Chapter 68 — Bottoms Up
Though Stannis called himself the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, Tyrion had never acknowledged him.
After all, Tommen was still the king in name—
and more importantly, Tyrion was about to enter the service of Queen Daenerys.
"I invited you along, didn't I?" Tyrion said with a faint smile. "Come to my carriage. We can talk while we travel."
Shireen had been hoping for exactly that.
Tyrion Lannister wasn't just anyone—he had once served as Hand of the King. If she could learn even a little from him, it would be worth it.
"Wait a moment!" Shireen said quickly.
She darted back into her carriage and stuffed a large bundle full of the food Drogon had brought her the night before.
---
The two carriages Illyrio Mopatis had provided were absurdly spacious and luxurious.
Inside Tyrion's carriage, three people and one dragon sat facing one another—and it still didn't feel cramped.
The interior was richly decorated. A small table stood in the center, a wine cabinet along the side. The whole carriage carried a faint, elegant fragrance.
Tyrion opened the cabinet, took out a bottle of red wine and three goblets, then poured a glass and offered it to Shireen.
The little girl had never tasted red wine before. She hesitated when the goblet was pressed into her hands, then accepted it cautiously.
Tyrion poured for himself and Shae as well.
Just as he was about to set the bottle down, he noticed something—
The small black dragon sitting beside Shireen was staring at the wine bottle with laser focus.
Tyrion raised a brow.
"…You want one too?" he asked, testing the waters.
Shae leaned forward at once, eyes full of curiosity. She didn't believe for a second that a little dragon could drink wine.
Drogon rarely drank red wine, but…
sitting here with the legendary "Imp" himself?
How could he not have a drink?
So he nodded.
Shae's mouth fell open.
She hadn't expected the dragon not only to understand—
but to actually agree.
Her first thought was ridiculous but unavoidable:
He doesn't even have hands—how does he drink it? Does Shireen feed him?
Shireen, however, wasn't surprised at all.
She'd already seen Drogon drink fermented mare's milk and even the stronger "fire liquor."
She'd tasted both herself.
The mare's milk stank—she hated it.
And the fire liquor had nearly burned her throat out the first time she tried it.
Tyrion knew dragons were intelligent—capable of understanding simple speech.
But a dragon drinking red wine?
Even in all the recorded history of House Targaryen… that was rare.
---
Tyrion lifted his glass.
"I'm glad we'll be traveling together," he said.
Drogon calmly curled one wing around a goblet, lifting it with ease. He even rose slightly onto his claws, raising the cup high like a seasoned drinker.
Clink.
Three goblets… and one dragon-cup met in the air.
Shae had never imagined she would live long enough to toast with a dragon. Her excitement jolted her hand and her wine nearly spilled.
Tyrion was barely better—he almost choked as he drank.
Meanwhile—
Drogon tipped his head back and downed half a goblet in one go.
Not a sip.
Not a taste.
A proper swallow-the-world gulp.
Then he held out his empty cup—still staring at Tyrion's glass, which had a little less than half remaining.
Back home, there was a rule:
If you mean it, you drink it in one shot.
This might only be the second time he'd "met" Tyrion…
and their first time drinking together…
but Drogon had been looking forward to the Imp for a long time.
Half a cup?
Pathetic.
Tyrion blinked, confused.
He looked at the dragon.
Then at the dragon's empty cup.
Then at his own goblet.
…Wait. Is he telling me to finish mine too?
That seemed to be exactly what Drogon meant.
But red wine was meant to be savored, wasn't it?
Tyrion hesitated—yet he couldn't very well ask a dragon why it was staring at him like that.
And Drogon simply continued staring.
Unblinking.
Relentless.
So Tyrion cleared his throat, lifted his goblet… and drank the rest.
Only then did Drogon finally relax, extending his goblet toward Tyrion again—clearly expecting a refill.
Shae stared in pure amazement at the scene unfolding before her.
She hadn't expected Drogon to be such a serious drinker—he'd downed half a goblet of red wine in one gulp, and now he was blatantly demanding Tyrion refill it like this was the most natural thing in the world.
