Chapter 69: Putting on a Brave Face
Under everyone's stunned gaze, Drogon dropped the cloth bundle onto the table.
He spread it open with practiced ease—revealing a pile of food, a wineskin, and a clay liquor jar.
The moment Tyrion caught the scent, his nose twitched.
Even through the sealed lid, he could tell immediately—
That jar contained something vicious.
Tyrion loved wine. At home, he practically lived with a goblet in hand. He'd tasted strong spirits too… but this?
This was different.
It wasn't just alcohol.
It was fire.
He glanced at Drogon—who was now calmly arranging the food and drink like a seasoned tavern regular—and Tyrion's heart lifted into his throat.
Once everything was set, Drogon grabbed a slab of smoked horse meat with his left wing, then nudged the wineskin forward with his right.
The meaning was obvious:
Pour.
Tyrion lifted the wineskin and immediately recognized it—mare's milk wine.
He rinsed his goblet with water, then poured half a cup.
The moment Drogon saw that stingy little portion, he looked utterly offended. He pointed at the cup with a wing.
Tyrion stared at the goblet, not quite understanding.
Shireen leaned in and whispered, "Drogon wants you to fill it."
Tyrion's eyelid twitched.
Mare's milk wine might be brewed from milk, but drink enough of it and you'd still end up on the floor. And Tyrion had already downed several cups of red wine earlier.
Still… under the dragon's unwavering stare, he hesitated only a second before topping it off to the brim.
Seeing Tyrion's slightly strained expression, Drogon assumed it wasn't fear of drunkenness—
It was simple: the dwarf wasn't used to this stuff.
Drogon wanted to say something like I'll finish mine, you drink however you like, but of course he couldn't speak.
So instead, he took the cup, hooked it with his wing, then made a clear gesture—marking the cup halfway with a claw.
Shae, who hadn't taken her eyes off Drogon this entire time, finally couldn't hold it in anymore.
She turned to Shireen and asked, "What… does that mean?"
Shireen, seeing Tyrion and Shae's stunned expressions, suddenly remembered how she'd looked when she first met Drogon.
She smiled and explained:
"Drogon means—he'll drink all of his cup, and you only need to drink half."
Tyrion hadn't expected Drogon to be so perceptive.
For a moment, he actually felt a little embarrassed.
What—does he think I'm afraid of getting drunk?
Two more cups of mare's milk wine wouldn't even knock him over. There was no way he'd lose face over something like that.
Even if the drink had a strong, gamey tang, he could still swallow it. Back when he traveled to the Wall with Jon Snow, he'd drunk Night's Watch swill that tasted far worse than this.
So Tyrion lifted the cup himself, clinked it against Drogon's, and drained it in one go—without so much as a twitch of expression.
Only then did Drogon realize he'd misread him.
Tyrion's earlier change in expression probably hadn't been about the drink at all.
After finishing the mare's milk wine, Drogon took a huge bite of horse meat. Then he noticed Tyrion hadn't eaten much.
He pointed at the meat in the bundle with a wing—clearly telling him to eat more.
This time Tyrion understood. He grabbed a piece of smoked horse meat, popped it into his mouth, and began chewing slowly.
After the sour bite of mare's milk wine, the fatty-and-lean smoked meat tasted unexpectedly good—rich, chewy, and fragrant the more he worked at it.
Before he knew it, Tyrion found himself liking this brutal, straightforward rhythm:
big bites of meat, big gulps of drink.
He poured a little mare's milk wine into a cup and offered it to Shae, wanting her to try.
But Shae only leaned in to sniff once before her face tightened in discomfort. She nudged the cup back with obvious reluctance, opting instead to nibble at a small strip of meat.
Tyrion didn't force her. He simply filled both cups again, clinked with Drogon, and drank—then ate—then drank again.
Watching Tyrion slowly warm up to the ritual, Drogon finally looked satisfied.
Now this is drinking.
What was the point of enjoying everything alone? A dragon drinking by himself was dull. A dragon drinking with a worthy partner?
That was the real pleasure.
