Chapter 7
Opening the door to Tyrion's cell had done what both Daenerys had Cersei had failed to do – it had shattered Sansa's walls into a thousand pieces. The image of a grinning Tyrion with curly golden hair and bright green eyes was ripped away from her, replaced by the broken man they found in the dungeons. Tyrion had whimpered, cried and curled away from her when she tried to approach him. Sansa had spent some time talking softly to him, promising he was safe and they were going to help him but it hadn't made any difference.
Sansa had tried to peel the blanket away from him to check his injuries, but he'd begged and pleaded for her to leave him be – to let him die. It had become obvious very quickly that Tyrion didn't recognise her or anyone else. His eyes were huge and Arya had mentioned a couple of Lannister guards giving him something for the pain earlier. The blanket was thread bare and covered in dried blood, excrement and all manner of unpleasantness but Tyrion's left hand had clutched it around him like a lifeline and Sansa figured it was better to leave him be for now. The cell was draughty and smelt like death – getting Tyrion out was the first priority.
Unfortunately that was easier said than done.
In the end she'd asked Grey Worm to pick him up, despite the heart-breaking sobs he was trying to stifle as they moved him.
"Please, no more..." he cried, trembling in Grey Worm's arms as they made their way out into the corridor
"It ok Tyrion, I not hurt you" said Grey Worm, adjusting his grip around him
Pod had been sent to find the best healers and set up a room while they took Tyrion from the black cells. Varys held the torch closer to Tyrion as they moved from the cell and into the corridor. The darkness was hiding a lot, but the faint orange glow was enough to illuminate the bleeding gash above his left eye and the bruising around his face. Some of the marks were faded while others looked recent – they all made bile burn up Sansa's throat.
She moved around Grey Worm until Tyrion could see her, forcing a smile "We're your friends Tyrion, you're safe with us, ok? We just want to help you"
Tyrion didn't answer though he squirmed weakly in Grey Worm's grasp.
"Lady Sansa, we must get him out of here" said Varys, pity filling his eyes as he looked at Tyrion
Reluctantly she tore her eyes from Tyrion, dropping just behind Grey Worm as Varys led them out of the black cell.
"I'm sorry" said Arya. Somehow her sister had shed the rest of her disguise while she was in the cell, and was now wearing her own face.
"This isn't your fault"
"When I got down here there were Lannister guards beating him. They enjoyed it Sansa"
A chill crept down her spine at her sister's warning "Understood. They turned on Cersei but I certainly don't trust them"
"A couple of them did try and help him"
"Too little, too late" said Sansa, as they hurried along the corridors "Would you remember the guards who hurt him?"
"I was wearing one of their faces"
"Arya, I need to know who's loyal to Tyrion and who isn't"
Her sister nodded, a grim light in her grey eyes "I'll look into it"
They'd just made it back to the ground floor of the Red Keep when Podrick reappeared, his face bright red and beaded with sweat "They're waiting for him...a room upstairs..."
Sansa's mind was a battlefield as they made their way upstairs. Every cry from Tyrion cut into her like a knife and it made a liar of everything she'd told herself. At the same time the Red Keep brought her nothing but unpleasant memories. The Lannister guards everywhere, the icy fear in her gut – she felt little more than a child again.
When they eventually made it to the room Pod had been directed to Sansa was instantly suspicious. There were six Maesters waiting for them of varying ages, some with heavier chains than others.
"Lady Stark" greeted one man, his beard short and sharp in contrast with his round bald head "You have need of us?"
Protectiveness reared in Sansa as the Maesters eyed the trembling Tyrion, still cocooned in his blanket as Grey Worm held him. Why so many of them? They weren't here out of concern for Tyrion that was for certain. Sansa was about to tell Grey Worm to take Tyrion back until Varys caught her arm.
"No-one sits the Iron Throne at present, but you are the one who defeated Cersei. Grand Maester is a vacant position, and you are seen as the likely successor to the throne" he whispered
"I don't want it" she hissed back, eyeing the men as they waited around an empty table in the middle of the room
"The throne is yet to be decided" he said, disappointment in his tone "but you can use this temporary power to help our friend"
Sansa wavered, glancing between the assembled Maesters and Tyrion. They didn't care for him, they wanted to use him to buy favour with who they thought would be Queen – why should she hesitate to use them?
"Set him down" said Sansa, nodding her assent to Grey Worm
Almost instantly the Maesters surrounded him and Tyrion's whimpers turned to cries of terror. Grey Worm's face pulled into a deep frown as he stepped back from the table, while both Podrick and Varys looked pained.
"I'll take my leave unless you have need of me" said Varys "I fear I don't have the stomach for this"
Sansa nodded distractedly "There'll need to be a meeting to decide the throne. Bran's sent out ravens already..."
He patted her arm "I will assist in organising it"
"You want us stay?" asked Grey Worm, turning away from the table
"Will you guard the door?" she asked
"Of course" he said
"I will too" said Pod, casting a sad glance at the swarm of Maesters "unless you want me to stay in here?"
