A/N - Quick reminder I don't own these characters, only the story I've written about them.

Chapter 9

Tyrion's heart pounded as he relinquished his hold on the blanket, his eyes moving to the long red hair spilling across the side of the bed. Would Sansa mind if he touched it? He'd admired it for days, and now it was right next to him - it looked so soft. He squirmed on the bed, tilting onto his side enough to get a better view. Everything ached today, and Tyrion couldn't figure out why. Nobody had hurt him for a few days now - Sansa promised him last night he was safe and she would protect him. A tingle spread through his chest at the memory. Sansa had seemed sad when she came to see him last night, but she'd treated him so kindly - as if he was a person rather than an imp. That was foolish of course. Tyrion could never forget what he was; it was written all over him so everyone else knew too.

'You were the best of them'

The strange words drifted through Tyrion's mind; drawing him towards a place steeped in darkness. That was Sansa's voice, he was sure of it. The words made no sense – the best of what? His brow furrowed as he tried to latch onto the words, but they drifted away too quickly for him to examine. There had been a time before the cell, of that he was certain. The problem was remembering it. Certain things would come to him - the woman with silver hair and lilac eyes who'd betrayed him. The details were fuzzy, but he'd trusted her and then he ended up here.

'Daenerys'

A tremor went through him as soon as her name slipped through his mind and he latched onto his blanket once more; winding his fingers into the rough material. He couldn't go there. Sometimes he wanted to remember who he was before the cell; remember who he was before the pain. It was locked away deep in his mind, and little pieces escaped now and then - but whenever Tyrion thought about getting closer the darkness overwhelmed him. He wouldn't like what he found if he went there; he was certain of that.

Tyrion forced the thoughts from his mind, returning his attention to Sansa sleeping beside him. She'd pleaded with him to rest last night, and sat stroking his face until he fell asleep. It hadn't been easy to rest, or to enjoy Sansa's attention – part of him still feared a trap. He'd been so tired, and his body ached more every day, but experience had taught him bad things could happen when he slept. How many times had he been woken up by boots thudding into him, or a fist colliding with his face? Then there were his dreams - they didn't bear thinking about. Still, he'd wanted to try for Sansa; she made all his fears seem smaller, and there was something in her eyes that promised safety.

To his delight he'd woken to find Sansa slumped forwards in her chair - her head resting on top of her arm which was next to him on the bed. Her bright red hair fanned out around her delicate face and it was so very tempting to touch it.

Once again Tyrion released his blanket; hovering his hand nervously over the soft looking strands. He was an imp - he shouldn't touch the hair of such a beautiful woman. What if Sansa woke up? His heart constricted. What if she punished him, or worse, left him? Sansa promised she wouldn't hurt him - she told him she was his friend.

Tyrion glanced between the red hair and his tattered blanket. He'd learned early on his blanket was his only friend - the only thing he could trust. Was it possible that an imp, a kinslayer, a little monster, could have another friend?

"I wish Sansa hadn't read than journal" said Jon, poking at the food on his plate "Some things are better left a secret"

"I can't disagree with that" said Arya, somehow finding an appetite as she shoveled food into her mouth.

Jon pushed the plate away from him, unable to stomach any more breakfast. Despite his best efforts the jars Bran had shown them yesterday refused to leave his mind. Just thinking about them made his stomach churn.

"I don't know that Tyrion will like everyone seeing those jars" said Jon "There's no need to use them at trial – everybody knows Cersei and Qyburn are guilty of terrible things. Taking their heads won't be a problem"

Arya carried on eating, saying between mouthfuls "Sansa will want them to suffer"

"Death will be enough" said Jon, shaking his head "Sansa will want justice, and she'll get it"

"She will" agreed Arya "but don't be surprised when you and Sansa have different ideas of justice"

"There's nothing to be gained from a drawn out death"

"There's justice. You should see Tyrion for yourself before you judge"

Jon's stomach twisted uneasily at the thought. Hearing what had befallen Tyrion was more than enough without seeing the damage in person. At the same time Jon had no real reason to avoid him. He'd come to see Tyrion as a friend long ago, and to Sansa he was so much more.

"Have you spoken to him?" asked Jon

Arya shook her head "He was asleep both times I've been in there"

Jon rubbed at his face, letting out a breath "I should see him - there's no reason to hide"

"He won't recognise you anyway"

"That's not the point" said Jon "When I spoke to Jamie at Dragonstone he asked me to rescue Tyrion"

"Sansa rescued him" said Arya, dropping her knife and fork to the plate "Cersei would have made the exchange you know. She hadn't hurt Tyrion too badly before then. It was when Daenerys killed Jamie she lost control"

Jon's throat tightened at the thought of the woman he'd loved - the one he'd killed. It had been the right choice. The loss of her dragons, Ser Jorah and many of her followers had changed her into somebody unrecognisable. That she grew more paranoid each day had been a problem in itself, but betraying Tyrion had been unforgivable.

"Tyrion believed in her" said Jon, narrowing his eyes at Jamie Lannister

"Ah, yes. My poor little brother. He'd do anything for acceptance – you should understand that bastard"

Unfortunately Jon did understand it. He'd seen first-hand how proud Tyrion was to stand beside Daenerys and serve as hand of the Queen. It had given him acceptance in a way being lord Commander had given it to Jon. Allister Thorne and more of his Nights Watch brothers had soon seen to that; much in the same way Daenerys had stripped it from Tyrion.

Did Tyrion even know his brother was dead? Jon's mouth turned downwards - it was entirely possible Tyrion would be the last Lannister by the time he regained some sense of awareness. Cersei and Qyburn would face the consequences of their actions sooner rather than later.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Arya

"That Tyrion's going to need help. That Sansa shouldn't have to do everything alone"

Arya snorted "It took you staring at your plate all morning to think of that?"

