11. Ghost Stories
There's something that ignites within the minds of men when a promised arrival goes unfulfilled, and it ignites quickly. When words and weeks came and went with no sign of Tyrion Lannister on the horizon, it wasn't long before the men began to wonder if the dwarf was coming after all. Some didn't ponder on the situation long. The littlest Lannister was simply a no show as he often was for most important events that didn't involve drinking and fucking. He couldn't have had anything to say worth listening to, so there wasn't a problem.
Most dwelled a bit longer. Quickly, their jokes fabricated several reasons as to why Tyrion had yet to appear. Imaginations ran far and wide with fantasy and perversion.
"What could a Mother of Dragons want with the Imp of Lannister?"
"More importantly, what did he want with her? Never met a pair of tits he didn't like, that one. No secret the dwarf ran straight to all the brothels his gold stained fingers could get his hands on."
"If you could call that waddle a run."
"Do you think he tried to fuck her?"
"Oh, he tried, but was met with a pair of dragons instead of tits this time!"
"For all we know, the little man wet the dragon fire between her legs. Bastard gets to ride two kinds of dragons now!"
They'd laugh and slap their knees, spilling all remnants of their ale on the ground. And on and on it went. The stories gained ridiculousness as time stretched by. Before long, the manifested tales were being wagered on. Many suspected Tyrion tried and succeeded on seducing the Targaryen and stood as Imp King of Dragonstone. The rest figured Cersei intercepted Tyrion while at the port in the mainland, chopping off his tongue and his cock. She now bore one as a piece of jewelry. None need to ask as to which they assumed she'd wear.
While the men swapped fantasies about Tyrion Lannister as they waited, Jon set out to find more information useful in fighting the White Walkers. Almost everything was a dead end. No more than three Valyrian steel swords could be found in this part of the world, and there was no promise that any more could be acquired in numbers they needed and forged correctly if found elsewhere. Dragonglass was the only other option if not a seemingly hopeless one.
The stash of dragonglass Jon obtained wasn't nearly enough to arm the couple hundred men the Night's Watch once held much less the hundreds of thousands they hoped to rally to their side. More would need to be found. And quickly. It was locating the hiding place that was causing them strain.
With no luck gaining any new information on the whereabouts of more dragonglass within the walls of Winterfell, Jon sent word to every maester in the north. The substance was now more valuable than gold and even harder to locate. The maesters found nothing.
Sansa found herself stashed away in her family's library, knowing that every book, page, and word had already been studied upon Jon's request. She decided that another stroll down the aisle wouldn't hurt. Even after Samwell Tarly, at Oldtown's Citadel who spent his time cleaning and organizing and sneaking research about the White Walkers, found the answer to their prayers. It seemed to Sansa that she found comfort in the silence and solace of all Winterfell's written words.
While Sansa saw among the books, the company of Winterfell buzzed about the news the Tarly boy wrote about: he had pinpointed the location of dragonglass. And a large sum of it.
There, of course, was one catch, and it was anything but simple. The location was Dragonstone, buried within the mountain terrain, and currently occupied by Daenerys Targaryen. It was as if the gods were trying to be humorous. No one should have been surprised really. The stone shared its name with the land it was placed on and the creature associated with the bloodline that did, and once again, called the island home. The question on how to convince the dragon girl to give up the stash of dragonglass was the next of many questions.
Not a thought of all this crossed Sansa's mind as she flipped through the pages of books she practically all but memorized as a child. But the myths and legends she fancied in her youth did nothing for her now. There was no excitement at the concept of black magic in the grasslands or frightened chills at the thought of wildings stealing children from their mother's breasts. Least of all, there was no wonder and romance dripping from the words of songs and fables she worshipped for far too many years. She knew what magic could do to a corpse, what wildings were willing to do for their unlikely allies, and how misrepresented the songs left her world feeling. It had been Old Nan's bedtime ghost stories that were truer than any of the now.
She found other things to read through. They weren't at pretty as the songs but told more truths. Or at least she hoped so. She was halfway through a worn red leather-bound when a voice interrupted her reading.
