[As Tyrion approaches, two dragons, Viserion and Rhaegal, appear still shackled in their collars and approach with a roar.]
I'm friends with your mother. I'm here to help. Don't eat the help. When I was a child, an uncle asked what gift I wanted for my name day. I begged him for one of you. "It wouldn't even have to be a big dragon," I told him. "It could be little...like me."
[Puts down his torch and gently advances]
Everyone laughed like it was the funniest thing they had ever heard. Then my father told me the last dragon had died a century ago. I cried myself to sleep that night....But here you are.
[Tyrion removes the locking pin on the dragons' collars. The dragons, now unshackled, retreat back to the shadows as Tyrion picks up the torch and hastily retreats.]
[to Varys] Next time I have an idea like that...punch me in the face.
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