Rise & Fall

by rhaellion

Post Season 8 - Sansa Stark is set to be crowned Queen in the North, following Bran's election as King. As Queen she has big plans for the North and those plans change the fate of Tyrion Lannister - a broken man following the deaths of his family and Queen.

42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42

It never ceased to amaze Sansa how quickly her husband's mind worked. By the time they'd made it from the great hall to their chambers he'd already thought through a dozen reasons why he couldn't possibly be King. As soon as the door closed behind them Tyrion had launched into his protests. Sansa sat on the edge of the bed, her back aching as Tyrion paced back and forth in front of her.

"-that's not to mention my family's reputation. Lannisters and thrones do not go together, as you well know..."

Sansa hummed thoughtfully as he continued, though her mind was miles away. The King in the North. It felt right, and the timing couldn't be better. Sansa had deluded herself for too long in thinking she could handle everything alone. There were aspects of ruling she was comfortable and experienced in, but what happened with Robin had laid bare her naivety in other areas. Tyrion would be an equal partner to share the burden, and where her knowledge lacked his did not. Sharing her crown had once seemed terrifying, but not with Tyrion. There was nobody she trusted more in the world and he'd won the Northerners support himself.

"...and I'm deeply flattered by what happened in the great hall but I don't believe the lords and ladies were being serious. They're drunk on victory and were eager to latch onto Rose's idea. It was kind of her and the free folk but they'll have to settle for me as their lord if they still wish to join the North..."

They'd need to get a crown made. Sansa studied Tyrion's face as he spoke, thinking through the options. Gold would be best. Her crown was silver with direwolves, but the colour wouldn't suit him as well as gold would. A golden crown with lions. The North had chosen Tyrion as their King - there was no reason to hide away from his Lannister identity. It had taken time but Tyrion had shed the poison associated with being a Lannister and made it his own identity, no longer tainted by his family.

"Sansa, are you even listening to me?"

Tyrion was staring at her, a frown on his face.

"Sorry love," she said, grasping his left hand. "A Queen should listen to her King."

Tyrion groaned, dropping his head back. "Not you too."

"You earned this."

"The Northerners haven't thought about this. By tomorrow they'll have realised what a mistake they've made."

"That won't happen..."

Tyrion's tone took on an edge of pleading. "You could spread the word by dinner. Say that upon reflection it's not in the North's best interests."

"I think it is. You saved the North, you saved innocent women from slavery. The free folk knelt for you."

"I did my duty as lord of Winterfell and I'll happily continue in that capacity."

"My love, if the Northerners take you for their King they will treat you as such regardless of what either of us say."

"You're the Queen; tell them no. Tell them it won't work."

"I can't sweetheart. It will work, and I agree with them"

"Please..."

Sansa's heart constricted at his plea but it wasn't her decision to overturn. "The Northerners have made you King, we might as well make it official."

"I can't be King, I'm not a Northerner-"

"Don't say that," said Sansa, hardening her tone. "The North is yours as much as any man born here."

Tyrion dropped his head and Sansa quickly tugged his hand towards her, kissing the back of it. "You're my Northern lion, no matter what."

"I'm honoured that the people of the North would even consider me for such a role, but I don't deserve it..."

Sansa squeezed his hand, ending his protests. "Do you remember what I said when you first came North?"

"You pardoned me for the crimes of myself and my family."

"I did, and I also told you that a man gets what he earns in the North. You came here in chains with no land or titles; with nothing but the clothes on your back and a name that prejudiced people against you before they even met you," said Sansa, releasing his hand to cup his face instead. "You earned this Tyrion. Everything you've done since you came North has shown people who you really are; an honourable, brave man who they've chosen to call King."

Tyrion leaned into her touch, his eyes laying bare his inner fears. "There's no getting out of this, is there?"

Sansa shook her head, smiling softly. "You'll be a great King."

She let go of his face, taking hold of his hand once more. A flutter of nerves went through Sansa as she pulled his hand towards her, laying it against her midsection.

"And a great father too."

Sansa's heat thumped as she watched understanding dawn on Tyrion. His face had creased in puzzlement at her words, before surprise took over his features.

"You're...?"

"The Maester told me this morning."

Tyrion froze at the news, just long enough for panic to creep into Sansa before a wide grin split his face, his green eyes lighting up. "Really?"

Sansa nodded eagerly, joy swelling in her heart at both the news and her husband's reaction. "We're going to have a baby."

Whatever fears and doubts Tyrion held at being named King in the North were instantly swept away in his excitement. There would be time to deal with that later, but for now Sansa was content to enjoy the moment with her growing family. She wrapped her arms around Tyrion's waist, drawing him closer before guiding his hand to where their baby lay. How long would it take until she showed? The thought sent a thrill of excitement through her.

"Are you happy?" asked Tyrion. He was struggling to contain his own joy, but still sought to check she shared it.

"I am. Waiting through the court session to tell you was torture," she said, laying her hand over his. "I love you so much Tyrion."

Tyrion's eyes glistened as he kissed her forehead, his hand gently brushing over her stomach. "I love you too."

---

Being summoned to Sansa's chambers wasn't usually a good sign. Her sister's note had been short and pointed, offering no hint of what awaited Arya as she made her way through Winterfell. After the court session this morning the castle had been alive with energy as word spread that Tyrion had been named King in the North.

Arya struggled to not roll her eyes. It couldn't be that surprising to Tyrion, surely? He'd bled, sacrificed and fought for the North. Anyone who still held his last name against him was either dumb or ignorant. Granted, Arya hadn't expected Rose and the free folk to bend the knee but her conversations with lord Mazin had made it clear the free folk were far from the savages the stories made them out to be.

"People like us," lord Mazin had said. "Women, children, the old and the sick - they've no strength to pose a threat and have done nothing to disturb the Queen's peace while at Ramsgate."

"I still didn't think they'd bend the knee."

"They want safety and protection. The North can be a lonely place if you're isolated," he'd said. "Besides it is past time we called lord Tyrion as he is. House Mazin will proudly call him King."

The rest of the houses seemed to share the sentiment. Even hours later, Arya's ears rang with the calls that had echoed through the great hall. It was excellent timing. With the problem of Robin and Gawan resolved it was past time Arya focused on her own goal of exploring what lay west of Westeros. Sansa and Tyrion were healing their relationship and if he was King his power would equal Sansa's. It would lessen her burden of ruling and ensure she could never attempt to send him south again. Not that Arya thought she would - the past few days had made Sansa's remorse clear enough, but the safeguard made Arya feel far more comfortable about making her travel plans. If Sansa ever did spiral down that path again Tyrion's authority would equal hers and likely result in a stalemate. Arya pushed the thoughts aside. That was incredibly unlikely to ever happen, and even as King it was hard to imagine Tyrion going against Sansa.

Reaching the door to their chambers Arya let herself in without bothering to knock. Sansa and Tyrion had disappeared for hours after the court session and Arya had left them alone to do whatever they needed to. She could only assume her sister had spent the time trying to convince Tyrion he was a more than capable King, and after her soft efforts failed Arya had been called in to get the message home.

"You could knock," called Sansa, not bothering to turn from her place on the chaise. Tyrion was sat beside her with his back to the door and Arya seized upon the opportunity.

She grabbed a cushion from the end of the bed on her way past and positioned herself behind Tyrion, pushing the cushion onto the top of his head.

"Are you trying to smother me?" he asked, squirming to get free.

"I'm preparing you," she said.

"For a horrible death?"

"For when they put the crown on your head."

Arya heard her sister sigh, but she wasn't finished with Tyrion yet.

"There will be no crown!" he protested.

"Of course there will," said Arya, grasping the back of Tyrion's collar to keep him in place as she mushed the cushion against his head. "You'll sit there looking all solemn and Wolkan will place the crown on you like this."

"I think he'll be a bit more delicate than that," said Sansa, lifting an eyebrow.

Tyrion was squirming away from her and Arya let him go, dropping into the armchair across from him. He pouted at her, his golden hair sticking up at odd angles.

"There's no need for this. I'm perfectly happy as lord of Winterfell."

"You'll always be the lord of Winterfell," said Sansa, softening her tone. "You already do the work my love - King is just another title, and you're more than capable of carrying it."

"She's right," said Arya, lounging back in her chair. "It's just a title, more power and a crown."

"I don't need any of that," insisted Tyrion, looking between them.

"I bet Sansa's already planning your crown."

Her sister's cheeks coloured as Tyrion's horror grew.

"Sansa..." he pleaded.

"Don't worry about a thing, I'll handle all of it," said Sansa, running her hand through his hair and smoothing it down. "Besides, you'll look quite handsome with a crown."

Arya could see the protest building in Tyrion's eyes but a look passed them between him and Sansa that seemed to settle him. Strange. They were both sitting on the chaise, leaning against each other as they often did, but there was something different about it that Arya couldn't decipher.

It was no matter. Arya knew she'd been called in to end Tyrion's doubts with some blunt honesty; they might as well get on with it.

"Alright big brother, you tell me all the reasons you think you can't be King in the North and I'll show you how irrational you're being," said Arya, tapping her fingers on the arm of the chair. "Begin when you're ready."

Tyrion snorted. "Another time perhaps."

"That's not why we asked you to come here," said Sansa.

"Was it just to enjoy my company then?" asked Arya.

She kept her tone light but her eyes immediately narrowed on her sister and Tyrion. She'd thought through every possible reason for being summoned on the way here. If it wasn't to discuss Tyrion's new role as King what could it be?

"Not on this occasion," said Tyrion, turning to Sansa and smiling softly. "Ready?"

"I think so," she said, pausing to kiss his head before she continued. "We have some news to share with you Arya."

Tyrion could barely contain his smile. "You're going to be an aunt!"

Arya froze, her body going rigid as she processed the news.

A baby.

How had she missed that? She'd heard that Sansa had been unwell while they were away; she was more emotional than usual and the way she and Tyrion were acting made it clear something had changed between them.

"You bastards," said Arya, a wide grin stretching across her face. "Just when I was getting ready to leave"

Sansa smiled but Tyrion's face fell instantly.

"Leave?" he asked quietly.

"To see what's west of westeros big brother," said Arya, rolling her eyes. "You remember, my quest that keeps getting delayed?"

"Oh."

"You'll stay until the baby is born?" asked Sansa.

"I'm going to have to. I can't miss the birth of my niece or nephew, can I?" said Arya, noticing the tension leave her sister's face. "Congratulations by the way. I know how long you've wanted this."

"I have," said Sansa, her eyes sparkling "We're both excited, right sweetheart?"

Tyrion had fallen quiet but at Sansa's question he straightened on the chaise and smiled. "Of course - I never thought I'd have a child."

"Most of the free folk would have given you one," said Arya. "Keeping them away from you on the ship was hard work."

Sansa wrapped her arms protectively around Tyrion, drawing him against her. "They'll need to find their own husbands. This lion is all mine."

"They're not really free folk anymore," said Arya.

"They're hardly nobles either," snorted Sansa.

The conversation drifted on easily and Sansa's excitement at being pregnant was tangible, though Tyrion remained oddly subdued. News that Sansa was with child was the last thing Arya had expected to hear and though it delayed her travel plans she wouldn't leave her sister to face the pregnancy without her. Not that she would be much help, but if nothing else she could support Sansa and Tyrion as they prepared for the baby - and she had often imagined herself as an aunt.

---

"We will leave in a few days' time," said Bran.

Ser Davos nodded, tapping his shortened fingers against his leg. "You're sure now's a good time?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Pod's still finding his feet with all this lordship stuff."

"He'll find them just as well without us."

"Aye, I expect he will."

Bran was torn between amusement and sadness. The lords of the Westerlands had all bent the knee to Podrick without issue and there were very few reasons for them to linger in Casterly Rock now it was done. The castle had been purged of Lannister colours and sigils and lord Payne was settling into his role very well. Ser Davos, Brienne and Bronn had all found multiple excuses to stay longer but Bran knew the real reason because he felt it himself - they didn't want to leave Pod.

"Podrick is where he's meant to be," said Bran, "it's time we returned to where we're supposed to be."

Ser Davos sighed. "Aye, your Grace. I'll make the preparations. Any other business to do?"

"Arrange a meeting in the morning. There's news to share."

"This anything to do with the letter you sent North the other day?"

"It is."

"Everyone all right up there?"

"They're fine," promised Bran, his mouth turning upwards. "There was something I needed to send to the King."

---

Dinner was a rowdy affair, and the Northerners showed no sign of having changed their minds about having Tyrion as King. It was the first formal dinner to be held since the battle and the great hall was packed with survivors who were drunk on victory. It was hard to believe only this morning there had been a court session where two men were executed.

The drink and laughter flowed around Tyrion though he paid little attention to it. How could he focus on any of it? This morning he'd woken up as lord of Winterfell and tonight he had two new titles - both terrifying in different ways.

The King in the North. Just the thought made his stomach twist. The last two Kings in the North had been Robb Stark and Jon Snow - both good, honourable men. No matter what Sansa said he felt like a fraud. Unlike Lyon. Somehow the little wolf had picked up on his new title and had strutted around all day as if he was being promoted to King of the Direwolves. Even now Tyrion could see his little friend soaking up attention from lady Tallhart at the other end of the table.

"Congratulations!" said lord Mazin, accidently clapping his hand over the stitches in Tyrion's shoulder. "You'll be a great King!"

"Thank you," said Tyrion, smiling tightly. "I'm not sure I deserve the honour though..."

"Nonsense," declared the younger man, squeezing his shoulder painfully. "You saved women from slavery, you led us against the traitorous bastard Robin Flint - you are our King!"

If only Tyrion could share that optimism. He could reluctantly accept that what lord Mazin said was true, though all of those things sounded far simpler in summary than they had been in reality. Despite that he still couldn't understand why the Northerners would ever choose a Lannister as King. His family was responsible for the red wedding and so many atrocities - the North remembered - how could they look past that?

The conversation drifted on around him and Tyrion shook more hands than he thought possible as the other lords and ladies sought to congratulate him. Sansa had started the dinner by reaffirming he would be crowned in a weeks' time and had formally invited the other lords and ladies to remain for the ceremony. His eyes drifted to Sansa as she and lord Manderly began discussing feasts and other arrangements Tyrion didn't care to know.

She was carrying his child. They wouldn't announce it just yet; it was still quite early in the pregnancy after all. No one but themselves, Maester Wolkan and Arya knew.

He was going to be a father.

