A Feast For Dragons

Tyrion

Tyrion Lannister had never been one of the faith. Sure, he believed there was something out there, the Seven perhaps, or the Old Gods with their disturbing faces in the trees, but Tyrion had always found it easier to believe things he could see and touch. And that is why he believed in Daenerys Targaryen.

He had heard stories about her while in the Small Council but none of them did her any justice. They called her a child, a pretender, a threat to the rightful rule of the Baratheon's-or better yet, the Lannister's. They called her whore and all sorts of vile names he dared not repeat in fear of getting slapped by Jorah and daggered by Daario, but she was none of these things. Daenerys Targaryen was not a child, though she was young; she was not a pretender, though she was a Queen. The only thing they got right was that she was indeed a threat to the one who sat on the Iron Throne.

She had the rightful rule. She was the the last Targaryen-She was the Mother of Dragons, and now had three of them on her beck and call. Three dragons, once thought long dead, bowed to her as their mother. Tyrion still couldn't quite wrap his head around it. How had such a young girl, who had been sold to the Dorthraki horselords, become such a powerful and respected Queen?

Even after watching her soar through the skies on the back of Drogon, Tyrion still couldn't quite believe it. Jorah had once said that he hadn't believed in her either until he saw her walk through fire and not get burned, now his loyalty for her burns brighter than those flames. Tyrion didn't understand him then, but now he did. Seeing Daenerys fly on a dragon was both awe inspiring and terrifying, because until then, the dragons had been nothing but talk--nothing but whispers and hushed words.

He believed in Daenerys; believed that if anyone was suitable for the Iron Throne, it was her.

Still, he wasn't quite sure how they had managed to escape the stadium all in one piece. Drogon had created an excellent distraction, and had burnt half of the Sons of the Harpy to ciders. Everything after Deanery's escape was a blur.

"We've no idea where she's gone! We've heard no word from her." Jorah was pacing across the room-had been pacing for the pass hour and a half. Daario Naharis stood in the back of the room, his hands wrapped tightly around his blade, while Missandei sat beside the Imp, her hands curled on her lap in an attempt to stop them from trembling.

"We do know where she's gone, or are you that daft?" Tyrion said as he took a sip of wine. It felt bitter in his mouth, so his set the cup aside. Perhaps it was best if he were to remain sober for a little while.

"What are you going on about, dwarf?" Jorah asked as he paused in his pace, looking at Tyrion.

"Oh, thank the gods, you've stopped pacing. I was almost afraid you were going to wear a hole in the floor. Where would we be then? With you half dangling through the floor and our gracious host with a hole in their ceiling." Tyrion pushed himself up and stretched his arms over his head for a moment, having been in the same position for too long. "She's gone to Westeros, where else?"

"Westeros? Why would she-"

"In truth, I don't think it was her idea. She did say that when they were big enough she would ride them across the Narrow Sea." Tyrion stood and started wobbling towards the window. They were in hiding, near the docks. The Queen still had supporters, and it was two of those supporters that had taken her advisers in to protect them from the remaining assassins. "How long till we can acquire a ship to Westeros?"

"I could get one for us tonight. We'll have to slip in under the shroud of darkness, though." Daario said as he slid his blade back into his sheath.

"Ah, yes. I'm sure no one will notice a petit girl walking with a dwarf, a sellsword and a former Westerosi knight that just fought in The Games." Tyrion sighed deeply. "But it is our best option. We'll sail to Dorne. It's our safest route."

"What if you're wrong, Tyrion?" Jorah said, a deep frown on his lips. "What if she isn't there?"

"Well, she isn't here, now is she? Do you have any other bright ideas, oh Ser Jorah Mormont?" Tyrion snapped, turning his mismatched eyes on his former traveling companion.

"We'll sail to Dorne then."