. This was the wealthiest part of the city. Close to the Iron Bank and the location of the best inns and whorehouses in all of Braavos.

As he travelled closer to the manse, Tyrion felt nervous, not something he was accustomed to. He was a man on the run and was turning to the Sealord of Braavos to help him escape. Should his family discover the secret, the repercussions could be enormous.

He didn't want to stay with the Sealord, he just wanted help in securing a place of his own, and to find a role for himself. His family need never know he was in Braavos. They could forever think him dead. A pang of sadness twisted in his belly at the thought of not seeing Jaime, Myrcella, and Tommen again. No matter, for however much it hurt, there was no alternative for him.

As the boat passed near the Iron Bank, Tyrion saw a familiar face. Littlefinger was being escorted inside by Tycho Nestoris. He ducked down in the boat to avoid being seen. Tyrion kept one eye on the men, who were chatting, looking relaxed and happy.

I wonder why Littlefinger is here? Tyrion pondered. Lord Baelish should be on his way to Meereen to spy on Daenerys Targaryen. Tyrion filed that piece of information for later, for one day that information would come in useful. Of that, Tyrion had no doubt.

After a journey which seemed to take forever, the boat stopped outside an enormous gate, with guards either side. Tyrion paid the oarsman his one gold dragon, and stood in front of the gate, before knocking on it.

"What do you want, half-man?" the guard on the left asked.

"I wish to see the Sealord of Braavos," Tyrion replied.

The guards looked at one another and laughed. "The Sealord of Braavos doesn't talk to filth like you," the guard on the right smirked.

Tyrion straightened his back. "My name is Lord Tyrion Lannister, former master of coin to King Joffrey. I have an urgent matter I wish to discuss with him."

"Tyrion Lannister you say?" the first guard asked. "Prove it!"

Tyrion rolled his eyes. This was a stupid game, but he might as well play. "How would you like me to prove it?"

The guards looked at one another in confusion. The first one walked over to the other, and they whispered to one another. In all likelihood, establishing his identity. There was nothing Tyrion could say that would prove his identity. He was too well known for them to ask a stupid question, which anyone could understand. Only an idiot would ask him something obvious. He hoped the guards were as idiotic as they looked.

The guard on the left returned to his post. "What are the names of your parents?" he asked.

Tyrion couldn't believe his luck. They were idiots, after all. "My mother was Lady Joanna Lannister and my father is Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock," he replied.

"And what did your mother look like?" the second guard asked.

Tyrion sighed at the stupid question. "I never met my mother as she died birthing me," he said with a hint of guilt and a sudden desire for her to be with him in this moment. Tyrion knew, with absolute certainty he would not be in this situation if she had survived. "She had golden hair and green eyes," he added.

The guards nodded at one another and opened the gates, where he saw two more guards awaiting him.

"With me," one of the guards said, as Tyrion followed them into the gardens of the manse.

Calling it a manse was an insult of the highest order, for this was a grand palace, which was less obvious from the outward appearance. The Sealord's Palace, was a grand structure adorned with domes and towers, which dominated the landscape.

A golden thunderbolt spun on a spire atop the palace, gleaming in the sunlight. Tyrion had heard tales of the Sealord's menagerie housed within its walls, a collection as exotic as it was extensive. Nearby, water dancers clashed in graceful duels at the Moon Pool, their movements reflected in the tranquil waters surrounding the sprawling edifice.

Tyrion followed the guards up the long path to the palace, where he was met by two more guards outside the main entrance. The first guard approached them to introduce him.

"You are Tyrion Lannister?" one of the entrance guards asked.

"I am," Tyrion replied.

"Before you are allowed inside, you must be searched for any weapon," the guard said.

Tyrion had expected as much. He held out his arms while the guards searched him for weapons, but found none. They nodded to the guards who had escorted him through the gardens, and they left him to return to their posts.

Once the guards had completed their search, they escorted him into the opulent entrance, with a marble floor and white alabaster columns. Statues and carvings adorned the walls, and colourful rugs were spread across the floor. For someone who had lived in the riches of Casterly Rock, Tyrion had to admit he was impressed.

A servant approached. The man was bald, with a green beard. He wore turquoise robes and a pleasant smile. He bowed his head at Tyrion.

"Lord Tyrion?" he asked, his common tongue was accented, like the guards before him.

"I am," Tyrion replied, then frowned, wondering how they knew who he was. He had only been in Braavos an hour or so. "How did you know I was here?"

"Word travels fast, Lord Tyrion. Much faster than your boat took to get here," he smirked.

Tyrion understood what the man meant. "He took me the longest route to allow you time to be alerted to my presence," the servant nodded. "And how did you know who I was?"

"It is common knowledge Tyrion Lannister was sent to Eastwatch. The Storm Crow crashes into the harbour and a dwarf appears claiming to be Tyrion Lannister."

Tyrion's heart sank. Would the Sealord of Braavos send him back to Kings Landing? He knew Braavos wouldn't want to have anything to do with the politics of Westeros. Whatever the outcome, none of this was his own fault, he just needed to plead his case. However, the next words from the servant caused him concern.

"His lordship is in dispose. He will be able to meet with you in a couple of hours. In the meantime, I will escort you to your chambers. A bath has already been drawn for you. I'm afraid we cannot help regarding your attire. Even the Sealord of Braavos is unable to produce clothes without warning. But the measurements will be taken whilst you are bathing. In the meantime, we will clean what you have to the best of our abilities."

Tyrion was astounded and wary. He didn't know whether he would be kept a prisoner or a guest. It was too late to escape. His only choice was to follow the man.

Once they reached his chambers, Tyrion was impressed. Like the rest of the house, it was white with alabaster columns, sculptures and rugs. A large hearth was lit, warming the room, which was fortunate, as Braavos wasn't a warm city. In fact, it seemed to have a permanent mist hanging above it.

The bed stood at the far end of the room. It was enormous and looked most comfortable. Tyrion's weary body ached to lie down and sleep on it.

"His lordship will be able to see you in the morning. Food and wine will be sent to your room where you can rest for the night. I assume your journey was exhausting. We wouldn't want you to catch a cold. A fresh tunic and dressing robe will be provided. One from his lordship's children. It should be sufficient for tonight."

Tyrion smiled. No matter what they were going to do with him, at least he would be clean, warm, well fed and comfortable. Other than a whore, there was nothing more he could ask for. Other than something to read.

"Do you have any books I can read?" Tyrion asked.

"Any particular subject?" the servant asked.

Tyrion thought for a moment. Considering Littlefinger was in Braavos, it might be an idea to research the very creatures he claimed to have seen. "Dragons," he replied.

A smile made its way to the mouth of the servant. "I'm sure we can find something of interest for you, Lord Tyrion," the man bowed his head once more and left the room, closing the door behind him.