The thought filled him with a torrent of emotions, from overwhelming joy to the deepest fear. What if Sansa died in childbirth? What if the child was like him? What if he turned into his father?

Sansa turned to him, a hidden excitement still bubbling in her eyes that had been there since this morning. "Are you alright my love? You're very quiet."

"I'm fine," he said, forcing a smile. "Just a little tired."

She nodded in sympathy. "It's been a long day. A little longer and then we can go if you're ready?"

"Of course."

Voicing his worries to Sansa wasn't an option. She was thrilled and there was no reason to bring down her mood with his irrational fears. Tyrion was thrilled too, but his worries were more than enough to temper it. Arya was usually an excellent person to voice such issues to, but as his eyes found her talking with Cley Cerwyn across the table a deep loss ripped through him.

Arya was going to leave eventually. The rational part of his mind had known that for a long time; he'd discussed theories on what lay west of Westeros with her often enough to know that answering that question was her ambition. It didn't make it any easier to accept she was leaving, whether it was now or in several moon turns it would hurt.

Tyrion was drawn from his musings by the clinking of a chain behind him. He turned in his seat to see Maester Wolkan waiting patiently to address Sansa.

"Pardon your Grace," he said, inclining his head towards her before turning to Tyrion. "A letter has arrived bearing King Bran's seal, addressed to you, your Grace."

Heat flooded Tyrion's face at the use of his new title, and he could swear the Maester was smirking. No one had used the title yet, at least not directly to him. Clearly he had been too optimistic in believing he could escape it for another week at least.

Sansa was struggling not to smile as well. "Bran never replied to my last letter but he writes to you instead? I'll never understand him."

Tyrion took the offered letter, a chill running through him as he read the name on the front.

'King Tyrion Lannister'

He swallowed thickly, turning it so Sansa could see.

"I'd better read it," he said, glancing around the table and at the guests who were all involved in their own conversations.

Sansa nodded quickly, "Want me to come with you?"

"It's quite alright," he said, kissing her cheek as he slid from the chair. "I'm rather tired anyway. I'll be in our chambers."

"Ok love, I'll be up soon."

Tyrion narrowed his eyes at Wolkan as he passed but the old man's face maintained an image of perfect innocence.

The halls were quiet as Tyrion trudged towards his chambers. It was a week since the battle but his injuries were still lingering. He'd gotten better at hiding it but his ankle often ached the longer he walked on it and his hand was still barely useable. At least some of the swelling around his fist had gone down.

Relief flooded Tyrion as he shut his chamber door behind him. The day had seemed endless and it was nice to finally have a few minutes to himself. A crown; a child - everything that had once seemed impossible was coming to him, and it was terrifying. Sooner or later he would need to discuss his worries with Sansa - hiding his concerns would do neither of them any good - but for now he needed a moment to process everything alone.

Well, almost alone.

Lyon had followed him from the great hall and curled up at his feet as Tyrion took a seat at the table. He reached down, scratching the wolf's ears.

"You won't leave me, will you?" he murmured.

Lyon barked sleepily, as if the idea of leaving was too exhausting to contemplate.

Turning his attention from the direwolf, Tyrion appraised the letter sealed with the three-eyed raven sigil. It was impossible. Bran couldn't have known he would be named King in the North, the court session had only taken place that morning. Yet the truth was right in front of Tyrion; the black ink standing out sharply against the paper.

"Alright Bran, let's see what else you know," he said, breaking the seal.

To Tyrion's surprise the letter was far thicker than what Bran usually wrote and contained another folded up piece of paper inside the main letter. He put the folded paper aside for now, focusing on the main letter and Bran's easily recognised handwriting.

Dear Tyrion,

I won't be the first to congratulate you but I'm the first from the six Kingdoms anyway. The North has chosen you as King and it's a role you are more than capable of. You won't believe that, but it's true.

The three-eyed raven only sees so much and I hope when you read this you are already aware of Sansa's condition. If not, stop reading.

If you are aware, my warmest congratulations. I look forward to meeting your child in the future. This is another role you didn't expect but you're more than capable of. Any man who can give hope to a crippled boy can be a good father.

Pod and the others are doing well. I will inform them you have been named King, but I'll refrain from sharing your other news. Give my love to Sansa and Arya.

I've enclosed another document for you. I know you didn't want it, but it's long past time it was done and your change in position is an opportune time to do so. It was never a just sentence.

Bran

Tyrion sighed, reaching for the other document and unfolding to read the official pardon signed by King Brandon Stark. He was no longer an exile and could travel freely to the six Kingdoms - not that he had any inclination to do so. As far as Tyrion was concerned his sentence had been more than fair considering the trail of death and destruction he'd left in his wake. There was nothing to do about it. He'd refused Bran's offer of Casterly Rock but he couldn't refuse the pardon. If he was going to be King it was better for both Kingdoms that he wasn't an exile.

"The King in the North," he murmured, testing the title on his tongue. "Honours like this aren't meant for men like me."

Lyon huffed and Tyrion chose to take it as agreement.

"How am I supposed to do this Lyon? I'm an imp - thrones and power were never supposed to be mine."

The prospect of becoming King was terrifying but the idea of being a father brought out his oldest fears.

"What if I turn into my father?" he mused.

Lyon barked tiredly in answer.

"I suppose I am too short to be him."

Tyrion glanced around the room, checking for any sign Sansa was on her way before pulling the letter she'd written to him from inside his tunic. It was ragged at the edges and the fold lines were wearing into holes but it was the words Tyrion sought. It was somewhat ridiculous - Sansa would be here soon - he needn't read her comfort in a letter. Yet the letter had its own comfort. Even if Sansa wasn't here he still had a piece of her, and reading her tender expression of love soothed his still fragile heart.

---

"What's wrong with Tyrion?"

Sansa sighed; her sister would never learn patience. They were barely out of the great hall when she pounced.

"He's fine. A letter from Bran arrived for him."

"So he left dinner to go and read a letter that knowing Bran was probably no longer than a line?"

"It was addressed to King Tyrion."

Arya's grey eyes narrowed instantly. "How in the seven hells..."

"I don't know," said Sansa, shaking her head. "Honestly Arya I have no idea how Bran knows the things he does and I don't think I want to know."

Arya nodded but Sansa could tell her sister wasn't done with her questioning. Arya had noticed Tyrion leave and spent the last half hour of dinner continually glancing at his empty seat before the rest of the lords and ladies drifted off towards their own chambers.

"He seemed quiet tonight," said Arya.

"It's been a rather long day."

"Are his injuries bothering him?"

"A little. I'd say they're annoying rather than hurting him though."

"Does he still doubt his Kingly abilities?"

"He was only named King this morning, it will take time for him to get used to it."

"What about the other thing?"

Sansa's hand brushed over her stomach instantly, and she silently cursed the reaction. They weren't announcing it just yet - the last thing she needed was whispering servants.

"He's quite excited," said Sansa. She didn't doubt he was terrified too, but for now his excitement was stronger than his worry and Sansa had every intention of enjoying that. As the pregnancy progressed she suspected they would both have to face their fears.

"What's bothering him then? Is Lyon still not drooling on him at night?" asked Arya, her brow furrowing.

"Is Lyon what?"

Arya rolled her eyes. "He was sad the other day that Lyon had stopped joining him in bed. I suggested you could drool on him instead."

"I do not drool, but Tyrion has been perfectly happy at night."

"I don't need the details."

"Oh please, we've just been cuddling and talking..."

Arya stared at her as if she'd grown another head and Sansa decided it wasn't worth explaining to her sister. She and Tyrion hadn't joined in the bed since he returned to Winterfell, but there were so many ways to be intimate without being physical and their new commitment to being honest with each other meant they were learning to share their troubles with far more ease than before.

It was almost amusing to Sansa that Arya had picked up on every reason Tyrion might have been a little quiet tonight apart from the truth. He was reluctant to be King, nervous to become a father - but he was obviously upset at the thought of Arya leaving. While Sansa had always known her sister would never stay in one place forever and made peace with that long ago, it was a fact Tyrion knew but didn't want to accept.

'Oh Arya, he loves being your big brother. Don't you think he'll miss you?'

Sansa would too, and she was eternally grateful Arya would stay until she gave birth, but she wasn't ashamed to admit Tyrion and Arya had a closer sibling bonding than she and Arya had enjoyed in their childhood. They laughed at the same jokes, they were both well-travelled and they each filled a need for the other. It was tempting to tell her sister and put her out of her misery, but Sansa was in no hurry to interfere - particularly when Tyrion had tried to hide his obvious sadness earlier on. If they didn't sort it out themselves she'd give them a nudge but for now all Sansa could focus on was spending the rest of the evening with her husband.

Even so she offered her sister a chance. "You can come and see him if you're so concerned."

Arya hesitated for a moment before shaking her head. "No thanks. I'll let you try the gentle approach to cheer him up first."

They parted at the end of the corridor and Sansa wasted no time moving towards her chambers and Tyrion. Her sweet, sensitive little lion. Anyone else might think Tyrion's reaction to Arya's inevitable departure odd but Sansa was lucky enough to know exactly who Tyrion was and Arya's flippant remark about leaving had clearly struck a nerve earlier on.

The warm glow of the hearth filled the room as Sansa eased the door open, with her eyes quickly finding her husband sat on an armchair with a thick book balanced on his lap. Lyon was in front of the hearth, snoring softly as he enjoyed the heat.

Tyrion didn't notice the door open as she slipped into the room; far too involved in his reading as always. He still didn't stir as she moved towards the chair and Sansa recognised the book the closer she got; The Kings of Winter.

"You'll be the first," she said softly, peering over the back of the armchair.

Tyrion jumped in his seat, twisting around to see her. "Seven hells Sansa, are you trying to kill me?"

"Sorry love, I think Arya is rubbing off on me," she said, leaning forwards to kiss his head.

He glanced at his sleeping direwolf. "So much for protection."

"Am I so scary?"

"Terrifying. Lyon should have sensed there was a wolf stalking me"

Sansa smiled, perching on the arm of the chair and grasping Tyrion's chin. "You're all mine now."

"Hmm. It's better I surrender I suppose."

"I can be merciful, particularly to Northern lions."

"Ah, how fortunate for me."

Tyrion was already dressed in his bed clothes and despite his teasing she could see through it to the insecurities beneath.

"You'll be the first," she said again, nodding towards the book. "The first King in the North called Tyrion."

He raised an eyebrow. "You went with that rather than the obvious? The first Lannister, the first dwarf, the first King in the North to have no Northern blood..."

"You're a man of many firsts."

"I'm an imposter."

"No, you're not. The Northerners chose you as King despite being a dwarf, a Lannister and having no Northern blood. Take pride in it my love - I'm proud of you."

Tyrion slumped in his seat, resignation taking over his features. It would take time for him to get used to his new position but Sansa would do anything to make it easier for him - even if she had to remind him daily why he'd been chosen.

"You've got a week of peace yet," she told him. "After you left dinner Maester Wolkan told me a lot of the guards and servants weren't sure how to address you now and I think some of the lords are just as confused. Obviously you've been named King in the North but I've told the Maester to spread the word that you'll be addressed as lord Tyrion until you're crowned."

"Thank you."

"A week seems enough time to put everything in place and after you're crowned the other lords and ladies can leave Winterfell. As grateful as I am for their help against Robin I can't wait for it to be just us again," said Sansa. "The Unsullied should have left by then and we'll need to arrange things with Rose for the free folk - though they're not really free folk anymore. There's still a lot of work to be done to clean up Robin's mess."

"There is," agreed Tyrion, closing the thick book and reaching for her hand. "Enough of work now, how are you? I was quite eager to leave dinner but it occurred to me too late that I should have stayed with you."

"You didn't need to stay sweetheart, I knew you needed a break"

"Even so, I shouldn't have left you in your condition."

"My condition," repeated Sansa, a smile stretching across her face. "I'm about six weeks along Tyrion, you were hardly going to miss the birth."

"I don't want to miss anything."

That wasn't quite true. Sansa could see the fear lurking in his eyes and knew exactly what he meant; what if you were ill and I wasn't there? His worries would come to the surface sooner or later but tonight Sansa was happy to accept his vague reasoning.

"You won't miss anything, I promise," she said.

"Good. I'd hate to think what you'd call the child if I wasn't around."

Sansa covered her stomach in mock outrage. "I think you'll find little Tyrion is very happy with his name."

"Little Tyrion? Gods, it's worse than I thought."

"It's a nice name. I'd quite like to have a little Tyrion."

"I hate to break it to you dear but you already have a little Tyrion."

"I suppose," she said, rolling her eyes playfully. "Go on then, what are your name ideas?"

"I don't have any yet. I only found out this morning."

"So did I."

"Yes, but you've been planning your future children for years. I don't doubt you have a hundred possible names in that pretty head of yours."

"Maybe I do..."

He kissed her hand, his green eyes bright with excitement as he met her gaze. "You can choose the name."

"You don't want to?"

"You're doing the hard work of carrying the child, it seems right that you name the first one."

"First one? Planning the next already love?"

Tyrion's face flushed. "Well...I didn't mean..."

"I can't wait," said Sansa, hope blooming in her chest. "After everything that's happened the last few years I'd love to fill Winterfell with children again."

"Perhaps we will," said Tyrion, offering her a soft smile.

Sansa smiled back but was careful to control her excitement. She'd always wanted a large family of children but she was well aware Tyrion had been reluctant to have children at all, with his mother's fate and his own condition being just some of the reasons. That he was talking about the possibility thrilled her but she suspected he was merely distracting himself from everything else on his mind. That was fine with Sansa, if he wasn't ready to talk about his worries she would gladly take his mind away from them.

"I suppose I'll have to think of other names if you're so against little Tyrion."

"I am. I always thought it was vanity for a father to name his son after himself. Besides it could be a girl."

"Would you mind?"

Tyrion's face creased. "Of course not. Why would I mind?"

"Most men want sons."

"I'll be perfectly happy with either as long as you and the child are both well..."

A shadow passed over his face and Sansa quickly sought to draw him away from his dark thoughts.

"Alright, no little Tyrion then. Any other names I should purge from my list?"

"Loras."

Sansa snorted. "That was years ago..."

"I saw the way you looked at him," said Tyrion, pouting up at her.

"Oh? And how did I look at him?"

"As if he'd charged out the mud gate to defend a city, and got his face cut in half for his troubles."

"I do believe that was you."

