Qyburn wasn't especially cunning, but he was smart enough to listen to his new birds' songs. Tommen was reinstituting the Small Council, meeting with potential members and listening to endless recommendations and hopefuls pleading their cases. Tommen was meeting with the scattered members of the Faith, likely in search of candidates for a new High Septon. Tommen was exchanging messages with the Archmaester of the Citadel. With a new—and perhaps stronger-willed—grand maester soon to be chosen, Qyburn's next moves would need to be carefully plotted.

Cersei wasn't powerless even with Tommen's recent awakening, but she wasn't smart. She had dangerously overreached when she had set out to destroy the sept, and she wouldn't have succeeded without his assistance. Qyburn was culpable in the murder of the ruling queen, but perhaps he could spin the situation so that he might live. His experiments were already enabling him to save lives; if he were killed now, his knowledge would be lost and all those lives he'd ended would be for nothing.

The need to ingratiate himself with the king brought him to the small council room. His birds had whispered that the king retired to this room for peace when the sycophants and supplicants grew too loud.

Two Kingsguard were at the door; Qyburn recognized one as King Tommen's trusted Ser Balon, but the other had been a relatively new member whose name slipped Qyburn's mind.

"I have information for the king," Qyburn announced himself at the door before either knight could open his mouth to speak. "It is of upmost importance."

Ser Balon poked his head into the small council chambers while the new knight squinted at him uncertainly. Ah yes, Qyburn hummed to himself. This unnamed ser had probably heard enough stories of Ser Gregor to have all sorts of ideas of the man who had brought such a beast back from the brink of death.

"The king will see you," Balon reported after a long moment.

Qyburn was unsurprised that Jaime Lannister was seated at the table with Tommen. Whatever else could be said about him, Jaime did have the capacity to be a dedicated attack dog.

"Qyburn. I was wondering when you'd try to squirm into this room. Though I guess I did expect you to try to come here during an actual meeting of the small council," Jaime remarked offhandedly. Refusing to rise to the bait, Qyburn smiled graciously. He wasn't here to trade barbs with a man he'd seen sob.

"Ser Jaime. Your grace. I wanted to inquire as to any services you might require of me. I found that I inherited birds from both Varys and Pycelle. I also had a number of projects under development stemming from your mother's interests that you may be interested in seeing through."

"Projects?" Tommen asked cautiously. Qyburn bowed his head sharply.

"Yes. She is immensely concerned on the safety of the realm. On hearing recent reports of Slaver's Bay, she instructed me to design a weapon that could counteract the Targaryen girl's dragons."

"A few juvenile dragons halfway across the world are less pressing than domestic treason, it would seem."

"Indeed. The recent attack was a preventable tragedy. I've had my birds seeking out any remaining caches of wildfire beneath the city, to prevent a second incident. In that vein, I was made to understood that it was Ser Gregor who kept you from attending the trial, thus saving your life."

"At the expense of my wife, her family, and a thousand others, yes. Ser Gregor was responsible in part."

"And I understand the predicament facing you in delivering him to justice. You do want justice, don't you?" Qyburn kept his voice light and resisted the urge to smile when Tommen shifted his weight in his chair, interested. The game was set.

"Of course."

"In the course of my… treatment of Ser Gregor after he was incapacitated by Oberyn Martell, I became acutely aware of the man's physiology. With my guidance, Ser Gregor may be subdued more easily, with less collateral damage."

"Men will do a lot for a bag of gold. I'm sure we could find someone to put him down without your wisdom." Jaime simply couldn't keep his mouth shut. Qyburn had never directly asked how exactly how Jaime had lost his hand—again, he was rather smart—but Qyburn was convinced that the man's mouth had something to do with it.

"Perhaps… Perhaps not. I suppose the question now remains: is refusing my aid to satiate your pride more important than the lives of your vassals? If your pride is more important, than I will remain silent. If you'd rather preserve life and structural damage where possible, I am at your disposal." Qyburn turned away from Jaime to the person that was, at least in name, the true power in the room. "Your grace, do you know how I came to serve in King's Landing?"

"You treated Ser Jaime's arm, and was part of the party that delivered him here," Tommen replied quickly enough.

"That is the truth in part. Healers, even those without a maester's chain, find work in war. I healed Riverlands men, was tortured and nearly killed by Lannister men, preserved by Stark men, and came to the capitol to serve the crown. I have served many lords under many banners, but I serve. I do not honor house allegiance in the way your bannermen do; I honor the science and medicine that I am working to further. If you are prepared to accept that, I will prove valuable to your reign."

