Chapter 21

Sansa's eyes fluttered open, a soft yawn escaping her as she gazed sleepily around the room. The first thing she noticed was the mess of golden curls tickling her face and she glanced down to find Tyrion sleeping soundly on top of her, his good hand wound tightly into her nightshift. Some of the tension eased out of her as she watched his sleeping face. She hadn't meant to fall asleep. Despite his decision to stay, a lingering fear had gripped her that she would wake to find her husband gone, and Sansa had started the night determined to stay awake. At some point she'd lost that battle, but finding her husband lying safely in her arms vanquished at least some of the fear. Maester Wolkan needed to check him over, but she was reluctant to wake Tyrion when he was cuddled against her so sweetly.

"I love you" she whispered, surprised how easily the words came to her

For a long time she hadn't imagined herself capable of loving again. She'd chosen Tyrion as her husband because she trusted him and cared a great deal for him; he was her closest friend. Sansa couldn't pinpoint when her feelings turned to love but when Arya had called her out on her treatment of Tyrion and threatened to take him from her, the words had fell from her lips easily. She loved him and Sansa would spend the rest of her life making sure he knew, even if he didn't return her love. Her treatment of him had been awful and she was fortunate he'd seemingly forgiven her so easily, but that didn't mean he would open up to her. That night when they'd bonded over two weeks ago had given her a glimpse of what their relationship could be like and she was determined to make that a reality.

'You've lost your chance - he'll never trust you like that again' taunted her deepest fears

There was a lot that needed to be fixed, and she was well aware Tyrion might never open up to her again. She would keep trying to break through the walls that surrounded him, like he'd kept trying to do for her in Kings Landing. It didn't matter that her husband had never professed his love for her; his every action showed his care towards her. Above all else Tyrion had tried to protect and honour her, he was the person she could rely on most in the world. Now it was her turn to protect and care for him.

Sansa decided staying in bed and holding Tyrion a little longer wouldn't hurt and she began her own examination of his injuries, easing the blankets off them both to get a better view. The wound in the back of his head had healed fairly well and his hair would soon obscure it from view. While the cut across his face was still a little raw looking, it had lost some of its redness. Sansa brushed a hand over Tyrion's forehead, her brow furrowing at the heat that met her hand. He was a little too warm for her liking but the room was warm and they'd spent the night lying together under heaps of blankets. Patches of blood stained the bandages around his torso, indicating at least a few stitches had pulled open with his movements the night before.

She was drawn from her evaluation by green eyes blinking up at her warily.

"Good morning" she said, smiling at her husband

"Hello" he said quietly

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay" he said, dropping his gaze

Tyrion fidgeted in her arms, glancing at her from the corner of his eye - as if he expected her to suddenly object to his position.

"Relax" she told him "I've got you"

"Sansa, I'm sorry - I shouldn't have tried to leave" he said, his small body tense against her "I caused you a lot of trouble"

"You're no trouble" she said, rubbing his back "I'm going to take care of you. All you need to do is rest and heal"

"You're a Queen - you have much more important things to do" he said, his gaze moving to hers "I don't want to be a burden to you"

Sansa brushed a hand through his hair, considering her response. Tyrion had chosen to stay and clung to her willingly last night, yet his decision hadn't erased his doubts or fears. Hesitation was clear in his eyes, despite her efforts to soothe him. It was ok; she could work with hesitant. Last night had been a good start but they had a lot to work through. Just because he chose to stay didn't erase or excuse her horrid treatment of him. There was much she needed to apologise for, and she had no idea how, but for now she would do what she could to soothe his insecurities.

"You're my priority and looking after you will never be a burden to me" she said leaning forwards to kiss his forehead "Let me help you, my love"

Tyrion's eyes brightened for a moment, before his face turned sad "I'm sorry. Accepting help…doesn't come easily to me"

"Well you're mine to care for, so you'll have to get used to it I'm afraid" she said with a smile, tilting his head back to look at her

A weak smile crossed his face and he didn't resist as she pulled him closer. Caring for him the past week had been easy in the sense that he asked for nothing – every bit of help she gave him was met with sincere but unnecessary gratitude. Her mother had once told her than men were needier than children when ill or injured, yet Tyrion seemed to be the exception. He pulled away every time she tried to tend to him; as though he'd never been cared for before.

'Stupid Sansa' she thought 'You've met his family. Do you think his father or sister ever showed him any love or care?'

Was that why he always looked so uncomfortable with her help? Sansa stroked a hand through his curly hair as he lay quietly against her - before she left Winterfell Sansa had known nothing but unconditional love and care from her family. Kings Landing had given her a taste of what it was like to not have that, and a shudder crept down her spine at the memory. It was hard to imagine growing up in a family without that support, but that was most likely what her husband had experienced. That would have to change; he had a new family now and she would do what she could to give him the love and care he'd missed out on.

Tyrion shivered slightly in her arms despite the warmth coming from him, and Sansa's stomach twisted. He was getting sick. She'd helped her mother take care of her siblings often enough to know the signs, and her husband seemed rather lethargic as he lay against her.

"Are you cold?" she asked, rubbing her hand over his back

He considered for a moment, and Sansa suspected he was preparing another variation of 'I'm fine'.

"A little" he admitted, confirming her suspicions

Sansa was about to extract herself from the bed and summon the Maester when a knock sounded on the door.

"Who's there?" she called, closing her arms protectively around Tyrion

"Maester Wolkan, your Grace. Lady Arya thought you may have need of me"

"Come in"

Sansa sagged back against the pillows - of course her sister had spoken to Wolkan. Arya had known they'd been outside last night; the hearth was burning when they'd returned to their room and fresh clothes were left out for them. As thoughtful as her sister could be, Sansa couldn't help but find her manner of help somewhat creepy - as if an unseen ghost was stalking Winterfell. The Queen was grateful for it though; it had saved her sending word to Wolkan and allowed her to stay with Tyrion.

"Your Grace, my lord" the old man greeted, approaching the bedside "Would it be alright if I check you over lord Tyrion?"

"I think that's a good idea" said Sansa as Tyrion nodded against her

The old Maester showed no surprise at the state of Tyrion and made no comment on the soggy mess of bandages holding his ankle in place - confirming that Arya had likely warned him in advance. Her husband made no protest as they turned him over and settled him upright between Sansa's legs, his head flopping weakly back against her shoulder.

"Your ankle is rather swollen, my lord" he said, having removed the messy dressings to reveal the fading bruises and puffed up skin surrounding the limb "I think you'll need to keep it elevated for a time"

Sansa grimaced at the sight; how on Earth had he managed to walk on that? Her husband said nothing as she held him against her, his feverish skin warming her through her nightshift. He was definitely getting sick - that would explain why the lack of guards hadn't bothered him last night. She'd half expected him to realise something was amiss when he left unimpeded through an open gate, but her usually sharp husband hadn't seemed to notice the emptiness of the castle.