"Yes, but nobody cared about my face. If that had happened to Loras Tyrell there'd have been weeping girls lining the streets for days."

"I suppose I'd have been one of these girls?"

"Of course not. You're far too clever to make such a mistake with Joffrey and Cersei watching. You'd have wept in private I'm sure."

Sansa laughed, shaking her head. "Are you really jealous of my childish feelings for Loras Tyrell?"

"Well...not anymore..." he said, "though I will admit marrying you in Kings Landing did give me some perverted pleasure, as horrible as the circumstances were."

"Because it meant I couldn't marry Loras?"

"Because the imp got the most beautiful woman in Westeros and the handsome Knight didn't."

Sansa's stomach fluttered and she couldn't resist cupping her husband's face and drawing him in for a kiss. She'd never been meant to marry a Knight; her husband was always supposed to be a King.

---

Casterly Rock was a strange place. It was high above Lannisport and every night the tide could be heard crashing against the rocks beneath the castle. Every hall and room was grand and until recently had been awash with red, gold and lion sigils. If anything it had been too opulent for Brienne's taste - Pod's redecoration was far more modest, though not as grim as Winterfell.

The knight wandered the corridors, careful to keep to the quieter parts of the castle. It should be easier to relax than this. This was Podrick's castle now, and the guards and servants who were now in place were decent, honourable people - she'd vetted them all herself. Still Brienne found herself restless, and the reason lingered constantly at the edge of her mind, though there was no reason for it.

She'd never known Jamie Lannister as a child - why would his memory haunt her here? He might have lived, played and grown within these walls but that was a very long time ago. Brienne wandered back and forth, until she slipped out of a side door and ended up at the place she always did; the practice yard. Unlike Winterfell's it was a much bigger area, with plenty of practice dummies and high quality practice weapons. It was ridiculous. Why would this practice yard mean anything to her?

'Come now wench, you know you'd have liked to try me on a good day.'

The voice drifted through her mind before she could stop it, and her heart shuddered at the sound. It wasn't real. It was just her imagination. That conversation had never happened, and it would never happen.

Was this why Tyrion had refused Casterly Rock? He was happy in Winterfell with Sansa, but refusing his ancestral home couldn't have been an easy choice. Brienne had never been here but saw Jamie's ghost in every corner; it would be so much worse for Tyrion who had a lifetime of memories with his brother.

Brienne brushed her hand over the pommel of her sword. Jamie had given this to her and for a time had wielded its twin.

It was always about twins.

Their twin swords weren't enough for Jamie. He chose to leave her to die with Cersei, and his sword had been found in pieces months later. Jamie was dead and his sword was reforged and now held by Tyrion Lannister. The brothers were alike in many ways but fundamentally different. Jamie's sword lived on in his brother's hand but it was different now - the blades were no longer twins.

'Are you actually crying? Maybe you are a woman'

"Shut up," she murmured. "You're dead."

'You're still thinking about me though.'

"I loved you," she whispered. "I know you chose her - chose your family in the end - but I still loved you."

The voice fell silent as Brienne turned back inside. For months she'd successfully managed her feelings for Jamie Lanister, but Casterly Rock had brought too much to the surface. She would be glad to leave if it wasn't for who she was leaving behind. Bran would want to move on soon and leaving Podrick behind was a goodbye she wasn't ready for.

---

"Shall I get the Maester?"

"No love, I'm fine. It's passing now."

"Are you sure? You look rather pale."

Sansa's stomach twisted once more but thankfully she wasn't sick again. While Tyrion was away she'd had a few bouts of vomiting believing it was from stress, but now it was so obvious why she'd been unwell. She sat back on the edge of the bed and Tyrion's anxious face appeared before her, still clutching the bowl of vomit.

"Is there nothing I can do?" he asked.

"It'll pass my love, Maester Wolkan says it's very common in early pregnancy."

His brow furrowed. "I suppose, I just don't like seeing you unwell."

Sansa's heart warmed at the genuine concern on her husband's face. They'd been getting ready for breakfast when she felt nauseous and Tyrion had instantly begun fussing over her. It was somewhat embarrassing - Sansa was used to being fine - but Tyrion had insisted on caring for her and been nothing but sweet as she threw up. He'd held a bowl beneath her, wiping at the vomit on her face and keeping her hair back.

"Could you put that aside?" she asked, gesturing to the vomit bowl. "I think I'm done for now."

"Oh, of course," he said, hurrying to put the bowl near the door. Lyon hadn't liked the smell and was sheltering in the furthest corner away from them.

Tyrion reappeared before her a moment later, his green eyes bright with worry. "Is there anything at all I can do for you?"

"No sweetheart, I feel much better," she said, reaching out to take his hand. "Thank you for helping. I know throwing up isn't very ladylike"

Tyrion scoffed. "Ladylike? Oh please, it's a perfectly normal thing."

"Still, it's embarrassing."

"Fear not dear wife, my years of heavy drinking means I'm well acquainted with vomit. There's no reason for you to be embarrassed in front of me, I've quite literally seen it all."

"I suppose," she said, smiling slightly. "I do recall you claiming to have vomited on a girl once in the middle of the act."

"Not my proudest moment, though I daresay she was well compensated." Tyrion smiled, kissing the back of her hand. "You can vomit on me anytime."

Sansa giggled, her stomach settling down. Before she could move to continue her morning routine a knock at the door caught both of their attention.

"Enter," called Tyrion, moving around the bed to partially hide her from view. They weren't announcing the pregnancy just yet but they couldn't wait too long either. The longer they waited the more likely it was people would start to suspect.

A young serving girl popped her head into the room, her eyes flickering between her and Tyrion before settling on the ground.

"Begging your pardon m'lor-your Grace." She swallowed nervously. "Lady Arya sends a message, inviting ya to the practice yard."

Tyrion smiled easily, wandering towards the nervous servant while guilt ate at Sansa. It wasn't Tyrion the girl was nervous of, though she didn't seem certain of which title to use to address him. The coldness that had hung over her early reign as Queen had quickly taught the servants to avoid her. Ridding herself of the Queen of ice persona would take time.

"Did Arya say what for?" he asked.

"She said it was to see if ya could still hit a target your Grace," said the servant.

Sansa twisted on the bed enough to see Tyrion squirming at his new title, but his voice was soft and friendly as he spoke to the girl.

"I'm not King yet," he said. "Lord Tyrion is a big enough title for a man my size."

The girl froze, quickly ducking her head, "Apologies m'lord, I weren't sure-"

"It's quite alright," he said, waving aside the apology. "I believe Maester Wolkan will be spreading word sometime today that I am still a lord. Would you bring a reply to lady Arya for me?"

"Certainly m'lord."

"Give her my apologies but I will not be joining her," said Tyrion.

The girl's head bobbed up and down. "Aye, m'lord."

"Thank you," said Tyrion. "Could I trouble you to remove this bowl please? I was unwell this morning."

"You want me call the Maester m'lord?" she asked, gingerly lifting the bowl of Sansa's vomit.

"No, that's quite alright, though I would be grateful if you could send word to the kitchen that the Queen and I are ready for breakfast."

"Of course m'lord."

The girl quickly bowed and hurried from the room leaving them alone once more.

"You could have gone the practice yard sweetheart, I'm fine now," said Sansa.

Tyrion quickly shook his head. "I'd rather spend my morning with you."

"You usually like going the practice yard with Arya."

"I'm sure she'll manage without me," he said, wandering towards her draws.

Sansa bit the inside of her cheek, undecided on whether to further push the issue. It was unlike Tyrion to turn Arya down for anything and Sansa couldn't help but wonder if her morning sickness was merely a convenient excuse. Before she could decide either way her attention was drawn to Tyrion rummaging through her draws.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Choosing a gown for you," he said, cheerfully rifling through her clothes.

"Why?"

"You need to rest, and you often leave outfits out for me - I can return the favour!"

Sansa swallowed thickly, bracing herself for whatever outfit Tyrion chose. Part of the reason she left outfits out for him was so he wouldn't wear the same plain clothes every day. As sweet as the sentiment was Tyrion's sense of style left something to be desired.

---

"Why are you pouting at me Tyrion Lannister?"

"It's your fault."

Rose lifted her eyebrows. "Oh, is it? The way the other lords talk about ya one of them would have done it sooner or later."

"Do you have any idea what you've done? Sansa's meeting with someone later to discuss crowns!"

The woman snorted. "You come for our opinion little King?"

Tyrion sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. It was pointless complaining; what was done could not be undone, despite his numerous attempts to persuade Sansa otherwise. While Sansa had arranged a meeting with her council to discuss the coronation she'd suggested he meet with Rose to discuss the free folk joining the kingdom of the North. While the task spared him the meeting it brought problems of its own - Rose was difficult to handle and the spear wives kept glancing at him and giggling, providing evidence of why Sansa hadn't wanted him to go alone.

"I don't think they're dangerous" he'd said, when Sansa suggested taking someone along. "They want to join the North - why would they hurt me?"

"They won't hurt you, I just don't trust they won't kidnap you."

"Sansa Stark, are you jealous?"

"No, I'm protective."

"Rest assured my dear, I only have eyes for you."

"Unfortunately they all have eyes for you. I'll ask Arya to go too."

Tyrion had shaken his head. "No need to bother her, I'll take Alec and Lyon."

His heart twisted at the thought of Arya but he was quick to turn his focus elsewhere. He'd always known Arya would leave eventually, there was no use dwelling on it. Besides, it was better he get used to her absence now - it was part of the reason he'd asked Alec to join him.

Rose and her group had made camp just outside the Winterfell walls and it was here Tyrion had gone to meet with them. Rose was the designated leader but rather than speak in private she was lounging against a log as the rest of the wildlings wandered back and forth around camp, some tending to the fire and others fussing over Lyon.

"Lyon's loving this," said Alec, nodding towards the little wolf who was happily lapping up the attention of the wildlings.

"I'm glad someone is," said Tyrion.

"I'm enjoying it too," said Rose, grinning across at him. "The look on your face when I called you King in the hall - thought you were gonna fall over."

"I wasn't expecting it." said Tyrion, his cheeks flushing. "I thought free folk didn't kneel."

"They don't," said Rose, a shadow passing over her face. "But we're dead on our own. Not enough of us left this side of the wall to live like we did and no chance we'd survive going back North."

"I understand," said Tyrion, turning his mind to the politics of the situation. "You wish to join the North - that means Sansa will be your Queen."

"Aye, and we accept as long as you're King."

"Why? Sansa would accept you bending the knee - you've no need of me."

"It's you we trust. This aint easy for us little lion."

"If you wish to proceed you will need to accept Sansa as your Queen. The laws and customs of the North will become yours, and you will be bound by its laws as every other Northerner is."

Tyrion shifted uncomfortably as he finished. The rest of Rose's group had stopped their own activities to focus on the conversation. Rose was acting as their leader but joining the North had surely been a group decision, and it occurred to Tyrion it was one they'd likely made before leaving Ramsgate.

"Is this why you fought with me?" asked Tyrion. "You travelled with lord Mazin and fought with us against Robin because you wanted to join the North?"

"Not exactly. We came because it was you asking, but we wanted to see whether the North was worth joining."

"You believe it is."

"We reckon it's worth a chance. Karlon Mazin has been good to us at Ramsgate, and if you're King this might work. We'll take your Queen as ours little lion, and our children will probably take whoever rules after you two. In a few generations we'll be no different to the rest of you kneelers, but to start this thing you're our condition. You helped us when no one else gave a damn - it's you we're trusting."

Responsibility wrapped around Tyrion like a chain. Rose's face had twisted into a scowl as she spoke and it was impossible to not sympathise with her. Glancing around the camp Tyrion saw the rest of the group shared her grief. They were free folk who'd lived their whole lives in the true North, but for the sake of survival and building a better future they were sacrificing their way of life. Rose was right - in a few generations their children would know no other life besides being a Northerner, and bending the knee to the King or Queen in the North.

"We will make this work, I promise," said Tyrion. "I will continue discussions with the Queen and the lords and ladies of the North as to how this will work but the protection and aid of the crown will be yours."

"I hope you're right."

"Let me help you," said Tyrion, settling down on the ground across from Rose. Alec followed suit and the rest of the wildlings moved into a loose circle around them. "Just because you are joining the North doesn't mean you need give up your identity. I'm certain you have skills other Northerners do not. Use your skills to create your own form of trade and support your community - I'll help you, if you'll allow me."

Rose leaned back against the log, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards. "Go on then Tyrion Lannister. How are we gonna be part of your kingdom?"

---

"That meeting was endless."

"You didn't have to be there."

"If I'd known it was going to drag on like that I wouldn't have been there."

Sansa sighed. The meeting with her council had been as long as necessary, particularly given how much there was to discuss. As part of her council Arya had every right to be there but Sansa suspected her sister had come for a different reason than arranging the coronation.

"How come Tyrion didn't have to be there given it's his crown we spent hours discussing?" asked Arya. The younger Stark had her arms crossed and her feet jammed against the table so her chair tilted back. It took every ounce of control Sansa possessed to not comment on the position.

"I told you, Tyrion went to meet with Rose and the wildlings. If they're going to join the North an agreement will need to be put in place and Tyrion is the obvious choice to begin those discussions - he has their respect."

"I can't believe you let him go near the wildlings alone. You know Lyon is easily distracted and has a vendetta against you; he's not going to stop them from kidnapping your husband - it would probably be the highlight of his week."

Sansa bit the inside of her cheek, keeping her focus on the papers spread on the table in front of her. She'd known a conversation with Arya was unavoidable and had reluctantly remained in her council chamber after everyone else had left. Predictably Arya had remained too.

"Nothing to say?" asked Arya. "I thought you'd be more worried about them having their way with Tyrion-"

Arya trailed off and Sansa winced. The truth was never pleasant when it came out.

"He's not gone alone, has he?"

"Lyon is with him," said Sansa, adding quietly, "and Alec too."

Arya's voice was carefully controlled, though it did little to disguise what simmered beneath the surface. "Why did he take Alec?"

"He's the captain of the Winterfell guard and he's good friends with Tyrion."

"I could have gone with him."

"He wanted to take Alec."

"Why?"

Sansa sighed, reluctantly meeting her sister's wolf like eyes. "I just told you."

"There's more to it than that - don't lie to me."

"If you're so concerned ask Tyrion yourself."

"He's barely spoke to me since yesterday."

Sansa nodded. "And what does that tell you?"