"You would not swear allegiance?" Tommen asked, disbelieving. Qyburn shook his head, a carefully constructed smile visible for the king.

"Next you visit your mother, ask if I ever swore her my loyalty. If I swear no loyalties, I can continue my work even as the banners change. It is a practice that has served me well, and I will continue it until I die in your service or in your successors'."

Tommen was silent for a long moment, staring Qyburn down as if he meant to get a measure of the man. Qyburn stared back demurely, unconcerned. Honesty was a rare thing in a conversation within the Red Keep, but Qyburn gained nothing from lies to this new king and had much to gain. Tommen would be cautious against liars and supplicants; he would not have his guard raised to an honest man.

"How would you propose to counteract the Mountain's strength?"

"To go into a true explanation, I would need to describe the exact methodology I used to rescue him from the manticore venom used by Oberyn Martell—a lengthy and complicated dialogue that would be hard to understand without an extensive medical background or training. Let it suffice to say that there are certain compounds that would have an extreme reaction with exposure."

"Poison?" Jaime scoffed. "A woman's weapon."

"Do not think of it as poison. There is no true stopper to death. What I did when I saved Clegane from the manticore venom can be considered a hiatus in the poison's spread if one is generous. What flows through Clegane's veins is no longer true blood. With exposure to the proper compouds—either large amounts to his skin or a small amount ingested—my treatments would unravel and the poison would resume its course. Given how extensive the damage had been when I began treatment, I'd be astonished if he survived more than a day once my treatment is undone."

Tommen exchanged a quick glance with his uncle before frowning to himself, eyes drawing back to the table in front of him. After weighing the options for the better part of a minute, Tommen's eyes raised to meet Qyburn's.

"What is in this compound? Would others be likely to have an adverse reaction if they were to be exposed?"

Qyburn smiled and Jaime scowled. He'd won once again; the work continues.

Littlefinger had taught Sansa more lessons than he perhaps meant to. The latest lesson that she'd learned was not one that Baelish had meant to impart, but it was important to Sansa's continued wellbeing that she learn: allies discourage attack. The North was in a position of weakness if anyone were to decide to attack, and it would only grow weaker as winter began its assault.

The Knights of the Vale were very loosely Sansa's. They had come at her call, but on Baelish's order. With Baelish still in the picture, they would never be truly loyal to her. Unfortunately, despite his previous mishandling of her, there was no delicate way to remove him from the situation without losing the Vale's army. It was the Knights of the Vale that had won the Battle of the Bastards. If they were lost, the North would be easy pickings for the crown, the Targaryen would-be queen, or the Ironborn.

The wildlings were loyal to no one save their own self-interest. Sansa could respect that—she respected anyone who had that sort of personal freedom—but their freedoms did not make her a contented wardeness. The wildlings that lived in the Gift would not fight for her, nor would they fight for anyone unless they had a personal stake in the battle. It was a reasonable stance, but it wasn't one that made Sansa rest easy with Jon's wights coming in from the north and Cersei's lions staring at them from the south.

Jon had made it clear that he was either unwilling or unable to forge strong alliances. It had been her work that had resulted in victory at the Battle of the Bastards, not that she received any acclaim from it. She didn't need acclaim, per say, but she needed safety. If it became known that she, Sansa Stark, was ready and able to protect her home and those who resided in it, enemies would think twice before marching north.

The North needed allies. Tommen's missive had introduced one potential ally in the southern king, but Sansa wasn't naïve enough to place her faith in a boy younger than her. Thinking of Tommen returned her thoughts to her time in the capitol, and particularly to the other rays of light in that dark place.

She missed Margaery horribly. In her time in the cage Cersei had crafted for her, Margaery had been truly kind, and Sansa was sure that she wouldn't have survived King's Landing without the support of the Tyrells.

Perhaps, she mused as she reached for a clean piece of parchment, House Tyrell may be willing to support her again.

Lady Olenna,

When I was alone in King's Landing, I was sure that I'd never see my family again, a fear that resurged with my mother and brother's deaths. It was your candor, and Margaery's steadfast friendship, that kept me afloat in King's Landing. House Tyrell is responsible for my current sanity, and I'm ashamed to admit that I had forgotten your friendship until now. I will never forget Margaery's kindness, and I pray each day that she and Ser Loras are in a better place than we are.

