The Slight Shift

The morning light in Meereen was soft and golden, casting long shadows over the city as I prepared to leave. I had entrusted Daenerys, Viserys, and the rest of her court with their tasks—the conquest of Slaver's Bay was far from complete, and the rebuilding efforts would need their full attention. But my time there had come to an end. Westeros awaited.

My destination was King's Landing, a city drowning in the aftermath of King Joffrey's poisoning. The so-called investigation into his murder was nothing more than a facade. Tyrion Lannister, the one who had handed Joffrey the fatal cup of wine, had been quickly branded the guilty party. The trial, everyone knew, was already set in stone. The Lannisters needed a scapegoat, and who better than the Imp?

Yet, beneath the surface, another plot was unraveling. Sansa Stark, the grieving queen, had not only orchestrated Joffrey's demise but had also set the stage to place the blame squarely on Petyr Baelish. Her careful manipulation of key players, her whispered rumors and subtle schemes were designed to eliminate Littlefinger while securing her own power. Sansa was playing her game with deadly precision.

But she had not accounted for me.

I had been watching her movements long before she conceived her plan. I knew her intentions, her weaknesses, and her every step. With my network of spies and allies embedded deep within the walls of King's Landing, it was child's play to twist her machinations to my advantage.

All the rumors she had spread, all the pawns she had moved into place, were quietly shifted. Her narrative was erased and replaced with mine. By the time the trial came, it was no longer Petyr Baelish who was poised to take the fall—it was Tyrion, just as it had been in the original timeline. Sansa's efforts to clear her name and remove her enemies crumbled before her eyes, leaving her powerless to stop the runaway trial against her own ally.

It wasn't just me who wanted to see Tyrion fall, of course. Tywin Lannister, ever the cold and calculating Hand of the King, had his own reasons. To him, Tyrion was an embarrassment, a stain on the Lannister legacy. His own son accused of regicide? It was the perfect excuse to remove Tyrion once and for all, eliminating the Lannister disgrace.

As I drew nearer to King's Landing, I could already feel the tension in the air. The trial was days away, and the city was buzzing with anticipation. All the while, Sansa believed her plan was still on course, blissfully unaware of the trap that awaited her. She had no idea she had already lost.

By the time I set foot in the capital, the game would be over, and the pieces would fall exactly where I wanted them. Tyrion would take the blame, Sansa would be left with nothing, and the chaos in King's Landing would only serve to further my own designs.

The Game of thrones continued, and this time, I held all the cards. Speaking of cards, traveling with me to King's Landing was none other than Arya Stark. Using my ability of telepathy, I erased her memory of meeting me and Daenerys, wiping all recollection of everything that had happened since she was bought by me in the slave market. I replaced those memories with false ones—memories of being purchased by a Westerosi brothel owner and taken back to Westeros with him. Her identity as a mere sex slave was intact, and I made her even more submissive. She was imprisoned in the lower deck of my ship, with my subordinate posing as the brothel owner. My goal was to sell her to Petyr Baelish, who was preparing to flee King's Landing for the Vale, where he had complete control over Lysa Arryn, the ruling Lady of the Vale.

As we neared King's Landing, keeping a good distance from the port in the cover of night, we met up with a ship where Petyr was escaping after discovering Sansa's betrayal. Through my spies, I had conveyed the truth of Sansa's treachery to him, tipping him off about how she had used him. Without delay, my men completed the deal with Petyr, selling Arya to him. I could see the fury in Petyr's eyes—anger at being manipulated by Sansa, just as her mother had used him during his youth. He was seething with resentment for never getting what he desired in return.

Petyr would take out all his pent-up rage and lust on Arya, punishing her for the sins of her mother and sister. But that was no concern of mine. I never liked Sansa, Arya, or Catelyn Stark in my previous life when I watched the show. It disgusted me when the Stark sisters celebrated after Daenerys' death, and when they saved Jon from the Unsullied. Now, with the deal done, Petyr's ship was on its way to the Vale, and Petyr himself was busy in his cabin, ravishing Arya to his heart's content. Her body, honed by all her training, now resembled that of her mother and sister. To add more amusement to Petyr's fantasy, I used EVE's assistance to gradually turn Arya's hair red, like her mother's and Sansa's, fueling Petyr's delusions even more.

As Petyr's ship vanished into the darkness, I turned my gaze back toward the looming silhouette of King's Landing on the horizon. The city was restless—buzzing with anticipation for the trial, unaware of the storm brewing in its shadowed corners. The game was no longer in the hands of its players; it was firmly within mine.

With my work here done, I teleported to the underground tunnels of the Red Keep. From there, it was only a matter of time before I found the person I was looking for—Varys.

The Spider, as he was known, had always been a master of whispers, but I had long ago figured out how to use his web to my own advantage. Varys had unknowingly become one of my most valuable informants, his little birds feeding me all the information I needed. With Bran and the three-eyed Raven and anyone who knows the truth of Jon Snow's birth dead, he would not betray Daenerys for a King on the Iron Throne. And now, as Tyrion's trial drew closer, I knew Varys would play a crucial role.

I found him in one of his hidden chambers, surrounded by his scrolls and maps. He looked up, startled at first, but quickly masked his surprise. "I wondered when you would arrive," he said, his voice low and calm.

"I trust everything is in place?" I asked, my voice equally steady.

Varys nodded. "The trial will proceed as planned. Tyrion has no chance. The witnesses have been bought, and the judges have already made up their minds. Tywin wants him executed, and Sansa still thinks Baelish will take the fall. But you already know that."

I smiled beneath my hood. "Indeed."

Varys tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You have great ambition, my friend. But ambition can be dangerous in this city. Even for one as careful as you."

"Ambition is only dangerous to those who can't control it," I replied smoothly. "And I control everything."

Varys gave a slight bow, his expression unreadable. "As you say. What are your next orders?"

"For now, let things unfold as they will," I said, turning toward the door. "Tyrion's trial will play out, and his fate will be sealed. Then it will be your task to take him across the sea to Daenerys and you both will help her learn governance over her Kingdom"

Varys inclined his head. "It shall be done."

With that, I left him and returned to the shadows of the city, my mind already on the next phase of my plan. The trial would soon begin, and once Tyrion was convicted, chaos would follow. The Lannisters would tear each other apart from the inside, and all I had to do was nudge them in the right direction. I had set the pieces in motion, and now I would watch them fall. Westeros was on the brink of something new, something far more chaotic than it had ever seen. And in the chaos, I would rise with that I teleported back to Reach to spend the night with Margaery, Ros, and my son William Hunter.