Chapter 3: Spring ~ Tyrion
"Sansa? Is…engaged to be married?" Tyrion let his arms fall to his side, the parchment fell to the floor and he leaned his head back in his chair. His new Master of Whispers had not let him down yet, but this bit of news had him wishing she had. "To whom?"
Arya leaned against the closed door to his chambers. This room was smaller than the old Hand's chambers, but nicely furnished and far more functional. Bran the Broken had the Red Keep torn down and in it's place stood a modest tower that echoed a godswood tree—open, knowing. Construction was not yet complete, but it was all coming together really nicely. Bran's three-eyed-raven sigil decorated the top floors and the bottom level was an open plaza designed for merchants, craftsmen and scholars. "The Price of Dorne," Arya said. She twirled her fingers around the hilt of her dagger.
"What?!" Tyrion jumped from his chair. His reaction would've been outrage no matter who she named, but the new crowned prince of Dorne was, by most accounts, handsome and kind and fierce—she always liked the pretty ones, Tyrion though bitterly. "That is just…" Arya rose her eyebrows and Tyrion frowned. "Really smart, actually." Dorne is a solid ally to the new King and a valued member of the small council, but it had not been so long ago that, like the North, Dorne had been an independent land. Their wealth and resources would be enough to make the kingdom think twice before ever making a move against the north. And with the Starks connected to the Prince of Dorne, the independent north would again have influence over any of the realms affairs.
"That's what I thought," Arya said. "She really is a very good politician. And the Prince is quite dashing, I think." Tyrion poured a glass of wine and gestured to Arya to have one but she shook her head. "I'm leaving within the hour," she said. "No one else knows, but the prince will be traveling to Winterfell come summer."
"Did your sister tell you this?" Tyrion asked her.
She shook her head, "I haven't spoken to her—though I suspect I'll be heading back soon for the wedding."
Tyrion seethed. "Then how—"
"I told you, a little bird told me," Arya said. Tyrion frowned. Varys' little spies had disbursed when he was killed. He'd tried to locate them, to learn their secrets, but with no success. "Do you know what he did to them?" Arya asked, referring to the birds. "He cut out their tongues as babes and taught them to speak in words only he understood. Until I made them think that I was him, and that he was magic." She shook her head. "Being your spy master is actually more lucrative than…other ways of making money. Speaking of…"
Tyrion, still shook over the news of Sansa's engagement, reached into the desk and pulled out a coin purse. "You know, a bit of sisterly council might go a long way in stopping this madness. Anything else?" he asked her.
She took the coin and pocketed it. "Yes," she said, "If you sail far enough to the west you find yourself on the other side of the Shadow Lands. The dragon is there."
Tyrion's head snapped to attention. "You should have led with that," he said, "Your brother will want to know."
"I already told him," she said. "He's looking there now. "
Tyrion tossed his hands in the air, "There is a little thing called the chain of command, you see, information should flow in an upward direction—"
"Also, Yara Greyjoy is making plans to sails for Winterfell. She should arrive there just before the Prince." Arya opened the door and glanced around the room. "The city looks much better than the last time I was here," she said. And then she was gone.
Bran sat still, his eyes ghost white. Tyrion fidgeted uncomfortably in a nearby chair and Brianne hovered over the king's shoulder. "How long has he been like this?" he asked her.
"Well over an hour," she said, "he spends more and more time out of his body like this. It makes me worry."
"They say that skinchangers take on traits of the animals they possess the longer the inhabit them. What do you suppose a crippled king with the personality of a dragon might be like?" Tyrion wasn't looking at Brianne, and she didn't bother to answer.
In that moment, Bran slammed back into his body, gasping and shivering. Brianne held him and Tyrion stood to be close. "Your Grace?" Brianne said, her voice pitched.
Bran closed and then opened his eyes several times. "I'm okay," he said. He noticed Tyrion in the room and nodded at him. "Arya told you about Drogon." Tyrion nodded. "I found him. He is…still grieving—like you."
Tyrion drew his brow together. He'd learned not to be unnerved by the truths that Bran couldn't seem to control, though sometimes he wished the king would keep certain truths to himself. "There's talk of sorcerers that could bring her back to life."
"I've seen nothing like that. She is dead and will remain so. But Drogon is alone in the world now—that could be dangerous."
Tyrion didn't know what to say to that. He remembered the feel of the giant creature's hot breath on his face. He was cautious with him, but never felt in danger. He was stupid and naive—of course he was in danger. Just because he loved Dani did not mean that Drogon loved him. Bran pulled him back, "I have heard Sansa Stark is to marry." Bran was detached as always but there was something else in his voice—curiosity maybe, maybe the hint of a scheme. "How do you feel about that?" he asked Tyrion.
Tyrion stared at the ground. He suddenly felt Brianne's eyes on him. "I think it could be trouble for the realm, Your Grace. Having the North too cozy with Dorne—"
"Do you love her?" Bran's expression did not change, but Brianne smiled a little and avoided Tyrion's gaze.
Tyrion balked. "I-I care for Sansa of course. She was my wife, and—"
"You and Sansa never consummated your marriage. By law it was voided, and she was wed to Ramsey Bolton." Tyrion's face burned at the mention of Sansa's rapist-captor as her husband, but also at the reminder that, no, he never bedded his wife.
"Ramsey Bolton is dead," he said.
"Making her a widow, and free to marry anyone she chooses. She didn't choose you." Bran still looked far into the distance, speaking to Tyrion, but not at Tyrion. "But you don't want her to marry another man. Is it jealousy?"
Tyrion looked up at Brianne and wished the knight was not here in this moment. Do they still write to one another? Will she share his confessions with Sansa? "Matters of the heart are…complicated, Your Grace…"
"Yes," he said, "I recall that." Bran closed his eyes again. "I need to rest. You and Lady Brianne will leave for Winterfell. You will congratulate the Queen in the North on her upcoming nuptials and offer the best wishes of the realm. Once the wedding date is set, I will join you there."
Tyrion shook his head. The day he wished Sansa well with another man in another strategic marriage would be the day he through himself off the edge of The Wall. "Your Grace, someone needs to be here in the capitol to rule and Lady Brianne is your personal guard—"
"Neither of you are irreplaceable." Bran said without emotion. He closed his eyes and turned his chair toward the window. "You have your orders."
Lady Sansa— I hope this letter reaches you before it is too late
To the Queen of the North— The realm has received word of your intended…
My Dearest Sansa— Stop this insanity.
At every draft, Tyrion crumpled the parchment and tossed it aside. He ran a hand over his face, and dipped the quill.
Your Grace— I ride for Winterfell in two days with Lady Brianne. The King will follow shortly thereafter. It will please me to see you again. Tyrion.
Tyrion rolled the parchment and sealed it with the Hand's stamp. He walked to the door and handed the message to a servant, who would take it to the Maester, who would fix it to a raven, who would fly to Winterfell and there it will find it's way to Sansa's delicate hands. She would read his words and she would either be suspicious of him (rightly so) or she'd smile in the beautiful way she did, and she would understand, better than Tyrion, exactly why the King was sending him north. And she'd have none of it.
