(Daenerys POV)
"Well, this does pose a problem, doesn't it?" Aegon says.
"Why would there be a problem?" Rhaenys asks.
"Drogon has bonded with Daenerys, so he's out of the question. But the other two just look so... ugly."
"Ugly? Don't listen to him, Rhaegal and Viserion. You are a lovely dragon. I'm sure you'll outgrow the others in time," Rhaenys tells them.
"I don't see that happening. You delude yourself again, sister."
I smile sadly, hearing them talk like that. I wish I will never again be able to speak with Viserys like that. Never again. It pains me to know what came of him. I take a deep breath and steel my nerves, just like Merala taught me. I will succeed, I have to, for the survival of our House.
"So what are we to do now?" Rhaenys asks.
"We must find a way to get to Westeros. That's the reason for this test, is it not?" Aegon says.
"It is. But I believe there is more to this 'test' as Merala put it, than meets the eye," I say, thinking about her words.
'The time has come. You have been trained, and all the tools have been given to you. Now you must show us what you can do with it. Go to Pentos, prove that it was not in vain.'
"She was rather vague, as per usual, how I hate vagueness. Double meanings and the flowery words are just tiring."
"Just because you never put any effort in learning how to use them," Rhaenys says.
"Unlike you. I suppose you'll keep up with Mother's side of the family," Aegon retorts.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Look at how you're dressed, sister. You look like a common wh-"
*SLAP*
"Watch it, brother. I have a few daggers up my sleeve, thirsting for blood."
"Urgh, how I miss Viserys."
"Let us not dwell on the past. We have used the opportunities presented to us and have made the best of them. We have three dragons and a large number of Dothraki soldiers. We have not done as badly as we should have, considering our starting position," I interrupt them.
"I suppose you could say that. But a lot have left after Viserys died. It was a sign of weakness after all," Aegon says.
"What? To die? He fought and killed Khal Drogo; he was meant to be wounded. He fought admirably, and he won. It was the witch's fault that he was dead!" I growl.
"I know, Dany, I know. I'm not saying that I agree with their sentiment, but in the eyes of the Dothraki, it was still a sign of weakness. Our numbers have been severely cut. We have approximately 10,000 to 12,000. That's why we have to either increase this number or find a place to settle for a while. The dragons are not our strength; they are a weakness if anything."
Aegon is right. Drogon and his brothers are still so small. If word gets out, they will be hunted. And word has gotten out. So we should find a place to stay for now.
"Then where would we stay? Quarth?" Rhaenys suggests.
"And get through the Red Waste? We would lose more Dothraki if we did that. I don't suggest we do that," Aegon says.
"Then what do you suggest, Aegon?" I ask.
"Astapor. That's the place we should head first."
"Slaver's Bay? You can't be serious?" Rhaenys throws her hands in the air.
"Why not? It's not like we're strangers to slaves. And since Mother's influence is mostly Yunkai, I see no reason to approach Astapor. Our changes and standing would rise drastically if we acquired Unsullied."
"Huh, you're right, Aegon. I haven't thought about the Unsullied. I agree, it would make sense and we could also free them from their torment," I say.
"Of course you would agree with him," Rhaenys sighs.
I look at Aegon and see him smile at me. I smile as well.
"Urgh, get a room, you two. Just because we're part dornish, I don't want to see it."
"You'll get into it as well, sister. When you meet the right man, with enough brain to warrant his brawn, you'll spread your le-"
"Alright! I think that's enough. Getting back on our problem?" I stop them from continuing this discussion.
"I think Astapor is a good idea. The only problem would be how to pay for it. We have no money. And that's all that counts," Rhaenys says.
"You're right. I also don't want to use the Dothraki to pillage and rape more villages," I mention.
"Heh, leave it to me, I have an idea," Aegon says with a mischievous smile.
"What do you have planned?" Rhaenys asks.
"Hehehe."
.
.
