Chapter 20
Sansa wrapped her arms around herself, watching her husband sleep. She should be happy – Tyrion had woken up after three days of rest and they'd been able to have a proper conversation. It hadn't gone exactly as she'd imagined however.
Tyrion had been very committed to blaming himself for what happened. Apologies and reasons why he should be sent away had poured from him, as if he was going to be thrown out like a stray dog. Sansa rubbed her temples – it had hurt to hear him say those things. His normally warm green eyes had been distant and full of hatred; but only for himself. Sansa knew she should be grateful her husband had forgiven her so easily for how he was sentenced in Kings Landing, but she honestly thought it might have been better if he'd shouted or got angry. He'd accepted her role in the demise of his house without protest, reassuring her that it had been her right to decide his fate along with King Bran and the lords of Westeros.
Perhaps it had been too soon to tell him. He'd only just woken up after a traumatic experience and was surely in a lot of pain, but Tyrion had confessed to being sold as a slave in Essos as if he expected her to disown him then and there – confessing her own secret had felt right in the moment. She still couldn't wrap her head around the idea of Tyrion being bought and sold like livestock. It just wasn't something she wanted to imagine, but the scars on his back were proof enough he'd suffered horribly in Essos. By the end of their talk, his head had been drooping and she worried he'd done too much. Rather than keep giving him milk of the poppy, Maester Wolkan had left a different medicine that would ease some of his pain without knocking him out completely and she'd insisted he drink some before she settled him down to rest again.
The door creaked open but Sansa didn't bother turning around; she knew who it was.
"I got your message" said Arya stopping beside the chair "How is he?"
"He said he was ok, but it was obvious he was in a lot of pain" said Sansa "I sat him up for a while but he was struggling to stay awake"
"Did you get a chance to talk with him?"
"I did – and I told him everything"
"And?"
"He forgave me straight away" said Sansa biting her lip
Her sister hummed beside her "That's his immediate reaction. When he has time to think about it he might be angry Sansa"
"I don't think so. He's convinced Bran should have taken his head and doesn't deserve to be in our home"
"It's his home too"
"Try telling that to Tyrion"
"I have - repeatedly" said Arya, dropping on to the edge of the bed.
Tyrion's direwolf had apparently decided his master needed him and the golden wolf pup was now lying on the pillow near his broken wrist.
"What did he say?" asked Arya, ruffling the wolf's fur
Sansa leaned back in the chair "Well he apologised a lot, mentioned how he shamed us several times and told me he was going to take the black"
"Ah Sansa, he just needs time"
"He also begged me to not marry Robin Flint or Gawan Glover as he's afraid they'll hurt me"
Arya's expression grew solemn "They should be afraid of us"
"Agreed"
"The nights watch doesn't really exist anymore – he'd end up living among the free folk like Jon" mused Arya
"There is no chance I'm letting him near any wildlings. Especially not after he saved those women"
"Afraid they'll steal him away?" said Arya with a smirk
"Absolutely. Did you hear how they were talking about him in the great hall?" said Sansa, crossing her arms "They would be lining up to be his spear wife"
The story of how Tyrion had saved the missing girls had spread like wildfire, and she'd heard more than one report of how well her husband was now regarded among the wildling women. If she and Tyrion ever went near the Gift it would be under armed escort.
"Well they're gone now; a few of the guards are escorting them back to the Gift"
"Good - one less problem to deal with" muttered Sansa, eyeing her sleeping husband. Even as he slept his brow was furrowed as if he was thinking too hard
Arya turned to Tyrion, whispering to him "I think Sansa's getting jealous"
"I'm not jealous - I'm the Queen" said Sansa, straightening in her chair "but I'm also a Stark and if any of those women attempt to steal my husband they'll understand the true meaning of Winter"
Her little sister stared at her for a moment, before her face cracked into a grin and they both burst out laughing.
"I'd pay to see you duelling with a wildling over Tyrion!" said Arya with a snort
"I hope you know I'd win"
"Without doubt"
It was good to laugh with Arya - how long had it been since she'd laughed with her sister? But as her eyes fell on her husband, the reality of the situation sobered her mood. Her sister followed her gaze, her own smile turning to a grim line.
"Are we any closer to finding them?"
Arya shook her head "From what we can gather, Tyrion ruined their slavery business. We have no idea what they might do next, but if they're smart they'll try to escape the North and flee Westeros"
"They're not smart" said Sansa, face hardening
"I think we need to ask Tyrion what exactly happened - we've only really heard second hand accounts. There could be some clue about what they're planning next and he's the main witness against them"
"He won't want to talk about it. I wouldn't either"
"I get that" agreed Arya "but he needs to talk about it"
Sansa's heart constricted. Arya was right - it was important Tyrion spoke to someone about what he'd been through. After Daenerys burned Kings Landing and he was thrown in prison no-one checked on him or bothered talking to him about it at all. He'd seen thousands burn and then been locked away for weeks. Sansa could see clearly now. How had she not noticed his changed behaviour when he came to Winterfell? He didn't drink, he hardly spoke and was a shadow of his former self.
"I don't want to force him anymore Arya"
"That's good but he might need a bit of a push Sansa. Things can't go back to the way they were - you need to talk to him"
"He speaks to me like his Queen not his wife"
Guilt clawed up her throat watching Tyrion sleep. The fact he'd woken up and been coherent enough to talk had brought her great relief - but he was by no means recovered. His physical injuries could leave him crippled and Sansa didn't want to think about the mental wounds he'd suffered. The few bits and pieces of his suffering she'd heard already were enough to haunt her.