"I'm not the one provoking Sansa"

"Neither am I" said Arya, leaning back in her chair "I've decided to let her hold onto her denial"

"Arya…"

"It'll come out sooner or later anyway"

"What about Tyrion? Is he safe from your list?"

"He was never really on it. Since Sansa's gone to so much trouble to keep him alive I've decided to give him a chance"

Jon smiled, shaking his head "I'm sure he'll be thrilled"

However long Sansa had been asleep she was certain it wasn't quite long enough. Nevertheless, the ache in her back was difficult to ignore as she reluctantly opened her eyes. She blinked wearily as the brightness of the room invaded her dark world, and her position began to make sense. She'd been sat with Tyrion last night and her head was currently pillowed on her right arm, which was lying on the edge of the bed near his shoulder.

Sansa inwardly cursed. She'd meant to stay awake and watch over him - not fall asleep on the edge of his bed. He was so nervous around people; had she made him uncomfortable? Before she could move an unusual sensation caught her attention; almost as if there was something in her hair. Sansa cautiously tilted her head, stilling as she realised two things. Firstly that Tyrion was awake, and secondly that he was playing with her hair.

The hand that had refused to relinquish its hold on the ragged blanket for days was now running through the ends of her long hair, as Tyrion's fingers fiddled with each strand. Careful not to move her head too much, she flicked her eyes to Tyrion's face and the innocent smile he wore. He was lying in bed, but was tilting onto his left side with his right arm hanging uselessly at his other side.

Sansa swallowed thickly, taking a moment to savour the wonder that lit up his green eyes. He looked perfectly content but she couldn't let him stay in that position. Just yesterday he'd broken another rib by moving too much and Sansa didn't need to be a Maester to know his current angle was putting pressure on his damaged chest. The blankets and sheets hid his lower half but there was every chance he was twisting his broken leg too. Henly was right – they'd need to find a way to restrain him. That Tyrion didn't seem to feel his injuries had at first seemed like a mercy, but Sansa had quickly learned it was a curse when coupled with his confused state. She drew in a deep breath, bracing for the many ways Tyrion could react to her waking.

"Good morning" she said softly, lifting her head from her arm

At once Tyrion froze; her red hair clasped between his fingers. Sansa winced at the panic rapidly building in his face – she'd thought this reaction the most likely.

"Sorry" he whispered, dropping the hair as if it was on fire "sorry, sorry..."

"It's ok" she told him quickly "you've done nothing wrong"

Tyrion's hand scrambled to grasp the tattered blanket as he squirmed in the bed. He tilted away from her and onto his back once more, but Sansa didn't miss the grinding of bones that accompanied the movement – or the discomfort that flashed across his face. Her own bones creaked as she straightened from her slumped position, quickly moving from the chair to sit on the side of the bed.

She gazed down at Tyrion, brushing her hand down the side of his face to try and calm him "Shh, please stay still. You're ok – it's all ok"

His eyes darted around the room as if searching for an escape "Sorry...please..."

"I won't hurt you Tyrion" she said, quickly pulling her hair over one shoulder and leaning down to offer it to him "Here, you can touch it if you like – I don't mind"

A tremble went through him as he looked at the offered hair. It took Sansa a moment to realise he was expecting a trick, and her heart twisted at the thought. She forced her mouth into a smile, bending forwards to kiss his forehead. He flinched at the contact, but Sansa lingered until she felt him relax a little. She pulled back, pleased to see some of the fear had fled from his face, though he still looked wary.

"Sorry" he repeated, his voice quiet and unsure

It was horrible seeing him like this. Whatever fear or insecurities Tyrion had he'd always hidden them behind a shield of wit and confidence. He'd fought in the Battle of Blackwater, fought the dead in the crypts - he'd stood up to Joffrey when no-one else would have dared.

Yet now he couldn't meet her eyes as he trembled on the bed; as if anticipating a punishment. Telling Tyrion he was safe wouldn't suffice – it was something he would need to accept himself. The only way to convince him was through their actions.

Still...they couldn't wait to win his trust. Henly had mentioned it yesterday and the way she'd heard Tyrion's bones grinding as he moved confirmed the unfortunate truth – they'd have to restrain him. Knowing the grim details of Tyrion's suffering made it so much worse but there was simply no other choice. The biggest threat to Tyrion was himself and Sansa had promised to protect him; even if it broke her heart.

She turned her focus back to Tyrion lying in the bed. His left hand was curled around the strip of ratty blanket they'd left him to hold onto and his face was etched with worry.

"How are you this morning?" she asked, smiling at him. She had no idea why Tyrion had wanted to touch her hair, but it seemed better to move on than ask questions.

Tyrion hesitated before saying softly "Ok..."

"That's good" she said "You don't look as tired as yesterday"

On she went, asking Tyrion the occasional question in-between general small talk. He rarely answered; even if it was a direct question – but Sansa could see he listened to every word she said. Little by little the tension eased out of him, until he was as relaxed as he could possibly be given the circumstances. Sansa had tried to take his hand as she talked, hoping he would relinquish the blanket in favour of her, but he tensed at the slightest sign he would be separated from the filthy rag.

It hurt not being able to comfort him as she would like, but yesterday had given her a glimpse at the trauma that surely lay beneath his frightened face. If Tyrion wasn't ready for her comfort she wouldn't push him, but she left her hand covering his anyway – a sign she was there if he needed her.

The morning light was growing brighter and Sansa knew the Maester would be on his way soon, and it wouldn't be long before she needed to turn her mind towards Northern business. Already the prospect of leaving Tyrion made her heart pick up pace in her chest. How could she leave him, even for a few hours, knowing all that he'd suffered?

Sansa swallowed thickly, running her finger over the side of Tyrion's prickly hair. Still he was squirming on the bed; oblivious to how he was hurting himself. It was now or never to try this. If it didn't work she'd have to consent to Henly restraining him. It was the last thing either she or the Maester wanted to do but Sansa could no longer deny it was necessary. She'd tried to relax Tyrion as much as possible, but there was no way of knowing how he'd react to her plan.

