Tyrion couldn’t recall when the panic had started, it was so sudden, unexpected. He was too busy contemplating the events of the night he was freed, his brothers farewell, finding Shae in Tywins bed and his subsequent murder of her, the satisfaction he felt when the arrows from his dead nephews crossbow found their way into his father’s chest, oh how he savoured that feeling, even if it made him a kinslayer in the eyes of the gods.

He had only become aware of the current danger he was in once Varys had called his name and released him from the box that contained him. At first he berated him; after all he was a fugitive, sentenced to death for regicide, and the whole idea of confining himself to that box was so he would be smuggled around unnoticed, he wasn’t exactly the most inconspicuous of people, and he was sure that the first sailor that saw him would gladly chain him up and ship him back to Kings Landing as soon as possible, mainly for a reward Tyrion supposed. He doubted he would be able to bargain his way out of that situation if it occurred and was therefore reluctant to remove himself from his wooden sanctuary. But as Tyrion became more aware of his surroundings, the more he realised the gravity of the situation.

The ship was sinking, rocking back and forth as waves crashed into it from the outside. Those left on board could care less about the now revealed half-man, seemingly being more interested in scavenging what they could, praying to their chosen gods, or as Tyrion suspected, throwing themselves overboard in a futile attempt to save themselves. Water started to rise between the cracks in the wood quicker than Tyrion thought possible and within moments he was up to his waist, whist it only reached Varys’ knees. The bald eunuch, wasting no more time, lifted Tyrion out of the box and onto the stairs that led to the deck, who promptly made his way up with Varys close behind him.

The scene on the deck was one of utter chaos. Men were attempting to prep longboats to flee left and right, their panicked shouting overlapping with each other, becoming completely unintelligible when combined with the constant impacts of the waves and the thundering of the rain. Tyrion, after taking in the scene, quickly ran to the nearest boat that was about to drop off, only to be pushed out of the way by another sailor, who proceeded to clash with the other men also attempting to enter the boat. He was fairly sure that amongst the screaming and fighting someone had fallen off and another had been sliced open by a panicked man’s sword, though Tyrion paid attention no longer than necessary, after all he had himself and Varys to worry about.

‘Where the fuck is Varys?’

Once Tyrion had recovered from being pushed aside, he turned around only to find that his companion was gone, he proceeded to desperately search for him, calling his name and whipping his head around, hoping to catch a glimpse of his robes, or maybe even the dim light of the moon reflecting off his head, but Tyrion neither found nor caught a glimpse of the Spider, and was now close to panicking himself over the situation. ‘Were we separated? Was he attacked? Is he looking for me? Is he looking for a boat? Has he left with said boat?’

He was knocked out of his vacant state when he was budged aside by another running sailor, quickly realising that wasting time looking for Varys was more likely to result in him getting killed than if he focused his efforts on getting off of the doomed ship. It was then he made a quick observation, which only discouraged him further, there were more men on the ship than there was space for them in the limited number of longboats available. This wasn’t a war ship, no; this was a shipping vessel, used to transport goods and the occasional wanted criminal, longboats were primarily used getting to and from land, which usually involved multiple trips to accommodate the whole crew.

‘Oh I am fucked’.

Tyrion knew he couldn’t fight off a bundle of panicking men all pushing and shoving their way into the life-vessels, yes he’d killed before, some very recently, but he knew that in a life and death situation, he would need advantages that he just didn’t have here, a weapon, armour, and luck being among them. Right now he was literally on a ship full of men who, as far as they were concerned, would likely die unless someone else did first.

Tyrion realised the long boats were a lost cause, but that didn’t stop him trying anyway, after all he didn’t exactly have a lot of choices. He ran into the legs of the men in front of him, only to be kicked away every time he tried, it never deterred him, only made him more desperate. But as much as he punched and shoved, cursed and yelled he couldn’t break through the wall of soaking men.

A relatively high kick made contact with his cheek, pushing him back and knocking him over, he splashed on the floor, rolling around unceremoniously, both due to the pain, and due to the disorientation brought on by the attack. Recovering slightly, he sat up and leaned against the damp wood behind him, grogginess blurring his vision, the coldness of the water contrasted with the familiar warm feeling of blood from his cheek, he didn’t pay it any mind, instead focusing on the ensemble of men brawling over their seemingly last chance of salvation.

Tyrion cursed them. The hopelessness of the situation finally setting in. He had journeyed to the Wall and back, set the Blackwater on fire, escaped Kings Landing, braved the Trident, sailed through Ironmans bay, only to end up sinking in the Sunset Sea, so close to his destination of Casterly Rock. It seemed unfair to him, not that death was ever fair to anyone in the first place. Why accomplish so much, power through and endure so much pain, only to meet such a trivial end in an almost pathetic way. Dying in a glorious battle on top a mountain of corpses, caked in the blood of your enemy’s was a death to be remembered by. Sinking on a ship full of dead fish isn’t even joked about it occurs so regularly.

Tyrion honestly hoped for and expected more, though dying in bed of old age with his favourite whore at his side was still his preferred method to go, if he wasn’t going to be remembered for his death he may as well enjoy it. But instead here he is, lying in his own blood, sweat, and he suspected piss, about to drown amongst a bunch of peasants.

How boring.