"It's alright" she said "I'll call you in if needed"
When the two men had left the room Arya turned to her "You don't have to stay – you aren't responsible for Tyrion"
Sansa narrowed her eyes at her sister "I'm not leaving him"
"I'm only saying don't feel like you have to be here. You wanted to rescue him and now he's safe; no-one will blame you if you don't want to deal with this"
"You might not care about him, but I do" she said, dropping her voice dangerously low "I am not leaving him alone"
Arya sighed, rolling her shoulders "Alright. I'll leave you to it then"
The door closed softly behind Arya and Sansa drew in a deep breath, steadying her nerves. Despite what she'd told Arya part of her didn't want to see this. Hearing whispers of what had happened to Tyrion and seeing the damage were not the same thing. Whatever awaited her on the table would shatter the image of Tyrion that had found a home in her heart.
She hesitated only a moment longer, allowing herself to remember his hand closing around hers and the kiss on the back of it that somehow promised they'd both survive the long night.
'I'll never hurt you' whispered the voice she knew so well
"I'll protect you" she whispered to herself, before moving to Tyrion's side
Some of the Maesters weren't keen to let Sansa through when she approached the table.
"You've no need to stay lady Stark" said one man, his chain clinking as he shook his head "we will handle lord Tyrion"
"This is hardly a woman's place" said another
"I'm not leaving him" she said, narrowing her eyes at the men
Most were quite elderly, reminding her sharply of Pycelle. The thought of the creepy Grand Maester sent her stomach into knots. Tyrion would not be left alone with these strangers, no matter how much it offended their pride to have her here.
The one who'd greeted her at the door nodded to the others and a path was cleared to let her next to the table. Tyrion was still clutching at his blanket, shaking on the table as tears slid down his face. The better lighting in the room allowed Sansa to see his face properly and the sight made her throat tighten. Bruises and cuts covered his face, including a line of stitches that crossed the bottom part of his scar. The wound looked a few days old at least and cut diagonally from the bottom of his scar to his jaw. Blood covered his face from the gash above his left eyebrow and a deep purple ringed the eye. Sansa's gaze wandered to his head and the patchy golden hair he'd been left. Most of it had been sheared down to nothing though a few tufts remained, giving him the look of a mad vagrant. It wasn't right – Tyrion was a lord, he wasn't supposed to look like this.
"What are you waiting for?" she asked, pulling her eyes from Tyrion to the group of Maesters watching
Things moved quicker after that though it only deepened her anger. Varys was right that many of these men wanted her favour. They didn't care for Tyrion at all. Nonetheless Sansa would use them. A stool was brought over for her so she could sit next to Tyrion's head while the Maester's discussed how to approach this. Bits of their conversation drifted through Sansa's ears as she watched over him.
"This is Qyburn's work no doubt"
"His pupils are huge and he's not responding to questions – there's some sort of concoction in his system"
"Undoubtedly, but if Qyburn's involved it could be anything"
Much was said before anything was actually done. They examined his eyes and the bleeding gash on his head, but Tyrion flinched from their every touch – squirming and shaking on the table.
Sansa wouldn't leave, but she didn't entirely know what to do either. Her feelings for Tyrion were something she'd buried deep inside her. The document nestled in the folds of the gown told her this man was her husband, but to both of them their marriage had been a sham. Aside from that she didn't know how Tyrion felt about her. She swallowed thickly, reaching out to brush her finger against the side of his face.
It didn't matter how Tyrion felt about her. Somehow he'd found his way past her defences to a place long buried. Whether he wanted her with him now was impossible to know, but she wouldn't leave his side until he was well enough to ask her to.
'Until you've healed, until you're you again – you're under my care' she thought, letting her finger brush away the dampness on his cheek 'what happens after that we'll decide together'
The blanket had to go – that was the first priority.
Unfortunately Tyrion wasn't willing to part from it.
Whatever meagre strength he had left clung to the filthy blanket that covered his body. It occurred to Sansa as a couple of Maesters tried to prise it from him that he was only clutching it with one hand.
"Hold him down" ordered the old Maester with a pointed beard. She'd heard another man call him Gallard
"No...please" cried Tyrion, his voice weak and scratchy as he tried to escape the hands grabbing at him
"Shh, you're ok" soothed Sansa, stroking his cheek "let us help you. You're safe now"
It did nothing to settle him as the blanket was torn away from him and thrown in the corner; a heart-wrenching sob escaping him as it was done. Sansa wanted to reassure him, but her eyes drifted over his exposed body and every comforting word died in her throat.
"Did you really tell Sansa to leave him?" asked Jon, raising an eyebrow at her
Arya sighed "I didn't mean it like that. I only meant he wasn't her responsibility"
"You know how she feels about him"
Turning away from Jon, she drew her attention to the Iron Throne. A mix of Unsullied and Lannister guards were stood guarding it but the seat itself was vacant. Arya didn't understand why anyone would want to sit there. The power it gave came at a terrible price.
"Not tempted?" asked Arya, glancing sideways at Jon
His jaw clenched "No. I told you I'm going North"
"Sansa doesn't want it either. She just wants Northern independence"
"Whether she gets it or not depends on who sits in that chair"
"I'm sorry" said Sansa, brushing her fingers down the side of Tyrion's face "I'm so sorry"
Tyrion didn't settle no matter how much she tried to soothe him and it only added to her guilt. He'd become near hysterical when the blanket was torn away from him and the sight that met Sansa had been enough that she'd lurched away from him to be sick.