"Tyrion, I really want to help you" she said, drawing his attention "You need to rest to get better and I have an idea that might make you more comfortable"

'And safe' she thought

"Will you let me try?" she asked

As confused as Tyrion was, his mind was still sharp enough to understand her words meant something was changing. He bit his lip at her pleading gaze, fidgeting uncomfortably beneath the blankets. Sansa had no idea what decided for him, but she was more than grateful when his head nodded forwards.

Sansa's mouth turned upwards as relief flooded through her "Thank you. You don't need to worry about anything – just try to relax for me"

Cersei shivered against the cold of the cell, rubbing her hands down her arms as her face twisted into a scowl. She was the Queen – this was no place for her.

Very little had changed in the few days since she'd been taken prisoner, and there was no word of Qyburn. Presumably he was either dead or in another cell. Each time she looked outside her cell there were Unsullied guards and not a single Lannister who may be sympathetic to her cause.

Time had lost much of it's meaning to Cersei but there was a routine to the Black Cells. Twice a day some slop masquerading as food was brought into her, and the bucket for her waste was emptied every other day. Nobody had come to see her, and her few attempts to speak with the Unsullied guards were met with silence. They either didn't speak the common tongue or were deaf to her pleas.

The former Queen's face tightened as she huddled in the corner of her bed. Removing their cocks must have removed their bloody brains. Nobody else could be so cold to a beautiful woman in need. Annoyance flared within her – the imp would have been made a eunuch too if Qyburn hadn't thought it would break him too quickly. That was a thought; what had become of her little brother? Sansa had sounded as if she meant to rescue him, but that didn't make sense. She was forced to marry the little monster – surely she'd rather see him dead? Cersei's brow furrowed in confusion. It was more than a little strange.

Cersei's body had quickly adapted to the routine of the prison and when the lock clicked open she knew it wasn't time for food. She moved shakily to her feet, holding her head high – if this was death she would face it as a true lion.

To her surprise it wasn't the unsullied who came into the cell, but two Lannister guards. The first was an older man with greying hair and a grim expression. The second hovered behind him, his face young and filled with delight at seeing the Queen in the dungeon. Cersei smiled thinly, pretending to not notice the Unsullied guards hovering outside the cell door with their spears raised. There was no chance these men were here to rescue her.

"Gentleman, it is so good to see friendly faces after spending so long alone" she said, sweeping her gaze over the men

The older one narrowed his eyes, grunting "There's to be a trial in three days time. We're here to collect the names of any witnesses who may testify for you"

Cersei ducked her head, forcing her face into one of contrition "I see Queen Sansa will be doing things by the book – that is good"

"She's not the Queen" snorted the younger one "her brother Bran is King"

The information hit Cersei like an arrow, sending her mind into a spiral of different possibilities. Bran – the boy Jamie pushed from the window. Cersei had heard he was crippled, and heard rumours of his strange abilities. How had he become King?

"I see" she said, glancing past the old guard to the younger one "Curious. When she led her armies against me I assumed it was so she could rule"

"The North's independent-" started the younger guard

"Enough" snapped the older man "Godwin sent us to gather the names of any witnesses the prisoner wanted – not to gossip with the enemy"

"Enemy?" she scoffed "Are you so devoted to serving the Stark boy now?"

"He is King" snapped the older guard "and our loyalty is to lord Tyrion – the rightful lord of Casterly Rock"

It took every ounce of control Cersei possessed to hide her fury. It burned through her body, igniting an anger fierce enough she thought she might attack the man in front of her. The imp was alive; and he held her family's titles. He'd destroyed their family, yet still he drew breath while she rotted down here.

She ground her teeth together, forcing a neutral face "How is my little brother?"

"That's hardly your concern" scoffed the older guard

"I merely wondered if he was well enough to testify against me" said Cersei, perching on the edge of the filthy bed

"The way I heard it he can't wipe his own arse" said the younger man, his mouth twitching upwards

"Enough Malcolm" warned the older man, turning to glare at the guard "Do not disrespect our lord"

"Do you think begging and scraping will soften the imp's heart?" scoffed Cersei, levelling her gaze at the senior guard "You all served me as faithfully as you now claim to serve him. If he recovers-"

"He will" shot back the old guard, his mouth a hard line "Lady Stark cares for him day and night"

Cersei almost gagged at the thought. Was the Stark girl so damaged she'd care for that twisted creature?

The former Queen hid her disgust with a nod "I see. Then I wish your begging works out well for you"

"Why?" asked Malcolm, his forehead creased as if he couldn't understand why they'd need to beg Tyrion

Cersei spread her hands "The Lannister guards served me faithfully – I daresay many of you enjoyed following my orders. Perhaps your lord will be forgiving of your many crimes against him"

The older guard's eyes hardened "That is an issue for lord Tyrion to decide. Our duty is to serve him faithfully. Enough of your distractions woman; you've no power here. Either give us the names of witnesses to your defence, or confess to your sins and hope the Gods have mercy, because you'll find none here"

The old guard was resigned to whatever fate Tyrion would assign him, but the widening of Malcolm's eyes told Cersei this young man hadn't merely followed her orders, but enjoyed them. Cersei wasn't naive enough to believe all the Lannister guards enjoyed their role in her brother's captivity, but some of them had taken to it with enthusiasm – particularly the younger ones. It was good sport to them; they were following orders and trying to buy favour with the Queen. Never did they think they'd find themselves at Tyrion's mercy.

Cersei dropped her head, feigning innocence "Apologies, I did not mean to keep you from your duties. I've rather missed conversation I fear. I obviously wish the best for you both – such loyal servants of my house. Perhaps my brother won't recall the faces of his tormentors, or find some forgiveness in his heart. For your sakes I hope for the former – the memory of how he killed our father and the whore who betrayed him often haunts my sleep"

Tyrion screwed his eyes shut as another of the creatures was placed on him, this time next to his right shoulder.

