Chapter Seven
The sun shining through the window of Tyrion's bedchamber was particularly bright the next morning. He could feel it burning through his eyelids as he fought for a few more minutes of sleep.
"You gonna sleep the whole day away?" Bronn asked as he opened another set of shutters to let even more light pour in.
Tyrion groaned and turned his face away from the light. But it was no use. He was awake, headache and all.
After leaving Sansa the night before, he'd gone back to his own bedchamber and briskly consumed every last drop of alcohol in the room. Then, he'd called for more and had spent his entire wedding night drowning his insecurities in a cask of the best wine Winterfell had to offer. It had been a long time since he'd been so very drunk, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time.
"Got nothin' to say?" Bronn asked. "Well, that's a first."
"And what is it that you'd like me to say? Get the bloody hell out of my chamber?"
Tyrion heard Bronn saunter around the bed, stopping just in front of him. If the opposite side of the room had not been bathed in cruel sunlight, Tyrion would have turned away again.
"Why am I not surprised to find you in here this morning instead of in that girl's bed?"
"I can't imagine."
"You have a really bad habit of not fucking her when you have the chance."
Tyrion finally cracked open one crusty eyelid and looked at Bronn. He looked more like a lord and less like a sellsword than ever before. But then, he was a lord now, so there was no reason he shouldn't look the part. "If I keep going like this, I might never fuck anything again."
"Seven hells."
"What do you want with me this early in the morning?" Tyrion asked, determined to change the subject.
"Your queen is leaving within the hour. As am I. The least you can do is get your drunk arse out of bed and say goodbye."
"Off to claim the spoils of war?"
"And why not?" Bronn replied with a shrug. "Since Queen Dany was kind enough to offer the Twins, why not take them? I get two castles instead of one."
Tyrion pushed himself up in the bed, leaning against the headboard, trying to stop his stomach from heaving. He focused on Bronn, dressed in his fine leather tunic. "Yes, but many, many, many people were murdered there."
"What do I care? Many people were murdered everywhere. Many people were murdered here. People die, one way or another. Doesn't matter how. Death is everywhere, so why run from it?"
"Good point."
"Now," Bronn said, kicking the bedpost with his boot, "get out of bed, or you'll miss my big farewell."
"I'll be there in a minute."
"Better hurry. It's already an hour past sunup."
Bronn ambled toward the door, stopping just long enough to pick up a flagon of wine from the night before. He held it to his lips to take a drink, but it was completely empty. Bronn turned it upside down, and not a single drop fell from its lip. He gave Tyrion a sidelong look.
"It was a very trying night," Tyrion said in his own defense.
"I'll bet."
Bronn put the flagon back on the table and finally left the room.
Tyrion sighed, slumping back against the headboard and fighting the urge to close his eyes again. He knew if he did, he'd go right back to sleep, and he simply didn't have that luxury. He had to be present when his king and queen said their goodbyes. It was expected of him. Besides, he cared for both Daenerys and Jon, and he could not bear the thought of them leaving without a proper farewell.
And yet, his whole body felt like he had just spent the night fighting White Walkers. His head was pounding, his vision was blurry, and his stomach threatened to betray him at any moment. In his younger days, he would have just slept until late in the afternoon, then gotten up and done the whole thing over again. But now, now he had responsibilities. He had a wife and two castles and a list of obligations longer than he was tall – which, admittedly, wasn't saying much. But still, ill or not, he couldn't lay about in bed all day.
Tyrion climbed down from the large bed and stumbled across the floor to the washbasin in the far corner of the room. He splashed his face with cold water, and the shock nearly sobered him. It woke him up just enough for him to be able to get himself dressed without having to call for help. When he was convinced that he looked fairly presentable, he finally left his bedchamber.
The stone corridor echoed with the sounds of servants bustling to prepare for the departure of the royal couple and their attendants. Once they were gone, Winterfell would seem like a quiet, empty place, and Tyrion was dreading it. The moment they passed through the East Gate, his new life would begin in earnest, and he was certainly not prepared for that.
Tyrion followed the commotion out into the yard. Both Jon and Daenerys were already present, waiting outside in the cold, frosty morning for their horses to be readied. Although they still had two dragons at their disposal and could have flown to King's Landing in mere hours, they had chosen to ride south on horseback as an act of good faith. They wanted an opportunity to meet with their subjects as they traveled, to hear their grievances, to connect with them personally. It was the surest way to gain support for their reign.
Tyrion had hoped to have a private word with his queen before her departure, but he knew now that he had missed his opportunity. It would be a long time before he would have a private moment with her again.
Tyrion moved farther into the yard, finally catching a glimpse of his young wife beside Daenerys. She looked radiant in the early morning light, the sun gleaming against her fiery hair. Her posture was dignified, her eyes clear. She looked like a woman who was completely in control of everything around her, and Tyrion wondered how, after everything that had happened the night before, she could be so calm when he was such a wreck.
He feared what he might see when she finally looked his way. Would she be angry with him? Embarrassed? Disgusted? He loathed the idea of seeing any of those emotions marring her beautiful face.