Arya stood from the bed locking eyes with her sister "He's bottled up everything for too long Sansa; it's bound to break free eventually. You should understand that - you're more alike than you think"
'The disgraced daughter and the demon monkey; we're perfect for each other'
Tyrion's sardonic voice from years ago echoed through her mind and she focused her attention on the steady rise and fall of his small body under the blankets.
"I should have talked to him long before now" said Sansa "You and Maester Wolkan both told me he wasn't well and I refused to see it"
"When he came to Winterfell I tried to tell him he could talk to me, but he never did. The most I got out of him was when we sparred the night before he went missing"
Sansa fiddled with the sleeves of her gown "What did you find out?"
Her sister leaned forward as if she was going to divulge a great secret "That's between me and my brother. You'll have to find out on your own"
"Arya!" she groaned, slumping in the chair
"Sorry big sister, but you need to get to know Tyrion yourself not use me as your master of whisperers. Besides he didn't really tell me anything of consequence"
"Will you at least tell me how you got him talking? After what happened between us before he was taken…I don't think he'll open up to me again"
So much guilt, Sansa could have swum in it. That one night nearly two weeks ago when they'd bonded - talking and laughing until she demanded an heir from him. His broken hearted face as he lay beneath her was a constant feature of her nightmares.
Her little sister knew what she was referring to. Sansa's breakdown a few days ago had led to her confessing everything she'd done, and every regret she held.
"Well I was sparring with him. If I hit him he had to answer my question"
Sansa snorted "I'm sure that was fair"
"You underestimate him - he was actually quite good with a sword. He hit me a few times so I had to answer his questions too"
"That won't work for me" said Sansa, her sharp mind analysing the situation "They hurt him so badly…you said he liked training with a sword - what if he can't do that anymore?"
It would be cruel for the one thing Tyrion apparently enjoyed to be taken from him, but Sansa's eyes wandered over his mangled arm and came to rest on his snapped ankle. Maester Wolkan said it was a bad break - a good chance it wouldn't heal properly. His arm was even more delicate. Many Maesters would have removed his hand rather than try and fix the broken fingers and small bones in the limb.
"He will use a sword again - I'll make sure of it" said Arya, sliding off the bed "At least it's not his sword hand they broke"
Sansa leaned towards Tyrion, stroking the fingers poking out beneath layers of bandages "I'd like to see you with a sword - I'm sure you look very dashing"
"Do you want to take a break and I'll stay with him?"
"No. Thank you Arya, but I'd like to stay with him" said Sansa, eyes growing warm as she watched him sleep
"I'll come and see you both later then"
Her sister left, leaving Sansa alone with Tyrion once more. Arya was right; she needed to get to know her husband. She'd spent far too long waiting for the Tyrion she'd married in Kings Landing to reappear; he was different now and she needed to accept that. Sansa wasn't the same girl she'd once been either. This wouldn't be easy; Tyrion's shame and self-loathing had been apparent throughout their brief conversation. Changing that would be difficult, but she would do it.
"I'll take care of you" she promised "You're mine to protect"
Tyrion turned his head away from Arya, instead focusing on what Maester Wolkan was doing. The old man had come to check his injuries and Arya had apparently been sitting with him. The change of positions had jolted him awake to find the younger Stark girl holding him upright. Unlike his now regular dreams of Sansa and Arya looking at him with disgust, Arya had grinned at him when she realised he was awake.
"Good to see you big brother" she'd said, propping him against the headboard while Wolkan examined him
The Maester had asked him a few questions about how he felt, checking his head and eyes before he moved to change the bandages around his chest. Arya was sat on the edge of the bed beside him, gripping his good arm to keep him upright. It was humiliating - he hated being this weak and dependant on others. All his life he'd been told what a burden he was, this was just providing more evidence of the fact.
"Are you ok Tyrion?" she asked, leaning her head forwards to catch his eye
"I'm fine" he said, keeping his eyes on Wolkan as the bandages were removed to reveal a long slash that curved from the bottom of his chest and across his left ribs. It was a gruesome sight - held together by dozens of neat stitches.
"That's going to leave a wicked scar" said Arya, following his gaze
'Another for my collection. Each makes me more monstrous than the last' he thought, surveying the damage his once friend had inflicted
"The wound appears to be healing well enough" said the Maester, pressing some foul smelling liquid against it "I need to wrap this again, examine the slash on your arm and then check the burn on your shoulder. Is that alright, my lord?"
'I'm not a lord' he thought, but he nodded at the Maester who resumed his work
"Sansa will be back soon" said Arya "I can get her now if you'd prefer her to be here?"
"No...I'm sorry Arya" he said, realising she was taking his silence as not wanting her there "I'm being rude - neither of you need to stay with me. I'm sure there are better things to be doing"
"Don't be stupid" said Arya, leaning her head against his "You're my brother - I'm not going to leave you and neither is Sansa"
"You should"
"If you say you've shamed us one more time I might punch you"
"You'd punch a cripple?" he said, trying to lift his shattered wrist.
His hand and fingers ached while his wrist throbbed. Stiff pieces of wood were pinning everything in place, but Tyrion knew he was lucky to still have his hand attached; however useless it might be to him.
"You'll heal" she said, pushing his arm back to the bed "Back to swinging a sword in no time"
"The damage to your arm and ankle is quite extensive, but given time I think you have a good chance of recovering the use of both limbs. Particularly since you're not experiencing any numbness" said Wolkan, unwrapping the bandages on his upper arm to reveal another jagged slash wound
Tyrion said nothing as the Maester carried on his duties, with Arya sitting quietly beside him. The wolf pup had been eating some meat from a bowl in the corner of the room, but having finished its meal it scrambled onto the bed beside them.
