Chapter 13
"Your Grace, preparations are underway to leave tomorrow if all is well," said lord Cerwyn.
Sansa smiled, nodding her thanks. "Good. I'll be glad to leave Kings Landing."
"We all will your Grace," said lord Glover. "Leaving the six Kingdoms for the independent North - by the old Gods I never thought I'd see it!"
"The bulk of the Northern army will travel back on the Kings Road, but ships have been arranged as you requested," said lord Cerwyn.
"Thank you," said Sansa. Lord Glover and lord Cerwyn continuing going through the final arrangements with the few other Northern lords who'd joined them. There was plenty to be done today and as soon as Sansa had woken she'd found herself being pulled into work. Instantly her mind flitted to Tyrion. He'd seemed peaceful enough when she left him; she just hoped he'd be alright for a few hours…
"Lady Stark."
Lord Royce's voice pulled Sansa to the man stood in the doorway of their temporary meeting room. A few of the northern lords pulled a face at not using her new title, but the Vale was part of Bran's Kingdom and Sansa hadn't yet been officially crowned, even if the lords enjoyed calling her as their Queen.
She turned towards the man who inclined his head. "Might I have a moment of your time?"
"Certainly my lord."
The Northerners quickly picked up the hint and a few minutes later Sansa was alone with the man who'd been one of her fiercest allies. He took the chair along from hers, though he didn't seem overly comfortable.
"I will be sad to see you leave," said lord Royce.
"And I you my lord. Your friendship and support will not be forgotten, even if our Kingdoms are now separate. You leave tomorrow?"
"Yes, the Knights of the Vale will travel the Kings Road with the Northern army until we part ways."
A silence fell between them and Sansa's suspicion grew. Lord Royce was generally forthright - and he hadn't come here without reason.
"Is there something I can assist you with?" asked Sansa.
The man swallowed, tapping his fingers against the table. "I fear it's a delicate subject, and it is far from my place to mention this to you - know that I only do so out of duty to lord Arryn and concern for you."
Sansa's brow furrowed. "Go on."
"My lady, I realise you are quite fond of Tyrion Lannister, and despite my personal feelings towards Lannisters he certainly did not deserve the injustice he endured - but is he a suitable consort?"
"Excuse me?"
"I mean no offence my lady, truly I don't. When you are crowned Queen do you truly want the Lannister as prince consort?"
Sansa stared for a moment, an uncomfortable weight settling in her chest. In truth she'd never considered that aspect of their arrangement. She'd refused an annulment and until Tyrion was well enough to decide he would technically hold that title.
Lord Royce shifted uncomfortably. "I understand you wished to save lord Tyrion and you've shown him exceptional care - now is, perhaps, the time to consider your own future. Marriage is a sensitive topic for you, of that I have no doubt, but perhaps marriage to a man you know and can trust would be acceptable. Lord Robin has grown out of his more trying traits…"
Sansa almost laughed. Ah, this was why he was so uncomfortable. Of course lord Royce would help his young liege lord find a suitable wife, but that would certainly not be Sansa. There was already a man she knew and trusted but her relationship with him could neither progress nor end at the moment.
"I thank you lord Royce," said Sansa, cutting him short. "I appreciate your concern and understand your duty to my cousin, but I've no interest in finding another husband."
"If not lord Robin, there are other suitors. You could do better my lady-"
"My marriage to lord Tyrion is temporary," said Sansa, the words sticking in her throat. "Until he has recovered sufficiently to make his own decisions he will remain as my husband. I will not search for other suitors either. The North's independence is new and will require my full concentration. Whoever I take as prince consort is a decision for the future."
Lord Royce clearly disapproved of Tyrion but to Sansa's relief he moved the conversation into safer topics and appeared just as relieved to be done with the awkwardness as she was. It had never occurred to Sansa that claiming Tyrion as her husband made him her consort. Would the Northerners accept that, or had it not occurred to them either?
'Home?'
