Chapter Seven
Tyrion didn't see Sansa again for several hours. He spent the day resting in his room, eating and drinking and trying to imagine what it was going to be like to meet little Eddard Lannister. He knew what Sansa wanted now. She wanted legitimacy for her son. She wanted Tyrion to publicly declare that the boy was his, even though, by rights, he was the legal father simply because he was her husband and Eddard had been born after they'd been wed.
Tyrion was afraid to face the child, not because he didn't like children – he had loved Tommen and Myrcella with all his heart and mourned their loss every day – but because he knew he wouldn't see himself in the boy, and it was going to break his heart.
How wonderful would it be to believe that Sansa Stark had born him a son? A healthy, beautiful boy who was strapping and strong. But Tyrion knew that wasn't likely. The gods had already proven how much they hated him by making him a dwarf and killing his mother the very day he'd been born. They would not look kindly on him now and suddenly start bestowing blessings upon him just because he had survived longer than he'd had any right to.
No, Tyrion was certain – just as certain as Bronn and the rest of Westeros – that the child wasn't his. He would take one look at the boy and know it in an instant. He would see Sansa in little Eddard, of that he was sure. But he'd also see some other man. Maybe Littlefinger, maybe a stranger. Either way, it would hurt, and Tyrion wasn't quite prepared for it.
When Sansa finally came to fetch him, it was just past noon. Tyrion had been dressed for hours, putting on the ill-fitting tunic and breeches that had been left for him in his chamber the night before. The clothes were obviously meant for a child, not a man, but he was sure they were the closest thing to his size the servants had been able to find. Before Tyrion left the north for good, he would have to stop in the winter town and find someone to tailor them so that he could at least travel in comfort.
"He's ready for you," Sansa said as she stood in the open doorway, her back rigid, her eyes masking her emotions.
Tyrion had forgotten how good she was at hiding her own pain. She'd become an expert at it during her time in King's Landing, and he knew he would have to remember that.
Tyrion took one last sip of the wine in his hand and climbed down from the chair beside the table. He looked up at his wife, but she wouldn't meet his gaze.
"This way, my lord."
Ah, so it was back to my lord, was it? If Tyrion had been so inclined, he would have insisted that she call him by his given name, but the more formality between them, the better. It would make it easier when he finally left Winterfell and they went their separate ways.
Sansa led Tyrion through a maze of corridors, and he couldn't keep track of where they had been and where they were going. It had been a long time since he'd explored the halls of Winterfell, and he didn't remember them as keenly as he would have liked.
Eventually, they stopped in front of a large door at the end of a long corridor. All was quiet, not a single soul to be seen down the entire length of the hall.
Sansa finally turned toward Tyrion again. This time, she met his gaze, though it felt almost as if she were looking through him. "With winter come," she began, "we were never able to repair the library tower, so Maester Wolkan had all the remaining books moved to this chamber. When he's not outside pretending to kill White Walkers or ride dragons, Eddard spends most of his time in here."
"Does he know who I am?" Tyrion asked.
Sansa shook her head. "I told you I would keep your identity a secret, and I meant it. I'm always true to my word."
"And is he prepared to see a dwarf walk into his own personal sanctum and disturb his peace?"
"I think he'd enjoy it very much, actually," Sansa said with a hint of a smile.
It was the first time Tyrion had seen her smile since he'd returned to Winterfell, and it was like a balm to his weary soul. For a moment, he lost himself in Sansa's smile, his mind wandering to happier times, before they'd both lost so very much.
"All right, then, my lady. Lead the way."
Sansa turned and pushed the door open. She quietly stepped inside, allowing Tyrion to follow behind her. The room was quite small, the walls lined with only half a dozen bookcases, the shelves empty here and there. Winterfell's library had been decimated the night someone had tried to murder Bran Stark. Tyrion wasn't surprised that, in the chaos of the wars that had followed, no one had yet to restore it to its former glory.
