Chapter 8
It wasn't right – Tyrion shouldn't look so small.
Sansa brushed her fingers over his hand that clutched the ragged blanket, hoping the gesture might settle him. It did nothing; and the way he jolted at the slightest contact stirred too many unpleasant feelings in her.
Tyrion had never seemed small, despite his size. Where he lacked in height, his sharp mind had more than made up for it. When they'd married in Kings Landing she'd paid little attention to Tyrion's wit and charm, but it was something she'd come to appreciate in Winterfell. With only a few words he could turn the tables in a debate or cut through someone's lies. He was brave, loyal and somehow his smile made Winterfell seem warmer. There was so much more to Tyrion than his size.
Her throat tightened as Tyrion squirmed in the bed once more.
They'd taken everything from him.
Daenerys betrayal and his sister's cruelty had stripped away everything that made him Tyrion, leaving behind a broken shell of the man Sansa had come to know. The prolonged imprisonment had wasted him away to nothing with his injuries rendering him helpless. As Sansa moved from her chair to sit on the side of the bed she thought Tyrion looked almost childlike lying beneath the blankets - small and vulnerable. His green eyes were wide and filled with fear as he tried to curl into a ball, igniting a wave of protectiveness in Sansa.
Her feelings for Tyrion were complicated to say the least; locked away deep in her heart where they couldn't escape. Seeing what had happened to Tyrion was enough to break through her defences however, dislodging far too many feelings to process. As much as she hated seeing Tyrion confused, his current state offered one advantage - she could care for him without needing to make sense of her own feelings. There was no fear that giving Tyrion her comfort would be awkward or complicate their friendship as he wasn't lucid enough to understand who she was. The Tyrion she knew would hate being so helpless, or being spoken to like a child. It was only temporary, she reminded herself. Tyrion would heal from this. He was more than strong enough - he just needed a little help right now.
"Are you uncomfortable?" she asked softly
Tyrion had stopped squirming when she moved to the bed, though he'd began to shake again; as if fearing some kind of punishment. She bit back a sigh, brushing the back of her fingers against his cheek. Sansa had hoped he would be more himself after they'd seen to his injuries and he'd had a good sleep. Unfortunately he'd been no better when he woke. Leaving him with Missandei while she went to the Dragon Pit meeting that morning had been unexpectedly difficulty, and it was a difficulty Sansa blamed firmly on the Maesters who'd seen to Tyrion yesterday. If she'd left him alone with them as they'd wanted, she'd have returned to find his leg gone and the bare minimum done for the rest of his injuries.
She pressed her mouth into a firm line, hardening her resolve. Tyrion was the lord of Casterly Rock and he was her friend - she wouldn't allow anyone to treat him poorly. Maester Henly was the best choice to care for him, of that she had no doubt. Unlike the other Maesters he seemed to have no interest in winning her favour and his ideas for treatment would give Tyrion the best chance of recovering. Doubt gnawed at Sansa once again - should she be making his medical decisions? Tyrion couldn't decide for himself right now and there was nobody else she trusted to act in his best interests. When he was well enough she'd tell him everything, and hope he understood she'd done her best for him.
"Can I get you anything?" she asked
Tyrion said nothing, but the fear radiating from him was increasingly difficult to stomach.
"I won't hurt you Tyrion. You know that, don't you?"
Still he didn't reply, but Sansa noticed his left hand tightening around the blanket. Tyrion didn't seem to like questions - he acted as if they were a trap. After Henly had dealt with his injuries yesterday they'd moved Tyrion to the room beside her own, and spent the rest of the day trying to get him settled. It wasn't easy - Sansa wanted to help him but wasn't sure how. Tyrion didn't seem to recognise her, nor had he recognised Missandei when she sat with him this morning. Maester Henly seemed confident the confusion would pass in time, and had encouraged her to keep talking to him even if he didn't answer.
"It's important we make him feel safe and cared for. Sitting and talking with him will hopefully show we are friends and not enemies, though I fear it will be a slow process" said Maester Henly "Lord Tyrion's confusion likely has many causes, but it's clear enough Qyburn's experimented on him and he's been given far too little food and water"
"What can we do?" she asked, her gaze flitting between Tyrion's sleeping face and the Maester
"Proper food and water is the priority, though we'll have to start gradually. Soups and broth only for the next couple of weeks" said Henly "Whatever is in his system will likely take a few days to clear, and appears to be numbing him to the pain of his injuries"
"That's one good thing"
Henly shook his head "I fear not my lady, rather the opposite in fact. It may be a small mercy he's spared the pain of his injuries, but the pain would keep him still and give us a better indication of where he's hurt. There is only so much I can find through an examination, particularly around his chest and ribs. Given how agitated he is and without being aware of his own pain he's likely to hurt himself if we cannot get him to rest"
The conversation drifted through Sansa's mind as she watched Tyrion shuffling on the bed. They'd tried to get him to rest yesterday but he just wouldn't relax and they'd ended up giving him a herbal drink to help him sleep. The Maester had secured Tyrion's broken leg in a wooden frame and encased it in bandages that went from his toes to just below his left knee, but every time Tyrion squirmed he tried to move his leg - as if not understanding it was broken and had to be kept still. They'd set a cushion underneath it this morning in the hopes it would stop him moving, but Tyrion still wouldn't settle. Her eyes wandered to the bandages wrapped around his ribs, before drifting to his shoulder. The unnatural way his shoulder hung made her stomach churn, but fixing that couldn't happen until Tyrion had improved a little.
Sansa forced a smile, lightening her tone "You look better than yesterday. I know Missandei was glad to see you this morning"
In truth Missandei had been guilt-ridden to see what had happened to Tyrion, but he didn't need to know that.
"I think she'd like to visit you again. Would you like that?"
Fearful green eyes studied her own, searching for the trick in her words.
Sansa swallowed thickly "I've not forgotten your blanket either. I want to get you a really nice one – it'll be blue just like you want"
It wasn't right. Tyrion shouldn't look so afraid or small or weak.
'Cersei will suffer for this' she thought – a dark anger closing around her heart.
