"Your Majesty." At the sight of the tall figure leaping down from the dragon's shadow, the laborers and officials along both banks of the canal dropped to their knees.
"You have all rendered great service to the empire," Gendry said.
Two women stood beside the simply dressed Tyrion. One was the golden-haired Myrcella; the other was Tyrion's wife, Tysha, whom Myrcella had spent considerable effort finding over the past few years.
Humiliated, the peasant girl had left Westeros in grief and anger, adopted an alias, and gone to the Free Cities to ply the trade of a sailor's wife.
These stories were rather saddening to think about.
Yet Tyrion also seemed somewhat content to accept his lot. Lannister power, like that of the Greyjoys and Hightower, had been destroyed in a single stroke.
But now, having been fortunate enough to receive a fief in Canal City, he could at least enjoy the rest of his life, especially with his wife's return.
"You won't have to work so hard much longer," Gendry told Tyrion.
"What do you mean, Your Majesty?" Tyrion asked curiously.
"I'm heading north. If the Heart of Winter shatters, spring will come early."
"I hope that day comes soon. These children haven't known the taste of spring for years," Tyrion said.
"Victory belongs to the emperor."
"Victory belongs to the emperor."
Myrcella looked at Gendry, her gaze complicated.
"He truly is one of a kind, throughout all history." Tyrion watched the magic dragon depart. "You could have reached out. The emperor bears you no ill will."
"We can speak of the future when it comes." Myrcella neither agreed nor disagreed.
Gendry continued flying north toward that eternal Heart of Winter.
Gendry flew past Luan River Castle, then over the North.
As Steward of the Iron Islands, Reader was