Chapter 13: A Lannister Always Pays His Debts

Part I: Tyrion

Tyrion Lannister was as good as his word. It was one thing about him that remained constant. Many things about him had changed in the intervening years since he'd left King's Landing and become an exile across the narrow sea. He had run away from himself for many years, and now he had found himself back in Westeros, the land of his birth, and following a foreign Queen. The day that he set sail for Essos, he didn't much care if he lived or died. He had been betrayed by his father, his sister, and the woman he loved. Even thinking about the sting of these betrayals now, Tyrion felt the bitterness crawl up the back of his throat like bile. Shae. Shae, who called him her "lion of Lannister," whom he had believed actually loved him, had accused him of murder. She had lain with his own father in the bed that the two of them had previously shared with each other. What a fool he had been. To find the woman that he loved sleeping in his father's bed, he was overcome with anger. A bitter laugh escaped his lips even now. His anger was still palpable. His father would have told him, that's what he got for laying with whores. Tyrion thought bitterly, yes, "Father knows best. I got what I deserved."

Tyrion, despite all thoughts to the contrary, had always been loyal to his family. He had done all that he could to be an honor to his house, deformed monster that he was. He had saved the city during the Battle of the Blackwater, only to end up with a nasty gash on his face as a reward. His father thought that by giving him Sansa Stark, a debt would be paid. A Lannister always pays his debts, Tyrion thought to himself. Now, Sansa was giving herself to him willingly. Did Starks also pay their debts? What did she want with him? Did Sansa love him? Did Sansa need him? Did Sansa want him? He needed to speak with her. He needed to see her. Every day since she had visited him in his room, he had felt a weight weighing him down. He had asked Jon to intercede on their behalf, but Daenerys was not easily moved. She cared for one thing and one thing only, retaking the iron throne.

His head ached and his body longed for sleep. The day had been filled with battle preparations. Earlier in the day the war council met to discuss final details of the departure. He was to leave for Dragonstone by ship, while Greyworm was to lead the infantry and the Dothraki, and travel by horse. Her grace and Jon would travel by air, riding on Rhaegal and Drogon respectively. Rhaegal's wings were almost healed completely, though he was still not eating much. Daenerys had given no indication that she would consent to let Tyrion leave her service, and so Tyrion was avoiding Sansa as if she were infected with greyscale.

Tonight, tired from the worries of the day, Tyrion changed into his bedclothes and climbed into bed. He squirmed to the exact middle of his mattress and covered himself up to the neck in a layer of furs. He felt the need to be swaddled like a baby. He didn't even have the inclination to read. He just let his thoughts wander, and he stared at the ceiling, following spiderwebs, and errant cracks in the walls, and willing himself to fall asleep. It was not working. All of his thoughts went back to Sansa. He would have to speak with her. Soon enough, his tired body gave up, and he drifted off to sleep.

Part II: Daenerys

The snows were beginning to melt. The air seemed warmer. It was not as warm as a false spring, but the encroaching winter became milder with each day. Daenerys Targaryen sat in the common room at Winterfell. The long wooden tables were frequently less populated than they had been during the preparation for the Long Night. More and more, the people of the north had begun to drift back to their own homes, to try to rebuild what they might have lost. Daenerys felt out of place in the North. When she arrived, she felt, acutely, the eyes of all the Northerners appraising her silently, and finding her wanting. She felt their mistrust, and their anger. She had been unprepared for what it would be like to be a Targaryen in the North. The blame for the Northerners mistrust lay with her father. Her father, the "Mad King" Aerys II, had executed Rickard and Brandon Stark when they went south to fight for the honor of the lady Lyanna. This was ages ago, when the Lady Lyanna Stark was "kidnapped" by her brother Rhaegar, and as they always say "the North remembers." She had only come here to the North because she loved Jon Snow. He alone had convinced her through the sheer strength of his convictions to come here, and she had lost a lot in the process. She lost a large chunk of her Dothraki fighters, and her Unsullied. She lost her dragon, Viserion, she lost her advisor Jorah Mormont, and now, the North threatened to take something else from her, her Hand of the Queen, Tyrion Lannister. Daenerys sat by the hearth, nursing a cup of mulled wine. She was tired of losing. Her violet eyes watched the flames in the hearth dance. She was waiting for Jon Snow, but he was still training the soldiers in the front courtyard. Jon had been trying, unsuccessfully, to convince her to let Tyrion Lannister leave her service. His sister, Sansa, had been married to Lord Tyrion once, and they hoped to rekindle their marriage. Dany was not completely heartless. Of course she was glad that he may have found some love in this dark place. But the timing was very inconvenient. She had a war to fight. She took another large sip of wine as she warmed herself by the hearth, and continued to look towards the doorway, waiting for Jon. It was unfair of him to ask this of her. Why couldn't Tyrion ask her himself? As she thought this, she caught sight of Tyrion. He was walking towards her. He made his way to her table, and stood before her.

"Your grace," he bowed.

"My lord," she nodded. "Please sit."

"Thank you."

"I've come to ask you something."

"Yes. I see." The bench trembled with his nervous energy, was she that intimidating? She wondered.

"Have you," he took a breath, "given any consideration to my marriage to Sansa Stark?"

"I have. But I have not yet made a decision. I have much to consider. I take it that you are intending to leave my service?"

"Your grace, Sansa has very unpleasant memories of our time in King's Landing, and as my work would have me there a majority of the time...it would be prudent for me to stay here in the North."

"I do give you permission to marry." She said, "But I have not given you permission to leave my service," Daenerys took another sip of wine.

"I see." Tyrion sighed. "I will speak with Lady Sansa."

"Yes. Do." Daenerys, turned her attention back to the fire. "Sansa wants the North to be an independent kingdom. I wonder what she wants more, this marriage, or Northern Independence." Daenerys thought, turning her attention back to the flames. In this light,she thought, the flames looked like dragons dancing.