Bran was King of the Six Kingdoms, but if the jubilant Northerners were to be believed Sansa would be crowned Queen in the North upon her return to Winterfell. Cersei and Qyburn were her prisoners and death wouldn't be quick for them as it was for Daenerys. The Northerners were keen to return home but there was much to do in Kings Landing first. An agreement between the two separate Kingdoms would be made and Cersei Lannister would face justice for her crimes. As much as the Northerners wanted independence, Sansa knew the real work would begin now and the responsibility of the North loomed over her like a heavy chain. There were few people she trusted, and the one whose advice she wanted the most was unable to help her.
Sansa cupped the side of Tyrion's face, drawing his anxious gaze to hers "I've got a lot to organise before we can leave, but I want you to know you're my priority. No matter what I'll make sure you get the best care; no-one will hurt you ever again. I don't know if you want my help or not – but you're my friend and I'll take care of you Tyrion. All you need to do is rest and heal"
Lost green eyes stared into her own, filled with a pain that had no right to be there "Sansa?"
Her heart stopped as Tyrion whispered her name. It was a question – looking at his face she realised he didn't really know who she was. Most likely he'd heard Missandei or the Maester say it earlier on. That was fine; it was a step in the right direction – that's all that mattered.
"That's right Tyrion" she said, smiling at him as tears threatened the corner of her eyes "I've missed you so much"
"Did you know you'd be King?"
Bran tilted his head to one side, considering his sister's question.
"I knew I had to be here" he said eventually "it's where the three-eyed raven is supposed to be"
Arya nodded, lounging in the chair across from him. She appeared totally relaxed in what was now the King's chambers, but Bran was under no illusions – a weapon would be in her hand at a moment's notice if needed.
"You're King of the Six Kingdoms, Sansa will be Queen in the North and Jon was King in the North and the true heir to the Iron Throne" said Arya, shaking her head in disbelief "Hard to keep track of who's got a crown now"
"Did you want one? If you'd put yourself forward in the Dragon Pit many would have supported the girl who killed the Night King"
Arya scrunched her nose in distaste "Keep your crowns. I'm no-one"
Bran smiled, shifting in his wheelchair "Kings Landing will take time to recover but it could've been much worse"
"Daenerys would've burned everything to the ground with her dragon"
"That was a very real possibility, but the chance of that happening diminished significantly when she betrayed Tyrion Lannister"
"Why?"
"You know why"
Arya sighed "It brought Sansa south"
Bran's mouth turned downwards "Tyrion's suffering saved many more lives than just Missandei, though he paid a high price"
"He shouldn't have agreed to the trade in the first place. For a supposedly clever man he's made some stupid choices"
"Haven't we all?" mused Bran, raising an eyebrow at his sister "His family and most of Westeros turned on him. Was it wrong of him to think he'd found a home with Daenerys? Tyrion made many mistakes but I'd say he's suffered more than enough for them"
Arya's face darkened "I saw him last night when I went to see Sansa. It was bad Bran. It's one thing for an enemy to hurt you, but his sister did that to him"
"What you saw is only half the story" he warned
"What's the other half?"
"I see many things – too much in truth. Cersei Lannister will be put on trial for her crimes, and what I see through the raven's eyes will not be evidence enough"
"There's already more than enough evidence to kill Cersei"
"There is" he agreed "Do you think Sansa wants to kill her or punish her?"
Arya's grey eyes rose to meet his gaze "Sansa was crying last night"
"She loves Tyrion"
"Not that she'll admit it" muttered Arya
Bran's mouth twitched upwards "I'm hardly an expert, but Sansa suffered her own monsters. Facing the truth will be difficult for her"
She rolled her eyes "Everyone but Sansa knows it"
"Sansa isn't ready to face that truth" said Bran, lacing his hands in his lap "but she's quite devoted to Tyrion"
"Gods know why"
Bran smiled thinly "There's enough evidence to take Cersei's head"
"but Sansa wants her to suffer" said Arya
"I need you to find something for me" said Bran "I have a rough idea where it is but I lack the legs to look properly"
"Fine" she agreed "What is it?"
"Enough evidence to find Cersei guilty of every sin" said Bran "and a way to help Tyrion"
Sansa adjusted Tyrion as he lay against her; propping his head against her shoulder so Missandei could continue her work.
"That's better" said Missandei, carefully scraping the knife down the side of Tyrion's head
"Thank you for helping with this" said Sansa
"It's no problem. Anything I can do to help, please let me know"
Sansa nodded, her heart twisting as little pieces of golden hair fell from Tyrion. Evening up his hair was the right thing to do. There was so little they could do for him - Sansa wanted to restore a tiny piece of his dignity. Unfortunately Tyrion's hair had been left as uneven bristle, with a few longer patches of hair mixed between patches of almost nothing. Making it even would leave his head almost bare, but at least he'd look less like a victim and it could grow back evenly.
She'd wanted to find a shift or something for him to wear but Henly had voided the idea. At the moment Tyrion needed help to do everything. Putting clothes on him would only make it difficult to examine, feed and wash him – not to mention help him use the chamber pot. It was a small mercy he was confused at the moment; his nakedness didn't seem to bother him as it surely would if he was well. Nevertheless Sansa made sure he was covered up unless necessary. Prior to letting Missandei into the room she'd wrapped a blanket around Tyrion's waist to give him some privacy before easing him upright.
Sansa laid her head against his as Missandei cut away his hair. He would hate being so helpless, but there was nothing to be done about it. She could give him some dignity back at least - treat him like the lord he is, rather than the beaten creature they'd reduced him too.
"I'm pleased you got what you wanted" said Missandei "Having seen the North and now Kings Landing I'm quite surprised how different they are"
"Kings Landing is a strange place" said Sansa "I never thought I'd be here again – I never wanted to be"
"You had bad experiences here?"
"It was the beginning of the end for my family. I was a stupid little girl; I couldn't wait to come here"
Missandei nodded in sympathy "What we want as children is rarely as we imagine it"
"What did you want?"
"To be free from slavery. To go home to Naath"
"Is that what you'll do next?"
"Perhaps" said Missandei "Grey Worm and I haven't decided anything yet"
"What's Naath like?"