A tournament is held to celebrate King Joffrey Baratheon's nameday on the walls of the Red Keep. After a rather 'inconvenient' situation concerning Ser Dontos Hollard, Tyrion Lannister arrives from the Trident, accompanied by Bronn, Lannister soldiers, and members of the hill tribes. He smiles, seeing his nephew and the others in attendance.
"Beloved nephew, we looked for you on the battlefield. You were nowhere to be found," he says, walking towards them.
"I've been here... ruling the kingdoms."
"And what a fine job you've done," Tyrion says and looks at Myrcella. "Look at you. More beautiful than ever. And you, you're going to be bigger than the Hound. But much better looking."
Tyrion looks at the Hound, who doesn't laugh at all.
"This one doesn't like me," he says.
"Can't imagine why," the sellsword Bronn says.
"We heard you were dead," Joffrey says.
"I'm glad you're not dead," Myrcella says with a kind smile.
"Me too, dear. Death is so boring. Especially now with so much excitement in the world."
Tyrion then looks at Sansa Stark, who sits next to Joffrey.
"My Lady, I'm so sorry for your loss," he says.
"Her loss? Her father was a confessed traitor," Joffrey snaps.
"But still her father. Surely, having so recently lost your own father, you can sympathise."
Hearing his words, Joffrey looks at Sansa, interested to hear what she has to say. She looks at him and then turns to Tyrion.
"My father was a traitor. My mother and brother are traitors, too. I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey," she says.
"Of course you are," Tyrion says, smiling knowingly. "Well, enjoy your name day. I wish I could stay and celebrate, Your Grace, but there is work to be done."
"What work? Why are you here?"
Tyrion makes his way to the Small Council Chambers, where the current Small Council are meeting under the directive of Cersei Lannister, Queen Regent. Grand Maester Pycelle, Master of Whisperers, Varys and the new Lord Commander of the City Watch, Janos Slynt, were all sitting around the table and looking at Tyrion as he made his way into the room, whistling as he did so.
"Don't get up," Tyrion says and approaches his sister. "More ravishing than ever, big sister."
Tyrion places a small kiss on her cheek, knowing well that she despises him. But he has been given a rare opportunity in which he holds their father's favour.
"Forgive the interruption. Carry on."
"What are you doing here?" Cersei asks.
"Ah, it's been a remarkable journey. I pissed off the edge of the wall, slept in a sky cell, I fought with the hill tribes... so many adventures, so much to be thankful for," Tyrion says as he fills a glass with some wine.
"What are you doing here? This is the Small Council," Cersei says again.
"Yes, well, I do believe the Hand of the King is welcome at all Small Council meetings."
"Father is Hand of the King."
"Yes, but, in his absence..." Tyrion says and takes out a letter, which he hands to Varys.
Varys opens it and starts to read.
"Your father has named Lord Tyrion to serve in his stead while he fights-"
"OUT! All of you!" Cersei shouts.
Tyrion smiles, seeing her reaction. This is new to him, to see his sister like this and knowing there is nothing she can do about it. He is finally at the other end of the shame stick.
"I would like to know how you tricked Father into this?" Cersei says as the other members of the Small Council leave the room.
"If I were capable of tricking Father, I'd be emperor of the world by now. You brought this on yourself," Tyrion says, also getting serious.
"I've done nothing," Cersei says.
"Quite right, you did nothing when your son called for Ned Stark's head. Now the entire North has risen up against us."
"I tried to stop it."
"Did you? You failed. That bit of theatre will haunt our family for generations," Tyrion says.
"Robb Stark is a child," Cersei smiles.
"Who's won every battle he's fought! Do you understand we're losing the war?"
"What do you know about warfare?" Cersei asks.
"Nothing. But I know people. And I know that our enemies hate each other almost as much as they hate us. And I also know that our Father thought it wise to halt his war efforts for the moment, and travel to Baelish Keep."
"What could he want there?"