The flush of embarrassment at seeing his naked body had quickly been replaced by horror at his injuries and she'd left his side while the Maesters checked him over. That wouldn't do; she'd promised to protect Tyrion – that he was under her care.
Sansa had thrown up twice before getting herself under control and returning to Tyrion. He was shaking and flinching as the Maesters examined him, tears streaming down his face. She kept her focus on his face, refusing to look at the injuries that covered him as she whispered apologies. Sansa was here to help him, not add to his distress. While she hadn't expected him to be naked under the blanket, turning away from him had nothing to do with his body and everything to do with the broken mess he'd been left as.
The group of Maesters were studying Tyrion as if he was a project – all had their own ideas on how to treat him. Of the six waiting to treat him when he was brought in only four remained. One had suggested they give Tyrion enough milk of the Poppy to ease his passing; a suggestion she'd immediately refused.
"How dare you?" she'd growled
"Gods have mercy on him he's suffered enough. There is no fixing this lady Stark – better to let him die a clean death than linger in agony"
Needless to say Sansa had dismissed the Maester, warning any of the others who shared the same view to leave. Another old man had left with him, leaving Gallard and three other men in the room with them.
She sighed, realising Varys was correct. The lady of Winterfell would not have the power to dismiss the Maesters, but they believed she was to be the new Queen – whether they agreed with her or not it was better to obey. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. She wanted nothing more than to leave Kings Landing far behind her, but she wouldn't leave without Tyrion. For now the priority was getting him the best care possible so she could take him home.
"Not again..." whimpered Tyrion, squirming weakly on the table "please no"
Reluctantly Sansa tore her eyes from Tyrion's face to see what was going on. Gallard and two other Maesters were examining his private area, pressing down on his legs and stomach to keep him still. Sansa's throat tightened at the sight. Sansa hadn't lingered looking at his injuries but she'd noticed the bruising around that area immediately – though his whole body was bathed in black and blue.
"It's alright" she told Tyrion "no-one will hurt you"
Against her will her eyes moved to his chest and the drawing that sat above his heart. Tyrion was covered in filth and blood but she could still make out the drawing depicting the hand of the Queen badge he'd once been so proud of. It sat exactly where it had on his tunic; there to mock him no doubt – a reminder of the betrayal that had cost him so much. Sansa had noticed a few other ink drawings on his body, though they were words rather than images; imp, kinslayer. A cruel way to humiliate him, but ultimately pointless – Sansa would make sure it was all washed off later. At the very least she could give him back a piece of his dignity.
Tyrion lurched on the table, gut-wrenching sobs escaping him as the Maesters continued to prod and probe him. Sansa had asked them why not give him something to let him sleep through this, but Maester Gallard had shaken his head.
"Too dangerous my lady. We don't know what's in his system but given Qyburn is involved it could be a mixture of anything. Flushing it fully from his system could take days"
"Is that why he's confused?" she asked
"It's likely a combination of many things; whatever concoctions he's been given mixed with the extensive trauma he's suffered. I'd say he has several broken bones, and given his distress doesn't appear to be from pain whatever is in his system is likely numbing him to his injuries"
Sansa knew there was truth in his words, but it didn't make it any easier to stomach Tyrion's frightened cries. He was utterly terrified, and the Maesters were happy to ignore it.
"I think this will help"
Sansa turned to see the fourth Maester in the room standing beside her, the ratty blanket in his hands. The man was younger than the other Maesters with only a few links in his chain. He had light brown hair and a well-trimmed beard, his face smiling kindly at Tyrion.
"Here you are lord Tyrion" he said, placing the blanket next to his left side "You missed this didn't you?"
At the sight of the blanket Tyrion's cries quieted somewhat, his wide green eyes staring at the filthy rag. The Maester nodded encouragingly and Tyrion's fingers lightly brushed over it. He looked at them as though he was expecting a trick, and when none came he wound his hand into the blanket – clutching it as if it were a lifeline. A hollow ache rose in Sansa's chest; she'd tried to hold his hand but he wouldn't uncurl his fist and her attempts do so had only furthered his distress.
The other Maesters were still examining Tyrion, but some of the terror had eased from his face.
"How did you know to do that?" she asked, glancing at the man beside her
"I've seen this before my lady. I once treated a man who fell in battle and was left among the dying for days. He'd found a boot at some point and refused to let go of it – it had been his only comfort"
"You're saying that filthy rag has been his only comfort all these weeks?"
The man shrugged "I cannot say for certain, but from what I've observed it appears to be true"
"He's safe now" said Sansa "I'll look after him"
"That is good to hear, but lord Tyrion doesn't know that and from what I've seen will be unlikely to believe it anyway" he said gently "For now that ragged blanket gives him comfort. When he is ready he will give it up, but taking it from him will only further his distress"
Sansa's heart ached that the blanket brought Tyrion a comfort she'd failed to. The other Maesters had ripped it away from him without a second thought, but the man beside her had seen a different significance in it.
"Lady Stark, treatment can begin if you are ready to leave" said Maester Gallard
Sansa's head snapped up to see the other two Maesters preparing equipment – one was bringing straps over to the table.