Conversation flowed easily between them, with Missandei telling Sansa about Essos and its cities and Sansa answering questions about Westeros. She almost forgot Tyrion was in her arms until he stirred against her. Instantly she cupped the back of his head, pressing him closer and hoping he'd stay asleep for a few more hours.
"Shh, I'm here" she soothed "you're ok"
Tyrion didn't wake, but nuzzled contentedly against her shoulder before stilling once more. Heat rushed through Sansa, burning up her face as she realised two things. The first being how automatically she'd comforted him and the second was how right it felt to have him so close. As soon as the thought crossed her mind she pushed it away. No. She couldn't go there. Not now; maybe not ever. If that box was ever truly opened there would be no way to contain it.
She lifted her eyes to Missandei's face, finding the smallest smile waiting for her.
"He didn't sleep well last night" tried Sansa "it's better he gets some rest"
MIssandei's smile widened, though she didn't reject the lame excuse "Of course. He looked exhausted when I saw him yesterday. I told him to sleep if he wanted, but he seemed determined to stay awake"
"He's terrified" said Sansa "Maester Henly sat with him last night but Tyrion wouldn't sleep. He kept falling asleep and then waking up in a panic, no matter how many times I promised he was safe"
"Did you get any sleep?" asked Missandei
Too late Sansa realised she'd confessed to spending the night at his bedside again. She and the Maester were in agreement Tyrion shouldn't be left alone and Henly had sat with him all night so she could rest, but it had proven impossible. How could she sleep knowing Tyrion was hurt and scared in the room next door?
"I got enough" said Sansa
Missandei lay her hand on her arm "You don't have to do this alone. I owe Tyrion my life – I'll help as much as you'll allow me to. Grey Worm can sit with him too. We're his friends; we want to help him"
Like yesterday, Missandei had come to sit with Tyrion while Sansa dealt with the politics of Kings Landing. The Dragon Pit meeting had decided the throne and Northern independence but there were countless other issues to be dealt with before she could return home, not least the fate of Cersei Lannister. Despite Sansa's initial reservations towards Missandei the other woman seemed utterly sincere in her desire to help Tyrion. Daenerys' betrayal of Tyrion and his subsequent treatment at Cersei's hands wasn't Missandei's fault, but that hadn't eased the guilt in her eyes.
"Thank you" said Sansa "I don't trust the Lannister guards and I don't want to leave him with just the Maester, but I can't sit with him all day either"
"You don't need to worry - he's safe with us" promised Missandei, brushing some of the stray hairs from his head "What do you think?"
Sansa eased Tyrion back from her shoulder to get a better look. It was closely cropped; leaving only a fine fuzz of golden hair covering his head. It didn't suit him at all - Sansa missed his wild, curly hair - but it was better than how he'd been left. It looked as if it had been his choice rather than a humiliating punishment.
"Much better, thank you" said Sansa, her throat tightening as the image of Tyrion as he left Winterfell drifted through her mind
"It'll grow back" offered Missandei
She was right. In time his hair would return and some of his injuries would fade. Yet the tattoos would never leave him, and it was too early to know if his injuries would leave him crippled. Physically he would recover with time and care.
As Sansa lowered him back to the bed, already missing his warmth against her, she wondered if her Tyrion would return in time too.
Death hung heavily in the room as Arya moved further into the chambers that had belonged to Qyburn. It coated every surface in the area, hinting at the dark acts these walls had seen. Her eyes drifted over the table set in the centre of the room and the straps hanging loosely to each side of it, before moving to the shelves stacked with jars of various liquids. It was set up no differently than most Maesters rooms - neat, ordered and filled with herbs and tools.
Unlike most Maesters rooms there was a sinister edge lurking beneath the otherwise mundane set up. The leather straps on the table were the first hint of Qyburn's true nature, but even then they were hardly uncommon. Arya wandered further in, her grey eyes sweeping over the room. Evidence was in here that would seal the downfall of Cersei Lannister and Qyburn. There was already more than enough to take their heads, but Bran wanted to have every possible piece of evidence she could uncover. He'd told her one specific thing to retrieve, but asked her to see what else she could find.
"I see much through the raven's eyes, finding specifics is more difficult" he said "A point in time is easy - but where an object is located isn't as simple"
Bran made little sense these days, but Arya trusted him. If he thought it was important she searched these rooms then she would. Much of the contents was standard; a collection of poisons and remedies. Various knives and tools for treating the sick. It was when Arya got closer to the rows of shelves she first noticed something was amiss. A number of the liquids were labelled as modified versions of various poisons. She lifted one called 'Modified Strangler' and swirled the deep red contents of the jar. It was a different shade than it was supposed to be, and Arya wondered just how it had been modified.
She continued searching the shelves, finding everything neatly labelled and organised with the methodical nature of a Maester. It was quickly becoming obvious Qyburn had been experimenting with many things, and made no effort to hide it. Arya's mind drifted to what she'd heard of the Mountain. From what Brienne had told her he had been turned into some kind of mindless servant; unable to think or feel pain properly. Whatever Qyburn's work was Cersei had clearly approved it. Everything was in plain sight, as if he was a normal Maester doing research rather than a failed Maester expelled from the Citadel.
It was when Arya reached a shelf behind Qyburn's desk that her blood ran cold. Six jars sat along the wooden shelf – each with a neatly written label that made no effort to disguise the contents. The first contained a human tooth floating in liquid, while the second was half filled with blood. Another contained several pieces of skin suspended in a liquid, while the one beside it held pieces of tissue and muscle. A piece of bone floated in the next to last jar, while the final one was mostly empty aside from a layer of dried white coating the bottom.
Arya's hands shook, anger spreading through her. The contents of these jars was vile – such things might be found at the Citadel for learning purposes, but hardly had a place in a supposed Maester's rooms. The presence of the jars alone was enough to raise questions over how Qyburn acquired such samples.