Tyrion tensed in her arms and she focused her wandering mind on the present. Maester Wolkan was in the process of securing a new splint around the broken ankle, tightening it against the broken bones.

"Apologise, my lord - I'm afraid this will hurt" he said, shooting a sympathetic look at Tyrion "the break was rather awkward, from what I can tell the ankle bone was snapped and there's likely been more internal damage. It will be a while until you can walk on it"

Wolkan said it as though it was a passing comment, but Sansa picked up the message; he has to stay in bed. When the Maester had finished with Tyrion's ankle the bandages and splint seemed heavier and more padded than before, and she bit her lip wondering if last night's excursion had caused further damage to the limb. Wolkan continued examining him and Tyrion remained quiet throughout the process, his eyes staring vacantly at the bed. His body was here, but his mind was far away. Sansa would give a lot to know what he was thinking; she'd do whatever she could to make sure thoughts of leaving never again crossed his mind.

"Several stitches have pulled, I'll have to redo them unfortunately" said Wolkan, moving to gather his supplies.

As the Maester tended to his injuries Tyrion lolled quietly against her. His decision to stay seemed to have eased a little of the tension that had hung over him the past week, but getting him to fully accept his place in their family would take time.

"You're rather warm my lord" noted Wolkan, furrowing his brow as he wrapped new bandages around Tyrion's chest

"He felt cold before" said Sansa "Do you still feel cold Tyrion?"

"Yes" came the weak reply a moment later

Sansa and Wolkan shared a look, before the Maester moved to check Tyrion. Her husband shuffled half-heartedly in her arms but he seemed to have no strength as the old man examined him.

"I feared you would become sick my lord, though after a week I'd begun to hope you'd avoided it" said Wolkan "Apparently not"

"I'm sorry Sansa" he whispered, screwing his eyes shut

"It's not your fault" she said, leaning her cheek against his head "You were outside in the snow when Arya found you"

Wolkan caught Sansa's eye, asking a silent question. She tightened her grip on her husband while nodding her assent.

The old Maester softened his voice as he spoke to Tyrion "My lord, it would be helpful to know what conditions you were kept in so that we know how to help you. Were you fed at all?"

A moment passed before Tyrion sagged against her, his voice low "Only the first day - just some water after that"

Sansa's stomach rolled; they'd starved him.

"Where did they keep you my lord? How warm was it?" asked Wolkan

"The stables or outside. It was so cold…"

Her husband's voice trailed off as he spoke and Sansa shook her head at the Maester; no more questions for now. Anger flooded her at what she'd heard - no wonder he seemed so weak in her arms. It was clear to her Tyrion wasn't ready to talk about it, but it was good they at least knew the conditions he'd been kept in. Sansa leaned forwards kissing the top of his head.

"Rest Tyrion - you'll be ok, I promise"

When Arya made her way to visit Sansa and Tyrion it was nearly midday. In truth she'd wanted to see them first thing this morning, but she'd restrained herself to midday. Last night had been difficult. From the shadows she'd seen Tyrion leave his room in Winterfell, following at a distance until he was outside. She'd watched Sansa go to him when he was past the gate and she'd lingered long enough to see her brother make his choice, before she slipped back to her own chambers. Sansa's decision to let Tyrion choose had been wise, but Arya had been reluctant to agree all the same. All her brothers were gone apart from him. She might never see Jon again, and Bran was so different now; the thought of Tyrion leaving too had been difficult to accept.

Arya had set the hearth burning warmly in their room and left out clothes for them last night, reluctantly giving them space. This morning she'd spoken to the Maester, explaining the situation so he was prepared and imploring him to be gentle with Tyrion. The old man had quickly understood, promising he would call upon them immediately and tend to her brother. That had been a few hours ago and Arya was more impatient than ever to check on her family. As was her custom she strolled into Sansa's chambers as if they were her own, eyes immediately landing on Sansa and Tyrion.

"Have you ever heard of knocking?" said Sansa, rolling her eyes as Arya came to sit in the chair beside the bed

"I've heard of it, I just don't care for it" she said "besides I came to see my brother – not you"

Tyrion looked a rather sorry sight as he lay propped up against the pillows. A thick black blanket with lions embroidered all over it covered him, and Arya could see his heavily bandaged ankle was elevated by a couple of cushions. Fresh white bandages covered his middle and a sling now wound its way around his mangled arm securing it against his chest. Arya had asked the Maester to not mention Tyrion's late night walk, but she stifled a laugh at his subtle message; no more moving. Sansa was wearing a simple gown as she sat on the bed to Tyrion's left, adjusting the blankets over him.

"Hello Arya" he said, tilting his head to look at her

"How are you feeling? I guess Wolkan's been to see you"

Tyrion glanced at the sling with a grimace "Yes, he thought it best I had no temptation to use this arm"

"It's a good thing" said Sansa "he said you can lie on your back now if your shoulder isn't too sore"

"I suppose" he said

There was something off in Tyrion's face and it took her a moment to place it; but Sansa's worried glances at her husband confirmed it.

"Are you sick?" she asked, noticing the redness of his face and light shivers he was trying to hide

"I don't think so..." started Tyrion

"Yes" said Sansa "he is getting sick"

"I'm sorry" mumbled Tyrion, dropping his gaze to the blanket

"Don't apologise – it's not your fault" said Sansa, brushing a hand over his forehead

Arya bit her lip. The closer she looked, Tyrion didn't look at all well and in his weakened state a sickness was the last thing he needed.

"Well you can't get out of bed anyway so I guess now's the best time to get sick" said Arya, throwing her feet onto the bed and reclining in the chair. Their mother would be proud of the disapproving glare Sansa shot her at the action.

"You'll be back to full health in no time" said Sansa, blue eyes watching him worriedly despite the smile she painted on her face "I'll look after you"

Tyrion seemed to shrink into the pillows at her declaration and sympathy wound through Arya. She hated feeling helpless and her brother was no doubt experiencing the same feeling. There was nothing she could do to fix it though; to recover properly he would need their help. Part of Arya could see a small bright side to this. Caring for her family had always brought out the best in Sansa; even in childhood she'd constantly copied their mother and helped nurse them all through sickness. Watching her now, Arya could see her older sister slipping into the familiar role of caretaker. On some level she suspected her sister liked to be needed, and Tyrion did need her; however much he pretended otherwise. At the very least his period of recovery would give them a chance to get to know each other again. They'd both been hiding for too long. That wasn't to say her sister could monopolise him however.

"So Sansa, why don't you go do your Queenly business and let me spend time with Tyrion"

Her sister's nostrils flared "Excuse me?"