Tyrion didn't see the boy at first. Sansa still stood in front of him, and all he could see was a long table and a couple of comfortable chairs beside the hearth. It wasn't until Sansa stepped aside that Tyrion caught his first glimpse of the child.
Little Eddard Lannister was lying on the floor, a huge volume tucked under his folded arms, his head bent forward as he poured over whatever it was that he was reading. One page of the book was all words, but the other was a detailed drawing of a soaring dragon, and Tyrion could only imagine that it was some kind of history book, the kind that he had enjoyed reading as a child.
Tyrion didn't let that fact affect him in the least. He turned his attention to the boy, examining every last inch of him. His hair was as blond as spun gold, a curly mop of sunlight shining like a halo around his head. His limbs were long and well-proportioned. Even lying down, Tyrion could tell that he was particularly tall for his age. Definitely no dwarf's child. Definitely not his son.
The boy didn't look up as Sansa and Tyrion stepped farther into the room. He was too engrossed in his reading to even notice their presence.
"Eddard," Sansa said softly, "come here. There's someone I'd like you to meet."
Eddard's head snapped up, and Tyrion saw his face for the first time. There was no denying his Tully blue eyes. They were every bit his mother's. His features, however, were not quite as delicate, and there was an endearing chubbiness to his face that Tyrion knew would fade with time. His hair was so blond and his face was so innocent that he almost looked like Tommen. But Tyrion knew that was just wishful thinking on his part. All children looked sweet and innocent at that age, even the broken ones like Joffrey.
Eddard's eyes grew wide the instant they settled on Tyrion. He scrambled to his feet, his gaze never wavering. He looked like he had just seen a dragon for the first time, or some other mythical creature, and it made Tyrion feel like little more than a spectacle.
"Come here, Eddard," Sansa coaxed.
With slow steps, the boy skirted around the book and made his way toward them. As he approached, his eyes traveled from the top of Tyrion's head to the tips of his toes, absorbing every last detail with hungry curiosity.
"You're a dwarf, aren't you?" the boy said without waiting for any kind of introduction. "I've never seen a dwarf before."
"Eddard, that isn't polite," Sansa scolded. "Apologize at once."
Tyrion laughed. "There's no need for that. I am a dwarf. Why shouldn't the boy point it out? Everyone else does."
"I'm not a boy," Eddard said. "I am the Lord of Winterfell."
Tyrion couldn't argue with that. "Yes, I know. Eddard Lannister."
"And who are you?"
Tyrion wasn't sure how to reply. He didn't know what Sansa had told her son about him, and he was afraid to say the wrong thing. But ultimately, Tyrion didn't have to answer at all, because Sansa answered for him.
"He came here to deliver a message," she said, "but he'll be leaving soon, and I thought you might want to meet him before he goes."
"Oh, yes, I've always wanted to meet a dwarf," Eddard replied, his eyes still transfixed on Tyrion. "Thank you, Mother."
"Why don't you sit down and show our visitor the book you've been reading?" Sansa suggested. "I think he might find it quite interesting."
Tyrion cast a sidelong glance at Sansa. He had no desire to sit down with the child and read a book. He had agreed to meet the boy, that was all. He sure as hell had no intention of getting to know him.
"Oh, he doesn't have to do that," Tyrion protested. "I really must be going sooner rather than later."
"But Aunt Arya said it's too snowy to travel," Eddard interjected. "She even made us come in early from our hunting trip."
Eddard pouted, just a bit, and Tyrion fought the urge to roll his eyes. If Sansa thought she was going to induce him to stay by parading her precocious little son in front of him, she was about to be sorely disappointed. Adorable or not, Tyrion had no intention of getting attached to the boy.
But before Tyrion could offer another word of protest, a chubby little hand wrapped around his own and started pulling him toward the center of the room.
"Come on," Eddard said, "I'll show you my book. It's my favorite."