It would be, if the man hadn't meticulously labelled the contents of each one and named its origin. Arya grimaced, lifting the jar labelled as 'Seed samples of Tyrion Lannister' and placing it in her bag. Sansa was upset enough over Tyrion's condition without knowing the grisly details, but there was no way to keep this from her. Bran had sent her down here to find evidence and search for a black book Qyburn kept. Her brother wouldn't tell her much about the book other than it was important, but as Arya loaded the jars into her bag she didn't need to think hard on what the book contained. Qyburn was a meticulous man, and based on the set up of the room it was obvious his research had royal approval – he hadn't feared getting caught. Bran had said if she found the book it could help Tyrion and Arya now understand how. She had little doubt it contained the details of the hell Tyrion had suffered. The knowledge could help the Maesters treat him, but Arya knew it would break her sister's heart too.
Arya straightened up, securing the bag containing the jars around her as she moved to search for the book. For whatever reason Sansa was attached to Tyrion and Arya would make sure justice was done for him – whatever his flaws he didn't deserve the cruelty she'd glimpsed in this room.
"Lady Stark, how fares lord Tyrion?"
Sansa turned at the older man's voice, coming face to face with the captain of the Lannister guards. Godwin was dressed in the typical Lannister uniform but without the helmet. It had been years, but still the sight of Lannister guards made her stomach churn.
"Poorly I fear. He's badly hurt and quite confused at the moment"
"Will he recover?"
"In time" said Sansa, hoping her words were true
He fell into step beside her as she continued down the corridor towards the meeting that would begin the process of Northern independence.
"My Lady, I realise you have your own trusted guards, but my men and I serve lord Lannister – we are more than capable of guarding his room"
Sansa hummed, pretending to consider his words. There wasn't a chance in hell she'd trust the Lannisters to protect Tyrion. A couple had joined Pod and Grey Worm the other day, but it was obvious many of the Lannister guards found the presence of her own guards insulting.
"I don't doubt you can guard his room, but my concern is making Tyrion comfortable. I mentioned getting something with his sigil for him the other day and he panicked"
Godwin winced "I understand the situation is fragile to say the least. My concern is the lords and ladies of the Westerlands"
"What about them?"
"My men have heard mutterings. Some of the lords are concerned they cannot see lord Tyrion"
Sansa came to a halt, pursing her lips "Why would they need to see lord Tyrion? He's not well enough to see anyone at the moment"
It occurred to Sansa the man was rather uncomfortable delivering the news. He wouldn't meet her gaze as he spoke "My lady, lord Tyrion is Warden of the West and as of yesterday the North is independent. I dare say some are questioning your intentions towards him"
"My intentions towards him" she repeated, narrowing her eyes "I want Tyrion to get better, and I won't let anybody hurt him again – those are my intentions towards him"
"I more than understand my lady" said Godwin, inclining his head "You've done everything to aid our lord while we were used against him"
"If any of these lords wish to question my intentions towards Tyrion they are more than welcome to take it up with me, though I'd say their intentions are the most in need of scrutiny"
"Certainly my lady" he agreed "there isn't a doubt in my mind you act only in lord Tyrion's best interest. I sought only to warn you. It appears many of the lords and ladies of Westeros will remain in Kings Landing for the next week or so – all keen to gain the King's favour"
Sansa wavered for a moment. As much as she distrusted the Lannister guards, they were sworn to serve Tyrion. Brienne, Grey Worm and Pod rotated standing outside his door but that couldn't carry on indefinitely. From what Arya had told her a couple of the guards had cheerfully beaten Tyrion while he was in his cell, while another two had tried to help him. Then there was the Lannister captain. He'd respected her orders to keep away from Tyrion, and warned her of a potential issue. She didn't believe he was a threat to Tyrion, but that wasn't to say other guards might not be.
"If your men were to guard Tyrion's room there would need to be certain conditions" she said eventually
Godwin straightened up "Such as?"
"No-one is to enter his room other than me or his Maester – unless I've approved them. Tyrion isn't himself at the moment; the sight of Lannister guards will terrify him" said Sansa "I want to believe all of your men are loyal to Tyrion, but I don't. Only those you trust are to guard his room"
"Understandable" he said, shifting uncomfortably "I fear a number of the men did enjoy following Cersei's orders, but identifying them will be near impossible. Men who turn on their comrades don't last long in armies, regardless of what their comrades were doing"
Sansa's stomach lurched at the warning. The idea of anyone who hurt Tyrion going free made her feel sick but Sansa was well aware it wasn't her place to discipline the Lannister army either.
"Perhaps when Tyrion is well enough he'll be able to identify them" she said
"Lord Tyrion would be within his rights to take all our heads" said Godwin "Lord Tywin's heir was never really decided. It was no secret he wanted Ser Jamie but he was sworn to the Kingsguard. Lord Tyrion was obviously the next in line but his father never treated him as such and after Tywin's death the matter was never cleared up. In the end we followed Ser Jamie, who followed the Queen"
"Now you follow Tyrion – despite him killing his father?"
Godwin's face was tired as he met her gaze "My lady, Cersei Lannister is a monster and Tywin Lannister was utterly ruthless. If lord Tyrion's worst crime is killing his father I'll sleep better at night. The things Cersei did...my honour is long lost, but I will serve lord Tyrion faithfully"
Tyrion shifted on the bed, wincing at the ache in his chest. He didn't know what had happened but when he woke up his body felt heavier – a dull ache seemed to lay over him that wasn't there before. His left leg hurt too. It was strange; he hadn't really felt it earlier.
"Try and stay still" encouraged the woman "you need to rest"
He glanced sideways at the woman sat beside the bed. She had dark, bushy hair and kept telling him unfunny jokes about speaking different languages. It was strange; everything was strange right now. Somehow he hadn't been brought back to his cell yet. He hadn't seen Qyburn or Cersei either. A shudder went through Tyrion as the image of their cold eyes drifted through his mind. Anytime now they'd be here. This was all a trap; it had to be.
Tyrion wound his fingers into his friend, relishing the familiar roughness against his skin. He couldn't relax or rest. As soon as he closed his eyes the pain would come. The woman sat with him hadn't hurt him though. She sat talking to him and smiling.