Arya tilted her head hoping to convey her message "I want to talk sword fighting with my brother – you wouldn't be interested"

Arya did want to spend time with Tyrion, but a message had arrived from Deepwood Motte this morning and her sister needed to deal with. They'd both agreed to not mention the hunt for Gawan and Robin in front of Tyrion, and so far he hadn't asked either of them about it – nor had he enquired about Grey Worm. She hoped Sansa would take the hint and leave; she would watch Tyrion until her sister returned. Sansa's blue eyes narrowed, asking a silent question. Arya subtly nodded her head and the Queen's shoulder's fell.

"Will you be ok for a little while?" asked Sansa, turning her attention to Tyrion

"Neither of you need to watch me" he said, fiddling with the edge of the blanket "I promise I won't leave again – not unless you want me to"

"I will never want you to leave" said Sansa, kissing his cheek before sliding off the bed

Arya hadn't planned on mentioning last night to Tyrion assuming he wouldn't want to talk about it, but she was glad he'd brought it up.

"You're part of our pack" said Arya, grinning at him "the lone wolf dies but the pack survives"

"I'm not a wolf" he said, a hint of bitterness colouring his tone

Arya and Sansa exchanged glances.

"I think there's room in our pack for a lion, don't you think Sansa?" said Arya as her sister joined her at the side of the bed

"Hmm, I think so – he'd have to be small though"

"Agreed, you can't trust the big ones"

"He'd need to be clever"

"and fierce"

"I certainly think there's a place in our pack for a brave little lion" said Sansa, smiling warmly at her husband

Tyrion had dropped his head away from them as they spoke, and Arya reached forward to grab his right hand.

"What do you think big brother; will you join our pack?"

His green eyes were damp and shining as he turned to look at them, a tentative smile on his face "I think...I'd like that"

Sansa's eyes narrowed at the short message from Deepwood Motte:

I will not tolerate these baseless accusations against my son. Until you withdraw these filthy lies and issue a full apology you will receive no support from House Glover.

Lord Robett Glover

"Not good news, your Grace?" asked Maester Wolkan, as Sansa dropped the letter onto the table.

Arya had hinted there was urgent business to deal with and as much as she hated to leave Tyrion for any length of time, this was certainly urgent. She'd gone straight from her chambers to the Maester's room, assuming correctly he would know what Arya had referred to. Wordlessly the old man had passed her the sealed message bearing the armoured fist sigil of house Glover.

"Lord Glover has refused to stand by the crown. He denies his son's crimes" she said, voice icy

"Your Grace, it's more than likely he isn't aware of them. Gawan was at Winterfell for many weeks and we saw nothing to suggest he was involved in the slave trade or capable of the cruelty he inflicted on lord Tyrion. Convincing lord Glover of what his only son and heir truly is will be difficult"

Sansa didn't need the reminder of her inability to see Gawan for the monster he is. The mention of his name brought up the image of the mangled rabbit he'd presented to her when they went riding. There was truth in the Maester's words though; no father would like to think his son capable of what Gawan had done.

"What would you have me do? Gawan and Robin cannot be allowed to go free"

"Certainly not, but we need more evidence against them"

"We have the slave collars and…the hot iron"

Wolkan nodded "They provide evidence that a slave trade was being run in the Wolfswood and someone badly hurt lord Tyrion there, but not evidence of who was running it"

"We need witnesses, you mean"

"Yes, particularly given Robin and Gawan's high positions in the North. We are accusing the lord of one major house and the heir to another of treason amongst other serious charges"

Sansa's jaw clenched "They aren't accusations - it's the truth"

Wolkan held his hands up in a placating gesture "Of course. We know that, but we need to make sure the case against Gawan and Robin is full proof - there can be no doubt of their guilt"

"Arya says Grey Worm has told her everything he knows about Robin and Gawan"

"Yes, he met them face to face three times. The final time he paid them huge amounts of gold for their promise of delivering lord Tyrion to him, which they fulfilled a week later"

"We could use Grey Worm as a witness against them - and Rose. She said she caught glimpses of them through the gap in the barn and heard their names"

"Both would be useful witnesses, but their low social standing may not be enough to convince the highborn lords. The unsullied are hated in the North and the free folk are only barely tolerated. Lord Tyrion saw everything and is well respected by many lords - his testimony would be better accepted"

Sansa twisted her hands in her lap. She knew Tyrion was their best witness, but she didn't want to push him for details of what he'd endured either. There would have to be a trial for Robin and Gawan; she could not kill them as she did Ramsay. The rest of the North would need to see justice was carried properly, though that didn't mean she intended for them to die quickly. They would be found guilty and then they would suffer.

"We will not answer lord Glover now. When we find his son, we will summon him to Winterfell and deal with him then" she decided

"Finding Gawan and Robin is the priority" agreed Wolkan, shuffling through the correspondence "No-one has seen or heard of them since they fled the Wolfswood, though a few houses have responded with full support in hunting them"

"Only a few?" she said, straightening her back. The ravens had gone out over a week ago; nearly all of the houses should have responded and answered her call to bring them to the justice.

The Maester shifted uncomfortably, his heavy chain clinking as he sat across from her "Lady Tallhart and Lord Cerwyn have offered their full support as you already know, and both have their men searching for Robin and Gawan. Lord Hornwood has also pledged his support and sent men out to search for them. Lord Manderly has yet to respond"

"Are you telling me the rest of the North is turning its back on the lord of Winterfell?" she asked, clenching her fists

Wolkan wouldn't meet her eyes "Not exactly your Grace, several minor houses have promised their support to lord Tyrion - but not to you"

Sansa's blood ran cold as the old man warily pushed a few letters towards her.

When I asked the Queen in the North for help – she didn't answer the call. When I petitioned at her court she refused to see me repeatedly. The North remembers and my house will not aid the Queen who ignored her people. However, in desperation I asked the lord of Winterfell for help and he responded immediately even though it went beyond his duty as lord. As I said - the North remembers and my house will stand by lord Tyrion Lannister. My men will be sent to hunt for the traitors and get justice for the lord of Winterfell.

The letters they'd sent out hadn't given details of the charges or mentioned Tyrion at all, but word of what had happened in the Wolfswood had spread rapidly throughout the North and it was becoming common knowledge what Robin and Gawan were accused of. Sansa's heart twisted reading through several letters from minor lords and ladies. The words were different but the message was the same. As Queen she'd let them down and lost their respect, too involved she was in the high level politics that she forgot the small folk and minor houses. Sansa had felt the weight of the crown on more than one occasion, her workload was punishing; yet Tyrion had quietly been helping her. Taking care of the minor issues as well as doing his duties as lord of Winterfell - unknowingly gaining their respect.