"What are you going to call your new friend?" asked Arya, scratching the wolf behind the ears. The creature didn't seem overly interested in her attention and nudged his nose against Tyrion's right hand instead.
"He's not mine - I told Sansa one of you should have him"
"Tyrion" said Arya, leaning forward to look him in the eye "That is the most Lannister looking direwolf I've ever seen - he's meant for you"
"I'm not a Stark. Direwolves are the sigil of your house" he said, a touch of sadness entering his tone
"You're the lord of Winterfell and you're married to a Stark, which makes you family. Besides the wolf chose you"
"Why would a direwolf want anything to do with me?"
Arya sat back, tightening her grip on him "All of our wolves were like us, you know? They reflected our personalities and nature. Robb's wolf was the biggest and most disciplined - the leader of the pack. Sansa's was a perfect lady; well-mannered and graceful. Bran's wolf was adventurous and intelligent. Rickon's was wild and unpredictable. You've seen Ghost - he's a quiet outsider like Jon. Nymeria was rebellious and protective; she never did what I asked."
"I'm sorry you lost her" he said, wincing as Wolkan applied some kind of paste to the brand on his back "You should have this one"
She shook her head softly "Look at him Tyrion. He's brave, loyal and you can see how clever he is. Just like his master"
A lump formed in his throat at her words; how he wished that was true. The Maester wound more bandages around his shoulder securing a patch over the brand before moving from the bed.
"Is there anything I can do for you my lord?"
"No, thank you" said Tyrion, as Arya set some pillows behind him propping him up. The wolf had given up on trying to win his affection and settled against the side of his leg instead.
"You need only ask my lord" said the Maester, bowing his head "It is good to see you"
With Wolkan gone and Tyrion settled against the headboard, Arya dropped into the chair beside the bed - grey eyes studying him.
"It's just us now" she started "Are you really ok?"
"I'm fine"
"We missed you"
"I'm sorry" he said, fidgeting with the blanket
"It wasn't your choice"
"I know - but it caused you a lot of trouble"
Arya tilted her head to look at him "You saved all those women - guess you were right about that hidden path from Winterfell"
"I'm glad they were able to find it. The thought of those poor girls being sold as slaves…"
"Rose and all the other girls told us how brave you were. They said you stayed behind so they could escape"
"We were being followed" said Tyrion, dropping his gaze from Arya's stare "Those girls were innocent - I couldn't let them get captured again"
"I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you"
"There's nothing you could have done; I shouldn't have been taken in the first place"
The door creaked open and Sansa slipped into the room; a smile lighting up her face as she saw Tyrion awake.
"Hello" he said quietly, as she came to sit on the bed beside him
"How are you feeling?" she asked, taking hold of his right hand
"I'm fine"
"Maester Wolkan has just been to see him" added Arya
"He changed your bandages?" she asked, brushing a hand through his hair
Tyrion nodded, uncomfortable with the attention he was getting - particularly with Sansa and Arya both watching him.
"You look a bit pale, I'll send for some food" said Sansa
"It's alright" he said "I'm not hungry"
"You need to eat" she insisted, squeezing his hand
"I'll go get the food" offered Arya
The sisters went about discussing what food was best for him and Tyrion wanted nothing more than to disappear. It wasn't right; they shouldn't be fussing over him like this. Sansa was Queen - she had more important things to do.
Guilt stirred in his heart once more as Sansa's blue eyes gazed at him with such softness. He didn't belong here.
"Lady Arya" called the young voice
She turned in the corridor to see Nessa hurrying towards her. The tatty young girl stopped in front of her, worry etched over her face.
"How's Tyrion?" she asked, fiddling with her sleeves
Every day she would find her asking for an update on his condition. Arya wasn't entirely sure how much to tell her. She didn't want to lie but the truth was horrible. Ultimately, she'd decided to keep to basic truths. Word of what had happened to Tyrion was already spreading throughout the North, and Nessa would doubtless hear it one way or the other. The girl knew he was badly hurt and resting.
"I talked to him yesterday" she told the girl "he needs a lot of rest right now"
"Does he need anything?" Nessa asked, innocent eyes gazing up at her "I can help"
"Thank you - but not at the moment. The Queen is taking care of him"
Arya stifled a laugh at the look of horror that crossed Nessa's face "What's wrong?"
"The Queen is scary" she said, eyes darting around the corridor as if Sansa may suddenly appear at the mention of her title
"She can be" agreed Arya "but she loves Tyrion too. He's safe with us"
"Ok" said Nessa, shuffling on the spot
"When he's feeling better, I'm sure he'd love to see you"
"Really?"
"Of course, he just needs time to heal"
Nessa smiled up at her "Ok, I'll practice my reading – then when Tyrion's better I can show him"
"Good idea" said Arya, mussing the girls hair
It was five days since Tyrion's return when Arya went to see Grey Worm. Seasoned guards were left in charge of the rarely used dungeon, and from them Arya learned the Unsullied captain had made no attempts to escape; remaining silent in his cell. She'd asked Sansa to come with her, but her sister was reluctant to leave Tyrion alone for any length of time.
The dungeons in Winterfell weren't particularly large and Arya soon found herself outside the small cell occupied by the former slave. His wrists were chained and locked to the wall as were his feet, but there was just enough slack for him to lie down on the straw covered bed. He was sat on the edge of it when she got there, dark eyes turning to hers as she took in the blood stained rags wrapped around his right hand. The stumps of his two missing fingers were covered by the material, but if the maiming bothered Grey Worm he didn't show it.
"This cell is a lot nicer than where you were holding Tyrion in Kings Landing - and we're giving you food" she mused, recalling the squalid conditions she'd found him in
"You come kill me" he stated, turning to look at her
"No" said Arya, resting her hand on needle "There will be a trial first"
"What for?"
