Somewhere in Westeros
It was a beautiful day on a dusty road, where a finely crafted carriage rolled steadily forward. Its detailed ornaments and polished wood made it obvious to anyone who saw it that this was the sort of carriage only the wealthy or noble could afford—someone of high status, surely from one of the great houses or the royal court.
Around the carriage marched a "small" escorting force—archers and mounted riders surrounding it on all sides to ensure the safety of whoever was inside.
It was a Lannister carriage.
Inside were two people: a dwarf and his sister.
Two days had passed since Tyrion and Cersei had left Harrenhal, now on their way back to Casterly Rock.
Tyrion had received no word from his father since the tourney, but he assumed Tywin had likely returned to the Rock ahead of them.
For days now, Tyrion had felt… strange.
He had experienced something he wasn't sure he had imagined—a strange sensation, as if he had entered the mind of an animal. A horse. Jaime's horse.
It was bizarre. Even now, from afar, Tyrion sometimes felt faint echoes: a distant neigh, the feeling of a mane brushing against a neck, the sensation of hooves striking the ground.
He had no idea how he had done it. He hardly believed it even happened. Magic existed in this world—yes—but being the strange thing himself had shocked him.
He wondered: How did I do that? Can I do it again?
There had to be some technique or method for a warg to connect with an animal.
Could I possess other animals?
If so, it would be unbelievably useful, Tyrion thought.
At that moment, he sat drifting off inside the carriage.
The interior was decorated in deep reds and golds, rich and elegant, unquestionably the best comfort coin could buy in that time. Two soft benches faced each other, with small windows on either side.
Tyrion sat on one bench. In front of him sat his sister, Cersei.
He had been staring blankly for several minutes, lost in thoughts. To anyone watching, he looked like someone in deep concentration.
Cersei, growing bored, gave him a look impossible to describe.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked, curiosity lacing her voice.
Tyrion snapped out of his trance and looked at her. Their eyes met.
He quickly thought about the danger: Cersei and Jaime must never know he might be a warg. He wasn't even sure himself—but better to hide it. So he lied.
"I was thinking about what happened at the tourney. The prince—shamelessly, right in front of everyone—placed the crown on Lyanna Stark's lap," he said.
Cersei, like many women, never resisted a bit of gossip, even if coming from someone she didn't particularly like.
"It was shocking, yes, but not surprising," Cersei said as if recalling something unpleasant.
Tyrion noticed the tone and asked:
"Not surprising? What do you mean? I thought it was extremely surprising."
Cersei answered as the sound of horse hooves echoed around them:
"I mean men. They're predictable. The prince already has a beautiful wife, yet he still traded her for a younger one. Sadly, that's the fate of every queen—to become just another toy for some man who decides he wants more children," she said bitterly.
Tyrion considered it. She was right—it was common among noble houses.
He swallowed hard, knowing her words would eventually prove prophetic.
"That may be, but you have no proof the prince betrayed his wife," Tyrion argued.
"Every woman knows when a man wants another. Any woman at that damned feast could see the looks they exchanged," Cersei replied.
Tyrion wasn't a woman—he couldn't confirm whatever silent signals Cersei claimed to have seen.
"You… you're not jealous, are you? Actually, I meant to say—it's a shame you didn't marry Rhaegar…" Tyrion teased.
Cersei lifted her eyebrows, offended.
"I'm not jealous. I'm not! The prince can do whatever he wants with whoever he wants. I don't care," she snapped.
"Right… still, it's a pity. He's far more handsome than most. It would be tragic if you ended up married to some drunken old man with a big belly," Tyrion said playfully.
"Perhaps you'll marry a fat drunk someday," Cersei retorted sarcastically.
Tyrion raised a brow.
"I appreciate the offer, but I don't think I'm interested in that. Maybe in the next life," he replied.
Cersei snorted.
"And what about the prince? Didn't you find him handsome? Maybe you should marry him," she joked.
"Very funny. But I'm not fond of silver hair… It's not my type," Tyrion said.
"A shame…" Cersei murmured, turning to look out the window and enjoy the passing scenery.
Their little spat ended for the moment. After a few minutes of silence, Tyrion asked:
"Where did you learn that men like to betray their wives with younger women? Did you hear it from someone, or did you see it happen?"
Cersei froze for a moment—her mind drifting back years earlier.