In Kings landing Sansa had learnt the importance of appeasing the major houses and building alliances with them; it was how the game was played. The North was different. Respect was earned and the smallfolk weren't to be used or forgotten. As one letter put it she'd ruled the North like a Southern Queen, while her husband had acted like a true Northerner – taking care of the small folk first.

"I've made a mess of things, haven't I?" said Sansa, staring at the letters spread before them

"I wouldn't say that, your Grace" reasoned Wolkan "The North is in the very early stages of independence and hasn't had a monarch in many years. Growing pains are to be expected, and you are still new to ruling - no Queen gets it right all the time"

The Maester meant well but Sansa's analytical mind was already connecting the dots. These houses were helping her because of their respect for Tyrion not for her. If she hadn't brought Tyrion North and needed to call her banners, how many would answer the call? Would she have alienated her banner men completely?

'The only way to keep the small folk loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy' hissed Cersei's venomous voice

If not for her husband her crown could be in jeopardy and by extension the stability of the North. Remorse wormed through her; her people had trusted her and she'd let them down. She'd never wanted to rule by fear or become Cersei Lannister. Yet she'd failed on every count – the small folk disliked her, her own household feared her and she'd horribly mistreated Tyrion. That needed to change; her parents would be ashamed of her.

"Thank you for your support Maester – but I've not been a very good Queen so far. That will have to change from now on"

"As you say, your Grace"

"If you could keep checking the ravens for news on Robin and Gawan, I'll ask Arya to continue compiling evidence and work on tracking them down. I will do as much as I can, but Tyrion is my priority – my place is with him"

The Maester bowed his head "Of course, your Grace. It is clear an illness is taking hold of him"

Sansa had just stood to leave when the door creaked open and a young voice called out "Maester Wolkan have you been to see Tyrion y-"

Brown eyes locked onto Sansa before the young girl pedalled backwards in fear "Queen Sansa...I'm sorry...I"

"It's alright" said Sansa, her stomach dropping at the wide eyed fear in the girls face "You can come in"

Maester Wolkan moved to Sansa's side, smiling at the child "It's quite alright Nessa"

Sansa crouched down until she was looking the tatty headed girl in the eyes "Hello Nessa"

"Your Grace" she said, attempting a clumsy curtsy

"You're my husband's squire aren't you?"

The girl nodded mutely, glancing warily between them both. Sansa's heart ached; she'd always loved children yet the crown on her head had turned her into a monster to be feared.

"What can I do for you Nessa?" asked Wolkan

Sansa tried to smile reassuringly, but the girl looked ready to bolt. Her eyes settled on Maester Wolkan before her words tumbled out "Lady Arya said Tyrion still isn't well but Mother said we could still do something nice for him so we made him this bread cake he likes when he comes to our house"

Nessa thrust the small package out in front of her like a shield "I was going to ask if Maester Wolkan would give it to him. I looked for lady Arya but couldn't find her"

How did she not know Tyrion visited this girl's family? The girl clearly cared a great deal for him, yet Sansa barely knew her name. There was so much she'd been blind to.

"Are you the Nessa who figured out the letter?" she asked

"Y-yes, your Grace"

"I never got the chance to thank you – it really helped us"

Nessa's nervous fidgeting had lessened somewhat as she spoke, and her dark eyes flickered hopefully to Sansa.

"Is he ok?" she asked quietly

"He's not very well, but he'll be ok with lots of rest" said Sansa "Would you like to come with me and give him your bread cake?"

The girl's eyes lit up but her face soon furrowed as if trying to decide if it was a trick "I don't want to bother him"

Sansa straightened up "I think he won't mind a quick visit"

Nessa nodded tentatively and followed Sansa as they made their way from Wolkan's room.

"Nessa, are you afraid of me?" asked Sansa as they walked, watching the girl carefully for her response "You don't have to be - I won't hurt you"

The girl seemed to consider it before shaking her head "No. I told Tyrion you were scary once but he laughed and said you were just pretending so you'd scare the bad people. He said you were really kind and generous"

"Do you believe him?" asked Sansa, throat constricting

Nessa nodded eagerly "Tyrion knows things. He's really clever, but he says he's not as clever as he thought he was"

'I used to think you were the cleverest man alive'

Recalling her past words now, she cringed. Believing Cersei had been naïve, but could she blame him for hoping his family had a tiny shred of honour? Sansa knew Tyrion prided himself on his wits and intelligence; saying that to him had been rather cold-hearted. Had her words bothered him? At the time she hadn't thought much of it – Tyrion was used to biting comments. Now, she wondered if her words had hurt him more than he'd let on.

'Just one more thing to make up for' she thought, heading towards their chambers

"Wait here a moment and I'll see if he's awake" said Sansa, pausing outside their door

Nessa nodded but continued to fidget on the spot. For all she'd tried to put the girl at ease, there was still some fear there. Sansa slipped into the room, seeing Arya flipping a knife in her hands as she chatted to Tyrion.

"I always wanted to fight like a Westerosi Knight when I was younger but water dancing suits me a lot better" said Arya, twirling the blade

"I should thank you. I used your water dancing to kill one of their men" said Tyrion, a hint of regret in his tone "I tried to copy the way you slipped past my guard when we sparred, though it was rather clumsy"

Arya smiled "Good. When you've healed up I'll have to teach you some moves - it would help you with bigger opponents"

"I fear I may be a bit slow for water dancing"

"You'll be fine - you're a quick learner"

Stepping further into the room Sansa made her presence known. Her husband looked more tired than when she left, but his mouth twitched upwards as she approached.

"You didn't take long. Did you miss us?" said Arya

"I missed my husband" she corrected, turning her gaze to Tyrion "Are you feeling up for a quick visit? I came across your squire and thought she might like to see you"

He shifted against the pillows, tapping at the bed with his good hand "I'd like to see Nessa…but I don't want to scare her"

"She keeps asking about you" said Arya "I told her you got hurt and you need time to recover, so she knows you won't be at your best"

"Here, let me help" said Sansa

A few minutes later she'd covered Tyrion with blankets until only the top of his chest and shoulders was showing, obscuring at least some of the damage from the view. She opened the door and the young girl entered the room, eyes darting around until they settled on Tyrion.

"Hello Nessa" he called, forcing some cheer into his tone "I've not seen you for a while"

Sansa crouched next to the girl who stood nervously just inside the room "Why don't you go see him?"

The squire approached Tyrion and Arya lifted the girl onto the edge of the bed so she could talk to him.

"Hello Tyrion" she said, eyeing him with concern "Do you feel better?"

"Yes, thank you"

"Your beard's gone" she noted with some panic "and your hair's all short"

"It is" he said, dropping his voice to a whisper "I think Sansa's trying to tell me something"

The girl giggled, before her face grew sad "I missed you - Mother and Ethan do too"

"I missed seeing you all as well. I'm back now, though I fear I won't be able to leave the castle for a little while"

The girls face lit up as she shoved her package towards him "Oh! We made this for you - it's the bread cake you like!"