As nice as she was being Tyrion missed the other woman – the one they called Sansa. When she was here things were a little better. He wasn't sure why but he didn't think she'd hurt him. Tyrion had heard this woman and the man in grey call her Sansa, and he'd whispered the name to her yesterday. It was a stupid risk – he should have been punished for it. Imps don't speak unless necessary; those were the rules. Tyrion's heartbeat picked up in his chest. He shouldn't break the rules. Who knew what he'd lose this time. His right arm wouldn't move at all anymore – what if they stopped the other one working too? He wouldn't be able to hold his friend.
"Tyrion, are you ok?"
He drew in a ragged breath, his hand trembling. Where was Sansa? He didn't like being here, with people watching him all day. Why couldn't he go back to his cell? Things were simple there; he was alone and forgotten – things were easier that way.
'Sansa left you' taunted his mind 'just like Daenerys'
Instantly the memory flashed before him. Silver hair and lilac eyes that didn't hint at the betrayal to come.
"You'll come for me?" he asked, searching the face of his Queen
Daenerys smiled "Of course. I promise"
The memory of her kiss against his cheek filled him with revulsion. She hadn't come for him – she left him to die, left him to Cersei. Tyrion's stomach twisted as he squirmed on the bed. He was missing something. Every time his mind seemed to get close to whatever truth was hiding it veered away, leaving him more confused than ever. Why didn't things make sense anymore? Heat pricked at his eyes, as he turned his face away from the woman. It wasn't fair. He hadn't asked for any of this – he hadn't asked to be born.
"Oh Tyrion, you'll be ok" said the woman, laying her hand on his arm. He flinched at the contact, but she didn't let go "Is there anything I can do for you?"
'Kill me' he thought, trying to move from the bed.
He didn't belong here – he wanted to go back to his cell and hide. A cracking noise filled the air as he summoned enough strength to raise his chest from the bed. The woman gave a panicked squeak at the sound, and Tyrion's brow furrowed as he continued moving upwards. A dull ache pierced his side as he moved, but it seemed so distant Tyrion wasn't sure whether it was real or not.
"Tyrion, please stay still. You'll hurt yourself" said the woman, leaning over him. Her dark eyes were wide and worried in a way that made no sense to Tyrion. She needn't have told him to stay still - Tyrion had only made it half way to sitting up before a wave of dizziness swept through him. He dropped back onto the bed, whimpering at his own weakness as the woman hastily tucked the blankets around him.
"Sansa?" he whispered, something wet spilling from his eyes.
Maybe things would make sense if she was here. Why would she be here though? He was an imp, and she was so pretty. He shouldn't ask – it was breaking the rules, but he had to know.
A smile flitted across the woman's face "She'll be back soon, don't worry. I'll stay with you until then Tyrion – we're friends, aren't we? Please, just relax. Sansa is coming"
He nodded slightly, fiddling with his friend. There was no point trying to escape; he was too weak. If they were going to punish him it was easier not to resist.
"We'll have fun until then" promised the woman, offering him a smile "Have you heard the story of the translator who couldn't find the privvy?"
She launched into the story but Tyrion couldn't focus. Everywhere he looked there were lilac eyes and green eyes waiting to hurt him. They hung in every shadow of the room, watching and waiting to strike.
Sansa allowed herself a smile as she made her way through the Red Keep. The meeting with the few Northern lords present in Kings Landing had been nerve wracking to say the least, but things had ended up being far simpler than she could have imagined.
"Northern independence" said lord Glover, a wide smile crossing his face "I never thought I'd see it"
A few of the minor Northern lords nodded their agreement, their eyes studying the document Sansa had presented to them as if it were made of gold. It had taken a few hours to go through in detail, but if it was accepted a deal for Northern independence could be approved within days.
"Are there any amendments?" asked Sansa
"None I can see" said lord Cerwyn
Lord Glover nodded his agreement "Aye, I see no issues at all with this"
Another minor lord leaned forwards in his chair "Shall we have the Maesters write a fresh copy, your Grace?"
Sansa flushed "I'm not your Queen. Who rules the North isn't yet decided"
"The only Queen I know, is the Queen in the North whose name is Stark" said lord Glover, banging his hand on the table as the rest of the assembled Northerners echoed the sentiment
"You're too kind my lords" said Sansa "I hope I'm worthy of the trust you place in me"
"You're the Queen who won us freedom" said the minor lord "If we're in agreement it's best the Maesters begin their work"
"Thank you, my lords – but a fresh copy will not be necessary. This agreement was written by lord Tyrion Lannister and proposed to Daenerys Targaryen. It is his work and I will not take credit for it. Lord Tyrion has signed the document and there is ample space for our own names to join his"
The proposed arrangements in Tyrion's document were in no need of modifying, and had saved what could have been weeks or possibly months of discussion and planning. A few of the lords would have undoubtedly preferred it be rewritten and Tyrion's name removed but Sansa wouldn't allow that. It was Tyrion's work and she wouldn't pretend otherwise. None of the lords had questioned her decision and why would they? The Lannister name might have commanded power once but those days were gone. The Northerners were too drunk on victory to care about her friendship with Tyrion. She didn't doubt there were some who hated Tyrion and would continue to do so no matter what he did, but she suspected more pitied him. Family loyalty was held sacred in the North, and the rumours of what Cersei had done to her brother were enough to disgust many Northerners into sympathy with Tyrion. The enemy of their enemy wasn't necessarily a threat after all.
Sansa wound her way through the corridors towards Tyrion's room. There wasn't much else to be done today. Summaries of the agreement would be written and sent to lord Manderly and the remaining Northern lords ahead of the arrangement being formally signed in a few days' time. Bran was putting together his own council and they would be the next to go over the arrangement, leaving her time to focus on helping Tyrion. He'd been asleep when she left him with Missandei, but had likely woken up since then.
It was just as she rounded the last corner to where her and Tyrion's rooms were she caught sight of the group standing in the corridor. Podrick was on guard duty, and stood with his hand resting on his sword, but it was the sight of Arya, Jon and Maester Henly that caught her attention.
Jon's face was set in a deep frown that made the breath catch in Sansa's throat as she quickened her steps to join them.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her eyes darting between the group "Is Tyrion ok?"