Surely Arya couldn't be so oblivious? Her little sister was usually highly perceptive but it appeared she did have a blind spot. Arya's ability to read people and relationships didn't seem to extend to herself.

"You can't be serious," said Arya, dropping her gaze to the table.

"He loves you," said Sansa. "You know how much change he's gone through in the last year. Things should finally be settling down and then everything is changing again."

"I can't stay here forever Sansa. This is your life, not mine."

"I know that and so does Tyrion. It doesn't mean we won't miss you..."

Arya's chair scraped against the floor and her sister was on her feet in a second. Without a word the younger Stark left the room, leaving Sansa alone with her papers and her thoughts.

While Tyrion hadn't confided in her that Arya's inevitable departure was bothering him it was more than obvious it was. He and Arya usually bantered back and forth at every meal and if he wasn't upset Sansa was certain he'd have brought Arya with him to meet with Rose, or gone the practice yard with her this morning. As reluctant as she was to get involved it was better Arya and Tyrion worked this out quickly.

She rubbed her hand over her stomach, letting her imagination wander to the growing babe inside. The excitement of learning she was pregnant had yet to wear off but Sansa was realistic enough to know it would. In her youth having children seemed the easiest, most wonderful thing in the world. Now she was older the reality of the situation tempered her bliss. Child birth was difficult, things could go wrong - and her mother wasn't here to help her through it.

Arya would stay until the child was born but she had no experience or interest in pregnancy, while Tyrion would surely grow more anxious by the day. His mother's fate and a lifetime of insecurity would hinder his ability to support her - this was new to both of them. Despite her fears Sansa's heart soared every time she thought of the child.

'I can't wait to meet you,' she thought. 'Your father and aunt are just as excited too.'

---

"Always got to go one better don't he?"

Bran's mouth twitched upwards. "You'd want to be King?"

The former sellsword leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "Nah, that aint the life for me. I got two castles and a bridge - I don't need a whole bloody kingdom to run. The North's a cold shithole anyway. Meaning no offence your Grace."

"None taken. The North isn't for everyone, though I'd be wary of saying that around Meera."

Bronn shook his head. "How the fuck did he get himself named King in the North? All he used to go on about after marrying Sansa was how the Northerners would hate him for being a Lannister and never accept him as regent."

"That was a long time ago."

"They say the North doesn't forget."

Bran adjusted his position in the wheelchair, quietly amused at the disbelief on Bronn's face. When he'd informed Ser Davos, Brienne, Pod and Bronn this morning there'd been a lot of confusion. The idea of a Lannister surviving in the North had once seemed impossible but for one to be named King was unthinkable. Under different circumstances it might have been.

"Do you doubt me Ser Bronn?" asked Bran.

"No your Grace," said Bronn. "I just can't figure out how the little shit did it. I'm finally a lord - we're equals - then he goes off and gets made King. If he hadn't give up Casterly Rock he'd have a hell of a lot of power."

"He wouldn't be King in the North if he was lord of Casterly Rock," said Bran, "his loyalties would have been too divided for the Northerners."

Bronn was sharper than he let others think. "That why you sentenced him like you did, 'cause you knew he'd be King?"

"I didn't know that. The three-eyed raven can't see the future."

"You knew something."

"It was Sansa who asked for him to be sentenced like that and brought him North - she set things in motion."

"You agreed with her."

"If Tyrion was to go North he had to start again. Severing his connection to the six Kingdoms was harsh but necessary. The Northerners wouldn't have named Tyrion King or followed him into battle if they didn't accept him as one of their own, and that was something he had to earn himself."

Bronn didn't seem completely satisfied with the answer but it was the truth. While Bran had seen glimpses of potential problems in the North he had no way of knowing what, if any, would come to pass. The future was decided by individual choices and was far too fluid to see clearly. If Sansa had chosen different courses of action, if Tyrion hadn't given his marriage a second chance - so many things could have altered the fate of the North.

Explaining it to others was difficult but Meera thought he should still talk about it. Even if no one else could quite understand being the three-eyed raven she thought it might help Bran Stark to talk about what he saw. Bronn's utter disbelief that Tyrion Lannister was to be crowned King in the North seemed a good starting point.

"He will have got my congratulations by now," said Bran.

Bronn lifted an eyebrow. "I'm sure that hasn't creeped him out."

"I sent him a pardon too. It wouldn't do for the King in the North to be forbidden to enter the six Kingdoms."

Bronn snorted. "He aint got an excuse to not visit my castles now."

"He and Sansa will be free to visit the six Kingdoms. After our last visit North I suspect it will be a while until I'm invited back to Winterfell, but they could be invited to Kings Landing for future trade deals."

"And stop at the Twins on the way."

Bran smiled. "And Casterly Rock. I'm sure lord Payne will be thrilled to see them."

Bronn's mouth turned downwards for a moment. "Aye, reckon the lad will be be writing an invitation as soon as we're gone."

"The day after next we will leave. We've lingered in Casterly Rock longer than expected."

Bronn slumped in his chair a little. "Aint a bad place to linger. After hearing Tyrion and Jamie go on about this place it's nice to actually see it."

"Nevertheless we have other places to be," said Bran.

Casterly Rock would do well under Pod's rule and Tyrion being named King had only reinforced the Lannisters were done with Casterly Rock. The last lion would rule the North with the wolves and house Payne would rule the Westerlands. Everyone else was where they were supposed to be and it was past time they returned to Kings Landing.

---

"Going somewhere?"

Tyrion paused at the voice, his hand hovering over the door that would take him back into the warmth of the castle.

"To my lovely wife," said Tyrion. He glanced at Lyon before following the wolf's gaze to a shadowy corner of the courtyard. "Must you lurk like that?"

Arya stepped forwards, her mouth a hard line as she grasped the back of his cloak and dragged him away from the door without a word.

"Arya, let go", he said, stumbling backwards. She didn't relent as she pulled him away from the castle and towards a side gate.

Lyon trotted along after them, completely unbothered that Arya was effectively kidnapping him. There was no point resisting; it was clear enough Arya was in a poor mood and he was going on a walk with her whether he wanted to or not. Discussions with Rose and the free folk had taken most of the day and after bidding goodbye to Alec he'd wanted nothing more than to check in on Sansa. It was early days in her pregnancy but a deep protectiveness had already stirred in him. Bearing a child was no easy feat and he wouldn't let Sansa go through any of it alone, no matter how nervous the idea made him.

"You've no need to drag me," said Tyrion.

Arya was deaf to his pleas. She dragged him away from Winterfell into the nearby stretch of trees he knew she often visited. A pang went through him as they stopped in a familiar clearing.

"I'm glad you didn't take Bran's offer the other night."

"There's nothing left for me at Casterly Rock, and I've no desire to leave Winterfell."

"Good. I wouldn't let you leave."

"Why Arya, it almost sounds like you'd miss me."

"Of course I would idiot."

Had it really only been weeks since they'd had that conversation? It seemed a lifetime ago they'd sat atop the boulder as Arya began to teach him how to throw knives with his left hand. So much had changed since then.

Tyrion swallowed thickly as Arya let go of his cloak and stood across from him. There was still so much change yet to come.

"Alright Lannister, out with it."

"With what?" he asked.

Arya crossed her arms. "Whatever is bothering you."

"There's nothing bothering me Arya. I'm not terribly excited to be King but Sansa insists it's unavoidable."

"No. What else?"

"There is nothing else."

"Yes there is."

Tyrion relented slightly. "I'm nervous about Sansa's condition, but I imagine that's common during a pregnancy."

Arya's eyes were hard, and the frown on her face had only deepened as he spoke. "Don't hide from me."

"Hide from you? Arya I'm stood talking with you at this very moment. If I'm hiding it isn't going very well."

"What's really bothering you Lannister?"

It never bothered Tyrion that Arya or some of his friends called him by his family name, but he didn't care for the way Arya was now throwing it at him. She hadn't dragged him out here to keep her company - the warm familiarity between them had changed.

"What's troubling you?" he asked, taking a step towards her. "You seem angry"

"I am angry," she said. Her face could have been carved from stone as she drew needle and pointed the tip at him.

Tyrion froze at the sight of the blade. "Is this is then? You've finally had enough of me."

"Draw your sword."

"No," he said, taking a step back. "What's wrong with you? I'm not going to fight you Arya."

"Defend yourself, or you won't be around to be a father."

There was no mercy in Arya's eyes. This wasn't the Arya Stark he'd come to know, but a cold-blooded killer who would slit his throat without a moment's thought. Tyrion's heart lurched in his chest. This couldn't be right. Arya was his sister - she'd never hurt him.

"Fine then," said Arya.

She jabbed forwards with needle, and the tip of the blade flicked across his forehead. Tyrion staggered back, lifting his hand to his forehead and wiping away a trickle of blood where the point had nicked him.

He stared at the drops of blood on his fingertips. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Draw your sword."

Tyrion's eyes flicked to Lyon who was rolling on his back through a pile of fresh snow, totally oblivious to what was going on. Or was he? Lyon had a sixth sense for danger. If Arya truly meant him harm surely his wolf would be reacting rather than frolicking in the snow. Whatever Arya wanted it was obvious Tyrion had little choice but to go along with it. He clumsily withdrew his sword, struggling to grasp it properly with the broken fingers on his right hand. He ended up using his left hand to support it, but the position was unfamiliar and awkward.

As soon as he lifted the sword Arya struck, pouncing forwards and aiming for his stomach. He barely blocked the first attack and soon found himself blocking a flurry of strikes as Arya whipped needle back and forth with ease.

"Arya," he grunted, "if something is troubling you we can talk about it."

"No we can't."

The thin blade struck a stinging blow to the outside of his leg, and Tyrion swung his weapon wildly to try and keep Arya at bay. She was toying with him. Needle was designed for poking holes rather than slicing, and Arya was using the length of the blade to hit him rather than the point - not that it didn't hurt.

"Why can't we talk about it?" he tried, managing to deflect needle and ram his shoulder into her stomach. He winced as the stitches in his shoulder strained at the action.

"You tell me."

"I don't understand. If you tell me what the problem-"

"You're the problem," she said, hitting his left arm twice in quick succession. "Is this the best you can do your Grace?"

"Arya..." he warned, tightening his grip on the sword. "Tell me what is bothering you, now!"

"Or what? Are you going to hide from me?"

"I'm not hiding from you."

"Yes you are. You're lying too. What's really bothering you Lannister?"

"Is my family name suddenly a problem?"

"I don't know, Is it?"

The swords sung as they clashed repeatedly, and Tyrion found his composure slipping with each swing. Arya was barely trying. Her sword danced around him with ease, constantly slapping against his leg, his back, his arm. She avoided his injuries for the most part but it was the only mercy she afforded him. All the time her face remained cold and impassive, just a hint of challenge lurking in her eyes.

"Arya...that's enough," he said, lowering his sword slightly as he struggled to get some air into his lungs. His still healing ribs were on fire and his ankle was faring no better.

"Do you give up?" she asked, pacing a circle around him.

"Yes."

She snorted. "Hail the King in the North. I'd hoped my sister and her child would have better protection than this."

Tyrion's face burned at the cutting remark, but he forced his tone to remain neutral. "I'd do anything for my family, as you well know."

"No you won't. When things get difficult you hide."

Tyrion bristled. "Did I hide in the battle against Robin Flint, or have you already forgotten that?"

"Oh you're brave enough in a fight - just not when it comes to anything else."

This time it was Tyrion who lashed out, swinging his sword in a low arc and then bringing it upwards when Arya inevitably jumped over it. The flat of his blade just caught the bottom of her foot and caused her to stumble on the landing. Instantly needle was sweeping towards him and their weapons once again struck back and forth.

"You think I'm a coward," he said, his anger growing with every strike. "After everything that's happened."

"You are a coward."

Tyrion's heart twisted at the words and the distraction cost him as needle cracked across the back of his injured hand. He winced, just managing to hold onto his sword.

"Come on Lannister; that's my father's sword you're holding, at least try and use it."

Once again the words stung and Tyrion found himself stepping back as Arya continued her barrage. Why was she doing this? They were family, weren't they? A dark whisper spawned in his mind, eagerly latching onto his doubt and nurturing it. Maybe he was wrong...maybe he didn't belong here. He was a coward, and this beautiful sword was made for a better man than him. Tyrion struggled to fend off Arya. His doubt was eating through his confidence and if anything Arya was getting angrier with each strike.

"Stop hiding!"

Hide? It was a tempting idea. There was nothing more appealing in that moment than the thought of Sansa's comfort and reassurances that he was still wanted. Reluctantly he forced himself to look Arya in the face as she continued to hit him. Her face was tight and her grey eyes could have been made of stone. All of the Starks were wolf like in one way or another but Arya fully embodied the direwolf that was her family's sigil. Out of the corner of his eye Tyrion caught sight of Lyon sat at the side of the clearing. The wolf's ears were pricked up and his green eyes bore into Tyrion. Had Lyon changed his allegiance to Arya? It was understandable; she was a Stark after all...

'You're my Northern lion'

Sansa's sweet words drifted through his mind, casting light where the darkness was quickly claiming him. Tyrion ignored the ache in his fingers as he tightened his grip around the sword; he couldn't give into that dark voice - it distorted everything into his worst fears. Tyrion forced himself to see the truth of the situation rather than what he feared it to be.

Arya wasn't angry she was upset, though the two looked little different on her. Ever since he came North Arya had been nothing but kind to him and she rarely did anything without reason - for her to make such cutting remarks there had to be some cause. Lyon wasn't intervening in the fight but was watching it with a strange intensity. The little wolf was his best friend - he wouldn't change his allegiance on a whim. The direwolf titled his head back, letting out a howl that startled the birds from the trees. The language of the wolves filled the otherwise quiet forest-

Tyrion froze and needle quickly struck his inner thigh causing him to drop to one knee in the sludgy snow.

"Are you going to run off now?" said Arya, pointing her blade at him. "Go on then. Go and tell Sansa what happened tonight."

The words washed over Tyrion but this time he understood - they were speaking the language of wolves. Arya was sharp, witty and a very dangerous young woman; but she wasn't good at expressing herself. She'd brought him here for a conversation and chosen the only language she could truly use to express herself. He swung his sword up, knocking Arya's to one side and staggering to his feet. Every inch of him ached but this was far more important than his own discomfort.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said. "Not until we've sorted this."

Arya lunged in and Tyrion noticed the slight tremble in her hands as she did so. This time Tyrion knew to read between her words - Arya was excellent at expressing anger, disapproval and her opinion - everything else needed some interpretation.