"You're doing so well" came Sansa's voice, and the familiar feel of her fingers brushing against his face "This will help you get better"

His heart pounded unevenly in his chest as he felt another creature being placed on him. The desire to escape was overwhelming but he couldn't move from the bed. Sansa hadn't seemed angry that he touched her hair; she'd been as kind to him as ever. When she asked if she could try something to make him comfortable he hadn't thought it was a question. Yet Sansa had waited, her brilliant blue eyes watching him until he nodded slightly. Was that what he was supposed to do? Tyrion didn't know; the rules kept changing and he couldn't keep up.

Tyrion opened his eyes, squirming against the bed sheets and getting nowhere. Sansa had rearranged the sheets and blankets, leaving him no room to move. She'd placed pillows all down his right side and tucked the sheet under the mattress before doing the same to his left side. She'd been careful with his leg, but that was propped up on an extra pillow too. His brow furrowed thinking about his leg – it was wrapped in bandages but he didn't know why. Sometimes it felt funny; like a dull ache. His arms weren't trapped beneath the sheet but that made little difference - his right arm wouldn't work anyway. At least he could still hold his friend in his other hand. Sansa had covered him in blankets when she was finished and asked if he was comfortable. He'd nodded his head even as his stomach twisted. The feeling of being trapped was suffocating.

Bad things happened when he was trapped.

The man in grey had come in soon after and talked to Sansa in the corner for a while. When they'd come over to the bed Tyrion had expected the worst. He'd messed it up and broke the rules; he was going to be punished.

"Hang on a little longer my lord" said the man in grey "The leeches will help clear your system; they're not here to harm you"

Tyrion tried to breathe in, but no breath would come. He was trapped - the pain would start soon. A whimper escaped him as he shuffled helplessly against the sheets.

Sansa leaned over him, her blue eyes glistening "I'm so sorry Tyrion, but this is for the best. I promised to take care of you, and this is the only way"

"Please…" he whispered "please help…"

Maybe Sansa would help him. She was kind and warm - maybe she'd take pity on him.

Her soft hand pressed against the side of his face "What can I do? Anything at all"

"Maybe…"

"You can tell me"

"…go back to cell"

Sansa's face fell as she stroked his cheek, exchanging a look with the man in grey.

"You can't go back Tyrion; that isn't where you belong" she said gently

His heart sank as the man smiled at him "This won't be forever my lord. You're getting better every day. I think when we fix your shoulder you'll be much more yourself"

"Sorry" he whispered; imps shouldn't ask for things - monsters don't get choices.

He dropped his head to the side trying to avoid their stares and the creatures stuck to him, but it was no use - there was nowhere for him to hide. Something wet trickled from his eyes again. Weakness. That's what Cersei called it. That's why he wasn't a lion anymore.

Tyrion flinched as something soft pressed against his forehead, but he relaxed when Sansa's bright red hair fell around him. She pulled back from the kiss, cupping his face and turning him to face her. Her blue eyes were swimming in unshed tears, and held such softness Tyrion was sure it wasn't meant for him.

"Don't be sorry Tyrion - none of this is your fault" said Sansa, her gentle voice washing over him "I promise, as soon as you're well enough I'll take you home. We'll leave this horrible place far behind us"

Home?

Where was home for an imp?

Tyrion trembled as more weakness slid down his face. Everything was so confusing, but part of him wanted to believe what Sansa said. Wherever 'home' was, maybe it wouldn't be so bad - at least it wouldn't if Sansa was there.

The warmth of the day was a pleasant change from the inside of the Red Keep though it did very little to lift Sansa's mood as she wandered through Kings Landing. Tyrion had become increasingly agitated as he was leeched, drifting between pleading with her and being lost in his own mind.

Maester Henly assured her it was a good thing – that it was likely pieces of Tyrion's memory were returning. The man had spent yesterday studying Qyburn's notes and the contents of the jars, and today had pulled her aside to give his verdict.

"There's good news and bad news my lady" he said, when Missandei had arrived and they'd left Tyrion under her supervision

"The bad news?" she asked as they made their way down the corridor

"There is no way to fix his hand" he said grimly "Based on the notes, Qyburn's cut his hand open, removed a piece of bone and severed key nerves. I cannot say how much movement or feeling lord Tyrion will have in it until his shoulder has been fixed, but that hand will be largely useless to him"

"There's no way to undo it?"

"I fear not my lady" said Henly "What Qyburn did was incredibly dangerous – it's a small miracle lord Tyrion didn't develop an infection and lose his hand at the very least. I take it that is lord Tyrion's dominant hand?"

Sansa's heart twisted as she nodded – that wouldn't be his dominant hand anymore.

"His knee was the other concern though there is perhaps a glimmer of hope there. From what I can gather Qyburn cut into the joint as a preliminary experiment and lord Tyrion was rescued before more damage could be done. Nevertheless samples of tissue and muscle were cut away. It's possible that knee will be weak, but I don't believe it will hinder him too badly when his broken leg has healed and he's regained some strength"

"Anything else?" asked Sansa, dreading the answer

Henly stopped beside her "His shoulder needs to be broken again and set in its proper place – Qyburn identified two breaks in it and I daresay the procedure to fix it will be excruciating. I'd rather wait a couple more days before doing that. Lord Tyrion is quite malnourished and Qyburn has been experimenting on him with multiple unknown potions. Leeching him was unpleasant but it will need to be repeated to clear his system"

Sansa's head spun with the information and its implications; a long recovery and scars that would last a lifetime. Still there was one question that burned above all others.