Tyrion's question from last night whispered through her mind, followed swiftly by the memory of his pain filled eyes. It didn't matter what anyone thought. Tyrion was coming home with her, and until he was well enough to decide otherwise he was her husband. Still, it would be better to monitor the situation with the Northern lords and perhaps make the status of the marriage clear. If nothing else the marriage to Tyrion should ward off potential suitors for a while, and give them time to figure things out.
The possibility Tyrion would reject her continued to lurk in her mind but every day she felt her defences slipping around him. She'd have to guard herself more closely. There was little of her heart left to offer anyone, she couldn't afford for it to break - even if the thought of Tyrion at her side in Winterfell made her stomach flutter.
Arya shifted in the chair, making herself comfortable. It was only an hour into her watch but boredom was already seeping in. What did Sansa do in here for hours on end? It was no matter. Arya had waited long enough to take her turn and she would see it through to the bitter end, though it would be a lot easier if Tyrion actually spoke. The little Lannister seemed to lurch between lost in his mind and fearful of his surroundings.
Sansa had fussed over him before she left, making sure he was tucked in and the pillows were adjusted properly under his head. She'd given him a drink of water and promised to be back soon. It was anyone's guess how much Tyrion actually understood but as soon as Sansa left he'd started trembling as if he was afraid. The blue blanket had been firmly clutched in his hand since she arrived and the lord of Casterly Rock showed no sign of loosening his grip. Even when his trembling had stopped and his eyes became distant he'd clutched the material as if it was Sansa herself.
"It's nice," said Arya, nodding towards the blanket. "Sansa spent ages choosing it."
Tyrion's eyes flicked to hers for a moment but he merely clutched the blanket tighter. Gods this was painful. How could Sansa stand seeing him like this? Arya hadn't particularly cared for him when he was at Winterfell but even she found this Tyrion difficult to take. He was like a beaten child who didn't really understand what was going on around him.
The trial of Cersei Lannister had certainly shed light on why. Of all the horrible things Arya had seen and done, nothing compared to Qyburn's journal and the contents of those jars. Tyrion was barely recognisable. His hair was gone, he was far too skinny and his face held nothing but fear. Well, that wasn't quite true. His doe-eyed staring at Sansa as she tended to him had been nauseating, though Sansa seemed to find it endearing.
Arya's stomach twisted; she hoped her sister wasn't setting herself up to get hurt. Tyrion's confusion was giving Sansa a safe place to let her instincts run wild. It was painfully obvious she loved Tyrion, but if he was in his right mind Arya had no doubt her sister would bury her feelings. The longer this went on the more attached Sansa became to caring for him, and Tyrion was in no condition to either reciprocate or reject her feelings.
"Ugh," whimpered Tyrion, squirming under the tight sheets. "No, no, don't want to..."
Arya sat forwards in her chair, watching his face twist in fear. The last thing she needed was for Sansa to come back and find Tyrion distraught - her sister would never let her near him again. "You're fine Tyrion, just take it easy."
"No...she's here...they're here..."
"Um, don't worry," said Arya, fidgeting awkwardly. "Sansa will be back soon."
Tyrion was staring at the ceiling but appeared to see something that wasn't there. He trembled on the bed, unable to move but clearly wanting to escape. "Not Sansa...don't hurt her...please...take me...not her."
A lump formed in Arya's throat as he shivered and babbled. Maybe she didn't need to worry about Sansa's feelings being rejected. Whatever hell he'd been through, some part of Tyrion was thinking about Sansa, and more importantly; protecting her.
"You threatened Tyrion."
Bronn leaned back in his chair, lifting an eyebrow at the woman opposite him. The Stark girl certainly wasn't a girl anymore. The steel in her eyes only came from one thing and that was a damned hard taste of the real world.
"Aye, I threatened him - and his brother," said Bronn "So what?"
"You threatened the lord of Casterly Rock."
"Which one? I'm pretty sure Cersei was in charge then. She had the throne and the Lannister army. She told me to make sure her brothers didn't come back from the North."
"You're no better than Qyburn."
Bronn narrowed his eyes. "Don't compare me to that bastard. I didn't kill Tyrion or Jamie, did I?"