"You're accused of the attempted murder of the lord of Winterfell and his kidnapping"
"He not dead?" he asked, shaking his head "Would have been justice for my Queen"
"You're also accused in the kidnapping of young girls to be sold into slavery"
Grey Worm's eyes ignited at the accusation and he leapt to his feet, the chains holding him clanking and grinding against his rage.
"I did not!"
"Did you give Robin and Gawan money?"
"I paid them to give me the traitor" he said, nostrils flaring
"They used that money to set up their slave business"
"No…not true. Lannister is lying"
"So they never mentioned slavery to you?" she asked, pacing in front of the cell "Never asked you anything about it?"
Uncertainty flickered across his face "They ask about Lannister, about my past, how I met Queen"
"They used whatever you told them to start their own business as slavers"
"No!"
"You're as guilty as they are"
"I not…"
"Missandei would be ashamed of you"
Grey Worm lunged towards the cell door, the chains growing taunt as he raged "Not true. I hate slavers - I kill slavers. I serve the mother of Dragons; the breaker of chains"
Arya snorted "You didn't break those girls' chains - you put them there. Tyrion risked his life to help them escape"
The Unsullied captain had stopped struggling and stood in the centre of his cell, his muscles straining under his ragged clothes. Arya moved out of sight of the cell returning a moment later, a long piece of iron in her hand.
"Do you know what this is?" she asked, lifting the metal rod for him to see
It was straight apart from one end where a circle with a series of lines and curves within it stretched about three inches in width and height.
Grey Worm stared at her, not answering.
"After we left the Wolfswood some of our men searched the area and found this. If you look at the end, you can see a pattern. Can you see it?" she asked, pushing it towards him
"I see"
"This is a hot iron. You heat the end of it and then you press it against things to get that pattern"
"I know what hot iron is!" he said, baring his teeth
"Good. This is what your friends used to brand my brother" she said, her eyes narrowing "They would have heated this up and pressed it against the back of Tyrion's shoulder, leaving this pattern burnt into his skin. The pain would have been excruciating"
"He a traitor - I do not care what happened to traitor" said Grey Worm, but with less conviction than before
The hot iron had rattled him; it had rattled her too. Sansa had burst into tears after one of Cley's guards brought it before them the day before. Her sister had wanted to destroy it, but Arya convinced her it was evidence. She'd agreed in the end on the condition Tyrion was never to see it.
"After Tyrion freed the slaves he was recaptured. Apparently your friends Robin and Gawan were going to brand their new slaves before sending them to Essos - marking them as their property. When they escaped they used it on Tyrion instead" she said, watching Grey Worm flinch.
When Tyrion had first woken up he'd told Sansa that information in the midst of apologising for it happening in the first place. Her sister had told her as much when the hot iron was brought to them and Arya's rage at the monsters grew.
"No…that can't…" said Grey Worm, sagging in his restraints
"Forty women he saved from this" she said, turning the hot iron with distaste "some as young as four and ten. Only children really, who would have never seen their home or families again because of the money you gave Robin Flint and Gawan Glover"
"I no slaver" he said, sinking on to the edge of the bed "Can't be true"
"You saw the collar that was fastened around Tyrion's neck" she said, pulling out the cut piece of leather and holding it up "They melted the clasp shut so he couldn't remove it - we've had to cut it from him"
Grey Worm's eyes were haunted as he stared at the collar. Arya gave a signal to Alec who'd been stood at the other end of the corridor as they spoke; he approached in silence carrying a sack.
"In case you need more convincing" said Arya, nodding to Alec
He tipped the contents of the sack to the floor, spilling forty slave collars in front of Grey Worm.
"One from all of the girls that were saved from slavery by the man you tried to kill" said Arya, as Alec retreated
"I kill slavers" hissed Grey Worm "I would not help slavers - only wanted justice for Queen"
"And I want justice for my brother" said Arya, holding his gaze "You will die for what you did to Tyrion, but you can help bring Robin and Gawan to justice first. Tell me everything you know about them, every conversation you had with them. You claim to honour Daenerys fight against slavery, so tell me what I need and maybe you can retain some kind of honour"
The Unsullied leader stood from the bed and met Arya's gaze. His dark eyes were dangerous and full of hate, but there was something else there too.
"Missandei was sold as slave when she was young girl - I love her and she die at hand of Lannisters"
"Tyrion didn't kill her; she was his friend" she said firmly "but I am sorry she's dead"
"He betrayed our Queen"
"She went mad - and slaughtered thousands of innocents"
"I love them both. Missandei was best of me. Queen Daenerys freed me - gave this one life"
Arya was not unsympathetic to Grey Worm. The Unsullied training and mutilation he'd endured was horrendously cruel; she understood his devotion to his Queen however misguided.
"Sansa is my sister and Queen; Tyrion is my brother now" said Arya holding his gaze "I love them both and I'd do anything to protect them"
Silence crept on until Grey Worm nodded his head "For Missandei and for Queen Daenerys I will tell you everything - slavers must be stopped"
Arya nodded as well. Any scrap of information would prove useful. To defeat your enemy, you must know your enemy and Arya would learn everything she could about them; and then they would die.
Tyrion grimaced as Tom tilted his head to one side and carefully cut away the beginnings of his beard. The wound across his face needed to be kept clean and he would be going beardless until Sansa and Maester Wolkan decided it had healed enough to not risk any infection.
"It's only for a little while" said Sansa, ever present in the chair beside the bed "when your face has healed you can grow it back if you like"
Tyrion said nothing. Waking to find his face bare had been strange – he'd had a beard since he left Westeros. It helped to make the scar across his face less noticeable and without it he felt oddly naked. The fact his hair had also been sheared very short at the back and sides hadn't helped either, but he'd been told that was due to the filth he'd accumulated in the Wolfswood.