"What are you going to do?" she asked, unease flitting through her
The old man smiled as if to reassure her "From what I've seen his right arm is useless to him. The shoulder has been broken and already began setting in the wrong place, so there's not much to do there"
The man beside her stiffened "We should re-break it and set it properly"
Gallard's face pulled into a frown "A waste of time. Qyburn's mutilated his hand – it's hard to tell exactly what's been done but it's clearly been cut open. That arm's all but useless if his hand's ruined"
Sansa's heart thumped painfully in her chest "What else?"
"His ribs are cracked, possibly broken. They can be wrapped and will heal with bed rest. His right leg is the problem. There are a couple of breaks in it and the bones are out of alignment. Based on the scar around his knee, I'd say Qyburn's been experimenting with the joint – the easiest solution is to take the leg"
"What?" said Sansa, the colour draining from her face
"That's unnecessary" said the Maester beside her, a frown crossing his face "We can set his leg with splints, no matter what Qyburn's done to his knee"
Gallard shot him a glare but otherwise ignored his interruption "After that there's nothing to do for his other injuries than wrap them. The burns on his left arm may need a few stitches. The bruising around his groin doesn't seem to have caused permanent damage and there's obviously nothing to be done for the tattoos. If you're ready to leave we will remove the leg and bandage his wounds. Lord Tyrion will live, though I fear his mind may be lost. I can have him leeched to try and clear his system if you like"
Sansa froze, her mind reeling with information. They were going to take his leg, his right arm was useless. Tyrion was going to be crippled. Through all of the thoughts swirling in her mind, one dominated the rest.
"Tattoos?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper
The old Maester nodded grimly "A barbaric practice, regularly used on slaves in cities like Volantis. It's often done to fools as well – motley over their faces and such"
She reached out, rubbing her shaking fingers over the image on his chest and hoping with all her heart it would wipe away. Tyrion flinched at the contact, shuddering beneath her.
"Please...no..." he cried, clutching his blanket in his good hand
A lump formed in Sansa's throat – it wouldn't come off. Without thinking her eyes swept over his body, picking out the patches of ink she'd glimpsed on him before. Much of it was buried beneath layers of dirt and blood, but Sansa could still read the words. The word 'imp' was written neatly down his left ribs, while 'Kinslayer' was marked to the left of his lower abdomen. Vomit clawed up Sansa's throat as the realisation sunk in. Those cruel words would never leave him – the Hand of the Queen badge would always be there to mock him.
'I'm so sorry Tyrion' she thought 'I should have been quicker; you shouldn't be suffering like this'
"It shouldn't take long lady Stark" said Maester Gallard, drawing her attention "When I have finished with lord Tyrion, I am more than happy to help you make sense of the current situation in Kings Landing"
The other two Maesters had begun securing straps around Tyrion, pinning him to the table despite his anguished cries.
Sansa forced herself from the chair, her legs shaking beneath her as rage bubbled in her stomach. The quickest, easiest solution - they didn't care about healing Tyrion at all. Maester Gallard had taken charge of the other two and it was increasingly clear to Sansa he only wanted to position himself in her good graces. The citadel might choose the Grand Maester but the ruling monarch's favour would surely go a long way. Treating Tyrion was to appease her and nothing more.
It was when one of the men went to take Tyrion's blanket she found her voice.
"Stop" she said, the room falling silent "I thank you for your help Maester Gallard and your colleagues, but I will be pursuing different treatment for lord Tyrion"
The old man's eyes narrowed "My lady, what I say is the truth. It is the only way to treat him"
Sansa turned to the fourth Maester stood beside her "Is it?"
"You can't mean to take the advice of Henly!" interrupted Gallard, his face pinched in anger "I've studied far longer than him; my knowledge would be invaluable to you. Henly focuses only on his own interests"
"I focus on healing" said Maester Henly, fiddling with the silver link in his chain "Maester Gallard is correct, his knowledge far exceeds my own - though I dare say my experience of treating the wounded is greater. His evaluation of lord Tyrion's injuries is correct but there are other ways to treat him, of that I can assure you"
The weight of responsibility fell heavily over Sansa as she glanced between the men. Was it right that she was making Tyrion's medical decisions? There was no-one else to do it - nobody else she trusted. The last of his family was Cersei and she'd caused him all this pain in the first place. She moved her gaze to Tyrion's tear stained face as he shook on the table. The green eyes she knew so well were wide and unfocused, darting around the room like a frightened animal. The other Maesters had backed away from the table at her intervention but they'd already strapped Tyrion's legs down and placed another across his waist.
A fierce protectiveness reared in Sansa. He'd been betrayed, beaten and broken - but Sansa would never allow him to be mistreated again.
She turned to Maester Henly "How would you treat him?"
"Firstly I'd give him a bath. His injuries are serious, but at the moment he doesn't seem to feel them - better to try and build some trust with him rather than rushing" said Henly "Aside from that he's very agitated. Adding the stress of an unnecessary amputation while he's in such a state will only strain his heart"
"My lady if you are not happy with the treatment I propose I will explore other options, but lord Tyrion has no next of kin - in these situations Maesters usually decide" said Gallard
Sansa's nostrils flared at the subtle warning. Letting her stay in here was simply to appease her, this man was warning her they had the power in this situation - an assumption she would crush.