"Do you think - when he's had chance to recover - Tyrion will be Tyrion again?" she asked quietly

The Maester's eyes brimmed with sympathy "That's not for me to say my lady; trauma affects everyone differently and lord Tyrion has suffered immensely. He was not sedated for Qyburn's experiments – he would have felt every cut of the knife as pieces of him were taken away. Let's not forget this happened because he was betrayed by the Queen he trusted; and every beating, experiment and humiliation he endured was ordered by his own sister – she molested him multiple times based on Qyburn's notes. I cannot say how lord Tyrion will mentally recover from this"

Sansa's face crumpled as the full depth of Tyrion's suffering was laid bare. She hated seeing him so confused. Every tear, every cry hammered at her defences. The memory of the Long Night drifted through her mind; of a strong hand holding hers and warm green eyes that promised they'd survive the crypt. Every day that image of Tyrion got a little further away from her.

"My lady, all is not lost" said Henly, smiling kindly at her "Lord Tyrion's current state is not permanent – of that I'm quite certain. I believe his physical state and the trauma he's endured has caused his mind to turn inward; he is protecting himself. Lord Tyrion may not fully realise who you are, but some part of him recognises you and knows he's safe when you're with him"

The conversation caused tears to burn at the back of Sansa's eyes once again, but she refused to let them fall. Poor Tyrion had even asked to go back to his cell. From Tyrion's perspective the cell might have been a relief for him. Qyburn's notes made it clear he was regularly beaten there, but that violence probably didn't compare to what Cersei and Qyburn did to him when he wasn't in the cell. Going from a cold, dark cell visited only by monsters to a warm bed and bright room with constant supervision would be terrifying. Everything he'd gotten used to had been ripped away and replaced by a new routine.

Guilt crept through Sansa for not figuring it out sooner – her life with Ramsay had forced her to adapt to his brutal routine, and Theon Greyjoy had been unrecognisable in Winterfell. A lump formed in her throat at the thought of Theon. Ramsay had tortured him for years to make him Reek; grinding away all traces of Theon. The fear in Tyrion's eyes was so familiar because she'd seen it in Theon's eyes.

No. That wouldn't happen. Tyrion was hurt and scared, but he wasn't broken; she'd get him back – the monsters wouldn't win.

She turned her attention to the sprawling mess that was Kings Landing. There would be a meeting later to go through the details of the North's independence but before that Sansa had business in the city; a promise to Tyrion that had waited long enough.

"Shouldn't you have more guards?" asked Arya, plodding along beside her "You're Queen in the North after all"

"That hasn't been decided" said Sansa, her cheeks reddening "Besides, you and Ser Brienne are with me"

"Who said we would protect you?" replied Arya, glancing around the bustling streets as they moved further from the Red Keep

Sansa turned to Brienne, the tall Knight smiling slightly "My sword is yours my lady"

They wandered between the merchants. It hadn't taken long for Kings Landing to recover from battle. Most of the damage had occurred at the gates against the Golden Company, sparing the city any real harm. The people had easily accepted Bran as King but Sansa hadn't doubted the people would accept a new monarch – anyone was better than Cersei.

"What are you looking for?" asked Arya, as Sansa browsed yet another shop for the needed item

She hesitated, turning away from her sister "There's something I need to pick up"

"Like what?"

"Just something"

Sansa could feel the eyes of Arya and Brienne watching her, but refused to face them. She'd invited Brienne along as both protection and a trusted friend who wouldn't mock her – Arya had invited herself.

"If you tell us we can help you look" said Arya

"I don't need your help"

"Gods, it's for Tyrion isn't it?" groaned Arya "That's why you're being weird about it"

Sansa turned to her sister, her face burning "I never asked you to come Arya"

Brienne's face was sympathetic at least. The lady Knight didn't speak of it, but it was clear enough that she mourned Jamie. Her hand constantly fiddled with the lion head pommel of her sword and more than once she'd seen Brienne's eyes red as if she'd been crying. Sansa hadn't particularly liked Jamie but he'd meant a lot to at least two people. Brienne and Tyrion had both loved him – it was a loss Brienne could grieve, but Tyrion was in no state to do so. A pang went through Sansa at the thought; Tyrion had idolised his brother, and his Queen had killed him. In the space of weeks Tyrion's life had changed forever. If he-when he regained awareness it would be to a whole new world.

"Is it anything we can help you with lady Sansa?" asked Brienne gently

Sansa swallowed thickly, holding her head with dignity "I told him I'd get him a new blanket"

Arya shook her head in disbelief "We've passed a hundred blankets"

"I promised it would be blue"

"Half of them were blue!"

Sansa turned away "If you're going to mock me Arya then leave. I'm quite alright with Ser Brienne"

She turned her attention to the next merchant further up the road and hurried away from them. It was halfway towards the merchant that Sansa heard rowdy laughter and a man's booming voice.

"- staggering up the road, covered in shit and blood – naked as his name day. I thought to meself I aint never gonna get so close to a highborn again"

The words stopped Sansa short, pulling her from her destination and down the side street where the noise was coming from. It opened into a small square at the back of a tavern with benches crammed in every inch of the area and a crowd of people hanging off them as they listened to the man in the middle. He looked no more than thirty, with a wispy black beard and scruffy hair. His face was alive with expression as he recounted his story to the waiting audience.

"I made sure I got to the front when he was getting close, but everyone wanted a piece of him didn't they?" he continued "The beast got closer and I aint lying, there were tears on his face; mixed in with the shit and that"

The man crouched down, holding one arm out to demonstrate his words "I got real low and the moment he staggered past I pounced forwards"

He lunged forwards as a cold horror spread through Sansa. She stood frozen to the spot, an accidental witness to the confession.

"Did you get him?" asked a young boy, his eyes bright with an interest that sickened Sansa

A wide grin spread over the man's face "Any of you know how big a dwarf's cock is? Not that big, I can tell ya that! I got me hand right around him and gave him a yank – reckon I might be the first bloke to make the imp squeal"

Vomit rolled through Sansa's stomach, burning its way up her throat as the man mimicked a high pitched squeal to the delight of the crowd.