"Anything else little lord?" asked Tom, grinning at Tyrion as he brandished the knife "Could go shorter with your hair if you like the new style"
"That's quite alright, thank you" said Tyrion, eyeing the blade warily
"Thank you" said Sansa as the barber tidied up and left
He squirmed slightly against the pillows, hating how exposed he felt. The injuries to his upper body made it difficult to wear a shift or tunic so he was stuck wearing only his breeches. The lack of hair left him vulnerable - as if a shield had been taken from him, leaving his emotions difficult to hide.
"I like being able to see your face" she said, as if reading his mind
"Gods know why"
"Don't talk like that - I happen to think you're very handsome" said Sansa taking his hand
Tyrion raised an eyebrow. He had never been handsome, and he rather doubted the scars that covered him improved his appearance.
"You do" she insisted "when I was told I was marrying you in Kings Landing, Lady Margery thought you were rather good looking – especially with the scar"
"She was marrying Joffrey; even a disfigured dwarf is a marginal improvement over that beast of a boy"
The weight of the bed shifted and Sansa sat next to him, taking hold of his face, as he dropped his eyes from her smiling gaze
"You don't have to believe me, but it's true" she said "the cut across your face isn't too deep, and the gash in the back of your head is healing well too. When that heals a little more you can lie on your back rather than your side if you like"
Tyrion nodded, forcing himself to give Sansa a smile. She was being so nice to him and he really didn't deserve it.
The branches crunched under Bran as he made his way through the hills that ran North of the Wolfswood. Being the three-eyed raven was a heavy burden, but it did allow him to stand and walk as he saw the past, present and possibilities for the future. For days his mind had been North, searching for possibilities and truths hidden in both the past and the future. He'd seen Sansa's coronation and the way she ruled the North. He'd seen Tyrion when he arrived at Winterfell after leaving Kings Landing; filthy and in chains.
For all his wandering, what he saw now was new. A large, direwolf had just given birth to a litter of six pups and a pang of nostalgia swept through Bran Stark at the sight of the newborn pups. It was strange to see a direwolf this far South of the wall but the mother wolf was heading North, back towards the wall. He watched as the pups clumsily moved after their mother, though one was further behind than all the others. It stood out from its siblings with golden fur, but was small and scrawny - the runt of the litter. The three-eyed raven saw their journey North and with each passing day the runt of the litter fell further behind. The mother wolf began to lose interest in the little creature, pushing it away to allow her stronger children to feast on her kills first. It was almost a week later when the pack crossed a stream that the mother helped her pups to cross - except the smallest one. The little golden wolf was left alone as his family moved away, the mother wolf offering him only one final glance as she carried on with her stronger children.
The little direwolf whined and looked for a way to follow his family, but without the mothers help it had no chance of crossing the stream safely. Lying on the ground, the wolf pup cried and cried as Bran watched. The wind rustled around the pup some hours later and the little creature's ears pricked up. Turning away from the stream, the direwolf started to move South again.
Bran found himself thrown out of the vision and he returned to his chambers in Kings Landing. It didn't matter that his vision had been cut short - he knew where the wolf pup had gone next. Somehow the runt of the litter had survived and found Tyrion Lannister. For days he'd searched for where the direwolf could have come from and the Old Gods had finally allowed him a glimpse. At first he'd wondered if the direwolf was somehow connected to Tyrion's dead brother. The golden fur and green eyes were unusual in a direwolf and bore an uncanny resemblance to the typical Lannister look. That was not the case however - this direwolf had been shunned by his family and left behind. It had been led to Tyrion and Bran could only assume the creature had forged a bond with the lord of Winterfell as a kindred spirit.
"You look unusually happy" commented Davos, seated across from him
"Apologies lord Hand - I didn't realise you were there"
"Aye, figured as much. Seen anything good?"
"Perhaps. The direwolf that saved lord Tyrion is not his brother"
"Thank the gods for that. I'm not sure I could deal with dead relatives returning in animal form. Besides shouldn't it have been a lion if it was Jamie Lannister?" said Davos, tapping his shortened fingers against the arm of the chair
"I've never given it much thought"
"Well I have, ever since you mentioned your theory that the direwolf was Jamie Lannister. My sigil is an onion, every night I've been having weird dreams about an onion with my son's voice"
Bran smiled as the older man let out a relieved sigh, sinking against the chair. He knew his mind had been too far North for too long the past several days, leaving Ser Davos King in all but name. He was more than capable of ruling, but Bran realised an absentee King could be considered stressful for some Hands.
"Rest easy Ser Davos - the dead will not rise again"
"Aye, it's probably for the best" he agreed, sadness passing over his face "no matter how much we want them too"
The three-eyed raven knew it was impossible, but Bran Stark shared the onion Knight's wish. It had been so long since he saw his parents and his brothers. The memory of Hodor and Summer still cast a shadow over him from time to time. They'd died so he could become this; he would at least honour their memory with the powers that came with being the three-eyed raven.
"Where did the direwolf come from then?" asked Ser Davos, drawing Bran from his musings
"It was the runt of the litter - its family abandoned it and returned to the North. It was led to Tyrion and bonded with him"
"Good loyal creatures they are - clever too. Jon was dead but Ghost still knew friend from foe"
"I'm glad that one found Tyrion. They can help each other, and perhaps I can help you Ser Davos - I realise I've been away for a while"
"Good to hear, your Grace. You'll be pleased to know the realm is still standing despite my blundering over it"
"I'd expect nothing less" said Bran, mouth turning upwards at his hand
He'd never wanted to be King, but it was necessary. It was tempting to stay in his visions, watching the world through a thousand eyes and walking as he hadn't since childhood. Love was the death of duty, but dreams couldn't be far behind.