"Thank you for your help Maester Gallard" she said, her tone icy "but I believe Maester Henly's plan is in lord Tyrion's best interests"
"My lady, I mean no offence but you are hardly in a position to make that decision for him. You are not family"
"He's my friend" she said "His family caused this, unless you'd rather seek Cersei's opinion in the black cells?"
"Certainly not" said Gallard, his face paling
The documents in her gown called to her. She could use them if necessary - claim Tyrion as hers. The temptation drifted through her, but ultimately she decided not to. If she revealed their marriage status now the information would spread like wildfire and Sansa still wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. That these Maesters hadn't brought it p, told Sansa they likely didn't know. For now that was the best way.
She turned to Henly "Will you treat him?"
The man gave a small smile, bowing his head "Certainly my lady"
"I will see you and your colleagues are compensated for your time Maester Gallard" said Sansa, turning away from the three men stood at the end of the table to focus on Tyrion "That will be all"
She was vaguely aware of the three men storming out of the room and Henly removing the restraints from Tyrion, but all she could focus on was Tyrion's tear stained face as she leaned over him.
"I'm sorry Tyrion" she said "I'll do better - I promise. No-one will ever hurt you again"
Sansa wasn't sure what compelled her to do it. Whether it was his red-rimmed eyes or the frightened sobs escaping him as he tried to curl into a ball - but somehow she found herself pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Tyrion stilled at the action as Sansa's stomach lurched wondering if she'd upset him. He looked so lost; she'd only wanted to comfort him.
Wide green eyes stared up at her, and for a moment Sansa saw her Tyrion buried beneath the pain.
"Did you like that?" she asked softly
He didn't answer, but his eyes were focused on hers now. He wasn't well, his pupils were huge and he was trembling; but he'd quieted somewhat - watching her warily to see what came next.
"Would you like another one?"
Sansa made sure he could see what she was doing as she lowered her head to his, kissing his forehead this time. He flinched at the contact, but Sansa lingered for a moment before pulling back.
Tears burned at her own eyes as she looked at Tyrion, and the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his mouth.
Cersei grit her teeth, rubbing her arms against the cold of the cell. It had been hours since she was removed from the throne and left to linger in this box like prison. The darkness was oppressive, reminding her of her time as the High Sparrows prisoner. At first she'd tried to order the Lannister guards to defend her.
"I'm the Queen!" she shouted as she was dragged from the throne "Kill them! Kill them all"
"You're Queen no longer" said Sansa, shaking her head in disgust
Cersei turned to the captain of her guards "I'm the lady of Casterly Rock - you are sworn to serve me"
"We serve the lord of Casterly Rock, and that is lord Tyrion Lannister" he said, his face twisted in anger "You lied to us; you made us complicit in betraying our rightful lord"
Sansa Stark had turned the Lannister forces against her. What did it matter if Tyrion had never been formally disinherited? He'd killed their father - he was a monster. Nobody would want to serve an imp.
A smile pulled at Cersei's face. Surely there were still Lannister guards loyal to her. Threatening would not work when she was in such a weak position, but charm could. All men were led by that the little worm between their legs after all. She pushed up from the grimy floor, moving to the slot of bars embedded in the heavy wooden door. All she needed was a few guards she could charm. The promise of castles, lordship - whatever would persuade them. Cersei forced down her inner lioness, making sure her face reflected vulnerability. Who could refuse a lady in distress?
It was as she peered through the bars of her cell hope died in her chest. There were three guards outside her prison - all wearing the uniform of the Unsullied.
'No' she thought, rage spreading through her as she grasped the bars.
Men could be easily led, men could be manipulated - but the Unsullied weren't like other men. The worm between their legs was long gone and with it Cersei's hope of escape.
Why was everything different?
Tyrion's heart pounded unevenly in his chest as the woman held him still, her long fingers brushing over his forehead as she cradled his head in her lap.
The rules had changed again and no-one had told him how to play. Life in his cell was simple. If he slept he was beaten. If he angered Cersei he was beaten. At least once a day he was brought to Qyburn.
Life was an endless cycle of pain but Tyrion knew how to make things a little easier. Speak only when spoken to, don't resist and never mention Cersei's children or Jamie. Something warm ran from his eyes at the thought of Jamie. He was his big brother until the Dragon Queen killed him.
Thoughts and memories swirled through Tyrion's mind as the woman with the pretty red hair and gentle hands stroked his face. Something niggled at the back of his mind saying he knew this woman but that couldn't be true. He was an imp; the pretty woman wouldn't go near an imp.
Somehow things had changed today. The routine had changed and so had the rules. The pain would be here any moment now; it always came. Qyburn wasn't here though. There was a different man wearing grey robes in the room. Tyrion didn't trust him. There'd been more like him before – they'd touched him and tied him down like Qyburn. They'd taken his friend away too.
He wound his hand tighter into the blanket – it was all he had left.
Maybe this man wasn't so bad. He'd given him back his blanket and hadn't hurt him yet. The woman had been nice to him too; her voice soft and gentle. Not like Cersei.