You were generous with me in King's Landing, so I will be open with you now. House Stark has reasserted its position in the North. My brother, who you may know as Jon Snow, has been named King in the North by our lords and I its Wardeness. Still, I am afraid. Neither of us require proof to know that Cersei Lannister was behind the destruction of the Sept of Baelor. The North is lucky to have such distance between our homes and Cersei's armies, but I fear for you in Highgarden. I offer you sanctuary in Winterfell, but I know that the cold would disagree with you and the reluctance of the Northmen to march on Cersei would anger you. If you refuse what security I can lend, as I am sure you will, I'd offer you whatever resources I can supply that would aid you in destroying Cersei. The North has a war of its own, but Cersei must be destroyed at the first opportunity. I hope that I have not misjudged you in telling you this.

The Seven Kingdoms never deserved a queen like your granddaughter, but we will remember her.

Yours,

Sansa Stark, Wardeness of the North

Blowing softly on the ink to speed its drying, Sansa reclined in her seat. The North was vast, but it needed support. Support from within, and without. If the Queen of Thorns was willing to provide any sort of support—even if that support was in name only—the North would be that much safer. In a world where safety didn't truly exist, any form of protection was more valuable than gold.

Many of the matters Tommen was briefed on in his meetings with his subjects were out of his control, but there were so many people that simply desired to be heard. Since the sept's destruction, his days had been full of introductions and meetings, attempting to fill the places on the small council and trying to appease his restless citizens, and Tommen was finally proud to have accomplished one small goal.

"In this time of struggle in the wake of such needless destruction and loss of life, there is little this kingdom needs more than justice and unity. The small council has grown alarmingly small, and the ability of this kingdom to be run smoothly has waned with it. In the pursuit of correcting the dissolution of the small council, I hereby name Lord Randyll Tarly of Horn Hill as Master of Laws."

Tommen, standing before the iron throne, glanced to where Randyll Tarly stood. Lord Randyll Tarly was not an overly likeable man. Jaime had warned Tommen of that long before he had met him. What Tommen did like about Lord Randyll was his resolute loyalty. Margaery hadn't spoken much on the houses of the Reach, but House Tarly was renowned for its perhaps ludicrous loyalty to House Tyrell. Now, with the destruction of House Tyrell being likely committed by someone so close to the crown, unity between the crown and the Reach was desperately needed. House Tarly was also one of the strongest vassals of House Tyrell, and when House Tyrell faded with Olenna's inevitable passing, the kingdom would need a new Warden of the South. Tarly, while not exceedingly pleasant, was a good candidate.

"As Master of Laws, Lord Tarly will now join me in hearing your grievances. Together we will work to return this kingdom to a place where all of our families are able to live in safety and live well in the eyes of gods and men."

Jaime watched the proceedings of court with a weary smile. The weeks since the destruction of the sept had not been easy, but he was happy to see that his son was so quickly adapting to his role. Tommen had always been a kind boy, but Margaery's death had, in many ways, been the catalyst he'd need to spur his resolve. Jaime knew that Tommen had been hopelessly in love with his bride, just as he knew that not a day had past for Tommen that he hadn't thought of Margaery. Jaime could see her influence in everything he did, from placing a man from the Reach on the small council to his sharpened attention on his subjects.

As Tommen walked towards his newest advisor, Jaime could only hope that Tommen's voice remained his own. Randyll Tarly didn't seem to be a man with extremely strong opinions, but he struck Jaime as a man that would defend his decisions to the point of stupidity if he were crossed.

"My little birds have—"

"Do shut up, Varys," Olenna interjected tiredly. The walk from her rooms to Daenerys' war room was already long enough without having to endure a long riddle at the end of it. Daenerys looked to Olenna curiously, which the old woman tried very hard to not be offended at. Was she that absent from these meetings that her very presence was surprising? No matter. The Dragon Queen looked amused and all of their major allies were present, so Olenna supposed it was safe enough to proceed. "I've just received a letter from Sansa Stark."

"Sansa?"

All eyes turned to Tyrion, surprised at his outburst. If Olenna didn't know better, the dwarf was nearly blushing at the unwanted attention. After a moment of thought, she chuckled.

"Oh yes. You two were married for a time. Well, it would seem your blushing bride has revealed her claws." Olenna looked to Daenerys with a dry smile. "Sansa is seeking alliances. I'm sure that she does not want to drag the North into more wars for the crown, but she wants protection from Cersei."

Daenerys was silent for a long moment as her hands gently traced the map of Westeros carved onto the tabletop.

"And you think you can trust this Stark? The daughter of the man that betrayed the crown twice, if I'm unmistaken."

"If Sansa is making moves, it would be best to align our causes where possible. She's a clever girl and, with the Knights of the Vale backing her, she has resources that we could use. She has no love for Cersei," Tyrion assured Daenerys. Varys hummed thoughtfully from his place at the table, drawing Daenerys' eyes to him.