Arya's voice was low and dangerous in her ear "Say the word"

There was no need for an explanation. That man could be dead in a moment; he would tell no more tales of abusing Tyrion. She glanced sideways to see both Brienne and Arya had followed her, both wearing similar expressions of disgust. Arya had a knife in her hand already – it would be so easy to silence that man. It was possible he was lying to make himself look good; there were probably many like him in Kings Landing – all keen to tell stories of how they hurt Tyrion Lannister.

The thought extinguished the warmth of the day, bringing Sansa sharply back to the day of the riots when she'd nearly been raped. The people would turn on anybody – it didn't matter Tyrion had once led the defence of the city against Stannis Baratheon. Nobody cared that Cersei was cruel and evil and would kill them all in a heartbeat – she'd given them a source of amusement.

Sansa ground her teeth together as the laughs of the crowd echoed off the buildings and into her soul. This place was a nest of vipers; rotten to the core without a shred of decency. If Sansa had ever doubted Northern independence this alone would strengthen her resolve. The North was cold and harsh; but Cersei's brand of cruelty wouldn't be tolerated by either the highborn or the lowborn. It was little wonder Starks did poorly in Kings Landing; honour was long dead here.

"After the guards pushed him further down the road I thought to meself; if he's supposed to be a lion I must be a bloody God. No wonder the old lion was ashamed – if I had a lad like that I'd have to get rid of it!" continued the man to more laughter. The audience were joining the taunts; throwing out their own observations of Tyrion on his humiliating walk through the city.

"We should go" said Brienne, though her hand hovered on her sword

Arya's face was expressionless, but her eyes were trained on the man "Say the word"

For a single moment Sansa wanted to let Arya do it. Buried deep inside her there was a creature that wanted blood; a wolf ready for prey. There was a document in Sansa's gown – where she always kept it – that named the man they were mocking as her husband.

'They're monsters, they deserve it' urged one voice

'You'll become one too' whispered another

In the end Sansa stepped back, shaking her head at Arya. Killing this man would be satisfying but it wouldn't be justice. The whole of Kings Landing had taken part in Tyrion's humiliation – killing all his abusers would be a slaughter.

Justice would be done, and it would be done to Cersei Lannister.

Bran eyed the document in front of him that detailed the proposed arrangements between an independent North and the six Kingdoms. There was no need to read it – the three-eyed raven had watched Tyrion Lannister write it. Hours and hours of work had been poured into creating an agreement that would be fair to both kingdoms. A frown pulled at Bran's face at the thought of Tyrion. This agreement had been written for Daenerys – not for him.

"Any issues your Grace?" asked Varys from his place beside him.

There were several positions to fill on his council, the most important of which was Hand of the King. Bran had a number of ideas for that position, but for now Varys would act as his hand.

"No" said Bran, his eyes drifting over Tyrion's name and Sansa's beside it. The rest of the present Northern lords had added their signatures below hers leaving room for Bran's signature to the right of the document. The King lifted his voice, glancing at the assembled lords "I make no amendments"

A meeting had been convened in a long chamber in the Red Keep. Bran and Varys sat at one end of the long table with Sansa and lord Glover sat at the opposite end. Along the right side of the table sat the few Northern lords who were present in Kings Landing, including the young lord Cerwyn and a few more minor lords. To Bran's left sat the lords and ladies representing the six Kingdoms including Gendry Baratheon, Ser Davos Seaworth and lord Royce. The new Prince of Dorne and Yara Greyjoy had left Kings Landing the day before, along with Edmure Tully. With the Iron Throne decided all that remained was politics and several of the lords had asked Bran's leave to return to their own seats.

As Bran's gaze moved over the two lords representing the Westerlands he wished more had gone home. Ser Harys Swyft was an old man easily recognised by the rooster sigil on his tunic. The man beside him was middle aged and it was him Bran focused on. War had decimated the Westerlands and Lord Lewys Lydden was one of the few noble lords remaining. The white badger sigil of his house stood out against his brown tunic and greying hair. Varys had told Bran the whispers but he already knew – and he hated what it would make him do.

"You accept the arrangement we've proposed?" asked Sansa

"I do" said Bran, carefully adding his own signature to the document "I Bran Stark, first of my name, King of the Andals and the first men, protector of the realm and lord of the six Kingdoms grant the North independence, subject to the agreements in this document"

Sansa's face was hard to read, but Bran didn't miss the flicker of joy in her eyes as Northern independence became official. The rest of the Northerners were much easier to read as they cheered in delight.

Varys took over the discussion, detailing the next steps for putting the arrangements in place. Maesters would make copies of the agreement and the next few days would be spent putting into place the initial trade agreements. The talk went on, and through it all Bran watched the two lords of the Westerlands. Lord Lydden was biding his time – he and Ser Harys Swyft had discussed this for days.

"Is there any other business to discuss?" asked Varys, folding his hands into his sleeves

Lord Lydden sat forwards, glancing up the table at Bran "Why yes – I was hoping arrangements could be made to return lord Tyrion to the Westerlands. I've been unable to get any information on his condition, but if all is well we can leave in a few days time"

"What?" demanded Sansa

"Forgive me my lady but this doesn't concern you" said Ser Harys

"You want to take Tyrion – of course it concerns me" said Sansa, narrowing her eyes

Lord Lydden's mouth twitched upwards "My lady, we intend to take our lord home. Leaving him in Kings Landing is hardly appropriate"

"He's not staying here or going to the Westerlands" said Sansa, a tremor in her voice "He's coming to Winterfell"

"I hardly think so" scoffed lord Lydden "The North is a separate Kingdom now, is it not? Why would we allow you to take the lord of Casterly Rock there? He would be your hostage"

Sansa froze as if she'd been slapped, but it hardly mattered – the soon to be Queen in the North had more friends at the table than the lords of the Westerlands did.