"Would you like anything to eat?"
"No, thank you"
"Are you warm enough?"
"Yes, thank you"
"Is there anything I can get you? I can read to you if you'd like"
"Thank you, but I'm fine"
Sansa sighed recalling the conversations she'd had with Tyrion over the past few days as she sank into the chair beside the fire. It had been a week since Tyrion's return and four days since he woke up. Within that time he'd hardly spoken, responding only when he was asked something. Even then his replies were polite and short. She wanted to make things better with Tyrion, but he was so distant from her. He asked for nothing and apologised every time he needed help. The worst was trying to feed him. The first time he'd been awake for food he'd insisted he could feed himself, but his hand had shook so badly half of the food had ended up over him.
"I'm sorry" he'd said, turning his head from her as she took the spoon from his hand and cleaned him up
"You're not well enough yet" she'd soothed "let me help you"
Tyrion had looked close to tears as she helped him eat his dinner, and she hated taking away his dignity but he could hardly sit up - there was no shame in letting his wife help. He hadn't protested since but every meal was a hardship, and the broken look in his eyes as she fed him was horrible to see. Changing the baggy breeches he was wearing for a better fitting but equally loose pair was also an ordeal, eclipsed only by helping him use the privy. He always thanked her for the help and did whatever she asked, but every time she could see another little piece of his battered self-confidence break. Sansa consoled herself with the thought it wouldn't always be like this and did her best to remain positive and cheerful around Tyrion, showing him affection whenever she could and hoping he would open up to her.
Arya regularly visited but after seeing how humiliated he was at meals, Sansa had quietly asked her sister to avoid coming to their chambers during those times. The hearth was burning brightly, warming the room as she glanced to the bed and her sleeping husband. Two days after he woke up she'd decided to start sleeping in the bed with him again, though in truth it was like he wasn't there. He barely moved or spoke, though she often found him shaking from nightmares during the night. When that happened she would wake him up, asking if he wanted to talk and offering to hold him - both of which he always refused.
His wolf pup was lying near his feet on the bed, occasionally raising his head to glance at his master. The little creature was clearly devoted to him, but Tyrion hardly spared him a glance - refusing to interact at all with the direwolf. Sansa was terrified she was losing Tyrion, but she had no idea how to help him. Most of this was her doing. She'd shown him little affection or attention before this; it was understandable he didn't trust her now she was. It hurt. She couldn't deny it hurt every time he flinched from her touch in the night and sat stiffly in her embrace when she tried to comfort him. Sansa could tell he was afraid of something, but she had no idea what - he was safe in Winterfell. Was he that afraid of her? Her stomach churned at the thought.
Tyrion had always been rather affectionate, even in Kings Landing. He'd always initiated the contact, whether it was taking her hand in his or rubbing her back when she had nightmares about Joffrey. It had brought her some comfort in that horrible place; it wasn't romantic but it was caring. Now she wanted to return the favour but Tyrion seemed to find no comfort with her. Turning her gaze back to the piles of correspondence before her, Sansa resolved to keep trying for as long as it took.
It had been a week since he first woke and Tyrion was sat up in bed, moonlight streaming through the windows of the room.
This was it; his best chance of leaving.
Sansa had asked him earlier if he would be alright on his own for a few hours. She'd told him some business had cropped up urgently and she would be with Maester Wolkan and Arya for some time. Tyrion had assured her it would be fine but the Queen's eyes had been filled with sadness as she kissed him goodnight and left the room. The room seemed colder without her or Arya there, despite the burning hearth in the corner. One or the other had been a constant presence since his return to Winterfell, but particularly Sansa. She had showered him with affection, telling him every day she loved him and fussing over him constantly.
His heart ached at the thought of not feeling her softness against him anymore - but this was for the best. He was a crippled dwarf; beaten and humiliated, he was wholly unfit to stay. Sansa had told him multiple times she didn't want him to leave, but it was pity talking. Eventually she would realise what a mistake she'd made and there was nothing left of Tyrion's heart to break when she did. The longer he stayed the harder it was to leave though. Sansa and Arya were too kind; too dutiful to send him away, so he would have to make the choice for them.
He'd struggled to sit up in the bed, but now he turned his focus to actually leaving it. His body trembled with the effort as he pushed his way out from under the warm blankets, sliding his feet onto the floor. Pain flared in his broken ankle at the pressure on it, but he grit his teeth as the world swayed around him.
Weak. He was too weak.
For the past week he'd needed help to do nearly everything as his battered body betrayed him. Sansa had helped to feed, clean and clothe him and his embarrassment grew every time she did. The Queen never complained - brushing off his apologies with a smile and a kiss. A wave of sadness swept through him at the thought of never feeling Sansa's warmth again, or the softness in her eyes when she spoke to him. His heart wanted to let Sansa close to him and give in to his own feelings for her, but it wasn't real. Sansa was wasted on a creature like him – her pity would run out and he'd be left with a broken heart once more. She was a Queen, her time should not be wasted looking after a crippled dwarf.