"Still reading stupid songs of daring princes and happy endings, girl? Thought you got that beaten out of you?" Sandor Clegane swung the heavy wooden door far enough to let his large frame cross over the threshold. Timid snowflakes snuck inside, melting to nothing before hitting the floor.
The girl flipped to the next page of her book. The paper was delicate and close to crumbling in her fingers. She wondered how many others sat where she sat, reading what she was reading. Did Mother? Aunt Lyanna? "They're poems."
"Words and rhymes of cockless men who've never held a sword in their hand. Same damn thing as far as I'm concerned."
Sandor closed the door behind him, cutting out the outside world. Sansa found that it was quieter now, despite having another body in the room. It caused a ringing in her ears. The two hadn't been alone behind closed doors together since their fateful departure in King's Landing. Neither let slip that that thought crossed their minds, but Sansa couldn't help but wonder if he realized it just as she had.
"I gather I should not read at all then? Rather to drown my thoughts in wine?" Sansa finally looked up from her lap. She closed the leatherbound and stood up.
Sandor almost looked stiffer as she did so as if she was a mother about to beat a babe who had just spoken out of turn. He watched her hands carefully rub over the cover of the book. She was petting it. Cradling it. Protecting it. He continued to watch her as she studied the shelves, looking for the exact spot she took it from. She'd come back to finish it later.
"Do you read much?" Sansa asked. Her light source stood next to her, a small candle melted down to about half of what it had been when she lit it. She picked it up.
Sandor snorted.
She thought as much. "You should try, you'd find that there's a big difference two been the two. But I don't assume you come in here to talk to me about my reading material. Is there something you need from me, my lord?"
He twitched but didn't cross her. "The towers have spotted something in the distance. A party heading north from the King's Road."
Tyrion.
Had the notion that Tyrion Lannister might finally be on his way to Winterfell not fallen so heavily on her shoulders, Sansa might have questioned a bit longer why Sandor of all people was the one to present the information to her. On any other day, Brienne or Podrick were the ones to relay her the message. To get to her first, Sandor must have made haste. Did he want to see the reaction on her face when he told her? Or did he simply want the honor of giving it? Both questions didn't fit quite right.
"And they assume it's Tyrion, yes?"
He nodded. His eyes never left her, either too immersed in what she might say or do next on the topic or too unimpressed with their surroundings to chance scanning over it. "They'll be here by nightfall."
"What do the others say?" She still held the candle in her hands. It would be best to blow it out and keep it for another day of reading. But she stared at it instead, watching the flame dance and wax shrink.
"The men are pissing themselves," Sandor didn't sound amused as he crossed his arms and shifted the weight of his feet. "I didn't think your family could sulk anymore than they already do."
"I don't imagine that's going to change any time soon." She looked up to meet Sandor's eye. "Thank you for telling me. I suspect we should get ready to meet him." She kept hold of the burning candle as she made her way toward the door.
Sandor didn't make moves to step aside to make more room for her or open it like a true gentleman might. Instead, he asked in a tone trying a bit too hard to sound disinterested, "What's the difference?"
Sansa glanced at him, confused. "Excuse me?"
He tilted his head toward the bookshelves. "The difference, between your songs and your poems."
She smiled as she put her hand on the door. The wood was rough and soothing under her palm. "Poems aren't written with happiness in mind." With a nod to Sandor Clegane as a goodbye, Sansa stepped out of the library and into the snow-covered yard. The wind blew out the candle before she had a chance to do it herself.
•••
As expected, Tyrion Lannister arrived at the gates of Winterfell just before nightfall. The sun was just beyond the horizon, the moon marking its place in the darkened sky, and not a single person within the castle walls was thinking about anything other than seeing a small man used to speaking big words. Tensions were high. Tyrion was a traitor to the crown, married once over to a Stark, and now allied Hand of the only person known to possess dragonglass. No outcome of this situation was typical.
They were all in the Great Hall now. Tyrion stood before Jon, Sansa, Bran, and Arya at the head table with a few from his party, a Dornishman, a Tyrell Knight, and an Unsullied soldier, one man each to represent the growing allies Daenerys was gaining as time went on. The two formers didn't well receive the harsher temps – their faces expressed high discomfort. Tyrion let them all know that the Dothraki would have loved to attend, but it had yet been convinced to them that snowfall wasn't a curse upon the land brought by too few mating rituals. Although, Tyrion did begin the wonder if it wasn't the more he spent time here. He cracked a light-hearted smile.