Tyrion's eyes widened before his face settled into a warm smile "Thank you Nessa - you didn't need to do that"

"We wanted to do something to make you feel better" said Nessa, smiling widely at how her gift was received "When you're better Mother says she's going to make you a big dinner and she won't let you say no"

"I'm sure she won't" he said with a laugh

Warmth flooded Sansa watching them interact. Nessa's nerves quickly fell away as they spoke and the girl gazed at Tyrion with pure adoration. He would make such a good father - it was a shame he didn't want children. As much as Sansa had always wanted them she would never force Tyrion again.

Arya caught her eye and the two sisters moved just outside the door, leaving Nessa and Tyrion to talk.

"Well?" asked Arya

Sansa shook her head "Not good news. Lord Glover refuses to believe the charges against Gawan and has withdrawn his support until an apology is made"

"He should lose his head" growled Arya "his loyalty is to the crown"

"We can't blame him for his son's crimes, and many of those letters have mentioned a lack of support for me. I've not been a very good Queen. Its respect for Tyrion that's compelling many of the minor houses to still support us"

"You've done your best Sansa. We need to hunt down Gawan and Robin - and we need them to confess"

Sansa's mouth pressed into a tight line "Easier said than done. I need you to take charge of the search for now Arya. I've made the North my priority for too long - Tyrion needs me"

"I understand big sister. He's definitely getting sick"

Sansa glanced back around the door where Nessa was busy telling Tyrion some kind of story regarding a boy called Ethan, her husband was nodding with interest but his face was flushed and she could see he was struggling to sit upright. Worry and guilt tore through Sansa. She'd made a mess of being a Queen and being a wife - now all she could do was pick up the pieces. This time it would be different. Her priority was right in front of her and she wouldn't lose sight of him again.

Tyrion dropped his head to one side, studying the green eyes that mimicked his movement. He'd paid no mind to the direwolf pup since his return to Winterfell despite the creature's attempts to win his affection. The wolf was a constant presence at his side and even now it sat at the bottom of the bed staring at him. Sansa had excused herself to take a quick bath in the adjacent room, though he could tell she didn't want to leave him. Guilt wound through him for worrying her last night. He'd intended to leave; convinced himself it was the right thing to do. Yet when he'd stepped through the gates out of Winterfell his resolve had wavered. Somewhere deep inside a tiny ember of hope was still flickering - refusing to be drowned out by the darkness that clung to him. Among the dominant, roaring voices of his many doubts and fears the ember had whispered softly to him. It promised him many things - that Winterfell could be his home; that he could have the love and family he'd always craved. Ignoring the last, desperate whisper of his broken soul might have been easier if Sansa hadn't appeared. She hadn't tried to reason with him, or berated him for leaving. She'd stood quietly by his side, holding her Stark cloak behind him - a silent offer. Tyrion had known his options then. He could leave Winterfell and Sansa behind. He could take the black and live out his days alone.

Or he could stay.

Staying meant accepting his place at Winterfell; as Sansa's husband and all that came with it. Staying meant maybe he could be part of a family, maybe he could have a home – or he could be rejected again. Choosing to stay meant giving his life another chance. He thought he'd found a home with Daenerys across the narrow sea once. In many ways she was like the sister he'd always wanted, until everything fell apart and the world burned. All his life he'd been beaten, humiliated and scorned for all to see; the message was clear that the world didn't want him. His soul was in tatters. Could he risk killing the last piece of himself for that which had always been denied him?

In the end he'd yielded. He gave in to the ember of hope; the tiny piece of him that wasn't cynical and broken. Sansa was offering him everything he'd ever wanted and as foolish as it seemed, Tyrion surrendered himself to her - trusting Sansa with the last fragment of hope he possessed. She hadn't rejected him when he agreed to go back to Winterfell. Her warmth had enveloped him, thawing at the cold that clung to his soul as she wrapped her Stark cloak around him.

'My love is yours - now and forever'

Oh, how he hoped that was true. Sansa held what was left of his heart and if it broke this time there would be no coming back from it.

Tyrion inhaled a deep breath before holding his right hand out to the wolf. He'd chosen to stay and that meant he had to try. As Arya had pointed out earlier; he was part of their pack now however strange it felt to him. His body ached horribly as he sat propped up in bed, though it centred on his ankle as he waited for the direwolf to respond. The golden wolf pup tilted its head to look at him before padding across the bed and brushing against his hand, whining softly at the attention.

"Hello" he said, tentatively brushing a hand through its thick coat "I suppose I should thank you for saving my life"

The creature leaned into his touch and Tyrion forced himself to continue stroking its fur, despite how nervous the wolf made him. Both Sansa and Arya had refused the direwolf, telling him it was meant for him. The Starks shared a connection with their wolves which had been obvious to see between Jon Snow and Ghost. Tyrion had no Northern blood at all and despite Sansa's reassurances the wolf was bonded to him, he remained sceptical of its allegiance.

"I'm not a Stark you know" he told the pup as he scratched behind its ear "Sansa or Arya would be much more worthy of you. I'd encourage you to choose one of them as your companion"

The direwolf observed him with intelligent green eyes, before licking his face and lying across his lap.

"If you insist, I suppose you can stay with me" he said, wiping at the slobber on his face "Just promise you won't bite my fingers off if I pet you?"

A small laugh reached his ears, and Tyrion looked up to see Sansa watching him.

"Negotiating a truce?" she asked, amusement shining in her eyes

"I tried to convince him there were better prospects, but he seems rather stuck on me"

"I think he's made a very good choice, and I'm glad you've accepted him"

"He didn't leave me much choice really. Are you sure you won't have him?" said Tyrion, lightly brushing the wolf's back

Sansa's red hair was still damp as she sat on the bed beside him "Me and Arya both tried to give him some attention since you wouldn't but he never seemed to enjoy it. He's your direwolf Tyrion"

"Rather strange colouring for a direwolf"

"A bit unusual, but so was Ghost's colouring"

Tyrion dropped his head back against the pillows "A coat of gold - almost like a lion"

The wolf pup's ears pricked up at that, turning to look at Tyrion.

"I think he liked that" said Sansa

"He needs a name I suppose. Any ideas?"

"When I named Lady, I looked at her to see what came to mind"

The wolf's green eyes were watching Tyrion as he stared at the creature; all that came to mind was a Lannister lion.

"He looks like a lion" said Tyrion "I can't call him that"

"Why not?"

Tyrion fidgeted under Sansa's gaze "This is the North. Besides why name a direwolf after a different animal?"

"Lion's are quite welcome in the North, Tyrion" said Sansa, taking his hand "You could just change the spelling if it bothers you so much"

The direwolf whined, nudging Tyrion with his nose "Very well - I suppose you can be called Lyon then. Satisfied?"