'It's a trap' urged his mind 'don't fall for it. Remember the rules'
The man in grey pulled a stool up beside him, a needle in his hand. This was it - the pain was starting again. A tremble went through him as he tried to prepare for what came next.
"I'd like to fix your arm for you lord Tyrion" said the man, smiling at him "It looks quite sore"
Was the man confused? He wasn't a lord - he was an imp. There was no point resisting, they would do what they wanted to him anyway. Tyrion looked away as the man examined the burns at the top of his left arm, his gaze wandering around the room. This wasn't like his cell or Qyburn's room - it was so much warmer. Brighter too.
The woman had come with other people and taken him from the cell, but he didn't know why. The routine had changed and it was terrifying. No-one had really hurt him though. The men in grey had scared him but there was only one left now. When they'd gone the woman and man had put him in a bath.
Nausea rolled through Tyrion recalling the experience - he'd thought they were going to drown him. Father had wanted to do that once; he'd wanted to leave him in the sea and let the waves take him.
They didn't drown him though. The water had been warm and…nice.
The man in grey lightly grasped his left wrist and Tyrion's hand tightened around the blanket, but the man only moved his arm to lie across his ribs. A moment later the woman's hand lay on top of his.
"It's alright" she said, her blue eyes leaning over him "Maester Henly is going to fix your arm. Just relax, ok? I won't let anyone hurt you"
The woman's fingers prised gently at his hand and Tyrion shuddered at the contact. He didn't want to lose his friend again. The woman's face turned downwards and she stopped trying to open his hand, leaving hers lying over his instead.
A pulling sensation startled him and he glanced sideways to see the Maester pushing a needle through the ripped flesh on his arm. Tyrion's breathing grew shallow - why couldn't he feel very much? His other arm wouldn't work anymore - what if this one stopped working too?
"Focus on me" said the woman, cupping the side of his face and drawing his gaze to hers
It was too late he'd seen that thing on his chest, illuminated by the light of the room. There it sat; a permanent reminder of all his failures. He'd trusted Daenerys; he'd have died for her - why had she turned on him? Did she just not like him anymore, or did he do something wrong? It was probably both.
"Would you like a new blanket?" asked the woman, catching his attention
There was so much going on. He didn't like this. Why couldn't he go back to his cell with his friend? It was cold and smelt bad, but things were simple. This woman was being so nice to him; it had to be a trap.
"You can keep this one too" added the woman, squeezing the top of his hand "I'll get you a soft, thick one to keep you warm. Does that sound good?"
That did sound nice. As much as he liked his friend it didn't keep him very warm and his cell was so very cold.
"I can get you one that's red and gold - maybe with lions on it?"
Lions. Red. Gold.
"No…please…not a lion" he begged, squirming weakly in her grasp "I'm an imp…not a lion"
The woman's eyes widened in fear "Ok Tyrion! No lions - I promise. Please relax…"
Red and gold were Lannister colours. They were the colours the guards wore when they beat him. He'd worn them once too, but he was only pretending to be a lion. He was nothing but a monster - he knew that now.
"Don't worry my lady - this is good progress" whispered the man as Tyrion's heart slammed against his chest
"I don't want to upset him" said the woman, her thumb rubbing circles into the back of his hand
"I understand but it's important we know what triggers to avoid. Talking to him is useful - it will show we're not his enemies"
The pulling continued in his arm sending a dull ache through the limb. It was a few minutes later when the woman spoke again.
"What colour blanket would you like Tyrion?" she asked
Questions were dangerous, he always got the answers wrong and it always hurt.
"Whatever you want" she promised "What's your favourite colour?"
She wanted an answer. It was worse if he didn't answer; but what answer did she want?
The woman was so pretty as she leaned over him - he was sure he knew her. Bright red hair framed her delicate face. Something in his chest relaxed as her soft eyes looked at him and Tyrion decided on the honest answer.
"Blue…" he mumbled, fidgeting with the material in his hand
Surprise flickered across her face before her mouth turned upwards into a smile.
"Alright" she said, leaning forwards to kiss the top of his head "A blue blanket just for you"
Warmth spread through Tyrion from where the woman kissed him and he found himself smiling too. He liked blue. It was safe; it kept him company when he was in his cell. Green eyes, purple eyes - they all betrayed him. Not blue though. Somehow he knew blue eyes wouldn't hurt him.
Sansa looked utterly exhausted when Arya went to visit her sister. Unsurprisingly the lady of Winterfell was not in the chambers they'd arranged for her, but in the adjacent room she'd insisted Tyrion be brought to.
"How is he?" asked Arya, eyeing the sleeping Lannister.
The room wasn't as big as Sansa's but her sister had been determined to keep him close. The bed was soft and comfortable, and there was light trickling in through the small window at one side. Anything was better than the squalid cell they'd taken him from.
Her sister lifted her red-rimmed eyes "Not good"
Arya's heart twisted for her sister. It was obvious she loved Tyrion, and Sansa's love was hard to win. Finding him so badly hurt must have broken her heart. She moved from her place in the doorway to the side of the bed where Sansa sat in a chair. A few pillows cushioned Tyrion's head and shoulders while several layers of blankets covered him. Her eyes were drawn to his left hand and the dirty, ragged blanket he clutched.