Tyrion looked pleadingly at Sansa, begging her to extricate him from his predicament, but she just smiled back at him.
"You two boys have fun," she said. "I'll be back for you when the afternoon meal is served." And then, without another word, she slipped from the room and closed the door behind her.
Tyrion's heart sank as he realized just how trapped he was. A moment later, Eddard was sitting at his feet, tugging his hand and urging him to sit beside him and look at the book.
Tyrion didn't know what else to do but to sink down onto the carpet beside Eddard. He didn't want to hurt the boy or offend him. Eddard was an innocent and needed to be treated as such, regardless of who his father was.
"Do you like dragons?" Eddard asked.
"Dragons?" Tyrion's mind was worlds away, and he was having difficulty focusing on the present.
"Yes, dragons. Like Queen Daenerys' dragons – Viserion, Rhaegal, and Drogon. They're all gone now, but I did get to see them fly once. It was like magic. Have you ever seen a dragon?"
Tyrion looked down at Eddard with a bittersweet smile. "No," he said, "never." Tyrion had always wanted to see a dragon, and had he returned to Westeros before the end of the Great War, he might have had his chance. But now, the very last of the dragons were gone, having perished in the war with their beloved queen, and it was just one more regret Tyrion had in a life full of regrets.
"Well," Eddard replied, "you can look at them in this book." He moved the book so that it was now in front of Tyrion and started pointing out all the ways in which the illustrator had gotten things wrong – the eyes were too large, the spikes too sparse, the tail too short. Apparently, the little Lord of Winterfell was now an expert on dragons having seen them fly just once.
Tyrion sat cross-legged on the floor, only half listening to Eddard regale him with his knowledge of the legendary creatures. Tyrion was fascinated, not so much by what the child had to say, but by how he said it. There was a tone to his voice that was oddly familiar, a keenness in his eyes that reminded Tyrion just a little bit of himself. Being near the boy made him feel the connection acutely, and for one brief instant, he wondered if Sansa had been telling the truth all along. But he dismissed the idea just as quickly. He had never fathered a child before – not that he was aware of, at least – and he was certain that if he had, he could never have produced a child as beautiful as little Eddard.
Tyrion examined the boy quietly, searching his face for any hint of his true paternity. The one thing Tyrion didn't see in him was Littlefinger. There was no hint of the smarmy bastard anywhere in the boy, and it was a great relief. Tyrion didn't know what Sansa had endured after she'd left King's Landing, but he was certain that most of it hadn't been pleasant. He couldn't imagine all the lies Littlefinger had told her during their time together, but he knew it was a miracle she wasn't more jaded after having spent so much time under Littlefinger's thumb.
"Do you know magic?" Eddard asked, suddenly breaking through Tyrion's thoughts.
"Magic? Why would I know magic?"
"You're a dwarf. Don't dwarves know magic?"
"Not that I've ever heard. Perhaps you're confusing us with fairies or elves. We're not mythical creatures. We're people, just like you and your lady mother."
"My father is a dwarf," Eddard said offhandedly, his eyes still focused on the book.
The breath seized in Tyrion's throat, and for a moment, he thought he might suffocate. He had to force himself to breathe again, the effort more difficult than he had imagined. "Your father?"
"Yes, Tyrion Lannister. He's a great man. He fought in the Battle of the Blackwater and killed the evil Lord Tywin. My mother says he's a hero."
Tyrion was stunned silent. Sansa had told Eddard that he was a hero? Tyrion could scarcely believe it. But then, what mother didn't want to fill her child's head with grand stories about the man who had supposedly sired him? Even if it hadn't been Tyrion's seed that had brought the boy to life, Eddard still carried his name, and as far as society was concerned – officially, at least – he was his father.
Tyrion was curious to see what the boy actually knew about him, so he asked, "And where is your father now?"
"Away, across the Narrow Sea." Eddard finally flipped the page in his book, his eyes fixated on yet another drawing, this one more lurid than the first.