A happy bark escaped the wolf and he returned to lying across his master. Sansa smiled at Tyrion, brushing her hand over the wolf "A good name - and he seems to like it"

A wave of dizziness swept through Tyrion and he struggled to conceal a shudder that wracked his body - not with any success as Sansa's face twisted into a look of concern.

She pressed her hand to his forehead "You're burning up"

"I'm fine" he insisted

"You're not" she said, with a sigh "but you will be"

Sansa stood from the bed, disappearing out of the door. Tyrion's head grew heavy as he wound his fingers through Lyon's fur. Sansa returned a moment later wish a basin of water and cloth in hand. She dipped the cloth in the water and lifted it towards him.

"What are you doing?" he asked, stiffening as she brushed the cloth over his forehead

"You're burning up Tyrion, I need to cool you down" she replied, gently pushing him into the pillows and continuing to press the cloth against him "Just relax"

Tyrion's chest grew tight as she repeated the action - this was wrong. Sansa shouldn't be treating him with such tenderness; he was an imp, a monster. In his younger years Tyrion had certainly earned his nickname and spent much of his time with women, yet this with Sansa seemed far more intimate than anything else he'd experienced. Perhaps it was because he wasn't paying for it this time. There was no discernible reason for Sansa to be showing him such care and it unnerved him more than anything.

"You don't need to do this" he said, trying to pull away from her "I'm fine really - you should rest"

Sansa pursed her lips, gripping his good arm to keep him still "You're really not used to anyone looking after you, are you?"

A sense of shame rose in Tyrion "Sorry…"

Tyrion's lowered his eyes from Sansa not wanting to see the disgust in her face. To his surprise her soft lips pressed against his forehead a moment later.

"You've much to learn then" she said, smiling as she guided his head to lie against the pillows "Firstly, you focus on recovering and let your family take care of you. Secondly, families look after each other and you don't need to thank them for doing so or be embarrassed for needing help"

Warmth ignited in Tyrion at her words. Sansa blue eyes were filled with gentleness as she leaned towards him.

"The most important thing to remember though is I love you more than anything" she said, looking straight into his eyes "I've treated you horribly, but no more. You're mine to protect and I will take care of you my love"

"Sansa…I…" he started, his throat tightening

"Shh, save your strength" she soothed, brushing her fingers through his hair "You're safe here. I won't hurt you ever again, I promise"

A whirlwind of emotion swept through Tyrion, but the throbbing in his body was getting worse and he found his eyes sliding shut as Sansa continued her gentle ministrations. The last thing he saw was Sansa's kind smile as she leaned over him.

Sansa's heart lurched watching Tyrion once again empty the contents of his stomach into the basin she held beneath him. This was his third bout of vomiting today and each time seemed to be more violent than the last.

"I'm sorry" he said, voice hoarse as she rubbed his back

"Don't worry – it's better to get it all out" she reassured him

Since last night her husband had grown increasingly weak as the fever raged stronger than ever. Even now his bare skin was hot to the touch and it terrified her. She would not have her second chance with Tyrion taken away by an illness. He would get through this and heal.

Maester Wolkan had been to check on him this morning. During an earlier bout of vomiting Sansa had been adjusting Tyrion in the bed when he'd felt the urge to be sick. In an effort to not throw up over her Tyrion had twisted violently away, inadvertently rolling his broken ankle to one side. He'd blacked out from the pain, flopping lifelessly against her as she screamed for someone to get Wolkan. He'd come round before the Maester arrived, and continued vomiting as she tried desperately to hide her panic from him. The old man had diagnosed Tyrion with a form of Winter Fever. The most severe form of the illness had died out many years ago. Less aggressive but still dangerous forms were common in the North, particularly among children and other groups unaccustomed to the harsh climate. The Maester had offered to take over Tyrion's care, but she'd refused – determined to support him herself. Wolkan had given her advice on how to treat Tyrion and left medicine that could help, but most of his advice she'd learnt from her mother long ago. The Maester had said he would come and check on him regularly, but after settling Tyrion into bed once more she'd pulled the old man aside once outside the chamber door.

"This is my fault, isn't it?" she'd said "I never should have let him go outside"

"Your Grace, as hard as it is to hear – an illness was inevitable. Even without his kidnapping, lord Tyrion ate and slept very little. He did not look after himself and eventually his body would have betrayed him – most likely he would have become ill. His time in captivity and the numerous injuries he sustained has weakened him to the point where this was unpreventable. You mustn't blame yourself. Although his night time excursion aggravated his injuries I doubt it played any role in his current illness"

Now hours later as Tyrion heaved over the basin with her arm supporting him Sansa couldn't deny the guilt. She should have looked after him before this. She was his wife; it was her duty and she'd failed.

"Decided I don't like vomit" he said as she wiped his face

"I'd worry if you did"

"It smells"

"Vomit tends to; we can open a window"

Tyrion's head was already drooping as she settled him down to rest again.

"I'm sorry..." he said, eyes sliding shut

"That's some nice steel" said Bronn, reclining in his seat at the small council

Bran turned to face him "A shame it's broken"

"The end of the blade is lost, your Grace" said Brienne "that's all that could be recovered"

A damaged Valyrian steel sword; one of two forged from Ned Starks sword lay in the centre of the table. The other half of Ice hung at Ser Brienne's hip, and until Kings Landing burned this half had been wielded by Jamie Lannister.

"You gonna reforge it? Aint really long enough for a sword now" asked Bronn, ignoring the glare Brienne shot him for his casual language

The pommel was broken beyond repair and the blade itself was missing the top piece, a deep crack ran down the centre of the blade as it bent in the middle.

"It's not my decision"

"It was forged from you family's sword, as was Oathkeeper. Both blades belong to the Stark's" said Brienne

"Oathkeeper belongs to you lord commander" said Bran, observing the Knight "and this one belongs to the Starks. I will write to Queen Sansa and ask what she wants to be done with it. It's useless as it is now"

"Aye but ya could get yourself a couple of nice daggers out of it. Why bother sending it North?" said Bronn

"You are not a sellsword anymore, would it kill you to speak to the King with some kind of respect?" said Brienne, mouth pressing into a firm line

Ser Davos tapped his fingers on the table "Are we going to do anything productive or waste the whole day trying to fix the master of coin's manners?"

"It's a lost cause anyway" said Brienne

"You two best get off your damned high horses or I'll remind you why I lasted so long as a sellsword"

Bran tuned out their bickering, observing the sword before him. A small piece of Brandon Stark was grieved at the state of his family's blade. Ice would have always gone to Robb first, but Bran had once dreamed of being a Knight and wielding a sword just as great. Now his dreams were not his own and becoming a Knight was but a whisper of a past life.