"He's fine" said Jon "as fine as he can be anyway"
"Missandei's still sat with him m'lady" added Podrick, offering her a small smile
"We need to speak to you" said Arya
"Can it wait? I want to check on Tyrion"
"You need to hear this first" said Arya, crossing her arms "Bran's waiting upstairs"
Sansa took a step back, searching their faces. There was something wrong; she could see it hiding in their eyes.
"I want to see Tyrion" she said, pursing her lips "Why are you all here?"
Arya rolled her eyes "Seven hells. We're stood here because you need to hear what we have to say and I knew you'd go straight to the imp when your meeting was over"
"Don't call him that" snapped Sansa
"Enough" said Jon, moving in front of Arya to get Sansa's attention "Sansa, we have something that could help Tyrion. Bran sent Arya to find it and I really think you need to see it. We came here to get you and his Maester"
"What is it?" asked Sansa
Jon rubbed a hand over his face "I can't...just trust me. You both need to see this"
Sansa's stomach lurched uncomfortably at Jon's expression. Whatever it was had been enough to sicken him, that much was obvious.
Maester Henly moved forwards "My lady, I've not long ago checked lord Tyrion. The lady Missandei summoned me to check on him after she heard a crack. Apparently he grew quite distressed all of a sudden and tried to sit upright; further damaging his ribs. Fortunately he doesn't seem to feel it but I fear a cracked rib may have broken. I examined him and bandaged his chest again but we may need to explore other ways of keeping him still"
Sansa nodded, her throat tightening. Henly had warned her they may need to restrain Tyrion if he wouldn't rest. They were trying to clear his system so giving him sleeping draughts wasn't really an option and the more Tyrion squirmed the more likely he was to hurt himself. She hated the thought of restraining him but it was for his own good. The Maester told her when they fixed his shoulder it would be imperative he lie still unless they moved him.
"Why wasn't I told?" she asked "If Tyrion was distressed I could have helped him"
Henly opened his mouth to speak, but Arya cut across him "Why would you be told? Missandei's his friend too – how many friends does he need to hold his hand?"
Sansa's nostrils flared as she met her sister's gaze. Arya was deliberately provoking her; jabbing at the walls that surrounded her deepest feelings and hoping something would break free. No. There was too much going on at present to go there. Whatever lay buried in her heart would stay buried for now – and no needling from Arya would free it.
Jon shook his head reproachfully at Arya, reminding Sansa sharply of their father "That's enough. We all want to help Tyrion"
"My lady, both I and Missandei know you wish to be kept appraised of lord Tyrion's condition. I was on my way to inform you when lady Arya and lord Jon pulled me aside" said the Maester
"It's just Jon" said her brother, who was in truth her cousin "I'm no lord"
"As you wish" said Henly, offering Sansa a smile "I can assure you lord Tyrion's quite alright now. He looked tired when I left him and Missandei was telling him stories of Naath I believe – with any luck he will fall asleep without intervention"
Sansa forced her face into a neutral mask "Very well. Shall we see Bran then?"
"Check on Tyrion first if it'll make you feel better" offered Jon "Bran can wait a few minutes"
She wanted to; more than anything she wanted to see Tyrion with her own eyes and make sure he was comfortable. The image of him crying and shaking in terror when they rescued him constantly lingered in her mind. One look at Arya's smirking face hardened her resolve however. Going to Tyrion now would only be evidence to Arya, and it was evidence of something Sansa wasn't ready to admit.
"No, it's quite alright" said Sansa "let's see Bran"
Jon had often heard his father remark that war was easier than daughters, and Jon thought the sentiment could be equally applied to sisters. Arya and Sansa hadn't gotten along as children, but when they reunited at Winterfell he'd naively thought they'd moved past that. Apparently not. Despite the many ways his sisters had changed over the years there was still a clash of personalities between them. Arya didn't seem able to understand why Sansa wouldn't come clean about her feelings for Tyrion, but provoking her was hardly going to help matters. At least when they made it to Bran, Arya's mood had sobered. It was one thing to mock Sansa for the way she acted around Tyrion, but the six jars set on a table before Bran were hardly a laughing matter.
Bran had been waiting for them in a solar just off his chambers where Arya and Jon had last seen him. The new King had asked Jon to join him earlier and he'd been there when Arya returned with the jars and a small black book. Bile clawed up Jon's throat as he looked at the jars once more. Bran's face had darkened upon seeing the vile contents of the jars, before asking him and Arya to find Sansa and the Maester who was treating Tyrion.
"This can't be right" said Sansa, wrapping her arms around herself as she sat at the table. She'd taken a few minutes to look at the jars; refusing to believe the contents could be true.
"These were in Qyburn's room near the black cells" said Arya
"It's true" said Bran, his mouth a grim line "I've seen pieces of what happened to Tyrion – the contents of these jars all came from him"
Sansa had turned as white as a sheet, eyeing the jars with revulsion "How...why do this to him?"
"Revenge" said Bran "That was Cersei's reason anyway. Qyburn was curious; he'd never had the chance to experiment on a dwarf before"
Jon sighed, moving forwards to lay a hand on Sansa's shoulder "There will be justice for this, I promise"
"No justice can make this right" said Sansa, venom in her tone
"Indeed" said Maester Henly, lifting the jar that contained a piece of bone "Qyburn is an evil man, make no mistake. He may come across unassuming and interested in healing, but it's merely a guise for his cruelty"
"You know him well?" asked Arya
"No, but I've met other Maesters who were at the Citadel when he was" said Henly, his face twisting in disgust "There isn't an ounce of humanity in him. Qyburn's experiments are abhorrent – and brought great shame to the Citadel"
"Why wasn't he executed?" asked Arya
"That I do not know, but he should have been" said Henly, placing the jar back on the table and moving to the next
"Why did you show us this?" asked Sansa, her voice small
Bran straightened in his wheelchair "To help. This is all evidence against Cersei and Qyburn. They're your prisoners Sansa and you will decide their fates, but I thought it important you had everything at your disposal. The book is evidence as well, but I thought you might use it to treat Tyrion"
Sansa reached for the book, her hand shaking as she brushed her fingers over the black cover.
"You don't need to read that" said Jon softly
"Have you all read it?" she asked
Jon and Arya shook their heads as Bran nodded.
