𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 || 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑾𝒐𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝑪𝒓𝒚 𝑶𝒖𝒕

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐈: 𝐕𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲

CHAPTER XXII

____________________

" Vainglory "
301 After Conquest

꧁ Tyrion ꧂

Tyrion had barely risen his voice above a moderate tone when they took him away, those slave soldiers. They are not slaves, he had reminded himself. Not anymore. Regardless, he had watched then, drunk but clear-ish of mind, as they took away the Prodigal Son. The Golden Lion, the Lion of Lannister, Kingslayer, Tyrion watched them take him down away to the dungeons below, and Jaime said not a word, all the while he had stood still, stood silent, his words coming out broken and slurred and unheard and unheeded. Tyrion stood in the wake of the dragon, and he prepared himself for her wrath.

But it never came.

It seemed, surprisingly enough, Daenerys Targaryen had not taken to having his head removed from his shoulders, nor the golden head of his brother, as from what he was able to gather as he was not allowed visitation, even supervised, was that Jaime was still alive, remained now to his cell he himself had taken him from to fight. The cell with the dragons just down the hall... But the dragons, the three of them, were set loose. When the great crimson and ebony beast came from the sky like a great shadow, fire had reined supreme. And with awe and terror, the people of Meereen had since that day been privy now to three such terrors in the sky above.

Tyrion, however, felt conflicted.

Conflicted was he because of the delay in both their wrath and hers. Afraid of her wrath, Tyrion had felt the need to leave the current festivity in the great hall to drink alone rather than in the company of those who wanted his tongue, and not in anyway good. So finding himself alone in his rooms and cups and thoughts, Tyrion smiled.

Kill me, he drunkenly thought then, a curt chuckle escaping his lips. Go on then. Give the order to that Grey Worm, to your Bold Knight, to your dragons. What was it? That word, that word, what was that—Dracar—

Knock, Knock, Knock..

Blinking, Tyrion coughed for a second as even whilst believing he was unafraid, the knocks that came to his door in the dead of the night sent a shiver up his spine.

"Uh..erm.."

He cleared his throat, his mouth suddenly dry when before it was slicked with wicked wine.

"Enter.."

Without a moment's hesitation, the door was opened, and raising his eyes to the level a man would have stood, Tyrion found only air. He frowned, then lowered his gaze closer to the ground to see a child standing at his door.

"Uh.."

He shook his head, confused.

"Hello..?"

The girl, perhaps only ten years old, stood silently in his doorway, her clothes tattered, showing she was not of the Great Pyramid's many staff under the Queen, as she would have raised them from rags to robes. The girl looked to be from the streets far, far below, covered in the grime of the everyday life of the low. Heh, he almost smirked to himself. Life of the low..