He looked good. Different, undoubtedly. He went without his bright, expensive clothing and his skin was slightly tanned by the Essos sun. And he was as unshaven as Sansa figured anyone in his position in life could be. His beard was full and thick. And it no longer held the blonde color that made it clear what family he belonged to. But still good, she couldn't help but think. It came from his shoulders, a little higher without the burden of bloodlines, and his footsteps, full of real purpose.
He bowed before them. "I've found myself in this hall three times over the course of my life, each with a different Stark in that seat. I find that it fits you well, Jon."
"And there are three Lannisters of importance in the world, and it seems as though your the only one I'm happy to see again." Jon smirked. They were similar in many ways the two, both outsiders among their siblings but highly inclined to pave their own path of success.
Tyrion chuckled. "Odd, that seems to be happening a lot lately."
A smile crept onto Sansa's lips. Her indifferent expression betraying her.
"Lady Sansa," Tyrion's voice turned melancholy. The feeling reached his eyes. "It's good to see you well."
It warmed Sansa's heart that she knew he meant it. She felt as though she should say something to him - how she was sorry that she left him in King's Landing, that she wished she had been there to help him when he needed it - but all she could was, "Thank you, my lord."
He smiled again. "It was a short marriage, but no one can say it was boring, can they?"
It was so odd to have a presence like Tyrion's in Winterfell. He was a breath of fresh air and had little to no problem having all eyes on him. He was going to crack jokes and lighten the mood with humorous banter and continue to do so up until it was time to make serious strides on the tense problem that loomed over everyone.
That moment came upon them quickly.
He cleared his throat, seeming to suddenly feel a bit awkward with his current affairs. He came forward a few steps, leaving his party to stay behind him. "Ehm, I can imagine it might seem quite the surprise, seeing me again after so long under this particular situation."
"You mean hiding between the legs of the dragon bitch?"
The Unsullied sneered but did nothing to retaliate against what was said.
Tryion slightly turned his face to look in the direction from which the snark came, his expression clearly exasperated. His eyebrows were raised. Had the moment been anything else than what it was, he might have made a snide comment to put the man in his place. Now was not the time. "I wouldn't say it like that to her, but that's one way of putting it, yes. I do come as a delegate for Daenerys Targaryen. She wishes to come to some sort of terms with the people of the north, with the Starks of Winterfell."
"We're to presume that these terms are hers?" Sansa asked. Every mind in that room surely wondered the same thing.
"Her Grace simply wants to know that the north would not fight her right to the Iron Throne."
That meant yes.
The Great Hall filled with murmurs.
Jon put up his hand to settle the crowd. All was quiet. "The north has their own terms they'd like to present in order to consider any form of understanding with the so-called rightful heir."
Tyrion clasped his hands behind his back, standing strong in place with some confidence that didn't seem to fit the situation. He came having expected this. "And that would be?"
"There's a substance that we believe Dragonstone holds an abundance of. We need to mine it for weapons."
The request took Tyrion by surprise as he unclasped his hands and gave the Starks a curious look. That wasn't what he anticipated in the slightest. "You wish to mine on Dragonstone? I figured you'd ask for gold or at the least the head of my sister on a spike to place on your dinner table."
Arya smiled. "That is still an option." And most in the room agreed with her.
Sansa spoke, "According to some information we've found, a large amount of dragonglass is to be buried within the base of the island. We need it. All of it."
"Dragonglass?" Tyrion wondered. He didn't try to conceal his confusion as he scanned over the people in his presence. He thought they were crazy. "Has steel gone extinct recently and I wasn't informed?"
"Steel can't kill what we're going up against."
"I'm sorry, am I missing something? Are you fighting someone I'm unaware of? Last I checked, Lannister men die nicely with a stab to the chest as they always have. You can use a shield to the head if you're really in a pinch. Even I've done that. Really gets the adrenaline up."
"Were you told ghost stories as a child, Lannister?" Jon asked.