"I did" he said, a frown covering his face "the book is yours to use how you see fit"
There was some kind of hidden meaning there, but what it was Jon didn't know. Bran had told him and Arya the book was Qyburn's journal and it contained details of what had been done to Tyrion – that was more than enough incentive for Jon not to read it.
While he hadn't been at Dragonstone when Daenerys decided to make the exchange, Jon had failed repeatedly to convince her to rescue Tyrion and this was the result. Even worse, he hadn't been to see Tyrion yet. Arya had told him how bad it was, but Jon had hung back from visiting the Lannister dwarf whether he was awake or asleep. Seeing him would force Jon to confront the truth of Daenerys; a woman he'd loved, who'd taunted Sansa with the knowledge Tyrion was suffering horrendously.
Bran and Arya were both conversing with the Maester and examining the jars in a detail Jon couldn't stomach. He'd seen many terrible things; he'd seen the dead rise – but he'd never seen a cruelty quite like that contained in the jars. The idea of someone taking away pieces of you to keep on a shelf...it didn't bear thinking about. Instead Jon returned his attention to Sansa, seeing his sister had opened the book. Her hands trembled as she read.
"Sansa, it'll be alright" tried Jon "Tyrion's hard to keep down – he'll get through this"
"I'll kill them" whispered Sansa, her voice as hard as ice "I swear to all the Gods I'll kill them all"
Sansa staggered down the corridor like a drunkard; her stomach churning as if she might be sick for the fourth time. Every part of her was numb.
'...Preliminary samples of blood and skin taken from the subject following complete physical exam. A tooth was extracted for closer analysis and a sample of seed was taken...'
Someone greeted Sansa on her way past but her mind barely registered it. She paused at the top of the staircase, a tremor going through her.
'...Further tattoos added to subject at Queen's request. Pain of process clearly registers, but shame appears to be key factor in his distress, and is magnified by his sister's presence and taunts...'
Sansa sucked in several shallow breaths, praying her legs would continue to hold her until she reached her destination.
'...Subject was given potion to relax body and restrained, but was not sedated during dissection of his dominant right hand. Some differences in bone length and surrounding tissue were noted but no real difference in structure compared to a normal person. Removal of a small bone and the cutting of several nerves was carried out with the Queen's permission, effectively rendering the hand useless...'
One step at a time. Move, and take a breath. It was the only way to get down the stairs without falling.
'...Mental state of subject deteriorating rapidly. Guards beat him throughout the night at Cersei's command and he is brought to me during the day for further research. Several modified potions have been tested on him with varying results – a few appeared to cause hallucinations. The Queen wishes him to be castrated but I have convinced her to wait as it may prove his breaking point. If the Queen wishes to prolong his punishment it is better to pace things accordingly...'
Sansa's hand trailed along the wall as she lurched away from the stairs and up the corridor. Just a little further and she'd be there.
'...future studies should examine the impact of humiliation on the physical body. I was able to observe this effect while applying another tattoo to the subject. After a brief exchange between the Queen and her brother she chose an unexpected way to humiliate him. The subject had become somewhat unresponsive over the few days preceding the first incident, but the Queen's manipulation of his genitals caused severe distress. Queen Cersei has repeated the actions several times since, and each time evokes a similar response. Further seed samples have been obtained but the Queen's only interest in touching him in this manner is pain and humiliation rather than academic enquiry...'
Bile burned its way up Sansa's throat as she thrust her head towards a window; opening it just in time for the vomit to spill from her.
'...the Queen's patience with my methods is wearing thin. She wants the subject to suffer but she wants him to last as long as possible. My methods will keep him alive for months - possibly years, but Cersei hasn't the patience for that. Several bones and lacerations have occurred from the guards repeated beatings; the worst of which is his right shoulder; broken in two places and left untreated per the Queen's orders. It is saddening to see such an interesting specimen being used so brutally when there is so much left to research. Nevertheless the Queen is happy for my experiments to continue. An exploratory dissection of his knee will take place today in preparation for more invasive experimentation. Would it be possible to remove the knee joint and replace it with something better – something stronger...'
Podrick's eyes widened as Sansa arrived at the door. If her outward appearance reflected her soul she wasn't surprised by Pod's reaction. Had the light been pulled from her eyes? Was her face hollow and sunken? Sansa was a Stark; she could wear a mask of stoicism as well as the rest of her family – but no wall of ice could survive what she'd seen in those jars; or read in Qyburn's neat, clinical writing.
Wisely, Pod made no comment on her appearance and stood aside to let her pass. That was good. Sansa feared opening her mouth to speak would unleash a sob that wouldn't end. It had been so tempting to find a blade and go to the black cells; the wolf could kill the lion.
A greater need had called to her though. It whispered from behind the creaking walls guarding her heart, urging her to come here instead. She fumbled with the handle, until at last the door opened.
Tyrion's face was etched with exhaustion as he lay beneath a pile of blankets – his left hand clutching the ragged blanket he favoured like a lifeline. Missandei still sat beside him, turning to Sansa when the door creaked open.
"Lady Sansa..." she started, her brow furrowing "Are you alright?"
Sansa ignored her, focusing only on the man shuffling nervously on the bed.
The man who'd been degraded, tortured and molested by his own sister.
He'd lifted his head as the door opened, and bright green eyes now peered anxiously at her.
"Sansa?" he asked, a tiny smile tugging at his mouth
The sight warmed Sansa from head to toe, chasing some of the numbness from her. There would be time to deal with everything else, but right now her priority was in front of her. No matter what she'd make sure Tyrion recovered from this horror. Cersei and Qyburn had tried to break him, and she wouldn't let them win. Tyrion was strong. She'd get him all the help he needed and he would come through this.
Sansa smiled reassuringly as she stepped further into the room "I'm here Tyrion; you'll be ok – I promise"
"I just don't get it" muttered Arya, staring moodily across Kings Landing. The balcony branched out of the Red Keep offering a good view of the sprawling city below
"You don't need to get it" said Gendry, leaning on the railing
Arya huffed, glancing sideways at her old friend "Yes, I do. Sansa marched halfway across the country for him, won't leave his bedside for more than a few hours and expects us to believe they're just friends?"
