He sat in his rooms, the sound of bustle not far beneath. They were preparing for their departure, and Tyrion Lannister was sitting by a window, drinking wine.

He drank often and long.

There were many reasons for this, but mostly it was because he had difficulty coping with his lot in life. He had been through very much. But then, so had most.

He took a long draught of wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. There were so many things that he had wanted to say…

I'm not the person you want to wear this.

I'm not to be trusted.

Please find someone else.

But he couldn't speak…so he knelt instead.

He sighed.

Daenerys Targaryen had named him her Hand. And he had accepted it.

He heard a knock and he sighed. "Come in."

"Am I interrupting?" Varys' voice came from the entrance.

"No."

And he heard him approach. "Aren't you preparing for the journey?" he sat across from him and then sat back, a smile on his face.

"Of course I am," and Tyrion took another sip, then looked at him. "What are you doing, Varys? Scampering about the place, hm? Nothing better to do with your miserable self," and he poured more.

"I'm not the one drinking."

"Well, perhaps you should be."

"Is this how the Hand of the Queen prepares himself?"

"It's how this Hand does," he downed the lot. "What purpose do you have here?"

Varys sighed and looked out of the window. "I am checking on how you were doing, since I haven't seen you, and our Queen had named you the Hand," he looked back at Tyrion. "I rather expected to see you in better spirits."

"Did you?" he played with his cup. "Can't claim to be sorry I've disappointed you."

"You prefer misery?"

"I prefer solitude, if you don't mind," and he poured more.

"But I do. Tyrion…Her Grace expects you to be…"

"I know what she expects," he interrupted. "And what good would I be now, while she orders maids to pack her things? I'm an advisor, not a chamber maid."

Varys considered him for a moment. "Daario has left the Pyramid."

"Has he?" he appeared unconcerned.

"Yes. And he seemed rather…upset."

"Was he."

"Tell me…does Her Grace care for Daario?"

Tyrion looked at him. "How should I know?"

"I expect you of all people would know."

"Varys, your riddles are annoying, not clever. Please speak plainly."

"Very well. Her Grace trusts you above all else. Above everyone. You have her ear…why would she give up on someone she claims to love?"

Tyrion swallowed. "I told her that bringing a lover to Westeros might prove to be a liability. That she should make an advantageous marriage."

"Is that all?"

"Yes of course that's all. What else would there be?" he downed the wine. "Now, if there's nothing else…"

"Will you seek Jaime out?" he stood.

"I don't know," and he looked out of the window.

…he heard Varys leave and he closed his eyes.

Everyone wanted him dead. Well, everyone in Westeros. Perhaps he should be the one staying in Meereen. Daario can marry Daenerys, Varys can be the Hand…

Tyrion opened his eyes. That would not solve anything…not that anything really needed to be solved. There was no puzzle.

There was only an inconvenient truth.

He was a dwarf.

The ships were nearly done. It had been a month since Tyrion had been named Hand. A month since Daario had left Daenerys and not returned. They would all be leaving within a few weeks' time.

The actual departure had been postponed twice already, and Daenerys was getting anxious. She strode through the halls, heading for the meeting room.

In she went, and looked around at the company. "Well. It seems that we are nearly there," and she sat.

"Pardon me, Your Grace. But we are very much still in Meereen," observed Tyrion.

She looked at him…such insolence from her Hand! But, she found him to be endlessly amusing, so she said nothing, yet offered a small smile. "I rather meant…we are nearly there in terms of the ships' readiness."

"Of course you did," replied Tyrion. "But there is still much in terms of…"

"I am aware. Which is why we are here. I think it's time for an entrance plan."

"Excellent," said the Hand. "I have drawn these up with that in mind," and he handed round a few pieces of parchment. He watched as the others looked at his plans, and then poured some wine.

"So the stores of wildfyre are all over King's Landing?" observed Daenerys.

"That's right," he sipped. "Though the Sept was very recently destroyed…I doubt that Cersei had used all of it."

"And winter is coming," she said in a low tone.

"My Queen, winter is there. It's been fast on autumn's heels for some time."

She shook her head and looked at Missandei. "What about the seamstresses? Are they nearly done?"

"They are unaccustomed to making such clothing, Khaleesi. But they are making way…should be done within a fortnight."

"A fortnight," she repeated. "And you, Varys. Are the generals prepared?"

"As prepared as they can ever be without the climate they are used to."

Daenerys closed her eyes. She sat back…perhaps she should take Tyrion's advice and stay put in Meereen. Here she already had subjects who trusted her. "Thank you. I'd ask that you all leave, save my Hand," she opened her eyes and looked at Tyrion.

…who was looking very steadily at her.

They all left. Tyrion watched them, then poured more wine. He held the carafe up to offer some to the Queen.

She nodded and rose, then walked closer and sat next to him. "I fear that I am not as prepared as I once believed myself to be."

"You're saying this now?" was his retort, etched with disbelief.

"I'm saying this now, yes," she looked at him, took a cup of wine and sat back, sipping. "Perhaps sitting on the Iron Throne isn't my destiny. Perhaps you were right all along."

"I am, usually. But just because it's right, doesn't mean it's what ought to be done. Plenty of people do the decidedly not right thing. And still they do it, and it turns out fine."

"Such as what?" she smiled.

"Well, murdering my father for one."

Daenerys blanched a bit. "I cannot imagine…"

"Oh, it's horrible. And everything else you'd think it to be. But…I think that the world is a better place without Tywin. Well," he paused. "My world is, anyway."

She laughed.

And he smiled, then swallowed. "Daenerys…you must believe that you can do this. You have the passion for it. I am merely the logic," and he sipped.

"But if it's illogical…"

"Fuck what's illogical. Follow your heart."

She looked away. "I have. Time and again."

"And?"

"And sometimes it's right, and sometimes it's wrong."

"Much like a mind," he sipped. "If you want an easy answer, there isn't one. If you want logic, I've given it to you, both in terms of invading King's Landing and staying in Meereen. No one can tell you what to do now. But if you wish to stay here," he leaned forward. "Then you had best say so now."

She swallowed then looked at him. He was eyeing her very deliberately. "There is a reason that pin is on your chest."

"Yes," he sat back. "You put it there."

"I did. One of the few things I can say I did with sound logic and reason," she smiled. "I do not rule with my head, Tyrion. I'm afraid that will get me into trouble."

"It will," he drank. "But you have two weeks. Best make the most of it."

"How?"

"Start listening to your heart again."