"I cleaned some of it while he was sleeping" said Sansa, following her gaze "Maester Henly said it's important we let him keep it until he gives it up himself"
Arya scrunched her nose "It's full of holes"
"I know. It needs burning really, but Tyrion's attached to it and he's not himself at the moment" said Sansa, brushing her hand over his
Most of the ragged material was trapped under the mattress leaving just enough lying on the bed for Tyrion to hold.
"We didn't want him to try and cover himself with it" said Sansa, as if reading her mind "it's far too dirty so we left it there for him to hold if he wants"
While Arya didn't necessarily understand Sansa's attachment to Tyrion, she knew when her sister loved she did so with all her heart. Ever since they left Winterfell all those years ago Sansa had suffered. They all had, but Sansa's naive innocence had been mercilessly crushed. Her soft heart was hidden behind a wall of ice now and only a select few were permitted behind the wall. Arya had been fairly neutral on Tyrion Lannister. His family were responsible for the deaths of hers, but he hadn't personally been involved. When they'd heard Daenerys and Tyrion were coming to Winterfell Arya had offered to kill the little Lannister. She knew Sansa had once been forced to marry him; Arya was happy to take revenge.
"Don't you dare" warned Sansa, her blue eyes flashing dangerously "You will treat lord Tyrion with respect"
"Why? You were forced to marry him Sansa – you don't owe him anything" said Arya "I know how much you looked forward to your wedding day when we were younger, and they married you to the imp. I can get rid of him for you. Both your husbands will be gone"
"You don't know what it was like in Kings Landing! Tyrion was forced into the marriage too and unlike everyone else in that hellhole he never hurt me. He saved me from Joffrey. He wouldn't consummate our marriage unless I wanted to"
"Being better that Joffrey is hardly an endorsement" said Arya
Sansa turned away "I trust him – treat him with the respect he showed me"
The conversation had been the first indication of Sansa's feelings, and Arya had spied on them together at Winterfell often enough to know he'd wormed his way into her heart. Whenever they were together Sansa smiled a little more, laughed more freely and her eyes sparked with a long absent warmth.
"It was too quick" said Sansa, drawing Arya's attention
"What was?"
"Daenerys death. What she did to him..." said Sansa, tears welling in her eyes "she got rid of him because of me"
"Oh, Sansa..."
"It's true" said Sansa "All the time we spent together at Winterfell. Gods Arya, he proposed Northern independence to her because of me"
"You don't know that"
"Yes I do. She was a jealous woman, the thought that Tyrion's loyalty wasn't completely hers..."
Sansa trailed off, tears spilling down her face as she adjusted the blankets over Tyrion. He didn't look right without his beard and his hair sheared down to patchy stubble. A frown covered his face even as he slept. It was as Sansa adjusted the covers she noticed his shoulder.
"What happened to his shoulder?" asked Arya, moving closer to the bed "Why hasn't it been fixed?"
Sansa paused her movements, glancing at Tyrion's sleeping face before pulling the sheets down to his waist. Arya sucked in a breath at the mess that met her gaze.
"Seven hells..." she muttered
"Maester Henly says his right shoulder is broken and has started to heal in the wrong place" said Sansa, biting her lip "We don't know what's in his system and he's so confused at the moment...Maester Henly is going to re-break it and set it properly in the next couple of days. Obviously Tyrion will need to be sedated for that but the Maester wants to give his body a chance to recover a bit first"
Arya nodded, moving her eyes over the damage. Bandages were wound around his torso but Arya could still see new and old bruises covering his exposed skin.
"His ribs are cracked, with at least two broken" listed Sansa "there was a pattern of burns on his left arm that needed sewing up. The cut above his eye needed a few stitches too. He's far too thin, and seems afraid to sleep - we ended up giving him some kind of herbal drink to get him to rest"
"What's that?" asked Arya, spotting a patch of what looked like ink hiding beneath the blankets.
Sansa eased the sheets down a little more to show her, though her hands shook as she did. Arya's mouth went dry as she read the word 'Kinslayer' written neatly across the left side of his lower abdomen.
"They...they gave him tattoos" said Sansa, her voice breaking "I thought it was just ink, that it would wipe off...it won't come off Arya"
"Where else?" asked Arya, clenching her jaw
Sansa brushed her hand over the bandages on Tyrion's ribs.
"It says 'Imp' there" she said, moving her hand to the top of his chest above his heart "here there's an image… the Hand of the Queen badge...Daenerys betrayed him and they put that on him forever. He was so proud of it when he came to Winterfell. There's one on the back of his shoulder too – it says little monster"
"I'm sorry" said Arya, and she meant it. She should have intervened with Daenerys earlier. All she could do now was try and support Sansa.
The lady of Winterfell, wiped at her eyes "I don't know much about tattoos. Only when that fool came to Winterfell, with the moon and stars across his face"
"It's more common in Essos" said Arya "I heard they do it to slaves in some cities"
"Tyrion's not a slave – he's a lord" insisted Sansa, pulling the covers over him once more
"Did the Maester say he'd recover?"