"He made you a better offer, didn't he?" said Sansa, lacing her hands in front of her. "You threatened them until Tyrion offered you something better - you're exactly like Qyburn."
Sansa Stark was as cold as the bloody wall. The only hint of the warmth she'd had as a girl came when she mentioned Tyrion. Just for a moment something in her shifted.
"Forgive me m'lady," said Bronn, bobbing his head forwards. "I didn't realise you took being lady Lannister so seriously."
The woman's nostrils flared, her composure momentarily breaking. "Excuse me?"
"He's your husband, ain't he? Did ya marry him for the Rock? Fair enough I suppose. His father made him marry you to get the North, now you marry him for the Westerlands..."
"I did not marry Tyrion for anything!" said Sansa. "Our marriage was never annulled and until Tyrion is well enough to decide for himself it will stand. It's the only way to make sure he gets proper care, and doesn't get dragged off by his banner men and married to one of their daughters-"
"Alright..."
"No, it's not alright. Tyrion is my friend and I won't let you or anyone else hurt him - he's suffered enough."
Bronn bit back a sigh. Who the fuck was she trying to convince? He'd been searching for a crack in her icy mask and by the gods he found it.
"I think we can all agree that Ser Bronn is not like Qyburn," said Varys, glancing between them. "Nor is lady Stark anything but sincere in her regard for lord Tyrion."
"Fine," said Bronn, shrugging his shoulders.
Sansa opened her mouth as if she was going to continue rationalising her relationship with Tyrion before deciding against it. The lady of Winterfell sat back in her chair, crossing her arms and glaring daggers at him. It took every ounce of control Bronn had to not laugh. Instead he moved his attention to the final occupant of the room. Bran Stark had remained silent throughout their discussion and if it wasn't for his watchful eyes Bronn might have thought him dead - there was surely more life in a corpse than the new King.
"Ser Bronn isn't a danger to Tyrion," said Bran, turning to his sister. "He acted under orders from Cersei when she was Queen. I am King now - he serves me."
"That I do," said Bronn. "For what you offered in the letter."
Sansa's eyes narrowed instantly. "You only testified against Cersei because Bran promised you something. You didn't do it for Tyrion!"
"This again, eh? Sorry sweetheart but welcome to the real world. I am a sellsword; I sell my sword. I'm happy as anyone Cersei's getting what she deserves but I didn't do it for Tyrion - same as he wouldn't do it for me."
"That's not true. Tyrion is a far better man than anyone realises..."
Bronn snorted. "Aye. A kinslaying dwarf who drinks wine like water and stood by while his Queen burned people to death with her dragons."
"You don't know him-"
"I know him better than you," said Bronn. "I know what he wanted most was to be liked and I'd bet ya anything that's what got him into this state."
Silence met his words, and Sansa's icy blue eyes suddenly wouldn't meet his gaze.
Varys cleared his throat, folding his hands into his sleeves. "You are correct in a sense Ser Bronn. Lord Tyrion agreed to take the place of Daenerys Targaryen's closest friend in his sister's custody. The dragon Queen promised to free him from captivity as soon as Missandei was safe but after the exchange was made she changed her mind, and burned Ser Jamie alive instead. She left lord Tyrion at Cersei's mercy for weeks and as you can imagine from yesterday's trial that was a far from pleasant experience. Lady Stark and the allied forces prevailed in rescuing him."
Bronn shifted awkwardly in his seat. Bran's letter had found him in the Riverlands nearly two weeks ago and had offered him a lordship in return for his honest testimony at a trial for Cersei Lannister. Of course he'd been sceptical, but the letter had known things about him that nobody else could possibly know. The closer he got to Kings Landing the more details had come to light. Cersei had been removed from power. Bran Stark was King. The North was independent. Tyrion Lannister had been forced to make a walk of atonement through the city.
So much shit had made the truth difficult to determine. Bronn had met with Bran once before the trial began and already he'd heard many whispers about Tyrion since he arrived in the Red Keep yesterday. Varys story had quickly made sense of things.