"I won't hear you slander lady Stark" warned lord Royce "particularly when I saw neither of your houses near the battle of Kings Landing"

"Aye" agreed lord Glover "were you hiding under Casterly Rock?"

"Weren't exactly marching to rescue your liege lord were you?" added lord Cerwyn

Ser Harys shrunk in his seat and lord Lydden's face faltered momentarily at the sharp responses. Varys had warned Bran the lords of the Westerlands were making plans for Tyrion, and Bran had seen their conversations through the raven's eyes. It had only been a matter of time before the issue was raised. Cersei would be put on trial within the next few days. When she was found guilty and justice was delivered Tyrion would be the last of the Lannisters – and the lords of the Westerlands saw many ways to use him.

"My lords, I fear moving lord Tyrion to the Westerlands is unwise. He is not at all well and is dependent on lady Stark for much of his care" said Varys

Lord Lydden straightened in his seat "Yes, while we appreciate lady Sansa's efforts on behalf of lord Tyrion there is no need to trouble her any further. My daughter Jeyne is a caring girl – she can tend to him"

The cold that descended on the room reminded Bran sharply of the White Walkers, only this time the source was Sansa. His sister's eyes were as hard as ice as she turned on lord Lydden.

"Thank you for your generous offer my lord, but lord Tyrion will remain under my care" said Sansa "He is easily distressed and letting strangers take him is hardly in his best interests"

"We are not strangers my lady" grunted Ser Harys "It is only right lord Tyrion is brought to Casterly Rock and cared for by his own people – you are no longer part of this kingdom"

"Forgot us already?" snarled one of the Northerners "not like we just cleaned up your mess for ya"

"Weren't so eager to come to Kings Landing when Cersei was in charge eh?" added another

Bickering descended on the table with the Northerners rising up in defence of Sansa. They didn't care for Tyrion, but Sansa had won them independence – she was to be their Queen. If she wanted the Lannister dwarf they would not allow him to be taken. The lords of the Westerlands had no friends at the table either; Ser Davos, Gendry and lord Royce would back Sansa.

"How bad is the situation?" murmured Bran

Varys sighed "The majority of the lords in the six Kingdoms do not care what happens to lord Tyrion, and we both know why the lords of the Westerlands are keen to take him there. While we know your sister means the best for Tyrion, to many he will be seen as a political prisoner...unless certain things are brought to light"

Bran nodded his understanding, turning his attention to the bickering table. Sansa's face had turned near murderous as she argued with lord Lydden, giving her an unexpected resemblance to Arya. He didn't want to do this, but as King he couldn't be seen to favour his family.

"Enough" called Bran, bringing silence to the table "I understand both sides have fair points in this argument, and neither will back down"

"Lord Tyrion belongs in the Westerlands" said Ser Harys "It's outrageous that we, his banner men, have been unable to see him or even get a full report on his injuries. It makes you wonder what exactly is being hidden"

"What do you think is being hidden my lord?" asked Sansa, her voice low and dangerous

Ser Harys held his hands up "I do not accuse you my lady – these are things many in the Westerlands think"

"Your Grace there is simply no good reason why lord Tyrion should go North, particularly in such a vulnerable state" said lord Lydden "The Westerlands formally requests our liege lord is returned to his home"

"I spoke to Maester Gallard just this morning" said Ser Harys "He believes returning lord Tyrion to Casterly Rock is the best course of action"

Sansa's blue eyes burned into Bran from across the table. She wouldn't be happy with him, but if the independent North and the six Kingdoms were to be successful there could be no bad blood. Allowing her to take Tyrion would ignite rumours of favouritism - of not acting in the interests of the lords of the six Kingdoms.

"There will be a hearing to decide this" said Bran "and I will not decide alone. Given lord Tyrion is Warden of the West and the North is now independent it is in everyone's best interest to decide this publically"

"Bran…" said Sansa, fear spreading through her eyes

"You will each have the chance to make your case" said Bran "the hearing will take place tomorrow afternoon and you may present whatever evidence you wish"

Ser Harys and lord Lydden shared a smile.

"Thank you your Grace" said lord Lydden "Might we see lord Tyrion before then? It's better my daughter get acquainted with him before we travel"

"He's not going to the Westerlands" snapped Sansa, her usually regal face turning wolfish with anger

"If we cannot see lord Tyrion, surely no-one else should either until the situation is resolved" said Ser Harys

Sansa paled, her face warring between panic and anger "No…he can't be left alone"

Bran's stomach twisted unexpectedly as his sister silently pleaded with him "From my understanding there are only a few people lord Tyrion is comfortable around at the moment, and one of them is lady Sansa. Nevertheless, as King I must be fair - Missandei and Maester Henly will be the only ones permitted to see lord Tyrion until after the hearing"

"Bran, please…he's scared" said Sansa, the tremble in her voice betraying her true feelings

"Perhaps lady Sansa should be allowed a final visit" suggested Varys, glancing between them "just to prepare lord Tyrion for her absence tomorrow. From what I understand any changes to his routine distress him in his current state, and I see no harm in a short visit"

"Done" said Bran, gazing at his sister "You may visit lord Tyrion when we are done here, after which no-one but Missandei or his Maester will be allowed access"

Sansa's face crumpled as she nodded her acceptance. It was the smallest change, but if you knew Sansa well enough it told you everything you needed to know about her true feelings.

The table was united against the lords of the Westerlands, with the Northerners, Ser Davos, Gendry and lord Royce glaring at them in varying levels of annoyance. It didn't seem to matter to either of the lords - they had what they wanted. As Bran watched his sister move to leave with the Northerners, he knew it was time Sansa decided what she wanted.

Sansa's hand shook as she tucked the new blanket around Tyrion, though she made certain to keep a smile on her face.