"I think it's pretty obvious. The Small Council is too small for its own good. And it needs someone to fill it further. Someone with the skills and merchandising acumen like the Lord Baelish."
Cersei doesn't answer for a second.
"Joffrey is king."
"Joffrey is king," Tyrion agrees.
"You are here to advise him."
"Only here to advise him. And if the king listens to what I say, the king might just get his uncle Jaime back."
"How?"
"You love your children, it's your one redeeming quality. That and your cheekbones. The Starks love their children as well, and we have two of them," Tyrion says.
"One," Cersei corrects.
"One?"
"Arya, the little animal, disappeared."
"Disappeared? What? In a puff of smoke? We had three Starks to trade. You chopped one's head off and let another escape. Father will be furious. Let's hope that Lord Baelish can do something about this," Tyrion smiles.
"Why would he be able to do anything about it?" Cersei asks.
"The most powerful and successful merchant in all the 7 Kingdoms ought to have eyes and ears in every city and outside of it. If Varys doesn't know, he might. One can hope."
.
Meanwhile, Petyr leads Tywin and his guards through the streets of Baelish Keep. They start making their way to the private part of the Harbour, containing most of Petyr's ships. He holds the most advanced, but still realistically possible, ships in the entire world. It is something he enjoys doing in his free time, creating new things, such as objects, technology, and vehicles. They board the large ship, which is already being loaded with items he may or may not need.
"Ah, Captain Read, what a lovely surprise to see you here. Is Jones not here?" Petyr asks, seeing the female Captain.
"Lord Baelish, welcome. Captain Jones was needed elsewhere. I would gladly take you wherever you need to go, if that's alright with you," she says.
"That's perfectly fine. I'm glad you're here. Is everything ready? Do you know what we're doing?"
"I do know, everything is ready, my Lord."
"Good. Then let us set off. Lord Tywin wishes to return to the battlefield."
"At once."
The large ship leaves the Harbour and starts to make its way down south, towards the Trident. The first order of business is to get Lord Tywin back to where he came from and have him reach Harrenhal, about the same time as he was supposed to. The sea is merciful, and they make good time. During the journey, Tywin and Petyr spend some time together.
"Say, my Lord, what are you going to do about the good Tyrells? They are the realm's guard, and if they have declared for Renly Baratheon, as hilarious as it is, King's Landing and the rest of the seven kingdoms may need food soon," Petyr says.
"The Tyrells have rebelled and will be dealt with accordingly. Do you have anything planned, Lord Baelish?" Tywin asks.
"Well, the Reach might pride itself in having 100'000 men to throw into the war, but they are not that well trained, and they also don't have natural borders to help them. The easiest way might be to simply steal the wheat and crops from their lands."
"And reposition men where I need them against Robb Stark? Not likely."
"So you will allow Renly and Stannis to fight each other while you strengthen your position in between?"
"You are Master of Coin, Lord Baelish and not my military advisor. I will not discuss my plans with you," Tywin says, ending the discussion.
"Haha, I agree. Well, it looks as though we're here."
The ship finally arrives at the Trident, and two small boats are let into the water for Tywin to use and get to shore.
"Thank you for the ride, Lord Baelish."
"Good luck, Lord Tywin."
They watch Tywin Lannister and his soldiers row back to shore. It is time for him to get to King's Landing. Time for him to cause some headaches. Arla appears beside him.
"What now?"
"Now, we head for the capital. I'm sure you'll hate it."
"Why? More backstabbing, lying and filth?" she asks.
"More filth than you can imagine. So much so that you will smell it before we arrive there in person."
"Petyr, this isn't funny. I hate it here. Can't we go back?"
"We will, Arla. This is a way for us to relax and finally spend some time together. There is not even a fraction of the amount of things going on here compared to the galaxy before. Also, you can use your Chi to block your sense of smell. Your control over your body should be there already."
*Sigh*
"Alright."