"A weapon is useless to me" said Bran, gaining their attention "my sisters can decide what to do with this blade. I trust rebuilding efforts are going well?"

"As well as can be expected, your Grace" said Ser Davos with a sigh "There are still a number of castles left empty from houses wiped out in the war. HIghgarden and Casterly Rock are the two most important. We need a new lord of the Reach and a new Warden of the West"

"They'll have to be strong, trustworthy lords as both are important seats. The last person given Highgarden wasn't up to the task at all" said Brienne, shooting a glare at Bronn

"I liked the castle, but people kept bothering me to organise their food supplies and trade deals. At least at the Twins I get two castles and a bridge" said Bronn with a shrug

"Leave that matter to me" said Bran "Ser Brienne is correct, they're important seats to fill and I'll need to consider it carefully"

"Very good, your Grace" said Ser Davos with a nod "Anything else?"

"For now that is all we can do. Focus on rebuilding Kings Landing and bringing trade back to Westeros. I will write to the Queen in the North and see if any solutions present themselves"

The three still exchanged glances at his vague answers, but they were getting used it. The three-eyed raven saw so much, yet putting it into words and actions was more difficult than expected. At best his words were vague and at worst creepy. Nevertheless, that was the price of being the three-eyed raven - the price of being able to fly.

Sansa hadn't truly prayed to any Gods for a long time, but she decided if they existed they were cruel. Cersei had once told her Tywin Lannister believed in the Gods but didn't like them very much and she was beginning to understand the sentiment. Sitting at Tyrion's bedside as illness ravaged his body, Sansa was ready to become a sceptic. The lord of Winterfell was sweating profusely even as he shivered, while Sansa stirred a spoon through the broth she needed to feed him.

"You're so beautiful"

Tyrion's weak voice drew her from her reflection and she found herself looking at familiar green eyes; burning brightly with fever. He was awake but she could tell from his voice and the faraway look on his face he was delirious.

"Are you trying to charm me, my love?" she said, lifting the spoon to his mouth and encouraging him to eat.

The only positive of his confused state was he didn't seem quite as embarrassed while she fed him. He hadn't thrown up since yesterday and was in desperate need of proper food; she hoped he could keep this broth down.

"I'm dreaming" he said, after a few spoonful's

"You're not dreaming, you're just not yourself at the moment"

"I'm dreaming" he repeated, a smile crossing his face "It's ok, I like this dream"

"Oh? What dream would that be?"

"A beautiful Queen is looking at me" he said "and she's not laughing"

Sansa's heart constricted "Why would I laugh at a handsome lord?"

Tyrion's smile turned sad "I'm an imp"

"You're a great lord; and you're my husband"

At that Tyrion shook his head "That's how I know it's a dream"

"I'm your wife Tyrion" she said, leaning closer to him "and this is your castle"

"I had a wife once" he said, lowering his eyes "She didn't really love me though, she just used me"

Sansa's heart pounded at his words, guilt ballooning within her.

"I loved her" he continued "Even when father made me watch all the guards take my wife, paying her each time – I still loved her. The silver coins were overflowing by the time they were done"

Relief crashed through Sansa that he hadn't been referring to her own mistreatment of him, followed swiftly by fury.

"I'm so sorry" she said gently, taking his hand in hers

Tywin Lannister was a monster. She'd heard mention of Tyrion's first marriage in Kings Landing and when she'd confronted him Tyrion had been honest but brief with the details. She'd known what had befallen Tysha, but at the time she hadn't had much sympathy with her husband. It was just after the red wedding and her anger at the Lannister's had numbed her to the true horror of his story. Now hearing the story years later a new anger enveloped her at Tywin's cruelty to his own son. What kind of father would do that? Her mind turned to Shae - another woman he'd loved who'd betrayed him and then shared a bed with his father. It was little wonder he found it hard to believe her love for him.

"I'm dreaming" he said again, brow furrowing as though he was trying to convince himself "I don't mind - this is better than my other dreams"

Sansa hated seeing him so confused, and her hand trembled as she resumed feeding him the broth "That's good. You just relax, no-one will hurt you here"

"You're nice to me. Father wasn't - he hated me. Cersei did too. I was her brother and she hated me" he said, eyes downcast

"They were horrible people. You're my husband and you have a new family now" she said, watching the hope spark in his green eyes "You have two new brothers and a sister - Arya loves you very much"

Jon was technically her cousin, but he'd been raised as her brother and she'd always consider him as such. She knew Bran considered Tyrion a friend at the very least and Arya obviously loved him.

"Really?"

"Promise" she told him

Tyrion didn't speak after that and obediently ate the rest of the food, his bright eyes gazing at her with reverence. He was looking at her as though she was the Maiden in flesh, and tears burned in her eyes at the sight. She didn't deserve his adoration, even if it was a product of the sickness clinging to him. When the bowl was empty, she moved it to the table returning to find Tyrion's good hand fiddling with his blanket.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked, settling onto the bed next to him

Tyrion bit his lip as he looked up at her "Maybe…"

"Whatever you'd like" she promised, curious to hear his request for he had yet to ask her for anything

"Maybe…" he mumbled, eyes looking up at her "could I have a hug?"

She knew it was the fever talking, but his shy request melted her heart all the same.

"Of course" she said, enveloping him in her arms "all the hugs you want"

"You're so soft" he whispered, leaning against her

Sansa tightened her grip. She knew if Tyrion was well the chances of him seeking comfort with her was next to none, as much as she wanted to give it to him. Her heart sank all the same at the heat coming from his small body; his condition was getting worse not better.

"Kingslayer!"

"Monster"

The shouts echoed around Tyrion as he was dragged onto the platform. His hands were bound behind his back as he was led onto the platform a crowd of thousands spread out below it.

Cersei and his father stood waiting for him on the platform.

"Tyrion of house Lannister, by the laws of Gods and men you have been found guilty of regicide and treason in the death of the late King Joffrey Baratheon" said his father, voice ringing out across the crowd.

The hand of the King pin glinted in the sunlight on his father's tunic, a satisfied gleam in his eyes even as his voice remained emotionless.

"You are hereby sentenced to death"

Tyrion's legs fell weak as a guard placed a block on the platform, his mind screaming at him to escape. It was no use - the guards were too strong and Tyrion found himself being pulled closer to the block.

'No. I'm innocent!' he screamed though no words left his mouth. He was powerless; he had no voice to defend himself.

Cersei's smirking face appeared before him - a wooden pike in hand.

"I've been preparing this for years" she hissed as he was pulled past her

His heart hammered against his chest as Ser Ilyn Payne stepped onto the platform pulling a black mask over his face as he withdrew his great sword.

