Winter has come and gone, yet Tyrion could still feel the chiliness in the air amid the break of dawn. The northern wind did not help, gushing over the waters of the Narrow Sea. The largest ship he had ever seen made for only half of the new galleys of the Six Kingdoms. Even with the sails set to luff and at half mast, the galleys were clenching the ropes that were keeping them at bay against the troubling waters. People all around were pushing heavy wooden boxes filled with food, wine, armor, spears... over the wide bridges that connected the vessels with the harbor. The freshly built scorpions came next. Larger than their predecessors. With the help of the Hand of the King, a new system was developed, allowing a second spear to be fired within seconds of the first. Even though he would never admit it, it left Tyrion feeling proud.
When the sun was out and the galleys boarded, Tyrion waved to one of the captains standing on the deck of his ship, who set the sails all the way up and tightened them against the wind, steering the bow east. The crashing of the powerful wind-driven waves against the hull did not even slightly tilt the now, heavily loaded galleys.
On his way to the Red Keep, going up the stairs where he threw the pin that Daenerys once clipped on his chest, his mind went back to that day. Those stairs were supposed to be where everything would end for him. Why didn’t she end me right on this spot? Would have made for one great ending of that lovely speech. How did he let her slip out of his hands like that? He believed in her with all his heart. And yet, you conspired behind my back, her voice echoed amidst his thoughts. There was a time when he would have done everything to see the world after she was done conquering it, everything to make that happen. Where was that girl that named him Hand? How did she go from mhysa to the greatest threat to the people so swiftly? How did he miss it? She was right in front of him, breaking, yet he missed it. He was supposed to keep her worst impulses in check, so where was he? It’s all your fault. A voice would take over his thoughts. No, there was nothing I could do. Another one would retaliate, battling for hours. There were nights when the guilt was keeping him up, it was not his fault, she was too powerful, no one can control a dragon... right?
He shook those thoughts out of his head as he neared the entrance of the throne room. The constant battling she caused in his mind drained all his strength, leaving him feeling tired, and he could not afford that now. The King awaited him, sitting on the new throne. In front of him, were two men that Tyrion took for informers. As he walked, his footsteps would tap against the glistening marbled surface, breaking the silence. As soon as he came close enough, he noticed the disappointment in his King’s eyes.
“What’s the matter?” he asked worried.
“Drogon…” The King dismissed his informers and focused his attention to the Hand and continued “Half of Vaes Dothrak is gone, burned down and the other half is preparing to hunt Drogon down. Send a raven to our ships, inform them that they may run into dothraki screamers hunting the same target.”
It’s all your fault. Tyrion nodded, ignoring his internal accuser and approached the throne closer. “If I may suggest… perhaps there is another way to stop Drogon.” Bran met his eyes waiting for him to continue. “But first you have to go back and see if anyone has ever tried...”
“No one has tried… well no one before me.” The King interrupted him. “It felt like nothing before, something was pulling me towards him and yet, I could not reach him, consuming my strength as if he was the one trying to take over me instead.” His gaze stagnated, as if the spot he was staring at would ease all his worries. “Drogon is too powerful to control.” The King lowered his eyes over his crippled legs.
Tyrion recognized the look on his face. Fear. “Then, you mustn’t attempt this again, we cannot risk it. You are the King now, your Grace.”
Bran moved his eyes over the imp’s reflection on the glistening floor. “A King who cannot even help his own sister or his people.”
“Perhaps not as a King, but I may know a way Bran the Broken could help his sister.”
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