"I've upset you somehow," he said.

"You're a coward."

'You're hiding from me.'

"Never intentionally, though I do find some situations easier to face than others."

"You don't accept what you are, despite what you say."

'You doubt yourself.'

"I haven't taken being named King very well, have I? It is a great honour - following the footsteps of men like Robb and Jon isn't easy but I will do my best."

Arya struck his upper arm, her strikes growing wilder. "Big words for a Lannister."

Tyrion brought his sword up, deflecting her next strike and locking his sword against hers "I am a Lannister, but I'm a Stark by marriage. I'm your brother."

"You don't act like it."

Understanding bloomed in Tyrion's chest and he pressed forwards with all his strength; it was Arya's turn to step back as he struck.

"You're right; I haven't acted like your brother. Forgive me Arya, but I will miss you dearly when you're gone..."

"I haven't left yet!"

"I know, and I shouldn't have acted as if you had."

Tyrion pushed needle to one side before changing strategy. He dropped his sword to the ground and lunged towards Arya, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her against him.

"I'm sorry Arya," he said softly, squeezing her against him. "You're my little sister and I love you. The idea of you leaving...I thought distancing myself now would make it easier when the time came."

Arya tensed in his grip but she made no move to dislodge him either. Her voice was oddly strained as she spoke. "That's a stupid idea."

"It was."

"I'm not leaving until Sansa has the baby."

"I know...I'll miss you though. I'd have never survived any of this without you."

"You would have survived; wolves belong in the North," she said, trembling slightly. "I have to leave eventually - the longer I stay the harder it gets..."

"I understand, just, promise me you'll come back?"

Arya's arms awkwardly wrapped around him. "Always brother."

---

Sansa bit her lip struggling to control her annoyance as she appraised her husband. Tyrion looked utterly exhausted; his hair was slick with sweat and despite his efforts to hide it she could see he was in obvious discomfort.

"What happened?" she asked.

She watched Tyrion open and close his mouth, struggling to decide what to tell her. To say he was fine would be an obvious lie given the state of him and Tyrion did not lie to her. At the same time his reluctance made it clear he was protecting someone and Sansa didn't need to think hard on who.

She turned on her heel, striding towards the door. "I don't care how upset she it, this is unacceptable."

"No, wait!" A hand caught her arm halting her. "Everything is fine, I promise."

"Fine? This isn't fine Tyrion, look at you!"

"I know it looks bad, but it was necessary."

"I thought Arya was going to have a conversation with you, not attack you! That's what happened isn't it?"

"Not exactly, we were sparring..."

"You're still healing from the battle, and so is Arya for that matter," she said. Sansa glanced between him and the door. "I don't care whether Arya is a faceless man or whatever she is these days, I won't tolerate her taking her anger out on family like that. She was raised as a lady whether she likes it or not."

"She was raised as a wolf," said Tyrion, slipping his hand into hers. "Please Sansa, I'm fine. Arya and I have worked things out, and I was the cause of her upset. It sounds ridiculous now but the thought of her leaving, well, it upset me. I thought avoiding her would make it easier and it made things worse."

Sansa's tone softened. "I know you were upset about it - I'll miss her too. I'm glad you worked things out, but this isn't acceptable."

"We were just sparring."

"Just sparring, when she knows you have two broken fingers, cracked ribs, and your ankle is troubling you-"

"It's done now," he said, his green eyes pleading with her. "It won't happen again."

Sansa cast a final glance at the door before reluctantly turning away from it. Tyrion was desperate for her to ignore this and while Sansa would certainly have a word with her sister it was, perhaps, a conversation better suited for tomorrow. The day had dragged on long enough while Tyrion was meeting with Rose and Sansa was reluctant to leave her chambers when she finally had him to herself. That wasn't to say it would be easy for him.

"Alright," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Strip off."

His eyebrows rose. "You don't want to get in bed first? I'm not opposed to the floor but you are a Queen..."

Sansa snorted. "I'm going to check your injuries."

"Honestly, I'm fine..."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"You're quite the she-wolf you know."

"I am. Now remove your clothes."

Tyrion dropped his head forwards, letting out a sigh. "Very well. If the Queen is so eager to see me naked who am I to refuse?"

No amount of stalling and joking from Tyrion could free him from this, if anything it only made Sansa more fearful of what she would find beneath his clothes. While she may have boxed away her annoyance at Arya, that did nothing to ease her worry over Tyrion. Too many times she'd nearly lost him, and while she trusted Tyrion with all her heart she didn't entirely trust him to look after himself. The only way to settle her anxious mind was to check him over herself - just to make sure he was truly alright.

Having positioned him on the stool by her dresser Tyrion had removed his tunic and now sat in his shift and breeches, but seemed hesitant to part with either.

"Sansa I'm fine, I promise," he said.

"If you're fine then there's nothing to hide."

"What about my dignity?"

"Not five minutes ago you weren't opposed to us joining on the floor."

Her eyes caught sight of a thin red mark near the top of his shoulder, just visible beneath the edge of his shift. She closed the gap between them, ignoring his protest as she pulled the neck of his shift aside to see a thin, red bruise developing at his shoulder. She sucked in a breath at the sight, her stomach lurching.

"Sansa..."

She didn't give him chance to finish, and Tyrion didn't resist as she pulled the shift over his head, exposing the damage that lay beneath him. All across his arms, chest and stomach was a patchwork of bruises. Most were long and thin, though others were forming larger patches. The dressing that covered the stitches in his shoulder was dotted with blood, though the stitches around his side seemed undisturbed.

"Oh gods," she said covering her mouth.

"It's not that bad," he insisted. "I'm absolutely fine."

Her vision blurred before she even registered she was upset, and a steady stream of tears made its way down her face. Tyrion had looked embarrassed before, but now his face morphed quickly to horror at her tears. He grasped her hands, quickly pulling her towards him and wrapping his arms around her. His position on the stool made them a similar height and Sansa wasted no time burying her face in his neck.

"Shh, it's alright," he said, rubbing her back.

"I don't want to lose you."

"I'm right here. I'm sorry I worried you, I'll be more careful I promise."

"I've nearly lost you so many times," she said, letting her tears run free. "I can't lose you Tyrion...I'm sorry - I just worry. I don't want our child to be without you."

"Never," he said. "No matter what I'll be here for both of you. The conversation I had with Arya was necessary, but it won't happen again, I can promise you that. I'm sorry Sansa, I seem to have a habit of getting in trouble."

"You do," she said, squeezing him against her. "I never meant to get this upset...I think..."

"It's the baby," he said. "I remember when Cersei was pregnant; Jamie often complained of her mood swings. You can cry to me over anything Sansa, whether you're carrying a little wolf or not. Please, breathe deeply for me, alright? I'm here, everything's fine. I'm sorry I worried you."

Sansa drew in breaths as Tyrion carried on rubbing her back and whispering soothing words. From her position against him her eyes were drawn to the pattern burned into the back of his shoulder. It stood out brightly against his pale skin; only a few months old. So much had changed in those months.

"Feel better?" he asked a few minutes later.

"A little," she said. "I'll feel better tomorrow."

"I'm certain you will. A good night's sleep will help and I know several amusing stories to help you along the way."

Sansa smiled, clinging tighter to him. "That sounds nice, but I'll feel better when I've seen the armourer."

"The armourer?"

"If you carry on getting hurt you won't be stepping foot outside this room without a full suit of armour."

Tyrion laughed, his voice full of warmth. "I'm touched by your concern for my welfare but I think I might be mocked for such attire."

"Who said it was for your welfare? It would be purely for my benefit - you're quite handsome in armour."

"Well that changes things," he said, pulling back enough to kiss her cheek "If it's to satisfy your needs I'll wear it day and night."

---

Arya tossed restlessly in the bed, unable to find a comfortable position that would encourage her to attempt sleep. It would be far easier if her stomach stopped churning. Perhaps she should stop eating bread in the evenings. The rational part of Arya's mind instantly dismissed the thought; the churning in her stomach had nothing to do with her evening bread habit and everything to do with what happened with Tyrion.

She'd taken it too far. Sansa's thinly veiled hints about what was bothering Tyrion had thrown her though. Surely Tyrion couldn't be that bothered she was leaving? He'd always known she'd leave eventually. Rather than being touched by his apparent upset a different emotion had stirred in Arya. After everything they'd been through over the last six months Tyrion had decided to ignore her rather than confide in her.

She pulled herself from the bed, traipsing across to her desk and her writing supplies. Sparring with Tyrion had only meant to be a game to see what was actually bothering him. Arya hadn't really believed Sansa's suggestion was right. Unfortunately the game had taken a dark turn.

The truth had been clear enough in Tyrion's eyes and it had unlocked something deep inside Arya. The words she'd said were as sharp as needle - after months of building Tyrion's confidence she'd thrown everything back at him - it was fortunate that her brother was a wolf as well as a lion. He'd seen what she meant but couldn't say and the truth had eventually come out.

Her hand trembled slightly as she began writing. Why were people so strange? Tyrion didn't need to be sad she was leaving - she'd come back again. Even Sansa had seemed sad at the prospect. It was bizarre. For years there had been no one to care where she was or when she left. Being part of a pack again...it was different.

When she and Tyrion returned to the castle things had seemed normal enough between them but Arya knew she owed him an apology. His only crime was caring for her too much and she'd acted as if he was an enemy rather than her much loved brother. She winced at the thought of confronting Sansa. Her sister was bound to notice how tired Tyrion was, and some of Arya's strikes had been less than gentle. Sansa would be furious. Arya pushed the thoughts aside as she wrote. It was far too late to see her family now, those conversations would have to wait until morning.

Eventually she sat back in her chair, letting the flickering torch light illuminate what she'd wrote.

Gendry,

Do you ever fall into old habits, even though they're not appropriate now? Everything was easier before I returned to Winterfell. It's so much easier to fight through a problem than talk about it. No one makes things easy either. Bran and Sansa are impossible. Jon still hasn't answered my letters and Tyrion's sad I'm going to find what's West of Westeros.

Life was much easier when no one cared what I did or who I killed. Now everything is politics and tradition. Being in a pack again is nice though. Sansa doesn't irritate me all the time and Tyrion is usually good company.

How's Storm's End? I've never actually been there. It's one of the few places in Westeros I haven't seen.

Try not to kill anyone with a hammer,

Arya.

It wasn't much given how long it had taken her to write it, but Gendry wasn't great at reading or writing. He said he wrote to her because the Maester insisted he practice, and if Arya wrote to him at least he'd reply - unlike Jon who never seemed to return to Castle Black.

---

"I must say the cost of the battle against Robin Flint is higher than we feared," said lady Tallhart. "Many of the villages were struggling with skill shortages and not enough able-bodied men before this."

"I fear lady Tallhart is right," said Larence Hornwood. "Both sides lost a lot of men in the fight and the death of lord Locke means there's another empty seat."

Tyrion fiddled with his sleeve beneath the table, feeling the eyes of the other lords looking to him for a solution. Sansa was better suited to this. After what happened with Daenerys his interest in high level politics had plummeted, and it was now an area where he found his confidence deserted him. It was impossible to not feel like an imposter sitting in Sansa's high backed chair in her preferred council chamber. By the time he'd arrived at the meeting it had been the only chair left. Sansa had slept poorly and a bout of vomiting after breakfast had been enough for him to insist she take the morning to rest - even if it meant he had to cover her duties.

Our duties, he thought. Sansa had made that perfectly clear before he left this morning.

"Is there anything in particular you want the council to deal with today?" he asked. "I will of course defer any important decisions to your judgement."

"Why?"

He paused. "You're the Queen-"

"And you're the King."

"Not yet. Your word rules Sansa, and it always will."

She smoothed out the shoulders of his tunic, her fingers fiddling with the ends of his hair. "You're not going to be King in just name my love. You haven't been crowned yet but you've been named King, delaying your change of title to the coronation doesn't change that. Every lord and lady on the council, every servant and guard in the castle - they are looking to you as their King."

"Perhaps," he said, swallowing thickly. "I'd be much more comfortable deferring to you though."

Sansa smile, gently shaking her head. "You've no need to. I trust you completely and we will rule together, but you're capable of ruling without me. Whatever choices you make I'll support."

"It doesn't bode well for further trade deals in the Six Kingdoms," said lord Manderly. "We're barely producing enough to sustain ourselves, let alone sell it for profit."

Lord Glover nodded grimly. "Aye, spring may be coming but if we don't do something to repair years of war winter will last a damned while longer."

They were right. The sustainability of the North had been an issue for some time but the battle against Robin had only made it worse. Tyrion shifted in his seat, struggling to hide a wince at the movement. Sparring with Arya last night had left him unsurprisingly sore this morning. It was one of those days where staying in bed with Sansa would have been a nice option to have.

Reluctantly he straightened in his seat, bracing himself to offer the only idea he had. The only time he'd spoken of it with Sansa she'd seemed interested in the idea, but that was also the night she'd laced his drink with nightshade and tried to send him south. Whether her enthusiasm had been genuine or not was anyone's guess but Tyrion was overly aware the council was looking to him and he had yet to contribute anything meaningful.

"There is an idea I was thinking of - before the battle with Robin. I'm not sure how viable it would be..."

"Anything is worth exploring at this point," said Lady Tallhart.

Lord Mazin nodded. "You wouldn't mention it if you hadn't thought it through!"

Tyrion drew in a breath before he launched into an explanation of the idea he'd suggested to Sansa. Talking about it with his wife was far easier than presenting such a different concept to the lords and ladies of the North but Tyrion forced himself to plough ahead. If they could create their own version of a citadel to teach skills needed in the North surely it would help build for future generations? It was a bold idea, but with Sansa's condition Tyrion found himself more invested in the future than ever before.

---

It was unusual. In all the ways Arya had changed over the years, her guilty face was no different than when they were children, Sansa just had far less cause to see it these days. Her younger sister wouldn't quite meet her eyes and for once was sitting properly in the opposite arm chair.

"Can I get you anything?" asked Arya, her grey eyes flickering briefly to her face. "You don't look well."

"I'm fine," said Sansa.

Her stomach twisted in disagreement but she wasn't going to accept Arya's help - not until they'd dealt with the issue at hand. Besides, the vomiting wasn't as bad as when she first woke up; it had mostly been nausea since Tyrion left for the morning meeting.