Getting out of bed had been a problem but finding clothes was a different problem entirely. He would keep the overly large breeches he was already wearing - changing into something else would be far too difficult. He lurched towards the drawers in search of a tunic. His body ached with every movement but he pushed onwards, staggering towards the furniture. Pulling it open he was surprised to find many of his tunics had been embroidered with golden lions, and he recognised Sansa's delicate needlework. Why would she waste her time and effort doing that for him? His fingers trembled as he traced one of the lions – it was beautiful, but he didn't deserve it. Tyrion didn't want to steal from the Starks, but he wouldn't get very far without some kind of clothing. Eventually he found a plain black tunic and eased it around him. The stitches across his chest and ribs protested the motion, and his damaged wrist ached horribly as he tried to force the limb through the sleeve. He put one boot on, realising getting another over his splinted ankle was impossible and he'd have to go without it. The wolf pup had jumped off the bed as he dressed, and padded around his feet whining softly at him.
"Stay" he said, turning away from the direwolf as he struggled towards the door
He'd only been out of bed for a short time and already his body was rebelling, sweat trickling down his back as he tried to ease the heavy wood open. Peering into the corridor, he was relieved to see no-one around. The hour was late as he staggered into the dimly lit hall, lurching towards the far wall and pulling himself along. The wolf was following him quietly, and Tyrion decided it wasn't worth the trouble of sending it back. If the creature was determined to follow him so be it; he didn't care anymore.
His body was on fire as he moved through Winterfell. Unused muscles trembled with the strain of moving his body. More than once he stumbled, catching himself at the last second. By the time he made it downstairs and the door to outside was in sight his head was pounding and his ankle was throbbing with each shuffling step.
Conflicting thoughts battled for dominance the closer he got to leaving.
'You could stay'
'Go. You're only a burden'
'Sansa will miss you'
'No-one wants you'
Tyrion was fortunate - he came across no guards or servants as he pushed the door open and the icy breeze of the North stole his breath. He battled on, forcing his shaking legs to carry him across the courtyard towards the gate. The snow was falling lightly and the blanket of it on the ground chilled his bandaged foot as he stumbled through it. He ground his teeth together as his body shook. Not much further and they would be free of him. The gate was unmanned, and Tyrion found it was open; allowing him to slip out of Winterfell. He took a few steps through the gate before he turned to look back at the castle he'd lived in for several months now.
This was it. He would go and Sansa would be free of him at last.
He turned his back on Winterfell, gazing out across the expanse of the North. This was for the best.
From her place on the ramparts Sansa watched the small figure staggering across the courtyard towards the gate that led out of Winterfell – his wolf pup at his heels. Every fibre of her being screamed at her to rush to Tyrion and pull him back inside, but Bran's message kept her tethered to the spot.
It has to be his choice.
Her brother had offered her no other words or guidance - his message was abstract, but Sansa had understood. It had been a week since Tyrion woke up and in that time he'd withdrawn further than ever, his eyes as haunted as his dreams. No matter how much she told Tyrion she loved him, told him this was home; it was obvious he didn't believe her words. He hadn't mentioned leaving for a few days but Sansa knew it wasn't because he'd given up the idea.
Bran's message had arrived this morning, and those few words asked Sansa to do the impossible; to let her husband go.
His choice. She should not decide for Tyrion. Giving up control was the hardest thing she'd ever done, but a small part of her understood. Tyrion wasn't her prisoner; if he wanted to leave she had no right to keep him here against his will - even if it broke her heart. Sansa had arranged for Tyrion to be left alone, hoping desperately she was wrong and he'd stay in bed. Arya also knew what she was doing. Her sister had reluctantly agreed to her plan and made sure all the guards and servants would not be around to stop him if he chose to leave.
'Don't go' she begged, watching him struggle 'please don't leave me'
Silent tears slid down her face as Tyrion lurched through the gate and out of the castle. It hadn't been enough – how could it? Months of manipulating and mistreating him could not be fixed with a week of love and care. Her pursuit of power and control had cost her the one person she couldn't bear to lose. Sansa's body shook as she wrapped her arms around herself. She would gladly give up her crown to keep Tyrion; to have the chance to show him how much she loved him.
It was too late - he wanted to leave. It would be his choice, but Sansa wouldn't let him die either. She would send someone to bring him inside. He could have his old room back and when he was strong enough she would arrange for him to go wherever he wanted; but she couldn't watch him die. Letting Tyrion go would kill what remained of her heart, but he wasn't her hostage. When they married in Kings Landing he cloaked her in his family's colours and brought her under his protection; he'd promised to never hurt her and Tyrion had kept his word. Sansa hadn't protected him though – she'd used him, hurt him and let others mock him.
'I'm so sorry my love' she thought 'this is my fault'
She should send someone to bring him in – snowflakes were fluttering around him and the night was growing colder. Sansa turned to go inside and send a guard out when she cast one last look at her husband. Tyrion had moved only a few feet beyond the gate and stood rooted to the spot, glancing back towards the castle. Sansa's body seemed to freeze as she watched him.
'Come back' she begged 'Please come back'
Time dragged on and it became clear Tyrion was neither moving forwards nor coming back. Bran's words echoed through her mind like a horrible rhyme, but she had to do something. It would be his choice, but she could at least remind him of the other option. The courtyard was dark and the snowfall growing heavier as she hurried down to ground level, slowing her pace as the gate came into view. He still hadn't moved, but he was looking out across the North and his small body appeared to be shaking.
Sansa approached slowly as one would a startled animal. The direwolf sensed her first as she moved to Tyrion's side, letting out a small whine and nudging his master's hand. Now she was closer, Sansa could see how pale Tyrion was and his whole body shook as he stared out into the distance. He was in absolutely no condition to be out of bed, but force of will had brought him this far. Sansa removed her grey cloak with direwolves stitched delicately into the fabric and crouched down beside Tyrion.
"It's rather cold out here" she said
"I...should leave" he said, voice breaking
Sansa said nothing, but loosely held her cloak up behind Tyrion. The urge to wrap her arms around him was overwhelming, but this had to be his choice. He wasn't her hostage. He wasn't her prisoner.