When she finally did see him, however, there was barely any recognition at all behind her beautiful blue eyes. She glanced his way as if simply taking in the scene around her, not so much looking at him as looking through him.
Tyrion shivered. Her coldness cut him to the quick. He knew she felt it was well-deserved, but it wounded him just the same.
Daenerys' gaze followed Sansa's, finally alighting on Tyrion. She arched one fine brow as if she knew all the sordid details of the previous evening. He wondered if she found him lacking or if she thought he had done the right thing.
Now that he had been discovered, Tyrion knew he could no longer hang back among the rabble scrambling to make ready for the royal departure. He steeled himself against the pain still thumping in his temples and approached the little group waiting in the middle of the yard.
"Good morning, Tyrion," Daenerys said with a genuine smile. "Nice of you to join us."
"Did you really think I would pass up the opportunity to bid you farewell?"
"I was beginning to wonder. After all, our wines stores are at least one cask shorter this morning, and that is even after all the wedding libations have been accounted for."
He laughed. "What can I say? It was such a joyous occasion, I felt the need to celebrate."
Tyrion hazarded a glance up at Sansa. Her head was still held high, and she refused to look at him. He knew it hadn't been a joyous occasion for either of them, but his pride was getting the best of him this morning.
"Well, I hope your celebrating is over for the foreseeable future," Daenerys replied. "You have much more important work to do."
"Yes, of course. I will do everything within my power to be a responsible Lord of Winterfell. Isn't that right, Lady Sansa?"
She finally looked at him. Her gaze was colder than the snow at their feet. "We have different definitions of the word 'responsible,' my lord."
Before Tyrion could reply, Jon interjected, "I am certain you will both take very good care of Winterfell and all its people. We could not be leaving it in better hands."
Sansa nodded curtly in Jon's direction, and Tyrion silently exhaled a relieved sigh. The last thing he wanted was to leave Jon and Daenerys with the impression that they'd made a terrible mistake by allowing the match.
Ser Davos came forward then to inform Jon that all was ready for their departure. The royal couple said their goodbyes with little fanfare. Jon hugged both of his cousins tightly before taking his leave, though neither girl shed a tear. Life had made the Stark girls far too hardened for such public shows of emotion, but Tyrion knew they both loved Jon dearly.
As Daenerys moved past Tyrion on her way to her horse, she stopped for just a moment. "You've done well," she said, loud enough for only him to hear. "It will get better." Then, she offered him a small smile before moving on to mount her steed.
Tyrion turned, along with Sansa and Arya, to watch Jon and Daenerys depart. All of Daenerys' followers were going with her. Bronn was traveling with the caravan on his way to the Twins. Tyrion didn't know when they'd see each other again. Although Winterfell would always be bustling with activity, with the royal party gone, it suddenly felt eerily empty. Tyrion had never felt more alone in his life.
"I would like a private word with you, my lord," Sansa said quietly as she stood beside him staring at the horses retreating through the gate. "That is, if you are sober enough to talk."
"There is a huge difference between being drunk and suffering the aftereffects of drink, my lady. I can assure you, I am no longer drunk. I am suffering from a crippling headache though."
Sansa finally turned to look down at him, and Tyrion was forced to pull his eyes away from the gate.
There was still a coldness in her eyes as she said, "I would prefer to speak with you when you are clearheaded."
"Oh, I don't know if I've ever been clearheaded in my entire life."
"You will join me in my chamber for the afternoon meal. Is that understood?"
Sansa was treating him like an errant child, and Tyrion disliked it very much. And, had she been anyone else, he would have told her so. But the truth was, he didn't want to antagonize his new bride. He wanted to build a life with her. So, instead, he simply said, "Of course."
Sansa offered him a curt nod and then turned away and headed toward the Great Hall.
Tyrion just stood there and watched her go. They had been married for less than a day, and already his wife was displeased with him. He knew he shouldn't be surprised. But still, he had hoped for better.
"You won't give her what she wants, will you, my lord brother?"
Tyrion turned around to see Arya standing behind him. He'd completely forgotten that she was there. "She is my wife," he said. "It is my duty to give her what she wants."
"Even when it's not what you want?"
Tyrion caught his breath. Arya knew. She knew everything, didn't she? Either Sansa had told her, or she had figured it out for herself. Either way, she knew what Sansa had asked of him, and she knew he had refused.
"I will always do what's best for Sansa. You have my word."
"Good. Because, if you don't, there will be consequences. You understand that, of course?"
"Of course."
Tyrion understood that better than most. Although Arya Stark had once been a sweet girl, the trials she had endured had changed her irrevocably. Though she always appeared calm and even-tempered, underneath, Tyrion knew she was capable of great, calculated evil. That part of Arya frightened him, and he was determined never to cross her, for he knew he couldn't handle the consequences.
"Then we understand each other," she said.
"Perfectly. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go find a cure for this headache before your sister starts making her demands."
"Then I bid you good day, my lord brother."
"Lady Arya." Tyrion turned and headed back toward his room. He needed a few more hours of sleep before he faced whatever it was that Sansa had in store for him.