Shireen kept her lips pressed together, trying not to laugh at Tyrion and Shae's stunned expressions. But once Tyrion poured again, she remembered the food she'd brought.
She untied the bag, unfolded the oil-paper wrapping, and revealed the contents:
roasted lamb chops, honey-glazed roast duck, and smoked horse meat.
She knew Drogon's favorite routine:
meat in one claw, mare's milk in the other.
Tyrion blinked. He hadn't expected Shireen's "luggage" to be… entirely edible.
He wasn't exactly used to chewing meat while drinking fine red wine, but out of courtesy he tore off a piece of duck and ate it anyway. Then he gestured for Shae to bring out the food and fruit they'd packed, placing everything together on the table.
After taking two bites of the chewy smoked horse meat, Drogon himself lifted his cup toward the three of them in a toast.
Clink.
Then he drained another half cup in one shot.
Tyrion watched the dragon finish the wine again and hesitated for a heartbeat… before forcing himself to take two big gulps and empty his own cup as well.
When he lowered his goblet, Drogon still looked like he wanted more.
Tyrion sighed internally and refilled the dragon's cup anyway.
---
Shireen, seeing Tyrion and Drogon drinking in surprisingly good harmony, didn't interrupt. She glanced around the carriage and noticed a book resting near the bed. Her eyes lit up instantly.
She had already reread every book she owned.
And she had never seen that cover before.
With proper manners, she asked, "Lord Tyrion… may I read that book?"
Tyrion had been quietly wondering if he was going to end up drunk at this rate, since he had no clue how deep a dragon's tolerance ran. Hearing Shireen's question, he glanced toward the bed and nodded.
"Of course. And I have more books too. If you want them, you can take any you like."
The sparkle in Shireen's eyes gave it away instantly—
this girl loved books the way Tyrion loved wine.
"Really? That's wonderful!" Shireen exclaimed, delighted.
"I have books too," she added quickly as she opened the pages. "When we arrive, I'll bring them to you."
Tyrion chuckled and nodded.
Then he asked, "Have you known Drogon for a long time?"
Shireen glanced at the small dragon beside her, thought for a moment, then said, "Not too long… a little more than a month."
"And what do you usually read?" Tyrion continued.
"Lots of things," she answered, brows knitting delicately as she recalled titles.
"Aegon the Conqueror's History of the Conquest of Westeros, The Book of the Seven, Travels Across Essos… I read all of them."
Tyrion's eyes swept over the greyscale scars covering half her face, and for a moment… he couldn't help thinking of himself.
Different curses. Similar loneliness.
He asked gently, "Can you understand that one?"
He was looking at the book in her hands:
Essentials of Governance and Political Affairs.
"I can understand some of it," Shireen replied honestly. "I've read The Autobiography of Otto Hightower before. It includes many records of how he handled affairs while serving as Hand of the King."
Tyrion froze.
He hadn't expected Shireen's interests to be this broad—
or for her to have read something as obscure as Otto Hightower's Autobiography.
Then again… compared to Tyrion's life after the age of ten, Shireen truly had endless quiet hours—perfect for devouring books.
---
Watching Tyrion and Shireen talk so naturally, Drogon knew his goal had already been achieved.
During a pause in their conversation, he raised his cup again and toasted Tyrion once more.
Another drink down.
But now the table was practically empty—because Drogon had devoured nearly everything by himself.
He lifted a wing to stop Tyrion from refilling the goblet again.
Tyrion immediately released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Thank the gods.
If this half-cup, half-cup ritual continued, he'd end up unconscious.
Drogon, meanwhile, didn't particularly want more red wine anyway. The food was gone, and he'd had his fun.
He tugged open the curtain of the right-side window and flew out.
A moment later, he appeared beside Shireen's carriage. He scooped up all the remaining food, the mare's milk wine, and even an entire jar of fire liquor, bundling everything up neatly.
Inside Tyrion's carriage, Tyrion was still wondering what the dragon had flown off to do—
when suddenly the carriage door was yanked open.
Drogon flew back in.
And one small claw was carrying a cloth bundle several times larger than his entire body.