Arya fidgeted in the seat opposite, tapping her fingers along the arm of the chair. "I guess you know what happened yesterday."

"Yes, you and Tyrion were 'sparring' as I understand it," said Sansa. "At what point did you decide to use him as a practice dummy?"

"It wasn't like that."

"I've seen the evidence Arya. He's got more bruises from you than he did from fighting Robin Flint!"

Arya slumped in her seat, her voice low. "I never meant to hurt him..."

"And you did anyway."

"It was supposed to be a conversation," said Arya. "I just wanted to know why he was suddenly avoiding me."

Sansa blinked, staring at her sister. "I practically told you why he was upset."

"I know..."

"But you didn't believe me?"

Arya dropped her head and Sansa knew she'd hit the truth. It was nonsensical. While Arya was hardly the cuddly type, surely she wasn't so divorced from emotion that the thought her family might miss her was unfathomable.

"I told you because I thought it might help you both to deal with it. I didn't tell you so you could beat Tyrion - for sevens sake Arya he's your brother!"

Arya winced. "I know, it went too far. I just never thought...he always confides in me."

"You told me multiple times I couldn't demand Tyrion's trust, or force him to open up to me and you did just that. Honestly Arya, did it offend you that much he was a bit quiet and didn't want to play?"

"He was hiding from me!" said Arya, before her face twisted in guilt. "You're right, ok? I was hurt he cut me off, I just didn't think it was because I'm leaving eventually."

"He loves you," said Sansa, softening her tone. "Everything happened at once the other day. He was named King, I told him about the baby and then you reminded us you won't be here forever. It was a lot for him to take in - you know how he doubts himself."

If anything Arya looked guiltier. "Is he upset about the things I said last night? I was only trying to provoke him, I didn't mean it how it came out at all."

"So you don't think it's true?"

"Of course I don't think he's a coward."

Sansa's stomach rolled into a hard knot. Too late did Arya realise she'd fallen into her trap.

"Seven hells Sansa..."

"How dare you call him that! You know how hard it's been to build his confidence - we're his family - we shouldn't be undermining that."

"You're one to talk! You're lucky either of us are speaking to you at all after the shit you pulled. Where was all this concern for your husband when he was crying in his sleep because you sent him south!"

"That was different and you know it."

"You're a hypocrite. No one can treat Tyrion badly but you."

The words stung. No matter how much Tyrion promised he'd forgiven her, the mistakes she'd made would always haunt her.

The Queen drew in a breath, keeping her voice steady. "You're right. I've treated Tyrion terribly, and I have to live with that. I'm incredibly lucky that he's willing to move past it, but he should have never needed to."

Arya sighed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have thrown that back at you. I really never meant to hurt Tyrion - how upset is he?"

"He's not," said Sansa. "He wouldn't even tell me what happened, only that you were sparring."

Arya dropped her head, fidgeting in the chair. "I said some things to him that I shouldn't have."

"Well you know what to do about it."

Part of Sansa wanted to know exactly what Arya had said so she could reassure Tyrion it wasn't true but the remorse on her sister's face was enough for her to hold her tongue. Arya had clearly come here searching for Tyrion and while it had given Sansa a chance to air her annoyance there was nothing to be gained by berating Arya further. Her younger sister was rarely sorry but whatever had happened last night clearly hadn't gone to plan.

"Do you think he'll forgive me?"

Arya's words were so quiet Sansa almost missed them. "Why wouldn't he? You're sorry aren't you?"

"Of course I am."

"It's not going to happen again?"

"No! I never meant for it to happen at all I was just...upset."

Sansa nodded though her mind whirled to try and understand her sister. It was unlike Arya to lose control, particularly with family. The last time had been her threats to Bran after he helped Grey Worm escape. Arya had never had an issue with Tyrion being family either - if anything she'd acted as such long before Sansa did.

---

Arya rubbed her face as she wandered back towards her chambers. Going to Sansa's room this morning had been a simple decision, motivated by a desire to quickly set things right with Tyrion. Whatever determination had originally spurred her had quickly evaporated however. Why should Tyrion forgive her? For months they'd built a close sibling bond and she'd treated him no better than a stranger last night, simply because she was upset and couldn't handle it.

Returning to her chambers and rethinking her strategy was the best plan. Apologising wasn't something she had a lot of experience in, nor could she use the affection Sansa surely did in her many apologies. It was better to take a break before approaching Tyrion.

Or not.

Her heart sank as she rounded the corner to her room and saw Tyrion knocking on the door.

"Arya? Are you in there?" he called, before glancing at Lyon at his side. "Do you think she's still upset with me?"

Guilt stirred in the pit of her stomach. The thought of retreating crossed her mind and was rejected even before Lyon turned to her. He barked, causing his master to turn and find who he'd been searching for.

"Oh Arya, I was just looking for you," he said, his left hand instantly moving to the pommel of his sword.

If anything Arya felt even worse. Tyrion was struggling to meet her gaze and fidgeting where he stood - he was never like this with her.

"I was with Sansa," she said.

He nodded quickly. "Is she well?"

"She was doing needlework when I left. Why were you looking for me?" asked Arya. She winced as soon as the words left her mouth, instantly regretting her blunt question.

"You weren't at the council meeting...just thought I'd check you were alright."

"I'm fine," she said, swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat.

"Good," he said softly. Tyrion took a step forwards beckoning Lyon to follow. "Well I won't keep you."

"Wait," said Arya. In a few steps she closed the distance between them and knelt down to look him in the eye. "I owe you an apology."

"What? No. There's nothing to apologise for."

"Yes there is. I never meant what I said - none of it. I just wanted to provoke you."

"It's alright Arya, I understand..."

"No you don't," she said. Facing the Night King was easier than this; easier than acknowledging her own feelings. It was so easy to read other people, but reading herself was impossible. "You're my brother...and sometimes it's like you're the only one I've got left. Jon never answers my letters, Bran is impossible - when you started avoiding me it hurt. I don't want to lose another brother."

"You won't lose me," he said, his eyes brimming with sympathy. "You haven't lost Jon or Bran either. Jon can't hide forever and Bran is still Bran, no matter how different he seems."

"I'm sorry Tyrion. I took my frustration out on you and you're the last person who deserves it."

He shook his head. "I shouldn't have avoided you."

"That's no excuse for what I did. I could have just talked to you."

Tyrion's mouth turned upwards. "You could have, but that wouldn't have been you. I forgive you Arya, and I hope you'll forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive brother," said Arya. She wrapped her arms around his shoulder, pulling him into a loose hug that he quickly returned.

When they pulled apart Tyrion was smiling and the nervousness in his eyes had dissolved. Arya felt herself relaxing too, as if a crushing weight had been lifted off her.

"Last night was stupid," she said. "It won't happen again."

"Good to know. Your sister was most upset last night and mentioned speaking to the armourer regarding my safety. I'd rather not have to wear a full suit of armour in my own castle."

Arya snorted. "Gods, she might as well strap some pillows to you before you leave the room."

"Don't give her any ideas!"

"That's probably what she was doing when I left," said Arya, her mouth pulling into a grin. "All your clothes will have extra padding to keep you safe."

"No! I'm only small, extra padding will make me look fat. Sansa's insistence on proper food is already making me plump, no matter how much she denies it."

"Ah, she's giving you natural padding. Clever."

Arya's tension drained away as they bantered back and forth, leaving just enough guilt behind to remind her of her mistake, and it was one she hoped never to repeat. It was easy to think her years away from home hadn't affected her. She accepted Tyrion and Sansa's personal issues without judgement. It was a kindness that should, perhaps, be extended to herself. After all, there was no shame in showing weakness to another member of the pack.

---

"Tell me again what they said."

Tyrion rolled his eyes, sighing for emphasis. "I believe lord Glover said it was 'the best bloody idea since independence' while lady Tallhart called it 'a new era for the North'. The rest of the council seemed to agree, though lord Manderly looked rather put out he hadn't thought of it."

Sansa cuddled into his side, her warm breath tickling his face as she kissed his cheek. "My clever lion."

Heat rushed through Tyrion, warming him from head to toe. It was like being in a dream. His beautiful wife was lying against him, her blue eyes full of pride. Their child was growing in her belly, and his relationship with Arya was as strong as ever. The lords of the North had not only accepted his idea of turning the Dreadfort into a Northern Citadel but had met the idea with great enthusiasm. If anyone had asked him at that moment what he wanted his answer would have been nothing. It was impossible, but Tyrion had never been happier.

"What do you think of the idea?" he asked. "I didn't intend to bring it to council before discussing it fully with you but the problems of the North were piling up and-"

Her lips pressed against his, instantly silencing him as soft red hair fell around his face. Sansa pulled back slightly, a smile on her face.

"I think it's wonderful, and you had no need to discuss it further with me."

"You're the Queen," he said. "I don't like making decisions without you."

Sansa shook her head. "You're the King. It's impossible for us to discuss every single decision. Whatever choices you make I have complete faith they're the right ones."

The new title weighed heavily over him, but he bit his tongue from rebuking it. There was no way out of his impending coronation and the power that came with it. Regardless of what Sansa said they wouldn't be equals - she'd always be his Queen, and her word would rule him. Saying such to Sansa wouldn't do. She was adamant they share power and Tyrion knew rebuking that would only push her into more 'confidence' building exercises like today.

Sansa was a Stark, and duty was in her blood. She wouldn't have missed this morning's meeting just for sickness. It wasn't until half way through the meeting, when the council was working through preliminary plans for the North's Citadel that Tyrion realised her game. As soon as they got into the work any hesitancy had disappeared. By the end of the meeting he was directing and making decisions as easily as he once had as Hand of the Queen.

"I think you'll be pleased with the planning we got done today," said Tyrion.

"I look forward to seeing it," said Sansa, laying her head on his shoulder again. "Tell me again what the council said."

Tyrion snorted. "Again? I've told you three times."

"I know, but I enjoy hearing tales of you using that great mind."

"My dear wife - does it excite you?"

Sansa giggled, pressing a kiss to his neck. "You do excite me."

"Hmm, all that work in the practice yard to build some strength for you and all along my mind was enough."

"You're always enough," she said, trailing her hand down the centre of his chest. Even through his bed clothes the sensation sent a thrill through him. "What lies beneath these pesky bed clothes is merely a bonus. I'm a lucky woman."

Tyrion's heart swelled. "Not as lucky as me. Not only do I have the most beautiful woman in Westeros as my wife, I'm lucky enough that she's carrying a little wolf too."

Sansa's face lit up with a smile warm enough to melt the Wall. "They could be a little lion. I keep dreaming of lions you know."

"Oh do you?"

"Quite regularly."

"Any particular lion?"

"Well, you feature rather a lot..."

"Interesting, and what do I do in these dreams?"

She kissed his cheek again. "So many things."

Tyrion's heart soared as he tugged his wife closer to him. "I love you. Do you know that?"

"I do sweetheart, and I love you too."

They lay quietly together, simply enjoying the other's company. The threat to the North had passed and his tormentors were dead. The future looked far brighter than Tyrion had ever dared to hope it could be. There was just one thing that continued to gnaw at him.

"Did you make the arrangements to get fitted for new clothes?" asked Sansa, drawing his attention.

"Yes, Esther is expecting me tomorrow, though I don't see why I need new clothes."

"You need a new outfit for the coronation my love. Appearances can be powerful - I learned that in Kings Landing."

"The North is entirely different. I doubt they'd care if I wore a sack."

"Don't be so sure. How you present yourself can affect how people treat you. You'll be crowned King in the North and you need to look the part."

Tyrion sighed. "Very well. I hope Esther is up the challenge of making me look a King."

"It won't take much my love, you're more than handsome enough."

He smiled at the sweet words, even if he would never entirely believe them. Sansa never missed an opportunity to bolster his confidence. She knew his weaknesses in a way no one else ever could. Every insecurity and doubt-

"You should come with me," he said, excitement racing through him at the idea. Sansa did everything to help him move past his fears; he could do the same for her. "You like needlework, and it will give you a break from the castle."

"Oh sweetheart...I don't know. Esther's your friend, I wouldn't want to intrude..."

"Nonsense, she'll be thrilled to see you."

Sansa tensed against him. "Maybe not. There are things I should be doing here..."

It was so unusual for Sansa to be fearful, but the thought of going into the village always made her nervous. More than once Sansa had mentioned her desire to leave the castle more and he knew it was something she struggled with. Visiting Esther was a perfect place to start; Sansa just needed a little push.

"Don't you want to supervise my new outfit?" he asked. "You can ensure Esther takes no liberties with me."

Sansa snorted. "She'd old enough to be your mother."

"If you're willing to risk my virtue..."

"I trust you completely."

Teasing wasn't enough. Sansa's voice was steady enough but her grip had tightened on him considerably since he first suggested she accompany him. Tyrion wrapped his arms tighter around Sansa, running his fingers through her silky hair as he changed tactics.

"I though you wanted to leave the castle more?" he asked gently.

"I do Tyrion, I just...I don't know."

"What worries you so much about it? The people admire their Queen - they would love to see you in the village."

"The riots in Kings Landing," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I was powerless. If the Hound hadn't saved me I'd have been raped. The crowd turned so quickly."

"The crowd turned because my nephew was an evil bastard," he said. "You're an excellent Queen - that won't happen."

"I appreciate what you're trying to do my love, I just...can't."

"The village children often ask me about you. I was afraid of them at first. There was a group following me and Arya once and I was convinced they were going to mock me - but they didn't. They were just curious," said Tyrion. "Perhaps our child will be curious too. They'll go in the village, play with the other children, and learn about the people they will one day rule."

Sansa swallowed, her voice quiet. "They'll have to, won't they?"

"If we want to raise a good little prince or princess. Gods forbid they turn into Joffrey, or even sweet Tommen. He had a kind heart but was sheltered from the world," said Tyrion. "I understand your nerves my sweet, but I'll be right there with you. Isn't it better to build your confidence now, before the child is born? Can you imagine it? You and I, going into the village with our little wolf?"

She nuzzled into his neck. "Our little lion."

"When I arrived at White Harbour I was surprised at how beautiful it was. I thought, perhaps, we could visit there one day? Arya and I were given a tour of the city but all I could think of was sharing it with you."

Sansa was quiet for a moment before she spoke. "I want that too. There are so many beautiful places in the North - as King and Queen we should visit them."

"Then let me help you. We'll start small and build up from there. I'll be with you every step of the way."

"As long as you're there," she said, drawing in a breath. "To Esther's it is."