It was so… common, uninspired, but it was still enough to make Tyrion contemplate his life up to that point, wondering how he could have avoided this situation. The panic was once again setting in, he blocked out the shouting, the hammering of the elements, and the pain he felt. Anger replaced the fear. If this was how he was meant to die he would not go quietly and he would not go sitting on his arse. He rose to his feet and did something he was sure he would be ridiculed for if he ever made it back to land again. He clambered into an overturned barrel that had just rolled into his vision, for no reason other than it might protect him from the rain. If he was going to defy death he would do so in comfort. His small stature allowed him to lie in the barrel completely covered from head to toe, providing him with some much desired security.

And then it got worse.

The rain turned to hail, whipping down so fast Tyrion was sure it was enough to kill a man. The sky became so black no light could break through, Tyrion could barely see past his own nose. The waves seemed to grow in height, no longer simply hammering at the sides, instead overflowing on to the deck, knocking over any men still on the ship, and more overboard Tyrion suspected.

It was biblical. Ferocious beyond words. A sight many would wish to see, but never want to experience. Tyrion was of those people, the weather would be fascinating to observe, but right now he would have preferred his cell, at least it was dry, relatively.

All of a sudden the rocking of the ship stopped, and the heavens seemed to close for a moment. Tyrion opened his eyes, not really knowing what to expect. He glanced outside his barrel, and almost rejoiced as a few surviving sailors picked themselves up, he was ready to leave his sanctuary, and congratulate those left for enduring as long as they had, but before he could act further he froze when he heard a sound, unlike anything he’d ever heard before.

It was thunderous, like a never ending horn increasing in volume, he easily identified it as the sound of a wave building, but Tyrion knew something was wrong when the wave continued to build for several moments longer. He didn’t dare leave the barrel now, it may not protect him, but it would provide a least some security that wouldn’t be available if he left.

‘Well, and truly fucked’.

Celestia never really enjoyed the early hours of the morning, but she forced herself up in order to preform her duty and raise her sun. It was a pain. A royal pain. It was too early for her to start the rest of her day, and too late to return to bed. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy it, on the contrary, raising and lowering the sun was what she enjoyed most about her role as Princess, it was so important, and so appreciated by her subjects that it was the highlight of her day, a sentiment she shared with her sister.

It was just the dullness between raising the sun, and going on to do whatever it was that was planned for the day, maybe she had a court to reside over, or a royal visit to attend. But until then it was just the same routine every day, bathe, brush, eat, greet, etcetera with little to no variation.

But, she had a duty, it may be routine but it was still expected of her, what kind of ruler would she be if she started to put her own interests above those of her subjects, it may seem small but it was a slippery slope that would only lead to negativity. She knew how quickly a self-serving ruler could break their land into conflict, something which she has experienced far too often. The birth of Nightmare Moon being the most blatant example.

She would lead, she would guide, she would watch over her subjects for as long as she was able. The day she did something not in the best interest of her ponies was the day she relinquished herself from the throne.

“What?”

She froze where she stood; a brush grasped in her magic fell to the floor as she felt an unfamiliar tingle run up her spine into her horn. She didn’t pause because of the feeling, in fact nothing else happened and she was unharmed, the reason she froze was because it was a feeling she hadn’t felt for a very long time, so long in fact that that it took her a minute to recall what she had felt it before and what it meant.

‘Oh’.

When she finally remembered, her wings flared open involuntarily, and she stared at her reflection in sudden fascination, before turning and stumbling out of her room, bursting the doors open and shocking her guards out of their daydreams as she did. Before they could question what was happening the Princess recovered and galloped as fast as she could through the various doors and halls she had memorised from all her years living in them. Anyone else traveling though the castle watched in both shock and wonder as their Princess uncharacteristically ran past them, without so much as a smile or even acknowledgement. Celestia knew exactly where she was going, and running was just easier than attempting to teleport, she doubted she would be able to concentrate.

She turned a corner and reached her destination, bursting through a pair of dark doors into an even darker room. “Sister!” she cried, much more urgently than she had intended. Her sibling in question had her head under the covers of her bed, apparently Celestia had startled her awake. After scrambling under her covers Lunas head popped up, her mane almost comical in appearance, normally Celestia would take this moment to tease a little, but she had other things on her mind than potential jokes.

“Honestly Celie!” Luna whined in frustration, “I fail to see what you find so amusing about waking me so early, especially when you berate me for…”, she paused when her eyes fell upon her sister, who stood hunched, almost shaking. “Sister what’s wrong?” Luna asked, no longer angry but now concerned.

Celestia stared blankly, before responding slowly, her voice unsteady, “I felt…” she paused, blinking slightly before steading herself and standing tall again, her lack of composure from before seemingly gone, she gave Luna a new look of determination, which Luna noticed also contained a look of dread.

“Something crossed the seal”.

Luna gasped, backing up and almost falling out of bed. She quickly composed herself, though her uneasiness still showed, “But. Nothing crosses the seal!” she responded shakily, giving her sister a pleading look as if to say, ‘please tell me you're joking’.

Celestia head sank grimily, “This time. Something did”.

Author's Notes:

My first MLP story! Which is a mature crossover... certain to appeal to all audiences.

So yeah, my first real story. I didn’t want to just do X goes to Equestia, because let’s face it that’s been done, and it’s been done well. I tried to go a little different, whether or not it succeeds remains to be seen.

Hopefully I have your interest.