"Of what? Giants and magical tree children? White Walkers resurrecting the corpses of men they've slaughtered? Those stories?"
Jon's lack of a response was Tyrion's answer.
He scoffed, "You don't honestly think your crazy wet nurse was telling you truths? White Walkers? You've got to be joking. You're joking, right?"
Jon was getting impatience now and his calm temperament was fading. "Do I look like I'm joking?"
"I'm sure none would accuse you of such a look. But—"
Jon interrupted the excuse with the scrape of his chair moving behind him as he stood up. He leaned forward, his arms planted firmly on the table, and lowered his voice. "You and your queen tell me dragons are real. You don't see me batting an eye. Listen to me well when I tell you this: the dead are walking and they're walking this way. We have no way but this to defend ourselves."
Tyrion Lannister knew as well as anyone that Jon Snow, bastard of Eddard Stark and once Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, wasn't one to preach many falsehoods. He respected the boy, he had all but said so, and acted as though he wanted to believe what he was hearing. But some things were easier said than done. "Say I'm inclined to believe you, and I am far from saying that I am, how do I bring that to Dragonstone? A girl as she may be, Daenerys Targaryen is not going to take it lightly when I return to tell her that the Starks of Winterfell need help in fighting a child's bedtime story villain. She'd have me burnt alive."
Not many could rebuke that even if they wanted to. They would all agree with Tyrion that what they were requesting was a tall order. Each of their own doubted for generations that such creatures existed. Had it not been for Jon and the rest of those who had seen the monsters beyond the wall with their own eyes, none who currently stood side by side with Winterfell would be as they were.
Jon astonished everyone by knowing just that.
"No, I don't suppose you can." Jon stood up straight and sighed. His hand went straight to the hilt of his sword as if it was a warning against any who would challenge what he said next. "That's why I'll be going back to Dragonstone with you. I'll tell your queen myself."
Disclaimer: This is a rant. Feel free to skip. :)
So... it's been about a week and a half since the finale... How are you all holding up? I ask because I know 99% of the world and their mother is pissed off at how the season finale, and season 8 in general, ended. Some of which I will admit I agree with. Jaime didn't deserve to die at all, much less with Cersei. Gendry should be on that ship with Arya. Sandor shouldn't have died fighting his toxic brother. His Grace Bran the Broken is fucking random as hell. Much more of Dany's mindset would have helped the plot along.
But I will not, repeat will not, have a bitch fest about the fact that Dany became the Mad Queen and was killed. Why? Because I knew from the very beginning that Dany was a power-hungry narcissist who was going to burn anything and everything in her path. It's why I've disliked her from the very beginning. She tricked herself into thinking that she was a saint, was worthy of all, was the only one who should still on that throne, and I'll go as far as saying that she tricked the audience into thinking the same thing. Maybe that's what the best characters do, they convince us without a doubt. Who knows.
And I never doubted Jon was going to be the one to kill her. Admittingly, I thought it was going to come about through the Azor Ahai legend, that Jon was going to have to kill her because of her actions but also because of the need to create Lightbringer. Still, I figured when they met they would fall in love and Jon would have to kill her.
Do I think D&D could have done a better job writing the script, yes, but to hate everything about the show and wishing for all of season 8 to be redone undermines everything amazing that D&D have done this last decade, what time and effort our favorite actors have put into our favorite characters, and the heavy work thousands of other people have done who have impacted the show in one way or another.
But of course, that's my very unpopular opinion as Tumblr has shown me.
I'm just waiting for George to get his shit together and give of his "true" version of the story. Will Dany turn out the same? I truly believe that she will, but hopefully, George RR Martin will be able to convey that plot line in a better way...
And Sandor The Fucking Hound Clegane with be alive and kicking and living in Winterfell with Queen Fucking Sansa as they discuss how cute Arya and Gendry are as the Lord and Lady of Storm's End (or King's Landing as I really wanted Gendry Baratheon to sit on the throne). *takes breath*
Talk to me. About the chapter. About the show. About your favorite ice cream flavor. Whatever works for you.
(Seriously doe, I have so much more to say about everything, if ya'll want to have that conversation let's do it. We're all friends here, right?)