"Good, I'll have Nessa bring her a message in the morning," said Tyrion. The thought niggled at him again, there wasn't much time left before the opportunity would be lost. "There is somewhere else I'd like to go tomorrow, perhaps with Arya too. You don't need to come if you don't want to though - I'd completely understand."

"Where?"

"The Unsullied are readying to leave," said Tyrion, "and I need to speak with Grey Worm before they do."

---

Arya's mouth twitched upwards as she listened to Tyrion and Nessa chat as they moved through the coutryard. Alec was walking ahead of them and Lyon was trotting along beside the young squire, occasionally bumping against her for attention.

"Will all the lords be there?" asked Nessa, gazing at Tyrion with wonderment.

"I suspect so. The Queen invited them all to stay," said Tyrion.

"Everyone in the village is talking about it," said Nessa. "They say you'll be a great King!"

Tyrion smiled, though Arya could tell it was forced. While Nessa was quite excited at Tyrion's impending coronation, the soon to be King didn't share it.

"Will there be lion banners?" asked Nessa.

"I suspect so," said Tyrion. "You know how Sansa enjoys these things."

The girl nodded. "What will they say?"

"I don't know Nessa, I've never seen a coronation in the North. I suppose we'll have to wait and see."

Nessa deflated slightly. "Will you tell me after?"

"Why would I tell you after? You'll hear it yourself."

"Can't Tyrion," she said, shaking her head. "Servants don't get to go."

Tyrion paused as they reached the gate of the castle, bringing their group to a halt. "What do you mean, of course you'll be there! I assume you want to?"

Her head bobbed up and down. "I do, but we got told only experienced servants get to be there."

"You won't be there to work, you'll be my guest. You're my squire after all."

Arya could see the hopeful glint in Nessa's eyes but the girl wasn't quite willing to believe it either. There was a hierarchy among the servants and while Nessa served as Tyrion's squire her age and inexperience meant she was still near the bottom of the pile. Tyrion just looked confused, as if he couldn't work out why his squire would think she wasn't invited.

"Don't worry Nessa," said Arya, stepping forwards. "I'll make sure you're at the coronation."

"Really?" asked the girl.

"Absolutely," said Arya. "You won't get in trouble, don't worry about that."

Tyrion wrinkled his nose. "Certainly not. If anyone questions you tell them you're there at my order and to take any complaints to Lyon."

The direwolf barked cheerfully, brushing against his master's hand.

Nessa's face lit up as she bounced on the spot. "Thank you! I can't wait to see it."

"At least one of us is excited," said Tyrion, smiling at the girl. "Thank you for your work this morning. Are you alright getting home?"

"You don't need me for anything?" she asked, furrowing her brow.

"No my dear, we're going to a meeting and then I have business with Sansa later. Say hello to your mother and Ethan for me."

"Ok," she said, giving Lyon a final ear rub.

As soon as she was out of sight Arya turned to her brother. "Ready for our meeting?"

"Not really."

"I still don't know why you want to talk to him," said Alec.

"I'm not entirely sure myself," said Tyrion. "But the Unsullied are leaving soon and this is the last chance I'll get."

Arya patted his shoulder. "I get it."

Sansa was firmly against this meeting, but Arya understood to some extent. Tyrion and Grey Worm had been friends once and when the Unsullied left it was incredibly unlikely they'd ever meet again. This was the last chance for them to settle their differences.

"You do know if they turn on you, me and Arya are only two people?" said Alec, glancing across the fields to the Unsullied camp.

Tyrion stepped forwards, leading them out the gate. "I know, that's why I brought Lyon too."

---

The Queen was tense. Nowhere close to the tension and fear that had hung over her in the weeks lord Tyrion and lady Arya were gone, but still tenser than she had been since she learned of her pregnancy.

"Is anything troubling you, your Grace?" asked Maester Wolkan.

The young woman lifted her head. "No, I'm quite alright. Just nervous."

"Completely normal for a woman in your position. Everything is progressing well you'll be pleased to hear."

She smiled. "I am pleased to hear that, but I'm nervous about Tyrion. He insisted on having one last meeting with Grey Worm before the Unsullied leave."

"Ah," said Wolkan. "You don't believe it wise?"

"I don't know what to make of Grey Worm. The Unsullied have done nothing to threaten the peace and they've kept to their camp outside the walls, but Grey Worm makes me nervous. He says he doesn't want revenge on Tyrion anymore but who's to say he won't change his mind?"

Sansa Stark was an unusual young woman. When she wore the title of Queen she was formidable and often seemed older than her years. In more personal matters there was a hint of uncertainty however.

"Has lord Tyrion gone alone?"

"Arya, Lyon and Alec have gone with him."

"I see," said Wolkan, rubbing his beard. "I see no reason for lord Tyrion to be in danger your Grace. The Unsullied are keen to leave and an attack on lord Tyrion would threaten that. It would be unwise for them to provoke the North when the allied forces are still here."

"You're right," said the Queen, fiddling with her skirts as she sat on the edge of the table. "I just worry. Tyrion asked if I wanted to go too but I really didn't want to see Grey Worm again."

"Understandable your Grace," he said. "My Queen, may I speak freely?"

"Certainly Maester."

Her blue eyes pierced into him and Wolkan forced himself to stand straight. It was past time he brought this up.

"Your Grace, I fear my treason during Robin Flint's rebellion must be addressed. When I received lord Tyrion's letter I destroyed your correspondence and actively worked against your word. I have failed my duty as a Maester. I will, of course, accept any punishment you see fit and arrange for a new Maester to be sent to Winterfell."

The Queen's eyes widened. "No! I forbid you to leave your post."

"My Queen, I betrayed you..."

"No, you didn't - you were obeying Tyrion."

"Who you outrank."

"He's the King."

"He wasn't then your Grace - your word superseded his."

Sansa shook her head. "No. I will not punish you for treason nor will I accept you leaving your post - consider it your punishment if you must, but you will remain at Winterfell."

The Maester's heart lightened as he bowed his head. "Thank you my Queen, I will not fail you again."

"You didn't fail me before," said Sansa, dropping her gaze to the floor. "I wasn't thinking clearly. If I'd listened to you or Alec earlier things might have been so different. The North is only safe because Tyrion fought for it."

"You acted with the best intentions your Grace."

"And it nearly destroyed us all," she said. "I know the truth Maester. Tyrion's letter was written to Nessa and not you - she was the one meant to destroy the correspondence."

Wolkan wavered for a moment before nodding. "Yes, I caught Nessa in the act. Forgive me your Grace, when I learned what she was doing I took over in her stead."

The Queen waved aside the apology. "All is forgiven Maester. We all made 'questionable' decisions in the battle against Robin Flint. Now that stability is returning to the North I want to focus on my family. I fear my mother taught me much about being a lady but little about pregnancy - I'm relying on you to guide me through this."

He bowed his head, a smile tugging at his mouth. "It would be my honour, your Grace."

---

Lannister was nervous. Quiet too. It was unusual - he never lost for words in Essos, but then he'd always had cup in hand then. Perhaps Lannister had been nervous and he just hadn't noticed.

Grey Worm swept his eyes over the man stood in the tent opposite him. It was Tyrion Lannister, but he wasn't the same man he'd once been either. His beard was gone and his clothes were dark and bland like the rest of the Northerners. He was fidgeting on the spot and a silver direwolf pin sat on his tunic where the hand of the Queen badge once had. He'd arrived at their camp with Arya Stark, the Winterfell captain and the golden direwolf. Lannister had asked to speak and he'd accepted, as long as it was alone. The Stark girl hadn't been happy but Lannister had quickly agreed.

"You King now," said Grey Worm.

"Well, not exactly..."

"Soon."

He dropped his gaze. "In a few days' time, yes."

The Unsullied had heard soon after it was announced - the whole North was talking about it. A few months ago the news would have only hastened Lannister's death, but now...

"You be good King?"

Tyrion lifted his head. "I hope so."

"Be good King," said Grey Worm, nodding his head sharply. "Honour their memory."

Sadness flickered across his face. "I will certainly try. What happened in Kings Landing-"

"Is past," said Grey Worm. "Nothing change it now."

"No, it can't - I am sorry though. Truly I am."

Grey Worm's left hand flexed at the mention of Kings Landing. It had been so many months since Missandei was killed but the pain would never stop hurting. Losing Queen Daenerys had been too much.

"Not your fault," said Grey Worm, the words sticking in his throat. "Cersei kill Missandei. Jon Snow kill Daenerys Stormborn."

"I should have done things differently," said Tyrion. "I made terrible mistakes, and that is a guilt that will never go away."

"This one make mistakes too. Should not have come North, or help slavers."

"They manipulated you, but that wasn't your fault."

Grey Worm shook his head. "Should not have come here. This place bring only bad things."

"You're going to Naath next?"

"Yes. Missandei taken from there and sold to slavers - Unsullied will protect Naath."

Tyrion gave a small smile. "An honourable goal."

"You fixed my mistake," said Grey Worm, swallowing thickly. "You saved girls from slavers."

"I always supported Daenerys' fight against slavery; it was a worthy, if idealistic vision."

Grey Worm thrust his hand out. "We even now."

Tyrion's eyes swept over the stumps where two fingers were missing before quickly grasping the offered hand. "Thank you. If not for you and the Unsullied the battle against Robin Flint could have taken a nasty turn."

"I did not know you fight."

"I've practiced with a sword, though I'm not much good at it."

Grey Worm nodded, tightening his grip on his hand. "We take you Naath now and make you Unsullied, then you fight good."

The colour dropped from Tyrion's face. "What?"

"It joke Lannister," said Grey Worm, releasing his hand. "I not just remember you talk of Mad King and father - you tell jokes too."

A slow smile spread across Tyrion's face and soon he was laughing. "Gods, you finally understand a joke!"

"This one learn eventually."

---

To say Esther's house was small would be an understatement. For the Queen's seamstress of choice her dwellings were inexcusably poor, but Tyrion had told her it was by choice. This small, cramped house had belonged to Esther for decades and she wouldn't give it up for anything.

Sansa pulled her gaze from the house and refocused on Tyrion standing in his shift and breeches.

"I don't see why you need to take new measurements. You started letting my clothes out to accommodate my plumpness just by looking at me."

"Aww, little lion - are you still sad your old tunic wouldn't fit you?" said Esther, lifting his arms up to take her measurements.

"It was a rather embarrassing incident."

"It wouldn't fit because you're stronger now."

"Hmm, perhaps. I still think it was Sansa's plot to fatten me up."

"Guilty as charged," said Sansa. "You looked so sickly when you first came North."

"Yet you married me anyway. I can only assume you still found me alluring dear wife."

Sansa smiled, her hands fidgeting in her lap. "You've always been intriguing, but I find a healthy husband captivating."

Tyrion lifted an eyebrow. "Oh, do you?"

He made to move, only for Esther to grasp the back of his shift and hold him in place.

"Esther…"

"You want to do this quickly, yes?"

"Well, I'm not overly fond of being fitted for clothes," said Tyrion, turning to pout at her.

"The more you move the longer it will take."

"Ah, but my wife is in need of me. Her beautiful face must be kissed."

Sansa's heart fluttered at the words, or more importantly, the man who said them. Tyrion had been playful and teasing all the way from the castle and Sansa knew it was to make her more comfortable. Esther had welcomed her warmly into her cramped home, though there was a hint of unease there too. The seamstress knew Tyrion well, but barely knew the Queen. Sansa forced herself to breathe, pushing away the thoughts that whispered the small folk would never accept her. This was just a first step. Tyrion had promised to help her regain confidence outside Winterfell and Sansa was just as committed to doing that.

She had to do it - if not for her, then for the child growing inside her. Tyrion was completely right last night. Their child couldn't live their life sheltered in the castle, and Sansa couldn't live hers watching her husband and child enjoy the world from a distance. It was time to take control and stop being victimized by Ramsay, even years on from his death he haunted her.

"What do you think my Queen," said Esther, holding the edge of Tyrion's shift as if he was an unruly child. "Do you have need of him right now?"

"I wish only to place some kisses upon your lovely face before I return to the fitting," said Tyrion, his green eyes bright and full of humour. "You look such a lovely, lost thing sat there - it's quite the enchanting sight."

Sansa drummed her fingers on the table, pretending to consider. "That does sound nice."

"It will be."

"But, I know you're trying to delay getting fitted for clothes," said Sansa. "Besides, your visit to Grey Worm caused me nothing but worry - this is your punishment. He's at your mercy Esther."

"No!" said Tyrion, as Esther laughed. "Betrayed by my wife."

"Come little lion, there are many styles and colours to choose from…"

"Aww," said Tyrion, hanging his head. "Lyon save me!"

The direwolf lifted his head from his place before the hearth. He stared at his master for a moment before returning to his nap.

"Lyon!"

Sansa laughed, turning her attention to some of the fabrics Esther had left out for her to look at. Slowly her nerves dissolved as she listened to Tyrion and Esther banter back and forth in the background. It was only a small step but it was a start.

---

"Should you really be in the practice yard with a bad knee?" asked Tyrion.

"I couldn't take it anymore. I don't know how you spent so many weeks in bed without losing your mind," said Cayn.

Brice snorted. "He was worse off than a bad knee lad."

"Cayn and Tyrion aren't here to practice anyway," said Alec, crossing his arms. "They're ruled out because of injuries."

"We're fine," said Cayn, turning to him for support. "We can train, right Tyrion?"

"You heard Alec."

"You're the King now, you can overrule him."

"Gods be good lad he could overrule him anyway," said Brice, moving stiffly from the pile of crates they were sat around and lumbering into the open of the practice yard. "What do you think Lannister's been doing since he came North. He's the lord of Winterfell - he aint just here to warm the Queen's bed."

Cayn blinked. "I know that! I just forget sometimes."

"You forget I'm a lord?" asked Tyrion, his mouth twitching upwards.

"Well, yes. You're not like the other lords, you're our friend!"

Alec, Brice and Lyle couldn't hide their sniggers at Cayn's sentiment but to Tyrion it meant more than it should. Having friends at all was a rare treat, but friends who liked him regardless of his position were even rarer.

"I am your friend," said Tyrion, patting the boy's shoulder. "And that's why I'll keep you company in the sick corner while your brother takes on Brice."

Lyle's shoulders slumped. "Oh come on, not Brice…"

"You heard the King lad," called Brice. "Say your prayers and get over here."

"Alec..." started Lyle, turning to the captain who merely shrugged.