'Poor bastard,' he thought. 'I always told him it was a waste of time trying to get people to like him.'
The only thing it didn't make sense of was Sansa Stark, but Bronn could put that together himself. The lady of Winterfell was only fooling herself after all.
"Ser Bronn, as agreed you will have your lordship. Highgarden is yours," said Bran.
"Thank you, your Grace," said Bronn, dropping his head towards the Stark boy.
"You will also serve on my council as master of coin."
Bronn's mouth turned upwards. "Your gold is in good hands, your Grace."
"Your Grace, is that wise?" asked Varys.
"It is," said the King.
"You have six Kingdoms of people to choose from..." said Sansa, shaking her head. "He has no experience."
"He'll learn," said Bran, lacing his fingers in front of him. "A sellsword who become a Knight, who learns to read and who becomes a lord is a good story."
Varys' furrowed his brow. "You learned to read? Hardly a necessary skill for a sellsword."
Bronn shrugged, dropping his head from their gaze. "Too much time around fancy folk."
Sansa tried to ignore the worry churning in her stomach and focus on what the High Septon was saying, but it was impossible when Tyrion looked so unwell. Since his shoulder had been set something had changed in him. Sometimes he would act as he did when they rescued him; frightened and distrustful. Otherwise he was lost in his mind; sometimes unresponsive and sometimes talking as if there was someone else there. It didn't matter which state he was in - the pain bothered him regardless. Maester Henly had explained why they couldn't keep sedating Tyrion and the reasoning was sound, though it didn't make it any easier to see him in discomfort.
"-whatever you see my lord, it cannot hurt you." said the High Septon, sat on the edge of the bed and speaking softly to Tyrion. "You're quite safe here. Lady Sansa is taking good care of you."
Tyrion didn't reply, but continued staring vacantly at the ceiling. Occasionally he would tremble or start babbling but it was clear to anyone Tyrion wasn't in his right mind. Still, the High Septon had warned her he would call upon them before they left and the man had arrived not long after she'd returned from the meeting with Bran. Fortunately the High Septon didn't appear to expect anything from Tyrion. He'd merely sat on the edge of the bed and watched, occasionally commenting on the good progress he was making or offering gentle questions on how he felt.
"Sansa?" whispered Tyrion, still staring at the ceiling. "Sorry...made me do it..."
Instantly she leaned forwards in her chair, running her fingers over the back of his hand that clutched his blanket. "I'm here Tyrion. Everything's ok."
"I promise you this...won't ever hurt you."
Heat rushed through Sansa, igniting a deep warmth that seeped into her bones. For a single moment everything was perfect - until her rational mind caught up with her. Tyrion was still staring at the ceiling. Her throat tightened unexpectedly as the realisation set in. Tyrion wasn't talking to her, he was repeating what he'd told her long ago.
'Is that where your mind is?' she thought, stroking his fingers. 'Our wedding seems a lifetime ago.'
"What does your Maester think?" asked the High Septon, drawing Sansa's focus to the present.
"He thinks Tyrion is trying to work through what happened. The pain from his injuries and trying to handle that is making him confused."
"Lord Tyrion will recover?"
Sansa bit her lip. "Maester Henly thinks so...but what happened..."
"Ah - I understand."
"He will get better," said Sansa, forcing confidence into her tone. "He's more than strong enough."
"Of course. These things take time," said the High Septon. The man turned his focus back to Tyrion, studying him for a moment before speaking. "You've been accused of many sins, and yesterday's trial absolved you of one and put into perspective some of your others. The father judges us all, and you, my lord, have certainly been judged. Yet the mother offers mercy. All sins may be forgiven, but they must still be punished. I believe you have been punished enough. The stain of your crimes will never be washed away, but I see no reason for you to still be cursed by them. The gift of mercy is yours my lord."
It had taken all of Sansa's willpower to not interrupt the man lest he say something that would upset Tyrion, but the High Septon appeared to have been well prepared on what to avoid. His words were vague enough to not stir any unpleasant memories in Tyrion, and while Sansa knew Tyrion was a sceptic the High Septon's mercy was a harmless gesture.
