Tyrion hadn't meant to end up alone with Theon Greyjoy.

There had been a meeting today among all of them – Danaerys, Missandei, Grey Worm, and the Greyjoys – to discuss which other houses to seek alliances with. Tyrion couldn't help noting that the name Stark was conspicuously absent from their conversation, but he supposed that with all of its current members besides Jon Snow, the bastard, dead or in hiding, it was quite understandable. House Lannister popped up briefly, but Tyrion merely laughed, knowing Cersei, its current leader, would never join forces with him.

After the meeting, everyone had immediately scurried off: his Lady had gone to tend to Drogon, Missandei and Grey Worm to discuss their concerns in private (or to snog, Tyrion couldn't be sure), Yara Greyjoy had run off to check on the rest of the fleet. Only Theon remained, sitting in silence, his miserable eyes fixated on a spot on the table, thoughts far away from the dwarf sitting across from him.

Tyrion hadn't meant to end up alone with Theon Greyjoy, but he supposed he could use this chance to interrogate the boy and determine where his loyalties lay, however unpleasant the conversation would be.

"So, Theon Greyjoy, what drives you to follow your sister? I would've thought, given your track record, that you would want the glory for yourself."

It took a while for the boy to glance up, startled, as if he didn't realize that Tyrion was addressing him. Gulping his throat, Theon responded.

"I don't want the glory," he began. To Tyrion's surprise, his tone had not a shred of indignance. "My sister would make a better leader than I. Besides, I am…unable to marry," he added, his face reddening slightly.

Ah, Tyrion thought. So this is what Yara Greyjoy meant – the Boltons had castrated the boy. Tyrion felt a touch of sympathy for Theon, but he pushed it aside. That did not excuse his betrayal.

"And how do I know you are speaking the truth now? For you seemed to be loyal to the Starks for so many years, yet you took their castle and murdered their two youngest boys," Tyrion pressed on, his temperature and volume rising steadily.

"I did not—" Theon began, eyes flashing in anger. But he suddenly gasped and drew back in fear. "What do you care about the fate of the Starks?" he asked warily. "You are a Lannister, the family that started the slaughtering."

Tyrion snorted. "A Lannister? Not any longer. Not since I killed my own father," he spat. This apparently came as news to the boy, as his eyes widened in surprise. "I've only really cared for my brother Jaime in that family."

"You killed your own father?" Theon Greyjoy was aghast, but not necessarily disgusted, just incredibly confused. "How?"

Choosing to ignore him, Tyrion went on. "To answer your question about the Starks, Greyjoy," he cleared his throat, "I do not care for the Starks. Ned Stark was a fool, and I have no kind words for his eldest son," he began harshly. Then his face softened, as did his tone.

"But," he went on, "I do have a soft spot for cripples, bastards, and broken things," he muttered softly. The room was quiet for a minute as Tyrion struggled to finish his thought. "So," he finally said, "you'll forgive me if I don't feel a twinge of sadness for poor, dead Brandon Stark," he finished with his usual biting sarcasm.

"He's not dead," Theon muttered softly, spilling the words out of his body before he could think twice about revealing them to the dwarf.

"What?"

"He's not dead," Theon repeated, a bit louder and surer this time. "I didn't kill him," he went on, "but when I think about the two farm boys I killed in their stead…" here he choked, fighting back tears. "I don't deserve forgiveness. I'm trying to move on, but it's just…"

Tyrion was appalled. Where was the boy who had cruelly teased him just a few years ago at Winterfell? Who was this tortured creature that couldn't speak two sentences without blubbering? The sympathy that he felt earlier was returning, but this time, Tyrion didn't brush it off. Moreover, in some tiny segment of his brain, he was relieved – no, glad – that the crippled Stark child was still alive.

But then a thought occurred to him. Theon had been in Westeros for quite a while longer than he. Perhaps…could he have news on the others? He didn't care much for the younger girl, who was probably dead long ago, but he hoped Lady Sansa was doing well, and to a lesser degree, her bastard brother Jon Snow.

"And the other Stark children? Do you know anything about them?" Tyrion asked. This question seemed to divert him from his sobs, as the boy looked up eagerly to answer.

"Arya is alive," he began, to Tyrion's shock. Impressive girl, he thought, being able to evade capture for so many years. "I heard it from the female knight who came to help us. She also told us Jon was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."

The Night's Watch, Tyrion thought. He remembered accompanying the boy on his journey there, but he never thought Jon Snow would rise so fast. Perhaps he underestimated the strength of the Stark family after all.

But there was something nagging him about Theon's story.

"The female knight was Brienne of Tarth, I presume," he remarked. Theon nodded. "But who is 'us'? You and your sister?"

Here, Theon's face grew utterly pallid, his eyes haunted. Whatever it was, Greyjoy's news would not be anything pleasant.

"It was me and the girl married to Ramsay Bolton," he finally responded quietly. "She and I were both t-tortured by him," he muttered, eyes turning glassy once again. Tyrion frowned gravely. He had heard from Yara Greyjoy about the sadistic tendencies of Ramsay Bolton, and he pitied any girl who was forced to marry him.

"He was so cruel. He forced me to watch as he r-raped and b-beat her," he cried, no longer being able to hold back his tears. "She forgave me at the end of it all, when we had both escaped, but I couldn't take it. She was safe with the knight, so I ran away. I couldn't bear it," he gasped for air.

"It was S-sansa," croaked Theon.

Tyrion's face froze. Sansa Stark. How he remembered his child-bride. She had come to King's Landing with her father and sister so young and starry-eyed. Yet after his death, she had survived as Cersei's prisoner for so long, despite being surrounded by her family's biggest enemies. She had been able to outmaneuver his evil brat of a nephew even at such a young age. She had escaped from near death…only to end up in the most miserable situation possible for a girl. Even at King's Landing, she and Tyrion had developed a certain camaraderie, both of them stuck in a marriage they were equally displeased with. But now, all that Tyrion felt was pity for her. And hope.

"She escaped, you said?" Tyrion finally asked. Theon nodded, his tears already drying to form a hollow expression on his face.

"Both of us together," he muttered. "She's likely with Jon now, trying to reclaim Winterfell."

Tyrion sighed in relief. "At least she is with family again."

"Yes," Theon agreed. "Family is a great thing," he added. "I wish I only knew that a few years ago."

The twinge of sympathy in the back of Tyrion's mind grew a little. He let it sit there, as he did for all cripples, bastards…and broken things.