By the time the entire wineskin of mare's milk wine was finished, Drogon had only just started feeling a pleasant buzz.
Tyrion, meanwhile, was already visibly tipsy—eyes half-lidded, cheeks slightly warm.
He tossed the empty wineskin aside and reached for the clay jar of firewine instead.
The moment Shae saw that movement—Tyrion's narrowed eyes, his too-confident posture—she knew he was already at the edge.
One more wrong choice and he'd be drunk.
But she also knew this wasn't the moment to stop him.
If she tried, Tyrion would absolutely snap at her.
So she stayed quiet—and glanced at Drogon.
Drogon was still calmly stuffing meat into his mouth, completely composed, not the slightest hint of drunkenness.
Shae swept her eyes over his tiny body and couldn't understand it at all.
How could something so small possibly hold that much food and that much liquor?
Tyrion popped the lid.
A violent, scorching alcohol fumes erupted straight out.
Even half-drunk, Tyrion instinctively tilted his head away.
Shireen immediately leaned back by half a meter, afraid of getting blasted in the face by the fumes.
Shae scooted away as well—fast.
Tyrion's pouring hand paused.
Even in his haze, he could tell this wasn't normal strong liquor.
This was madness in a jar.
Drogon knew exactly what that meant.
Firewine was brutal. Even the toughest Dothraki khal wouldn't drink a full goblet of it in one go.
Only a fire-blooded dragon like himself—furnace in the belly—could swallow it like water.
He fluttered up and stopped Tyrion's pouring hand, then marked a clear line at the bottom third of the cup with his wing.
Meaning:
Only that much.
Only a tiny amount?
Tyrion instantly felt insulted.
"Half a cup was one thing," he muttered, pride flaring. "But just the bottom? What am I—made of paper?"
He gritted his teeth.
Then, with the stubbornness of a man about to ruin his own life—
He poured a full cup.
Fine. I'll get drunk today. I'll drown the world.
Drogon stared at the brimming cup, then cracked a wide grin.
That's your choice. Don't blame me later.
Drogon ate two more bites of meat, then raised his cup and clinked it against Tyrion's.
Next second—
He tilted his head back.
Glug. Glug. Glug.
The entire cup vanished down his throat.
"Urp—!"
Drogon let out a dragon-sized burp.
A burst of hot alcohol vapor mixed with smoke, sparks, and a faint flicker of flame puffed from his mouth.
Shae yelped and practically jumped out of her seat.
Tyrion's tipsy eyes widened, cold dread sliding down his spine.
Is this… dragon-only liquor?
If a human drinks it… will it burn the throat right off?
But the cup was already full.
And pride demanded payment.
With grim determination, Tyrion lifted the cup, brought it to his lips—
Even before he drank, the fumes punched him in the lungs so hard his breathing stalled.
He swallowed reflexively, shut his eyes, and forced down a huge gulp.
"Cough—COUGH—!"
He'd swallowed barely half before the rest of the firewine exploded out of his mouth—
straight onto Shae.
He doubled over, clutching his throat, collapsed against Shae's stomach, coughing violently. His face turned beet red. His neck looked like it had swollen twice its size.
"W-water… water!"
The moment he could gasp the words out, Shae didn't even have time to curse him—she grabbed the water jug and shoved a cup into his hands.
Tyrion downed several mouthfuls in panic before his throat felt slightly less tortured.
But his stomach still burned like someone had poured molten metal into it.
He sat there panting hard, trying to breathe the fire out of his gut.
Drogon shook with laughter, wings trembling, face radiating smug satisfaction.
That's what you get for showing off.
Shireen wanted to laugh so badly she nearly burst—but she forced it down, cheeks flushing red. She quickly turned her head and pretended to read.
After another few cups of water, Tyrion finally recovered enough to speak.
"This isn't alcohol," he rasped. "This is a weapon. There's no way this was meant for humans. The queen must have brewed it specifically for you!"
Even though he knew Drogon couldn't answer, Tyrion couldn't stop himself from asking.
Drogon only laughed harder.