Sansa shook her head "He thinks Tyrion will heal in time but some of his injuries won't. Maester Henly set his broken leg, but he thinks Qyburn's done something to his knee. All of the Maesters think his right hand is ruined. There's a scar across the palm of his hand...and it won't move anymore"
Arya nodded, gripping her sister's shoulder "Daenerys might have died quickly - Cersei and Qyburn don't have to"
It was the following day when representatives of all the great houses were fully assembled in the Dragon Pit. Sansa sat along from Bran, Arya and Jon while representatives of the other houses were spread around the area. Lord Royce had taken up position with Robin Arryn and a couple of other lords from the Vale. Her uncle Edmure Tully had arrived earlier that day and sat over to their left. The new Dornish Prince was in attendance as was Yara Greyjoy, Samwell Tarly, Brienne of Tarth and Ser Davos Seaworth. Gendry had come as lord of Storm's End. Daenerys may have made the decision to legitimise him, but there were so few great houses left and his resemblance to Robert Baratheon was impossible to ignore - no-one was going to dispute his seat.
Lord Glover and a few of the other Northerners had joined them, but it was the Starks they would follow. As Varys stood in the centre of the Dragon Pit to begin the meeting Sansa's mind drifted to Tyrion in the Red Keep. She hadn't wanted to leave him, but this meeting was impossible to avoid. The sooner the throne was decided the sooner she could make plans to return home. Tyrion had slept for a while but to Sansa's dismay been just as confused when he woke up. Maester Henly said it could take days or possibly weeks for him to regain some normalcy. It was impossible to tell where Qyburn's experiments on him ended and the trauma began.
He'd looked so afraid when she left him. Missandei had offered to sit with him while she came here and Sansa had reluctantly left Tyrion with her and Maester Henly. Pod and Grey Worm were guarding his room as were several Lannister guards.
A bitter taste filled her mouth as her eyes moved to the lords and ladies of the Westerlands filling a row of seats to her right. Tyrion was Warden of the West - these people had no reason to be here, yet they'd come on mass.
"My lords and ladies" started Varys "this meeting takes place to decide the future of Westeros, and who will sit the Iron Throne. Cersei's reign has ended and Daenerys Targaryen is dead"
Jon flinched beside her at the words, a frown pulling at his mouth.
"It should be lord Tyrion!" bellowed an older man - a rooster sigil on his tunic "Cersei was the last to sit the throne - he's her heir!"
"We've had enough of Lannister's on the throne" retorted lord Royce
"Lord Tyrion is not well, and I daresay in no fit state to sit the Iron Throne" said Varys "nor do I believe he would want to"
"Why should we take your word Eunuch?" said the man
"Take my word then" said Sansa, narrowing her eyes "I fear I don't recall seeing you in the allied forces that removed Cersei Lannister from power. Nor was there any attempt from the Westerlands to rescue your rightful liege lord from captivity. Lord Tyrion is not well enough to rule, unless you're proposing we take him from his sick bed and prop him up on the throne?"
The man floundered for a moment, before promptly closing his mouth.
"It was the Starks that removed Cersei" said Ser Davos, glancing sideways at them "Maybe they should decide"
"I'd support Jon as King" said Gendry "he led the Long Night after all"
"I heard he killed Daenreys Targaryen" snapped Yara "He's a Queenslayer and a bastard"
"He rode a dragon" added another
Jon sat forwards "Enough! I will not be King. I swore my life to the Nights Watch and it's time I got back to that"
"You're exiling yourself?" asked Varys
"I am" said Jon, sitting back in his chair "It was Sansa that led this rebellion. I supported Daenerys, but in the end she went mad - you all heard how she betrayed Tyrion. Sansa defeated Cersei"
All eyes turned to her and sweat trickled down the back of Sansa's neck. She could claim the throne - it was within her grasp. That wasn't why she'd come to Kings Landing. She'd came for her family, and made a promise to the North.
"I will not claim the Iron Throne" she said "whoever rules will be agreed on by all of us present"
"You defeat the Queen yet do not want the rewards?" asked the Dornish Prince
"I want an independent North and I will not leave here until I get it"
Varys bowed his head in acknowledgment but Sansa didn't miss the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. He'd wanted her or Jon to rule, but neither of them wanted it.
There were several failed bids for the throne, including one by Edmure before Samwell Tarly made a suggestion.
"What about Bran?" he asked "The Starks won the throne and he's the three-eyed raven. Bran is the world's memory"
More than a few lords looked unnerved by Bran and the strange powers they'd heard rumours of. Yet Bran turned out to be the perfect candidate. A Stark King could unite a divided Westeros, and the fact he couldn't father children meant the next ruler would again be chosen by a council of Westeros.
"Do you accept?" asked Varys
Bran shifted in his wheelchair between her and Arya "Why do you think I came all this way?"
Sansa turned to Bran, grasping his arm "You'll be a great King little brother, but the North needs to be independent"
Thousand year old eyes stared into hers, the hint of a smile pulling at his face "Agreed"
"All hail Bran the Broken, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm" said Varys, the other lords and ladies echoing the call
Sansa smiled, some of the tension easing out of her. The North was independent and her brother ruled in Kings Landing. With that decision made she could turn her attention to other matters. Tyrion had a long road to recovery, and those who abused him needed to face justice. Sansa clenched her hands into fists - Cersei would suffer for what she had done.