'No! It wasn't me'

Tyrion wanted to cry. The crowds were singing for his blood as his father and sister watched in anticipation. He tried to free his hands but they wouldn't budge and the guards either side of him forced him to his knees before the block. This was it. He was going to die for something he didn't do. In desperation he looked for his brother. Jamie would save him, he always saved him. His eyes finally landed on Jamie - stood with his arm around Cersei. His face was sorrowful but it broke Tyrion's heart all the same. His brother had chosen Cersei - he would always choose Cersei.

'I'm your brother' he tried to shout at his siblings, eyes moving to his father 'I'm your son'

A rough hand grabbed his head jerking his gaze from his family and pulling it downwards to expose his neck. Tyrion's breathing sped up. He was going to lose his head; they were going to kill him. The crowd was growing louder but all Tyrion could hear was the heavy footfalls of the Kings Justice as he approached.

He squeezed his eyes shut rather than look at the crowd who wanted his head; who he'd saved from Stannis at the Blackwater. The crowd fell silent and Tyrion knew the moment had come. No-one was going to save him this time. He didn't want to die…

Sweat was pouring from Tyrion as he thrashed in his sleep. Sansa took hold of his shoulders trying to hold him still as his face contorted in fear. After feeding him dinner he'd slept for a while, his temperature growing steadily worse. He'd woken a couple of times since but winter fever held Tyrion firmly in its clutches turning her clever husband delirious.

Now he twisted in her grip, his skin warm and flushed under her hands as his mind remained trapped in some kind of terror. Whatever nightmare was plaguing him it was evoking a terrible reaction in the lord of Winterfell.

"Tyrion" she called "You're safe, please stay still"

He continued to writhe on the bed until his eyes suddenly shot open, staring up at her as he sucked in rattling breaths.

"It's ok…" she started, keeping her arms at his shoulders. His eyes were distant and haunted as he stared up at her.

He struggled feebly against her hold, his good arm reaching out towards her.

"What's wrong?" she asked, brow furrowing

Sansa loosened her grip in case that was the cause of his distress and Tyrion immediately fell towards her, scrambling with his good hand to grab her. His face crumpled as his body's weakness betrayed him, but understanding bloomed through Sansa at what he wanted.

"I'm sorry" she said, quickly closing the gap and pulling him into her embrace. Immediately his right hand wound into her gown as gut wrenching sobs spilled from him.

"It's ok sweetheart" she soothed, feeling him bury his face in her shoulder "What did you dream?"

Tyrion said nothing but continued to cry on her shoulder. Sansa gladly held him, annoyed at herself for not realising what he wanted in the first place. She never found out what nightmare had caused him such distress, though she had no doubt the sickness plaguing him had made it worse. Eventually his sobs grew quieter as she whispered reassurances in his ear, and she realised he'd fell asleep once more.

The winter fever was getting worse. Rickon had suffered a form of it as a small child and she recalled her mother explaining the different stages as they cared for him. As she carefully lowered Tyrion back to the bed, she realised her gown was damp from the sweat that coated his broken body. Her stomach churned uncomfortably as fear gnawed at her heart. He was getting worse; she'd have to summon the Maester. If they didn't break his fever he would die. There had to be some way to help him; she couldn't survive losing him.

Tyrion's eyes were sticky as he tried to peel them open. It was hot. Why was he so hot? A girl with dark hair was leaning over him. He knew her - it was Arya. She was his sister. He wanted to sit up and greet her properly, but his body refused to move as though he was being weighed down by stones. Sansa was there too. She was talking to an old man in grey robes with a heavy chain around his neck at one side of the room. She seemed upset - he didn't like to see Sansa upset.

His mind fumbled to grasp onto what was going on but all he got was disconnected snippets that made no sense.

"…he's getting worse…"

"…there's still a chance…could try an ice bath…"

"can't lose him…"

"If he survives the night…"

Sansa was crying. Why was she crying? Who was she worried about? He should go to her - maybe he could help. Tyrion wanted to, but his body wouldn't cooperate. Every part of him ached as Arya's watery grey eyes bore into him. Her mouth was moving and he realised she was saying something to him.

"Tyrion…" she called

He tried to focus on Arya's face but the room seemed to be spinning around him. Why was it so hot?

"What do we say to the God of death big brother?" she asked

Tyrion's mind fumbled for the answer. He knew this. He remembered this. The world around him was growing dimmer and the voices in the room seemed less defined but the answer came to him.

"…not today" he said, voice barely above a whisper

Arya's face twisted into a sad smile and he knew he'd got it right as the world went dark around him.

Sansa Stark was exhausted as she took her place on the throne in the great hall. The night before last death had almost taken Tyrion from her. The winter fever had raged through his battered body to the point where Maester Wolkan had prepared her for the worst. Even Arya had looked at Tyrion as if readying a final goodbye. Sansa would not let death claim him. In desperation she'd ordered them both to leave and asked the servants to prepare an ice bath in the hopes of breaking his fever. Tyrion had shuddered in her arms as she stripped him naked and lowered him in the cold water, but he did not wake - even as she packed clumps of snow against his burning skin.

She'd kept him in there as long as she dared before returning him to the bed, his bandages and splints a soggy mess. That didn't matter as long as he lived - they could fix that; she couldn't fix losing him. It was midday yesterday when his fever finally broke and his restless sleep turned peaceful. Wolkan had declared him over the worst of it but Sansa had barely slept through fear of losing him. Even now she didn't want to part from him, but this rider had come with urgent business. So urgent he would only speak to the Queen in person. Reluctantly she'd left Tyrion sleeping under Arya's watchful eyes to be here.

"State your business" she called, as a young man with dark, wild hair entered the great hall. A dirty travelling cloak hung over his shoulder and she noticed the man had a vicious scar across the right side of his neck.

"I come on behalf of my father - lord Mazin. We hold Ramsgate in the crowns name"

"You are?"

"My name is Karlon Mazin, his last son and heir. My family fought for yours in the battle of the bastards, but you seem to have forgotten us your Grace. We answered your call and I lost two older brothers"

"If you've called my personal attention to air your grievances, you couldn't have chosen a worse time. I hope that's not the case"

Sansa realised her commitment to being a better Queen wasn't off to a good start but after battling to save Tyrion's life her nerves were more than a little frayed. The last thing she needed was yet another reminder of her failings as Queen.

The young man gazed at her with contempt "My family died for you, we lost good men for you and you've done nothing to help. Know that I come only because lord Tyrion has aided Ramsgate when no-one else would. He sent us aid when we needed it and one of the girls he saved in the Wolfswood was from Ramsgate"

"Why do you come? If you wish to thank the lord of Winterfell he is indisposed at the moment"

"I come because my father received a letter offering him an alliance. It bears no identifying house sigils or names but it's obvious who sent it. Lord Flint is orchestrating a rebellion against you, your Grace" said the young man, tossing a letter at the foot of the throne "I hope this time you'll remember who your allies are"