"I should go..." he said, his body trembling
Still she remained silent, her cloak and arms hovering just behind him.
A sob broke from his throat "I should go...but I don't want to"
"No-one wants you to go" she said softly, lowering her cloak so it just brushed against his shoulders.
"Shouldn't stay..." he said, eyes still staring into the distance "but I...don't want to be alone anymore"
Tyrion's face crumpled as suppressed sobs wracked his body and Sansa inched closer to him.
"You don't ever have to be alone"
They stayed like that for a few minutes, with Tyrion shaking like a leaf as she stood next to him, her cloak brushing against his back. His choice. It had to be his choice. Sansa steeled herself to ask the question she dreaded the answer to.
"Can I take you home?"
The world seemed to stop until Tyrion's head nodded forwards, and tears slid down his face. Sansa's restraint dissolved in an instant and she quickly pulled Tyrion close, warmth spreading through her as he leaned into her touch.
"Want to stay…please…" he whispered, dropping his head onto her shoulder as she wrapped her Stark cloak around him "…don't want to be alone"
She'd nearly lost him; it had been too close - but he wanted to stay. That's all that mattered. Sansa pushed back from him gently, keeping a firm grip on his shoulders as she crouched in front of him. His eyes were haunted and the fear of rejection she saw in them tore at her heart.
She moved her hands to his face, gently tilting his head to look at her.
"With this kiss I pledge my love" she said
Sansa leaned forwards pressing her mouth against his, hoping the kiss would convey what she couldn't put into words - I love you, I'll protect you; this is home. She pulled back a moment later, gazing into his lost green eyes.
"I don't deserve your love" he whispered
Sansa shook her head, smiling at her husband "My love is yours - now and forever"
Her words broke whatever control Tyrion had left over his emotions and he fell sobbing against her, wrapping his good arm around her as she eagerly pulled him close.
"I'm sorry" he mumbled, as she tried to soothe him. His small body was shaking against her and he was far too cold - they had to go back inside.
Sansa kissed the top of his head, before she pulled back and straightened up, offering Tyrion her hand. A moment passed before she felt his shaky hand close around hers and they turned back towards the castle. The direwolf trotted along at Tyrion's left side as she supported his weight on the right.
He said nothing as they made their way slowly across the courtyard; both of them were covered in fresh snow but Tyrion more so. Whatever willpower had brought him out of bed, evaporated as they made their way back inside. His chest was wheezing and he could hardly stand up, Sansa was half carrying him by the time they shut the castle door behind them. It was tempting to take Tyrion straight to Maester Wolkan; he was far too weak to have left the bed and she worried how much the effort had hurt him. At the very least his broken ankle must be agony. Yet when she looked at the tears still falling down his face and the sobs he was trying to stifle, Sansa decided seeing the Maester could wait until the morning. She would take care of him, as she always would now. Tomorrow Wolkan could assess the damage, but tonight was for them.
"I love you" she said, kissing his tear stained face as she crouched down to take more of his weight as they tried to climb up the stairs "let me help"
It was slow going and by the time they made it upstairs Tyrion could hardly stand up, fortunately their chambers weren't too far down the corridor. Finally they staggered into the room, to find the hearth burning brightly and dry clothes left out for them both. Courtesy of Arya – no doubt. The direwolf pup shot past them both and curled up in front of the hearth.
Tyrion didn't resist as she helped him onto the bed and undressed him. His clothes were soaking from the snow and she realised he'd only been wearing one boot – the splint and bandages around his ankle were a soggy mess.
"Sorry" he said, crying quietly as she eased the tunic off over his heavily bandaged arm "...shouldn't have tried to leave"
"It's ok" she soothed, running a hand through his damp hair "You chose to stay – that's all that matters"
Sansa picked up the lion blanket she'd made for him, wrapping it around his upper body as she helped him sit against the headboard.
"You worked so hard on this…it's lovely…" he said, tracing the lions as she helped him into a spare pair of baggy breeches
Her mouth turned upwards at his praise. She'd covered him with the blanket all week, but he hardly seemed to notice. She'd understood why; it was clear his mind was elsewhere.
"How do you know it was me and not Arya?" she asked, trying to clean some of the sludge from his bandaged ankle.
"I'd know your needlework anywhere"
Warmth spread through her at his words, and Sansa smiled at him. There was nothing she could do for his injuries - Wolkan would have to change the dressings tomorrow, but his face was pale and tears were still escaping from his eyes despite his best efforts. Sansa hurried behind her changing screen, quickly slipping into her nightshift and returning to the bed. Tyrion was still sitting as she'd left him, wearing his clean breeches and nothing else. Sansa slid into the bed beside him, pulling the furs and blankets over them.
"You're cold, my love" she said, brushing a hand over his forehead "can I hold you?"
Tyrion nodded, leaning into her as she tried to find the best way to hold him without causing further injury. In the end Sansa was lying with her upper body propped up against the pillows, and her husband lying mostly on top of her as she rubbed his back. His head was lying against her chest when his quiet crying turned to heart-breaking sobs.
"I'm so sorry" he said, burying his head in her shoulder "they broke me"
"Shh, you're ok" she said "I'm here for you. You're so strong – they hurt you, but they didn't break you. I promise, you'll be ok"
"They did...awful things…they enjoyed it"
Sansa tightened her grip, trying to console Tyrion as he cried against her. Exhaustion overwhelmed him eventually, and he grew calmer in her arms.
So close to losing him - Sansa let her own tears fall as Tyrion lay fast asleep against her.
"Thank you" she whispered, brushing a hand through his hair "You've given me another chance, and this time I will love you like I should have before"