"As promised" she said "a new blanket in your favourite colour"

His eyes widened at the gift; the hint of a smile pulling at his mouth. Deciding on a blanket had been difficult, mostly because there were so many options and Sansa wanted something special for him. Poor Tyrion had suffered so much - surely he deserved some kind of comfort? In the end she'd found one that matched all of her requirements. The blanket was high quality, soft and thick - most importantly it was a patchwork of different shades of blue.

"I wasn't sure what shade of blue you liked best, so I got you one with some variety" she said "It'll keep you warm when we go…"

Sansa trailed off, anxiety ripping through her heart. When they went where? If the hearing went against her tomorrow Tyrion would be taken to the Westerlands and away from her. She drew in a shaky breath, pushing the thought aside. That wouldn't happen; it was damned obvious why the lords of the Westerlands wanted Tyrion and she wouldn't allow him to be used.

"Thank you" he said softly, his green eyes flitting between her and the blanket

"You're very welcome" said Sansa "I wish there was more I could do for you"

It wasn't fair. Tyrion wasn't well, and he was so afraid - how could she be expected to stay away from him? Missandei told her Tyrion had slept while she was gone but had become distressed in his sleep, mumbling 'stop' and 'Jamie' repeatedly before waking in a panic. It was both a good and bad sign. Maester Henly said the leeching would help to clear his system from Qyburn's experiments, but it also meant whatever barrier was keeping the trauma at bay was weakening. Henly thought Tyrion would return to himself in time, but the path to get there was bathed in horror. Tyrion's nightmares would only get worse as he began to recover. Even as he lay in the bed he was more lethargic than usual. This morning he'd pulled and strained against the tight bed sheets holding him still, but now he simply lay there - a look of mild discomfort lurking on his face.

She reached out, brushing her hand against his cheek. The Tyrion she knew so well was in there somewhere, but this Tyrion wasn't him. This one was lost and scared and couldn't defend himself - until he healed Sansa would protect him.

Frustration flickered across Tyrion's face as he looked at the blanket and it took Sansa a moment to realise what the cause was. His left hand was still gripping the filthy rag he was attached to and his right arm wouldn't work, leaving Tyrion unable to hold both his old and new blanket. If he wanted to feel the new one properly he would need to relinquish the old one.

Sansa lifted a piece of the blue blanket, brushing it against his face "Nice and soft, isn't it?"

His green eyes brightened at the action, gazing at her with warmth that threatened to melt the walls she'd built long ago. It was so easy to let her guard down when Tyrion was like this; he didn't really understand what was going on, or who he was - giving him affection didn't mean anything.

'Yes it does' whispered her mind 'You're just not brave enough to accept it'

He was her friend, and he needed some comfort and protection; there was nothing more to it.

The light in the room was beginning to fade as the sun began its descent, reminding Sansa that her time with Tyrion was limited. After days at his bedside she'd been permitted no more than an hour with him tonight and wouldn't be allowed to see him until after the hearing tomorrow.

'If you lose, you won't see him at all' taunted her mind 'they'll take him away and you know what they'll do'

Unfortunately she knew exactly what they'd do. Cersei's fate was near-hand and Tyrion would be the last of the Lannisters when it happened. Where Sansa had once been called the key to the North, Tyrion would become the key to the West. From what Sansa understood of the Westerlands there was no major house ready to claim control of the West – most had been decimated through years of war. The clearest way to power was for a lesser house to join with house Lannister; and the only way to do that was through Tyrion.

The concern the lords of the Westerlands had for their liege lord went no further than his name and his cock. Anger curled through Sansa as her mind worked through what would happen if she lost the hearing.

Tyrion would be taken to Casterly Rock, and within a few weeks he would be married to lord Lydden's daughter. Sansa could almost imagine the wedding. Tyrion would be clutching his ragged blanket in one hand while his bride held his useless one. Someone would be whispering in his ear, telling him what to do and say as the vows were exchanged. It would be a small wedding, painted as a love match between the lord of Casterly Rock and the girl who nursed him back to health. Lord Lydden would rule through his daughter, while she bedded Tyrion until his seed took root. He wouldn't be given any choice; they'd coerce him to do as they wanted, and a Maester could probably teach Jeyne Lydden how to use Tyrion in bed. Tyrion wouldn't heal because nobody would care enough to help him. He'd be left forgotten; a prisoner in his own home to be brought out on special occasions or when a child was needed. Tyrion would never be fit to rule, and lord Lydden would rule in his name until a son from Tyrion came of age; a boy with lion's blood, but raised without his father. It wasn't hard to imagine Tyrion would be discarded eventually, when an heir and a spare were taken from him. A few drops of poison in his drink and the lord of Casterly Rock would die in his sleep, alone and-

"Sansa?"

The frightened whisper snapped Sansa from her increasingly dark thoughts to the worried eyes of Tyrion watching her. She realised her face had betrayed her growing fury; inadvertently startling Tyrion who probably thought her ire was directed at him.

"Sorry" she said, smiling at him "I got distracted for a moment"

He nodded, biting his lip as a soft rap sounded at the door. Sansa's stomach lurched – that was the signal her time was at an end. Maester Henly would stay with Tyrion tonight and Missandei would stay with him tomorrow. Sansa ignored the sound, turning her focus back to Tyrion.

"Do you remember I said we'd go home soon? There are some things I need to sort out before we can go, so I won't be able to see you until late tomorrow" she told him, gently stroking his cheek "I don't want you to worry, Maester Henly and Missandei will still be here with you"

Tyrion's eyes filled with a panic that broke her heart just as easily as it stirred something she couldn't name. She leaned over him, tucking his new blanket tightly around him before kissing his forehead.

Bran was King and he'd declared there would be a hearing to decide Tyrion's fate, but when she returned North Sansa would be Queen – and she learned long ago not to trust in fate or Kings.

"No matter what I'm going to take you home Tyrion, I promise"