Jon Connington strode into Tyrion's solar without knocking, dropping a thick letter on his desk. "This arrived this morning, from the Citadel," he announced, pacing to the window. "This seems to be getting out of hand."
Tyrion reached for the packet, scanning the pages. "Well," he said on a sigh. "We've already heard that the white walkers have returned, so this isn't news to us. But I'd prefer, as I'm sure you do, that this not get out and create a panic."
"My boy will have no idea of how to deal with this," he said, his voice hard and low.
"None of us do," Tyrion said absently. His eyes continued to scan the sheets as Lord Connington brooded by the window. "It's been centuries since the white walkers were seen. Most count them a myth."
"He'll need you," Lord Connington said. "He'll have to lean on you heavily."
Tyrion's eyes flickered to the doorway, ensuring he didn't see anyone before resting on his visitor. "He'll need both of us," he said softly. "Surely now you can delay your departure?"
"No," was the abrupt reply. "I should have already gone." Although the thought of leaving Aegon pained him, just this morning he'd realized that the grayscale was almost to his wrist. Only his thumb was unaffected, and it was only a matter of time. And somehow, most likely in bathing, it had spread to his toe. He was beginning to fear he'd infect one of the servants who cleaned his room, or the boy who tended his things.
"My lord," Tyrion sighed.
"It isn't a subject I will debate." Lord Connington turned from the window, his gaze direct. "You need to read up on these white walkers, and how they were defeated before. The Citadel said they're sending a few books, but it will be weeks before they arrive. I'm sure the Keep library will have something that references it, as well. I will leave this problem in your capable hands, my lord." He turned to leave.
"Have you told him yet?" Tyrion asked as he approached the door. "That you're leaving?"
Lord Connington stopped, then returned slowly. "No. I most likely will not. He will not take it well. I will leave him a note, most likely in your care. And again, this is not a subject I wish to debate," he said firmly when Tyrion began to speak. "I have my reasons, and I'll thank you to respect them." Turning again, he left the room swiftly.
Tyrion looked after him exasperatedly. "Damn," he sighed. Shoving the sheets back into their packet, he straightened his desk and slid from his chair. Apparently, he now had to figure out how to defeat white walkers, in addition to everything else he was doing.
Hours later, after a full day of research, and a brief conversation with Lord Connington and the King, he made his way towards the large suite of room Dany and her staff had been given. Messendei smiled when she saw him. "Hello, my lord."
"Hello dear, how are you? Are you enjoying King's Landing?" He smiled at the girl. She was polite, pretty, and much more intelligent than most believed.
She shrugged. "It is cold here," she said. "The Queen is on the terrace." She gestured towards the wide balcony.
Tyrion stared at the figure on the balcony for a long moment. "Thank you," he muttered, heading out to see her. It had been a long day, and his back and legs ached miserably. She would be standing in the freezing night air, and he without his cloak. The ache in his back and legs would be unbearable by the time he finally found his bed. But the thought of his bed brought the thought of Sansa. Well, never let it be said that Lady Lannister is slack in her duties, my lord. He couldn't stop the smile as he stepped out into the night air.
She was looking up to the sky where her white dragon circled the Keep. Tyrion paused beside her, his gaze also on the dragon. "How have they been managing?" he asked quietly. He was one of the few who knew about the little girl that had lost her life to Drogon's appetite.
She was silent as she watched the dragon until he angled north and flew away, his thick wings beating loudly in the stillness of the night. "The usual," she said softly. "Horses, cows, sheep."
He nodded thankfully. That was a problem they did not need.
"Have you come to talk me out of the child?" she asked sweetly, as she turned to go inside. Tyrion followed her gratefully into the warmth of the room, and Messendei hurriedly pulled the doors closed.
"I will attempt it, if it can be done," he said, climbing into a chair and allowing Messendei to press a cup of warmed, spiced wine into his hand.
