The great pyramid of Meereen baked under the afternoon sun. Heat shimmered off the stone floors of the queen's audience chamber. Tyrion Lannister stood before the Dragon Queen with his back straight and his chin lifted, every inch the lord he once was.
"Standing before you is Daenerys Stormborn," he began, voice clear and steady, "the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of Dragonstone, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Queen of Meereen, Liberator of Astapor, Breaker of Chains in Yunkai…" He let the long list of titles hang in the air before finishing. "And I, Tyrion Lannister, offer you my sword and my counsel. Casterly Rock is held by a bastard now. Once you sit the Iron Throne, I will help you take it back for House Lannister. Until then, I swear my full loyalty. After I reclaim my home, the Lannisters will never betray you again."
He dropped to one knee in a perfect, graceful bow.
Daenerys studied him for a long moment. Her violet eyes were sharp, but there was something young in them still. "I believe you are a Lannister," she said at last. "My brother Viserys once told me stories…"
She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to. The confirmation was there in her voice.
Tyrion rose slowly. He could feel her weighing him, measuring his worth. She was right to be careful. Without the Stark bastard holding the line, King's Landing might already be hers. That thought alone made her curious about this Jon Snow. Tyrion had counted on that curiosity.
He kept his face open, almost friendly. "If it pleases you, Your Grace, I could tell you more about him over dinner."
Daenerys tilted her head. For a heartbeat she looked like any girl her age being offered a good story. Then the queen returned. "Very well. You will dine with me. And you will speak of this Jon Snow."
Tyrion bowed again, hiding his satisfaction. "It would be my honor, Your Grace."
Dining with the Dragon Queen on their very first meeting was no small victory. Tyrion knew it. So did everyone in the room.
Daenerys turned to her oldest advisor. "Ser Barristan, you will join us as well."
The old knight bowed. "Of course, Your Grace."
Barristan had brought someone with him. A tall, broad-shouldered man with streaks of blue in his hair and the weary eyes of someone who had seen too much war. Jon Connington. Former Hand of the King. The man who had once defeated Robert Baratheon in battle.
Daenerys's face lit up when she learned who he was. Another strong piece on her board. With men like this beside her, holding Slaver's Bay would be simple. Taking Westeros might even be possible.
She called for wine. Her handmaid, Becky, stepped forward with a pitcher. The girl was young, full-figured, and clearly not used to hiding her thoughts. When she poured for Connington, her eyes lingered on the man's broad chest and the quiet strength in his posture. She liked what she saw. The noble bearing mixed with that rough, traveled look. Tyrion noticed. He noticed everything.
They ate simply. Roasted meat, flatbread, olives, and good wine from the city's cellars. Once the first cups were drained, Tyrion began to speak.
He told them of the Battle of King's Landing. Not the broad strokes everyone already knew, but the small, brutal details only someone who had lived through it could give. How the defenders had fought like cornered animals. How the bastard Snow had turned the city into a trap. How close they had come to holding the Red Keep against impossible odds.
Connington listened in silence. He had heard rumors, but hearing it from Tyrion's mouth made it real. The man's tactics had been ruthless and brilliant. Almost beautiful in their cruelty.
Daenerys listened too. But as the story unfolded, something changed in her face. The hard lines of the queen softened. For a little while she looked like a girl of fifteen or sixteen again, wide-eyed at a tale of war and glory. Tyrion watched her carefully. She had been sold, married, widowed, lost a child, claimed three dragons, and taken cities. Yet right now, in this moment, she simply looked… young. Almost sweet.
It made something twist in his chest. Pity, maybe. Or the ghost of it.
Missandei spoke first when the story paused. "This Jon Snow sounds remarkable."
Barristan nodded, his old soldier's face grim with respect. "On the field, he may already be better than either of us, my lord. Some of the things he's done… I couldn't have managed them."
Connington agreed without hesitation. "His methods are… unorthodox. Bold. The kind of thinking that wins wars or gets men killed trying."
Tyrion let the praise sit for a moment before he spoke again. "Your Grace, both Snow and his brother Robb have real military talent. And Jon is fiercely loyal to Stannis. If you return to Westeros and take the throne, he will be one of the most dangerous men standing against you."
He said it gently, like a friend offering honest counsel. Inside, he was already imagining dragonfire raining down on the North. If Daenerys destroyed Jon Snow, Casterly Rock could fall back into Lannister hands. That was the real game.
Daenerys was quiet for a long moment. Then she smiled, small and knowing. "He is strong, yes. But his foundation is weak. Just like mine was in Slaver's Bay." She glanced toward the distant roars of her dragons. "His armies are his dragons. Remove the ground beneath him and he has nothing left."
She leaned back in her chair. "My brother always said the same thing. The moment House Targaryen returns to Westeros, the Tyrells and Martells will raise our banners. Why would the Reach keep supporting Snow once I arrive? They won't."
Tyrion said nothing. He simply watched her think.
Daenerys set her cup down. "We stabilize Slaver's Bay first. I can't sail for Westeros with three dragons and a city ready to burn behind me. Not yet."
She looked at each of them in turn. The decision was made.
Tyrion raised his cup in a small salute, hiding the calculations already spinning behind his eyes.