"I was going to fight Brice but I'll let you soften him up first," said Alec.

Lyle turned to them, dropping into a mocking bow. "Only for the King's eyes."

"What else is for the Kings eyes!" said Cayn. His face had reddened at the other men's mockery of him and he had, unfortunately, chosen a poor comeback to take revenge on his brother.

Tyrion rolled his eyes at the boy's poor attempt, before deciding to save him. "I'm not King yet, though I don't believe Lyle has any parts of interest to offer my poor eyes. Unless of course he meant a different King. Who's to say Bran Stark doesn't watch his every move through the raven's eyes?"

The colour drained from Lyle's face as Brice pointed to the wall. "Aint that a raven up there?"

"Where?" said Lyle, spinning around to see.

"Isn't there always a raven near your house Cayn?" asked Alec, lifting an eyebrow at the younger man.

Thankfully Cayn took the hint. "Oh yeah, it's there all the time. When Lyle was injured it kept tapping on the window too."

"What?" said Lyle, looking between them. "You're all messing with me, right? Bran Stark isn't watching me."

"Who knows," said Tyrion, smirking at the boy. "Bran is never easy to predict."

---

Podrick shifted awkwardly by the gate, looking between Bran who was being loaded into the wheelhouse and the rest of the Kings party. Saying goodbye had been difficult, as had the goodbye's to Ser Davos and Bronn - though Bronn had promised to visit and help him through the casks they'd found deep in the castle. Meera was in the wheelhouse with Bran and it wouldn't be long before they were all on their way. As lord of Casterly Rock, Pod had arranged a feast for them last night and had assembled his new household to see them off this morning. His eyes searched the Kings party, desperately seeking the person he would miss the most.

Brienne had avoided him last night and disappeared from the feast early, but Pod knew her well enough to not take it personally.

Ser Loren, the new captain of the guard, grunted beside him. "Over there m'lord. Other side of the wheelhouse."

Pod followed the man's gaze and just caught sight of a tall knight making the final preparations to leave. He cast one last glance at Ser Davos and Bronn before moving away from the main group. True to form, Brienne was diligently checking the carts and wheelhouse.

"Everything alright?" asked Pod, drawing her attention.

Brienne glanced quickly over her shoulder before returning her attention to the cart. "Yes, everything looks good for us to be on our way. Thank you for your hospitality."

"You're always welcome here," said Pod, taking a step closer.

"That's very kind, thank you."

"I'm sorry I couldn't join the Kingsguard," said Pod. "I wanted to. Everything you taught me about honour and being a knight - I wanted to honour you."

Brienne froze. "You didn't need anyone to teach you."

"You taught me how to fight," he said. "I wanted to honour you, but I don't think Kingsguard would have been right for me. I'm not sure I'm meant to be a lord, but I'll remember what you taught me about loyalty and honour."

She turned to face him, but wouldn't meet his eyes. "You are meant to be a lord Pod. I'm sure you'll be a great one."

Brienne took a few steps away as if she might bolt, but Pod reached out, catching her arm. "Ser Brienne please-"

"What is it Podrick?" she said, her voice wavering.

"Thank you, for everything you've done for me," said Pod. "I'll miss you."

Brienne's face tightened, though she kept her head downwards. "I'll miss you too."

---

The silence of the crypts was as comforting as it was scary. In her childhood Sansa had never felt any great connection to the crypts, finding it dark and eerie. Upon reclaiming Winterfell it had become a place to remember her roots and those she'd lost - until the dead had come.

Sansa tightened her grip on Tyrion's hand, feeling his thumb rub into the back of hers a moment later. He understood - it had been Tyrion who'd fought beside her during the long night. They moved deeper into the crypts with Sansa taking the lead. She'd mostly avoided the crypts since being named Queen, but today was unique and bringing her husband here seemed right. The air grew colder the deeper they went, going past the floor that contained the tombs of the House Stark dead and down into the vault that housed the statues of past lords of Winterfell.

"Lyanna Stark," said Sansa, pausing at her aunt's statue. It broke with tradition to have a statue of her down here but Ned Stark had loved his sister.

"She looks a little like Arya," said Tyrion.

"From what my father told us they had a similar personality too." Sansa stared at the statue, searching for answers that weren't there. "What she did with Rhaegar started a war."

"Not entirely. Tensions were simmering for some time, and Robert Baratheon had a fascination with her. On his wedding night to Cersei he called her Lyanna you know."

Sansa's stomach twisted at the thought. For all Cersei was a cruel, vicious woman it was impossible to not have a shred of sympathy with her. Cersei had been married off to a drunken oaf while Sansa had been sold to the Boltons. Without thinking her hand went to her stomach.

"No arranged marriages," she said, swallowing thickly. "Whether we have a son or daughter. I don't want them to suffer like that."

"Agreed," said Tyrion, rubbing her hand. "Though some work out rather nicely."

"We're the exception, and my parents perhaps," said Sansa. "We can guide and suggest matches, but no marriages just for politics."

"I quite agree - no daughter of mine will be married off like a broodmare," he said, before his voice grew quiet. "I arranged to have Myrcella betrothed to Trystane Martell. Politically it made sense, and she was a Princess - but watching her sail to Dorne was difficult. I hate to say it but I can understand now how Cersei must have felt."

Sansa's heart warmed at his words. "You're going to be a great father."

"I'll do my best," he said, giving her a small smile. "And if I prove to be completely useless our child will have you. You'll be a wonderful mother."

They wandered deeper into the crypts, pausing to pay their respects at the statues for her father and Robb, as well as her uncle Brandon, and grandfather Rickard Stark. They spent a few minutes at each and Tyrion was quiet throughout unless she spoke first. They couldn't linger too long, though Sansa regretted not coming here more often. It was humbling to stand in the shadows of your ancestors.

With time running short Sansa led them even deeper into the crypts. The faint torchlight illuminated the confusion on Tyrion's face, though he didn't comment on their journey. Finally they stopped before a corridor of dusty statues. It was an old part of the crypt, though these Starks had been dead a long time. Each of the statues had a longsword across their lap and a stone wolf at their feet.

"The Kings of Winter," said Sansa, using the old title her ancestors had held. It was her turn to comfort Tyrion. He'd frozen as they stepped into the room and seemed reluctant to move further in.

"There's a lot of history in this room," said Tyrion, his voice barely a whisper. "From Bran the Builder to King Theon 'the hungry wolf' and King Torren Stark who bent the knee."

"You've been researching."

"It seemed good practice," said Tyrion.

"I came down here before I was crowned Queen," she said. "It reminded me of my family's history, and the future. It's comforting to know when I pass this is where I'll go, to a place surrounded by my family."

"I don't want to think about that..." said Tyrion.

Sansa turned him towards her, cupping his face and drawing his gaze to hers. "I took your family history away from you."

"No. That doesn't matter."

"There's a place like this in Casterly Rock isn't there? Full of your family's history and lords of old."

"The hall of heroes." Tyrion lowered his eyes, leaning into her touch. "It doesn't matter. My family didn't want me in life they wouldn't have wanted me in death. Besides I was only the second son - heir to nothing and an embarrassment to them."

"We're your family now," she said, stroking his cheek. "I brought you down here so you'd understand that. When you die - many, many years from now, you'll have a statue down here, just like every King in the North before you. "

"That isn't necessary. This crypt is full of your family history-"

"And you're part of that. We both are. As lord of Winterfell you'd have had a statue, and as King you will. These are the Kings of old - the choices they made decided our present. As King and Queen we'll decide the future."

Tyrion's green eyes were solemn as they met hers and she knew he understood. Talk of death was far from pleasant, but before he was crowned Sansa wanted to make sure he understood his place in their family. There had been a night after Tyrion was brought back from the Wolfswood where she'd feared he would never wake, and her mind had wandered to planning his funeral. He'd refused Casterly Rock and forfeit the right to be buried alongside his ancestors, but Sansa didn't want there to be a doubt in his mind where his final resting place would be. He would join the halls of the Kings who had passed, as Sansa would herself.

"I'm nervous," he whispered. "What if they change their minds?"

"No one will have changed their mind my love," she said, straightening up and offering him her arm. "Are you ready to become King?"

---

Why was Winterfell so warm? No, maybe it wasn't the castle, maybe it was just him. It took every ounce of control Tyrion possessed to not fidget on the spot as they stood outside the double doors.

"Why are you so nervous?" asked Arya. "You've walked up the great hall before."

"Not for something like this! What if I fall? Oh, gods what if I do..."

Arya rolled her eyes. "Just put one foot in front of the other and you'll be fine."

"That's easy for you to say."

"Lyon doesn't seem nervous."

Tyrion glanced down at his little friend. Nessa had taken the wolf out to hunt and returned him in time for the coronation. Unlike his master Lyon appeared to be limbering up for the walk down the hall, and was in the midst of shaking his fur free of any debris that might detract him from his appearance.

"Lyon could go instead of me," said Tyrion.

Arya smirked, shaking her head. "You'll be fine big brother. Just walk straight, sit on your throne and hold still while they crown you."

"Thank you Arya- wait, did you say throne?"

Before he could question her further Arya slipped away, disappearing around the side of the castle and, presumably, into the great hall. It was tempting to flee while he could. He was never meant to be King - he was never meant to be anything. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, the image of the crypts pushed it away.

Tyrion drew in a breath, forcing himself to stand straight. This was duty, as well as a great honour. Sansa had excused herself after their visit to the crypt and Tyrion had been left to get changed into his good clothes - and try and contain his nerves with only Arya and Lyon for company.

"You look very handsome."

He turned at the voice, all the air leaving his lungs as he took in the sight of Sansa. She wore a black gown with an open neck that perfectly displayed the necklace he'd gifted her. All throughout her gown were silver direwolves that matched perfectly with the silver direwolf crown atop her head. Her long red hair hung freely behind her shoulders and a long grey cloak was fastened around her - Tyrion had never seen a more perfect image.

"You're stunning Sansa."

Her mouth turned upwards at the compliment and she smoothed her hands over his shoulders and the thick black doublet Esther had made for him. It had a small collar and golden clasps that matched the golden lions threaded throughout the material. A belt brought the doublet in around his waist leaving the rest to hang just above his knees, with his sword strapped at his side. The cloak Sansa had made for his name day hung around his shoulders, and matched well with the black and gold theme of his clothes. Esther had done an excellent job on the outfit, though Tyrion knew he'd never compare to Sansa.

The Queen bent down, brushing her hand through his hair to tidy it before drawing him in for a kiss. A smile stretched across her face as she pulled back.

"I wanted to kiss the lord of Winterfell one last time," said Sansa, straightening up. "When we leave here you'll have another title too."

Servants were moving into position by the doors as Tyrion's heart picked up pace. Gods, this was really happening. He shouldn't be so nervous. This was a great honour; all he had to do was go in the hall.

Sansa looked every inch a Queen as she stood beside him. "When you're ready my lord."

Tyrion swallowed - they were waiting for him. Sansa appeared in no hurry, but she also had her formal mask in place now. Robb Stark and Jon Snow had been the last Kings in the North; and now he was expected to follow in their place. He brushed his fingers over the pommel of his sword for a moment, savouring its familiar comfort before forcing himself to stand straight.

As soon as he offered his arm to Sansa she took it, giving him a gentle squeeze before nodding to the servants. Lyon stood silently at his left side as the doors were pulled open. The great hall was packed with people either side of an aisle that led directly to the raised platform at the end - and the two thrones that awaited them. Hundreds of eyes followed them as they moved into the hall and it took everything in Tyrion to not hide from their scrutiny. Sansa was the definition of grace beside him. Seeing his nerves she had taken the lead as they walked and was maintaining a dignified pace that appeased his shorter legs.

Stark and Lannister banners were interspersed throughout the hall, with a grey direwolf banner hanging immediately behind Sansa's throne and a black and gold lion banner hanging behind the extra throne. Tyrion's throat tightened as they drew closer and more details came into view. Where direwolves curled around the arms and up the back of Sansa's throne, the one beside it was identical except for the lions that covered it instead of wolves. Tyrion's throat tightened at the sight - there was no mistaking whose seat it was.

Near the front of the room were the more prominent Northern lords and ladies as well as Arya. A number of Winterfell guards lined the room and Tyrion spotted Alec in position just to the side of the platform. Rose and the free folk were present as well, though they'd stayed nearer to the back of the room. In the coming days they would officially join the North, and had been invited to the coronation as a gesture of goodwill. Space was tight in the hall, though Tyrion was pleased to see Nessa stood with Arya - she'd been particularly excited to see this and Arya had promised to get her in the room.

They reached the steps that led onto the platform and a sudden fear swept through Tyrion. The thrones were identical height - how was he supposed to get onto the seat without looking foolish? Sansa was far taller than him; this would be humiliating. The Queen seemed to sense his hesitation for she squeezed his arm, discreetly tugging him forwards. She released him when they stood before the thrones, and it was only when Tyrion was faced with the seat did he notice the small ledge in the base of it. The step was half-way up and barely noticeable unless you were stood right before the throne, or knew to look for it. He glanced sideways at Sansa, catching the faintest hint of a smile.

Tyrion's heart swelled - of course Sansa would consider his height in the design.

Sansa turned to take her seat and Tyrion found himself following suit. The ledge was discreet and Tyrion soon found himself sat on the throne. The lion arm rests were intricately carved and smooth to touch as he sat stiffly on the chair, sweeping his eyes over the crowd before them.

Maester Wolkan moved in front of them, bowing low to Sansa before turning to him. A bead of sweat trickled down his back as he noticed the gold object in the old man's hands. Wolkan stepped to the side just before Tyrion's throne, lifting the crown so all could see. Where Sansa's crown was a silver circlet of direwolves, the crown in Wolkan's hands was gold, with lions interspersed between nine spikes in the shape of longswords. The Kings of Winter traditionally had crowns decorated with longswords, but no King in the North had ever been a Lannister.

"Hail Tyrion Lannister," said Wolkan, his voice carrying through the room. "The King in the North!"

The Maester turned to him and Tyrion forced himself to remain still as the crown was placed on his head. It fit well, though its weight was more than just physical. Lord of Winterfell was a big enough responsibility, but this was so much more. As Wolkan stepped back the silent room burst into life.

"The King in the North!"

"The Queen in the North!"

"The King in the North!"

"The Queen in the North!"

The chants echoed off every wall in the hall, filling Tyrion's ears with an acceptance he never could have imagined.