"Maybe she's not ready for everyone to know"
"They already know, it's bloody obvious unless you're Sansa"
Gendry shook his head, a smirk covering his face "You don't get it do you?"
"Get what?"
"Come on Arry – why could your sister possibly be nervous to admit how she feels about Tyrion Lannister?"
"You're starting to irritate me" said Arya, narrowing her eyes
"Maybe she's worried her family don't approve" he ventured
An unpleasant feeling rose in Arya's chest. Sansa had told them her marriage to Tyrion hadn't been annulled; both Bran and Jon had made it clear whatever she did with that was up to her. Arya had thought her sister's stubborn insistence Tyrion was only her friend was simply denial, but could it be she was worried what they thought of him?
"I was at Winterfell too. I saw you stalking them around the castle, and glaring at Tyrion every chance you got" added Gendry – completely unhelpfully
"Shut up" she snapped, turning back to the expanse of Kings Landing
Perhaps there was a little truth there. Her hatred of Lannisters was well known, and she might have glared at Tyrion on occasion. While Arya soon realised he posed no threat to Sansa, that didn't mean she hadn't made sure he knew his place at Winterfell. She hadn't done anything wrong though. Tyrion had been serving Daenerys at the time, and he'd never reacted to her glares anyway; she'd only been warning him - if he hurt Sansa there would be consequences.
"It still makes no sense" said Arya "if Sansa loves him she should be honest about it and damn the consequences. She'll be Queen in the North when we go home. Nobody is going to care who warms her bed"
"It's not that easy Arry. Tyrion aint himself right now, is he?"
Arya's stomach stirred as she shook her head "No...they tortured him for weeks"
He nodded, his eyes turning distant "Can you imagine the person you love being hurt so badly they're not the same? If you ask me Sansa's protecting herself. Maybe when Tyrion gets better she'll be as blunt as you"
"No-one's asking you, and Sansa could never be blunt about things like that – she's too much of a lady"
"You could try and be nice to her" said Gendry, shrugging his broad shoulders "She might love Tyrion, but that doesn't mean he'll return it; not after the hell he's been through. It's a risk putting your heart out there"
Arya hated many things. She hated those jars and what they meant. She hated Cersei and Qyburn with a burning passion. Most of all she hated that Gendry might be right. Trying to provoke Sansa into a confession might not have been the best idea, but she couldn't stand her sister denying the obvious either.
"Valar morghulis" she said, straightening up "All men must die. If you don't say what you mean you might not get the chance"
"So you should say it and damn the consequences?"
Arya turned wordlessly away, a smirk stretching across her face.
"Where are you going?" called Gendry as she disappeared back into the castle, adding a moment later "Try and be nice!"
Sansa hadn't looked at all well when Arya had last seen her, but her sister had stubbornly insisted on reading Qyburn's journal. As soon as she finished reading it Sansa had handed it to the Maester and lurched from the room. Both she and Jon had wanted to follow and check on her but Bran had insisted they give her some space. Following Sansa's departure Arya and Jon had taken their own leave. Between the jars containing various pieces of Tyrion and the journal detailing how it was all done they'd both had enough. Bran and Maester Henly had remained, with the Maester absorbed in the journal when they left. Arya hadn't expected her sister to read it. When she found it Arya hadn't opened it. Bran had described the book in perfect detail and the grisly contents of the jars had sickened her without the need to read Qyburn's notes. Jon had been just as wary of reading it; claiming there was more than enough to haunt his sleep.
The guards had changed at some point and Brienne now stood in Podrick's position outside Tyrion's door.
"Lady Arya" greeted the knight
"I'll assume Sansa's in there"
"She is" said Brienne, her brow furrowing "I saw her earlier when she sent for some soup – I must say she didn't look well"
A pang of guilt swept through Arya. As annoying as she often found Sansa, her sister was under tremendous pressure. The North was independent because of her, and the responsibility for its success had fallen immediately onto her shoulders. No-one had expected Sansa to take care of Tyrion after he was rescued – most would have left him to the Maesters – but she'd immediately claimed responsibility for his care. Jon had warned Arya to leave Sansa be, and Gendry had suggested much the same.
"Is she unwell?" asked Brienne, glancing at the door behind her "I've not heard anything for a while"
"I'll check on her" said Arya "I'm sure she's fine"
Arya eased the door open, poking her head around first to see what was going on. The last thing she wanted to do was startle Tyrion when he was in such a fearful state. It quickly became apparent why Brienne had heard nothing for a while – both Sansa and Tyrion were fast asleep.
Stepping further into the room, Arya crept closer to the bed where Tyrion lay tucked beneath a pile of blankets. His left hand still clutched the rag they'd found him with in the dungeon, but his face looked marginally more relaxed than when Arya had seen him last. Her eyes trailed over her sister, whose head was lying on the edge of the bed as she slumped forwards in the chair. Exhaustion and worry was etched into every line of her sister's face, as she covered Tyrion's left hand with her own.
Arya stared at the scene, before whispering softly "You win"
She wouldn't bother Sansa about Tyrion again; it really wasn't her place to dictate when Sansa confronted her own feelings – she just didn't want her sister to get hurt. Sansa wouldn't face the truth, but Tyrion's confusion had given her a safe outlet for her suppressed feelings to run wild. If Tyrion was awake and fully aware Arya knew her sister would play the role of a prim and proper lady; her feelings would be buried even deeper than before. Arya hadn't meant to add to her sister's burden, she'd only thought if Sansa faced the hard truth now it would be easier to face it when Tyrion was well.
Arya turned her gaze to Tyrion, noting the few stitches above his eye and the fading bruises around his face. The blankets hid much of the damage, but Arya knew it was there. There was certainly a time when Arya might have killed anyone with the name Lannister, but experience had taught her things were not as black and white as her father had made them out to be. The world was made up of shades of grey, and Arya inhabited it just as easily as Tyrion did. They'd both done terrible things, but they'd both done good things to. No matter what Tyrion had done or been in the past, there was something in him that had won Sansa's heart – that alone was enough to give him a chance.
She leaned over the bed, staring down at the sleeping Lannister "You need to get better – Sansa's waiting for you"