"Your Sansa certainly had much to say about it." She didn't sound at all perturbed.
Tyrion studied her over the rim of his cup. "You know she's terrified that she's ruined your friendship."
Dany smiled softly. "I value your lady's wisdom and level headedness." She took a sip from her own cup. "She would make an excellent queen."
"Yes, she would," Tyrion agreed.
"Already, she manages the Keep and the King's social engagements, as well as her own. The people call her the Lady of the Keep."
"Do they?" he smiled. "Well, I suppose she is."
"And she is quite fond of you."
"That is pleasing, as I grow fonder of her daily," Tyrion's smile widened.
"I am glad," Dany said firmly. "I want you to be happy."
"Your Majesty, I am as happy as I've ever been," he assured her.
"Good. And I still want the child."
Damn. "Fortunately, I didn't come here to talk about that," he said.
"Then what bring you to my rooms at this late hour? The tongues will wag, my lord, that you've sought out the Queen's company at this time of night," she teased.
"The tongues will wag regardless," Tyrion chuckled. "But I'm here to ask for your help. Have you ever heard of the white walkers?"
Dany frowned slightly, shaking her head. "No?"
Sliding out of his chair, he brought over the book he'd been carrying, opening it to the bookmarked page. "Creatures of legend," he said. "From what I can gather, over eight thousand years ago, they appeared during the Long Night, which was an extended winter season. They attacked from the far North, the Land of Always Winter." He sat the book in her lap, and she looked at it, mildly curious. "Fearsome creatures. It is said they were made by magic, by the Children of the Forest, in order to protect them from the men who were beginning to invade. But at some point they lost control of them, and the white walkers became an entity unto themselves."
"I believe I heard Viserys speak of these creatures," she said slowly, remembering the taunts of her brother. "He called them The Others."
Tyrion nodded. "Yes, many do." He watched as she flipped a few pages, the looked up to him.
"What has this to do with me?"
"We've been told that they've appeared again," Tyrion said gravely. "In the North, up at the Wall."
"The magical ice wall that was built to hold them back?" She turned a few pages, her eyes resting on an oil portrait of the towering wall of ice.
"Yes," Tyrion said, reaching for his wine.
"How do you stop them?" she asked curiously.
"Dragonglass," Tyrion sighed. "Obsidian. I'm trying to gather as much as I can, but…" he sighed. "There isn't much left in the Seven Kingdoms. We've sent word to Dragonstone, I believe they have some of the last of it, but it was last owned by Renly Baratheon, so I have no idea of how loyal they are to the new King, even though it's been a Targaryn stronghold for generations."
Dany nodded. "I was born there," she said.
"I'm hoping the staff there still holds some loyalty to your family, and will jump at the opportunity to serve the new King," he said.
"So obsidian is the only way to kill these creatures?" She looked down at the book again.
"No, they can be killed other ways," Tyrion admitted. "But the problem is they are magical in nature. As soon as the sun sets, they rise again, along with everyone they killed in battle, who are now changed into the creatures themselves. It provides them an ever growing army."
Dany looked amused. "This sounds like a story concocted for children."
Tyrion's smiled was grim. "It's been used as such for thousands of years. But the reports we've received are fairly reliable."
"You still haven't told me what this has to do with me," she said.
"The only other way to stop them permanently is with fire."
Dany frowned, understanding, then set the book on the table and picked up her wine. "My nephew is hoping to distract me from the child." Her tone was disapproving.
"Your nephew knows nothing of this," Tyrion lied. "John Connington and I are trying to get an idea of how serious this is before we take it to him. The problem is that the reports we've received are reliable, although I admit the entire thing is fanciful. I just," he sighed, moving to pour himself more wine. "I just don't know what to believe," he said quietly, coming to stand beside her. "As you yourself have said, this sounds like a story made up to frighten disobedient children. But if this is true, the consequences would be deadly, and not just for the Seven Kingdoms. According to history, the last time the white walkers appeared, weather changed all over the world, even in Essos. The Rhoyne froze so thickly that people could walk on it. It might be a few years before that happens, but if this is real, it will affect you and your people as well."