"Have you ever seen him?"
"No. He went away before I was born. Mother says he might come back someday. I hope he does."
Tyrion fell silent. He didn't want to say the wrong thing, ask the wrong question. It was obvious that Eddard believed Sansa's story just as much as Arya did. Did that mean that it was true, or just that Sansa wanted it to be true? Tyrion shook his head, chasing away the thought. He focused his attention back on Eddard, hoping to learn something more from the boy.
"And does Lady Lannister want him to come back?" Tyrion asked, unable to stop himself.
"Oh, yes," Eddard said, looking up at Tyrion with eager eyes. "Just as much as me. I'm hoping when he comes back, he'll bring me a dragon from the other side of the world."
Despite Eddard's reassurances, Tyrion doubted that Sansa had been counting the days until his return. But he couldn't say that to the boy. Instead, he replied, "I've been to the other side of the world. There are no dragons left."
Eddard frowned. "Then I hope he brings me a little brother. I want a little brother, and Mother says I can't have one unless Father comes home."
Tyrion suppressed a laugh. The tales Sansa Stark had told her son were growing taller by the minute. "I'm not sure that's how it works," Tyrion said. "I don't think your father can just bring you home a baby."
"Well, then he and Mother can make one. They made me. They can make another."
Tyrion was suddenly struck by the intelligence he saw in Eddard's eyes. The boy was so keen, so eager, so certain. Tyrion had to look away, lest he start believing something he'd be a fool to believe.
Without a hint of warning, Eddard asked, "Do you know my father?"
Tyrion locked his eyes on the book, staring at the image of a blue and green dragon setting fire to a small village, the inhabitants running for their lives in the foreground. He saw the picture, but he didn't see it. His mind was too preoccupied with other things. "I know Tyrion Lannister, yes," Tyrion said flatly, his eyes still focused on the book.
"Is he a hero?"
"He . . ." Tyrion didn't want to lie to the boy in any way, so he used his cunning to avoid answering the question directly. "I'm sure your father is everything your mother says he is, brave and strong and heroic."
Whoever he might be.
"Do all dwarves know each other?" Eddard asked.
The boy had a gift for asking impertinent questions, but Tyrion was starting not to mind. "No," he replied with a genuine laugh, finally looking at Eddard again, "not all dwarves know each other."
"I'm hoping my brother is a dwarf," Eddard said as he began idly flipping through the book. "That way, I would always be bigger than him, and I could protect him and keep him safe, even when he couldn't protect himself."
"Well, yes, that's one way of making sure that you're never overshadowed by your younger brother. But I'm sure, if you had a brother who wasn't a dwarf, you'd love him just the same, wouldn't you?"
"Oh, yes, but I'd much prefer it if he was."
Tyrion was fascinated by the way Eddard's mind worked. There was a formality about his speech and his manners that reminded Tyrion very much of Sansa, but he was also unabashedly blunt in his opinions, as peculiar as they were, and Tyrion admired that fact.
Not wanting to give Eddard any kind of false hope, Tyrion replied, "I don't think that's what the gods have planned for you, I'm afraid."
"Why? My father's coming back someday. I know he is. And then we'll all be a family – mother and father and Aunt Arya and my baby brother. And Winterfell will be a happy place again, like it was before the White Walkers came. I know it will."
Tyrion sighed heavily. He leaned back, resting his palms against the floor, his shoulders slumping in defeat. The unwavering hope in Eddard's voice was heartbreaking. He truly believed the fairy story his mother had told him. He thought, one day, his father would return to him and they'd all live happily ever after.
For a moment, Tyrion suddenly wished that it was all true. He wished that he was the hero that Eddard believed him to be. He wished that he could give the boy everything he'd ever dreamed of, but he couldn't. He was no hero. He was barely even worthy of drawing breath. Eddard deserved better. He deserved a father who was worthy of him, a man he could truly be proud of. And maybe he would find that one day, once Tyrion was long gone and Sansa had finally found someone deserving of her.