"Thank you High Septon," said Sansa, inclining her head to the man. "I'm sure that means a lot to him."
"I hope he uses it wisely" said the High Septon, grimacing. "From what I heard yesterday it is unlikely lord Tyrion will be as he was. No man could endure such horror and remain unchanged. The mother's mercy is not for the man who committed those crimes, but for who he is now, and more importantly, who he can be."
"Tyrion has a fresh start," said Sansa.
"In a manner of speaking," he agreed. "I ask you now my lady, do you still intend to claim him, and in doing so forfeit your right to an annulment?"
Sansa's hand tightened over the top of Tyrion's. He wasn't paying any attention to them, and had fallen silent once more. Carefully Sansa slipped her fingers between Tyrion's hand and the blanket, silently requesting entry. His grip tightened for a moment before some part of his mind recognised her and allowed her to take hold of his hand.
"I do," said Sansa.
"Do you have a token?"
Sansa reached into the folds of her gown and pulled out the small pouch that had been ready for her this morning. She handed in wordlessly to the High Septon who looked inside before nodding his approval.
"Very well," sad the High Septon, passing it back to her and rising from the bed. "I am satisfied all is in order. King Bran tells me you're arranging for a guard to accompany lord Tyrion North and the token signaling your commitment to him is acceptable. I am happy to give you my blessing to take lord Tyrion North."
"Thank you," said Sansa, some of the tension seeping out of her. "I think he'll improve when we get home."
Too late did Sansa realise what she'd said. A wide smile spread across the High Septon's face.
"I believe so too. Seven blessings to you both."
Sansa's face burned as the man let himself out of the room. She often told Tyrion they were going 'home' as a way to settle him, but she'd been careful to avoid calling Winterfell as such in front of others. She shook her head, clearing the thought. None of that mattered. They were going home soon, and after today the shadow of Cersei and Qyburn would no longer hang over them.
She glanced at Tyrion's face, seeing his eyes had slid shut and he was sleeping. Laying the pouch on the side of the bed, Sansa carefully pulled out the token she'd had specially made. A silver ring glinted in the late morning sun, illuminating the direwolf engraved on the flat top. Tyrion's hand twitched several times as she spread his fingers apart and began easing the ring onto his finger. Choosing a token had been difficult - they were usually given to women, and the last thing she wanted was to add to Tyrion's shame. She'd seen Tyrion wear rings before though, and the token was discreet enough that he hopefully wouldn't notice it.
When it was done she lifted his left hand, unable to stop herself from smiling at the sight of the direwolf ring on Tyrion's second to last finger. It was a man's ring, with a wide band and a flat top that held the direwolf sigil.
"You're my family," she whispered, leaning over the bed to kiss his forehead. "Whether you choose to be mine or not, you'll always have a place with me."
It seemed ridiculous - Tyrion didn't know what was going on - but when the sword fell on Cersei later today, Sansa didn't want Tyrion to be alone. He would become the last of the Lannisters, but that didn't mean he was on his own.
"Do you think Drogon will follow you North?" asked Arya.
Jon shrugged, his eyes following the distant form of the dragon as it disappeared. Drogon's appearances were as random as his departures. He would disappear for days and then word would spread he had returned to the Dragon Pit. At first Jon had feared what the dragon would do if left to his own devices - not that there was much Jon could do to stop him.
"Drogon hunts," said Bran. "He's returned to Dragonstone twice as well."
"He wants Daenerys."
"She's dead," said Bran. "You're the last Targaryen-"
"No. I'm not. I'm a Snow and I always will be. I want nothing to do with the Targaryens."
Bran's face pulled into a frown. "Drogon is connected to Daenerys, but he's connected to you as well. If you accept what you are, Drogon will accept you."
Jon knew who he was; there was nothing to accept. What happened to Drogon was another matter though. Bran assured him the dragon was hunting in the wilderness and hadn't harmed anyone but Jon wasn't convinced it would last - Drogon had burned Jamie Lannister to ashes without a second thought.