When she was just a girl of about ten in Casterly Rock, Cersei had dared to challenge fate. She and two friends—Melara Hetherspoon and Jeyne Farman—had heard rumors about a strange woman who lived alone in a small hut hidden among the vineyards and stone quarries of the castle grounds. A strange woman with stained teeth and eyes that bulged like a frog's. They called her Maggy the Frog.
Driven by curiosity and her natural arrogance, young Cersei convinced her friends to go with her. They walked through the woods, giggling, expecting to meet nothing more than a harmless old madwoman.
But the moment they stepped into the hut, the smell of herbs and damp earth filled their noses. It felt undeniably like the home of a witch. And the old woman was already there, seated on a crooked stool, as if she had been waiting for them.
Maggy narrowed her yellow eyes at Cersei and gave a smile that was anything but welcoming. Cersei, trying to look brave, demanded that the woman read her future.
The witch agreed—if she gave a drop of blood.
Cersei pricked her finger and let the drop fall into a dark bowl. Maggy touched the blood, smelled it, and then, in her raspy voice, began to prophesy.
She told Cersei she would indeed marry a king… but not be happy. She warned that a younger and more beautiful queen would come someday to take everything Cersei cherished. And finally, she whispered the words that would haunt Cersei for the rest of her life: her three children would wear golden crowns… and golden shrouds, for they would die before her.
With every word, Cersei's face drained of color. When the prophecy ended, she left the hut pretending she wasn't afraid—but inside, she was shaken.
She never forgot that day.
Returning to the carriage, Cersei finally answered Tyrion's question:
"I learned it from watching other women. And I have many friends who taught me what's true about men," she said.
"I see. Father didn't seem very happy when we left Harrenhal," Tyrion said.
Cersei nodded.
"Of course he wasn't. His only healthy son joined the Kingsguard. Now he's left with just a woman and a dwarf to inherit everything," she said.
"A woman or a dwarf… who do you think he'll choose?" Tyrion asked.
Cersei hesitated. She had asked herself that question many times.
Tyrion was Tywin's legitimate son; he had as much right as any other child.
"I don't know," she admitted softly. "I don't like thinking about it. But I do know Father would never accept a woman ruling his lands."
"If Jaime remains in the Kingsguard, then you're the one who should inherit everything. Father will never let me lead," she said.
Tyrion thought for a moment.
"I'm not so sure about that…" he murmured.
Silence followed inside the carriage.
Hours passed.
Tyrion now had a book in his hands. Still inside the carriage, with Cersei across from him, he was taking notes.
Of course, the notes were written in a language only he understood.
He was recording ideas and conducting little tests—trying to understand what it meant to be a warg.
The goal was simple: take notes while attempting to possess an animal.
And naturally, he did his best to avoid drawing Cersei's attention.
There was a small opening in the front of the carriage—for ventilation—where Tyrion focused his gaze, trying to connect with an animal outside.
He tried again and again.
He emptied his mind, attempted to channel his energy, breathed deeply, meditated… anything that might help.
For hours he wrote down possibilities, theories…
And only after several hours did something finally happen.
He had grown tired of being trapped in the same space and wanted to see anything that wasn't his sister's face. In a brief moment, he wished he could escape—fly freely across the sky.
He spotted a bird perched on a branch outside. For just a heartbeat, he wished he could be that bird.
And then something strange happened again. His mind brushed against the bird's consciousness. His vision shifted—he saw through the bird's eyes.
He saw the carriage from above.
Then the connection slipped away.
Tyrion analyzed the moment and realized something important:
Both times he had succeeded—Jaime's horse earlier, and now the bird—he had a clear purpose in mind.
When he had warged into Jaime's horse, he desperately wanted to reach King's Landing to warn Elia Martell about the events to come. He couldn't go himself, so instinctively, he reached for the horse.
This time, he wanted to break free—so he reached for the bird.
Tyrion concluded:
For a warg to connect with an animal, he must first have a goal— a reason. Without it, maintaining the link was extremely difficult.
Maybe someday he could do it without purpose, but for now, having an intention made the connection far stronger.
It was like the saying: in moments of crisis, we reveal our true strength.
Tyrion wrote all this in his book and continued practicing.
He would soon return to Casterly Rock. And if he wanted to save Elia Martell—and rise in power—he needed to master this ability as quickly as possible.
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