Eddard looked up at Tyrion when he failed to reply. "Don't you believe me?"
The last thing in the world Tyrion wanted to do was destroy a child's dreams, so he said the only thing he could say, "For your sake, I hope you're right. The gods have never been kind to me, of course, but maybe they'll favor you. After all, you are a Stark, and even though the Starks were nearly wiped out by the war, you're still here and your mother's still here and Lyanna Stark's son is on the Iron Throne. Perhaps those are all signs of good things to come."
"I'm not just a Stark. I'm also a Lannister," Eddard said proudly, sitting up a little bit straighter.
Tyrion caught his breath, surprised that a Stark could ever take such pride in calling himself a Lannister. It was the last thing in the world Tyrion had ever expected, and he didn't know quite how to respond. "Well, you do have the Lannister name, don't you?"
"Yes, just like my father and my uncle Jaime."
"Do . . . do you know your uncle Jaime?"
"Oh, yes. He was here at Winterfell when the White Walkers came. He's a hero too. He helped save the north, and cousin Jon gave him Casterly Rock because he was so brave and strong." Eddard went back to his book again. "He wasn't afraid of anything, and he told me a great many stories about my father. I like him a lot."
A sudden rush of air escaped Tyrion's throat, something between a laugh and a sob. So, Jaime had been at Winterfell? Had helped bring down the White Walkers and saved Westeros? Of course, Bronn had told him nearly the same thing, but hearing it from the mouth of a child somehow made it more real. Tyrion suddenly imagined Eddard sitting on Jaime's lap, listening to stories about their childhood. It was hard for Tyrion to believe that Jaime would have made such an effort if he hadn't truly believed the boy was his blood. But then, maybe he'd only done it because he'd missed his own dear children so very much.
Tyrion wanted to ask Eddard more about Jaime, but he didn't get the chance. Without warning, the door suddenly opened, and Sansa stepped into the room. "The afternoon meal is ready," she said. "It's time to put the book away."
Eddard closed the book and scrambled to his feet, taking the large volume with him. It was nearly half his size, but he held it lovingly, as if it weighed little more than a feather. When Tyrion finally stood, Eddard offered him the book.
"Would you like to borrow it?" he asked. "It belongs to the library, but Mother won't mind if you take it for a while, as long as you don't take it out in the snow."
Tyrion was flattered by the offer, as unexpected as it was, but he had no intention of staying at Winterfell long enough to read the book. "I think it might be best if we left it in the library. I wouldn't want to see anything happen to it. But thank you just the same."
"All right," Eddard replied, a touch of disappointment in his tone. He turned away then and waddled across the floor, the weight of the book throwing him slightly off balance. When he reached the nearest bookcase, he slipped the book onto one of the low shelves. Tyrion was surprised by how dutiful the boy was, but then, he was Sansa's son, and if there was one word that described Sansa Stark, it was dutiful.
When Eddard returned, he went straight to his mother. "Can my new friend eat with us?"
Sansa opened her mouth to speak, but Tyrion cut her off.
"Oh, no," he said, "that's quite all right. I shall take my meal in my chamber, if it's all the same to you."
But Sansa wasn't going to let him escape so easily. "I think it would be quite nice if your new friend joined us, Eddard. Why don't you run along to my solar? I will meet you there."
"Yes, Mother." The boy turned and looked up at Tyrion again. "You'll come too, won't you?"
The hope in Eddard's eyes was undeniable, but Tyrion knew he couldn't give him the answer he wanted. So instead, he replied, "Apparently, I need to have a word with your mother before I do anything else. Do as she says and run along now."
Tyrion could feel Sansa's eyes boring into him, but he did his best to ignore it. He watched as little Eddard Lannister turned around and raced out of the library. The moment he was gone, Sansa closed the door behind her, and Tyrion knew they were in for another difficult talk.