"She has no love for Cersei, that much is true. But can the same be said for Tommen? She knew him as a boy. Tommen was always a kind boy, and it seems that he's been more active in his rule since Margaery Tyrell's death."

"How active?" Daenerys asked sharply. Olenna's sharp eyes caught the hint of a frown on Varys' face before he smoothed it away into his annoying emotionless mask.

"He's called upon all the bannermen of the crown—"

"Gathering up an army to combat us?" Daenerys guessed. Varys shook his head.

"He's hearing grievances of the houses and seeking out new members for the small council. He has retained Jaime Lannister as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and has recently taken on Lord Randyll Tarly of Horn Hill as Master of Laws."

Daenerys was quiet for another moment, and Tyrion was quick to fill the silence.

"His recent actions suggest that he is aware that his mother was seizing control, and that he is actively countering her."

"Countering her that so he is king. His being more active is not a great success for us. Taking the capitol would be easier if the people were united against their despot. If they approve of what this boy is doing now, they'll resist me… We need more eyes in the capitol."

"I'll see it done," Varys acquiesced. As he excused himself, Daenerys turned her attention to two of her allies that had been surprisingly quiet thus far.

"Theon. You knew Sansa, didn't you?" The man jerked unsteadily at the sudden attention, but he nodded quickly, muttering under his breath an affirmation. "So? Do you agree with Tyrion that she may make a good ally? Or would she be a threat to us?"

"Sansa—Sansa cares about her home. And her family. If you don't threaten that, she will not be your enemy."

"Her bastard brother is named King in the North. Last I read my histories, the North was one of the Seven Kingdoms. If he continues to press that claim, their interests are in opposition to mine. Does that not make us enemies?"

"She's only ever wanted safety, but she's stubborn. She'll need to be convinced that bending the knee will help protect her people."

"I have three dragons."

"The Northerners don't scare so easily," Yara commented offhand. "We attacked their keeps when most of the fighting men were off in the Young Wolf's camps, and they didn't give a single foot without blood… Who's the real power in the North? Jon is supposed to be king, but Sansa is asking for allies?"

"Sansa has a better mind for politics," Tyrion explained succinctly. "I only knew him briefly, but Jon was more a man of action. Doesn't think before he does anything."

"That doesn't sound like a man I would want to be allied with."

"Hang Jon then. You need the North. Sansa can give it to you. If you show her what you've shown all of us, she will give it to you without bloodshed. If you try to take the North with a fight, you will lose. Winter is here, and the Dothraki and the Unsullied weren't trained to fight in a northern winter. Even if you win, the northerners will fight you at every turn for the rest of your reign."

"Well, three of us know the girl and we've got a couple of ravens, don't we? Write the girl a letter," Olenna recommended. "She reached out first, looking for allies. We could offer her our support against Cersei if she bends the knee."

"So it's a question of who writes the letter?" Yara asked. Her eyes settled on Tyrion quickly. "I think that falls to you, Lord Hand."

"You were married to her, you said?" Daenerys' voice was soft as she thought through it aloud. "Would she trust you?"

"She—Maybe. We got along well enough in King's Landing, but we didn't have the option not to. She's also been through much since I've seen her." Even as the words fell from Tyrion's lips, they sounded empty to his ears. He supposed he was stalling, pushing back against the inevitable, but he was afraid. He was the best suited to reach out to Sansa with terms of an alliance, but he was terrified to be reunited with his once-wife. She was hardly more than a girl when they'd last seen each other, but he was a fool if he tried to pretend that he hadn't cared immensely for her. He had always insisted to her that she was stronger than she knew; would he be able to face her now that she knew just how powerful she was? Would she even trifle with him now? "I'll reach out to her, but I can't promise anything."

"Call her to Dragonstone."

"To—" Tyrion's eyes widened with shock. "She won't come. There's nothing you can do, nothing I can say, to convince her that it would be safe coming here. Your father burned her grandfather and uncle alive when they were called south."

"And her father helped Robert Baratheon murder my family and force me from my ancestral home. We are not our fathers, none of us." Tyrion winced at the jab, but he persisted.

"Bad things happen to Starks that travel south. She's only just found her brother, who might be the last living family she's got, and you want me to convince her to leave Winterfell? She's the Wardeness of the North, her place will be at Winterfell."

"If she would like to keep acting as Wardeness of the North after I take the iron throne, she will come to Dragonstone. Her queen is calling upon her."

Daenerys turned on her heel and left, leaving no room for counterargument. As Tyrion watched her go, heart sinking and stomach churning, one word echoed in his thoughts.

Shit.

Posted 14:00, 4.30.18

Updated 16:54, 3.12.19