Chapter 11: Hard Truths
Tyrion dressed himself in a green doublet adorned with his Hand of the Queen pin, and pulled on a pair black breeches. It had been two days since Sansa had visited him in his bedchamber, and he had yet to speak with Jon. He was also becoming keenly aware that he was likely being watched either by the unsullied or by Varys' spies. Daenerys was growing colder and more impatient by the day. Truthfully he would be glad to leave her service. It was his hope that Jon might intercede on his behalf and speak with her about Lady Sansa.
Tyrion took a look in the mirror, and straightened his pin, before walking through the castle and out towards the Winterfell courtyards. Preparations for travel were underway. The dragons were still not eating very much. Rhaegal's wing was partially healed. The Northerners that had taken refuge in Winterfell had begun to trickle away back into their own holdfasts. The workers that come in from the WinterTown continued to work on repairing the castle walls. Lady Sansa was quite occupied with the supervision of this, and Jon was busy readying the Northern soldiers to travel South. The sound of metal on metal was a constant throughout daylight, as the Knights worked to steady up the Northern troops. On this day the sun was out, and winter snow that had fallen, had begun to thaw. As Tyrion walked into the center of the courtyard, he saw Jon, speaking with a group of soldiers in armor. As quickly as his legs could carry him, Tyrion strode over to Jon, to catch his attention before he became otherwise occupied.
"Jon," Tyrion said as he caught up to him. "May I have a word?"
"I have something to ask of you."
"It is about Lady Sansa."
Jon raised an eyebrow. "Lady Sansa?"
Tyrion ran a distracted hand through his hair. "I thought we might speak in private."
Jon raised an eyebrow. "We can retire to the meeting hall?"
Tyrion smiled weakly, "Yes. The meeting hall also has wine- a bit of liquid courage."
Tyrion walked through the courtyard. The castle was still bustling with activity. The air around him was filled with the clamor of metal on metal, and the voices of warriors training for battle. His time in the North was drawing to a close. If his queen had her way, soon they would leave for Dragonstone, and from there prepare to lay siege to King's Landing. The dragons were close to regaining much of the strength in their wings. In the distance he saw Greyworm training some of the remaining unsullied. He looked at the castle that lay ahead of him. He felt a sense of reverence in this castle. Winterfell was old. Brandon the Builder had set the first stone and the castle had risen up from the granite over the course of centuries and seen many changes, from the age of the First Men to the conquest of the Andals. The gray walls seemed to be watching him, as he made his way into the ancient stronghold, and walked purposefully through the corridors to the meeting room. The meeting room was warm and inviting. There was a large fireplace set at its center that seemed to warm the whole room. There were tables lined up along the side of the walls with pitchers of wine set out for the guests. Tyrion walked over to a table and poured himself a goblet of wine. He took a seat on the bench in the center of the meeting room, close to the fire. As he took a sip of his wine, he saw Jon approach him. Jon sat next to him on the bench.
Tyrion looked directly at Jon. Taking a sip of wine, he began, " Most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it. I am like most men," he sighed.
Jon regarded him curiously. "You wanted to speak to me of my sister, Lady Sansa."
"We've spoken previously of your sister and I and our...sham marriage. My time here at Winterfell has allowed me to become reacquainted with your sister." Tyrion took a large sip of wine, before inhaling deeply."
Jon merely looked amused, but he said nothing. The silence allowed the anxiety to coil like a snake within Tyrion's gut. "I would like to ask your permission to…renew our vows."
Jon nearly spit out his wine. "Is this what she wants?"
"As far as I can tell. You might speak with her yourself." Tyrion smiled weakly.
"I'm happy for you. I must say that I am…"
Tyrion finished "Shocked...dismayed… yes. All of the above. This does however create a...complication with our Queen."
"That may be an understatement. She is not of the best mind as of late. We are preparing to retake her throne. She lost a lot of men in the battle for Winterfell. She's impatient, and becoming frustrated that we are not yet on the move."
"Would you intercede on our behalf?" Tyrion could see that Jon seemed uneasy.
"I can try."
"I would be grateful."
"Are you planning to have the ceremony in the Godswood?"
"A septon performed our previous ceremony. Your sister, if I remember correctly, keeps faith with the Faith of the Seven and the Old Gods."
Jon looked deep into the flames. "I will speak with our Queen. Are you planning to step down as Hand of the Queen?"
"Your sister...would prefer never to return to King's Landing. So that would make my position complicated." Tyrion looked distractedly into the dancing flames. How he longed to be a red priest at this moment. If only he could read an answer in the flames maybe he would know what to do next. He wished that they would show him something, but they gave him no answers, only warmth.