Dany sat silently, studying the man beside her. She trusted him. He was one of the most intelligent men she'd ever met, and he wasn't the type to overreact. More and more she thought of going home, back to Meereen. But she'd heard nothing from her Hand since she'd been in King's Landing, surely he would have sent word if there were problems? "Fine," she sighed. "I'll go."
Five days later, Dany boarded a ship commissioned by the throne to take she, Messendei, and her guards to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. From there they'd travel to Castle Black, where she would meet with the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Jon Snow. "He's my natural brother, my father's oldest son. He was born before my parents married," Sansa had told her. She'd sent him a small package and a letter, letting him know that she was well and proud of him for rising so quickly to the position of Lord Commander.
When he returned to the Keep, Tyrion met with the King and Lord Connington. "She's on her way," he said. "She'll be gone months, at the least."
The King sighed as he looked out of the window. "And you're sure this is working?"
"I am," Tyrion assured him, as Lord Connington nodded.
"The last letter from the Tyrell girl said that she's making headway," he said. "She's become close friends with the King, and has met all of the nobles, and mentioned to many that Queen Danerys considers herself to be home, and that she questions if she'll actually return. In addition, Barriston Selmy is said to be losing his grip on the city, although he does have the support of her army. But the people want her gone as well, from the talk she's heard. She's doing her best to sow dissention there, and urge Selmy to return to your service."
"It helps that she hasn't heard any word from him," Tyrion said. "Perhaps when she returns, we'll pass those letters on to her. By then things will hopefully have gotten so bad in Meereen that she'll leave immediately."
"Or perhaps she'll decide to stay here permanently," the King said, turning to look at them. It was a thought he'd discussed with them, that his aunt would decide to remain here and become his bride.
"I don't think so," Tyrion said. "As Sansa pointed out to her, the Iron Throne was Viscerys dream, not hers. Meereen is where she's earned her crown, and she wants to return there. Sansa has said that she's made many remarks about returning home. But going up to the Wall will buy us more time for Margeary to complete her work across the narrow sea, and if there really are white walkers, the dragons should take care of them."
"And while she's gone, I need to find a bride," the King sighed.
"Sansa is already working on that, Your Majesty," Tyrion assured him. "She should have a list ready for you to see within a few days."
"I don't need to see it, it's just words on a piece of paper," he said dismissively. "Just get them all here as quickly as possible." He wasn't thrilled with the idea of marrying, even as he understood the necessity of it, not only for heirs, but to dissuade his aunt's plan. But mostly because he still cared for Sansa and didn't want to give up the idea of her as his Queen. He occasionally wondered if he'd offered her the North's freedom if she would have chosen differently. But she'd made her choice and he was trying to accept it, although he still couldn't understand it. Why would she choose Tyrion over him? If it had been the knight from the Vale, he could see it, almost. But Tyrion?
Within days Sansa had sent the invitations all across the Seven Kingdoms. "In this weather," she said to Tyrion worriedly as she stood by the window in his solar one night, watching the snow fall. "I don't know if they'll arrive, or when. And traveling to King's Landing will be difficult, to say the least."
"And yet, I'm willing to wager that every family invited will manage to attend," he said absently, his eyes still on the book he was reading. "It's their chance to meet the King, swear fealty, and possibly have their daughter wed him. They'll come."
Sansa knew he was right. She had eight weeks to prepare not only the ball, but several smaller events and luncheons, and to begin planning the wedding, as well. They wanted it all wrapped up and done within twelve weeks, at most. She was nervous, but looking forward to it. And with her work in the city as well, especially now that the Queen was gone, she knew she'd be amazingly busy. Dropping a kiss on Tyrion's golden head, she went to find Alinor. She might as well get started.