"Bran seems to think he'll follow me, but I don't trust him around people," said Jon.
Arya snorted. "Bran or the dragon?"
"Bran isn't who he used to be," said Jon. "But neither are you or Sansa."
"We are who we have to be."
Gods, how Jon wished they didn't have to be. The sun was high in the sky as noon approached. From their position on the hill Jon could make out Bran's guards clearing a path from the Red Keep to the ruin of the Sept of the Baelor.
"Ser Davos tells me they've set up a platform by the old Sept," said Jon.
"So they have," said Arya.
"Cersei and Qyburn will die today," said Jon, searching his sister's face. "There's a right way to do it. An honourable way."
"You saw the jars, and heard the journal being read - you know there's only one way to do this."
Jon sighed. "Arya, what has Sansa planned?"
"If she hasn't told you I won't," said Arya, crossing her arms. "She gave him the token you know."
"It's the only way she can take him North."
"It is," said Arya. "But it also means Tyrion is her husband for now - and that makes him our brother by law."
Jon rubbed his face tiredly. "I have nothing against Tyrion."
"Then let Sansa get her justice. Cersei made her life hell in Kings Landing and you heard what she did to Tyrion. Qyburn and Cersei will get what they deserve."
"They'll die," said Jon, "but torturing them won't fix what happened to Sansa or to Tyrion. There's a better way Arya."
"A quick death is mercy. Why should those without it be shown it?"
Arya turned on her heel, wandering back towards the Red Keep and leaving Jon alone. Cersei and Qyburn's punishment would begin soon, and Jon feared what he was going to find. Arya, Sansa, Bran - they'd survived on their own for years, but at what cost?
Was there no way out of this hell? Cersei pulled at her chains once more, her already raw wrists aching at the movement. She may have lost the trial but the war was far from over. A lion would never bow to a wolf. Reluctantly Cersei sank to the squalid floor. After the trial she'd been returned to the black cells but on an even lower level. The room was tiny, with barely a hint of light filtering under the door. Judging time was impossible, but it was surely the day after the trial by now.
No food had been brought to her, though a guard had thrown in a skin of water earlier. She lifted it to her dry lips, savouring the final few drops. No Lannister guards had visited her this time - was Malcolm dead? Stupid boy. If the Starks were to be believed their mission had failed. Her hands curled into fists - how hard could it be to kill an imp?
It was possible the Starks had lied. No. Cersei dismissed the thought; Sansa Stark had been entirely too smug. Somewhere in the Red Keep her wretched little brother still drew breath. She pulled at the chains again, frustration giving her energy. Casterly Rock was hers - Tyrion couldn't inherit it.
Time drifted past Cersei as she pulled and twisted at the chains tethering her to the wall. It was only when the door opened and torch light illuminated the cell did she turn away from her task.
"You can't escape."
Cersei's lip curled into a scowl. "I haven't lost yet."
"Yes, you have," said Sansa, her blue eyes piercing into her. "Have you enjoyed your stay in this cell?"
"I'm going to kill you."
Sansa ignored her. "This cell is where we rescued Tyrion from. From what I've heard you kept him here for weeks."
"It's all the little monster deserved," said Cersei. The Stark bitch was stood casually in the doorway. Close enough to gloat but far enough away that Cersei couldn't reach her.
"Tyrion isn't a monster. He's the lord of Casterly Rock," said Sansa. "You're a monster though. You and Qyburn. Finally, you'll face justice for everything you've done."
"Everything I did was for my family. Nothing else mattered but them."
"And where are they now?" asked Sansa, lifting an eyebrow. "Tyrion was your family and you did unspeakable things to him."
"Was? Has my dear little brother passed?"
Sansa's mouth turned upwards but there was no warmth in her smile. "Tyrion is alive, and he will recover. You were never family to him."
It was Cersei's turn to smile. "He'll never recover. You can care for him all you want but I broke him."
"You're going to die today, but Tyrion has the rest of his life ahead of him. You'll die a hated woman; without any family or friends to mourn you. Not Tyrion. He's never going to be alone. He can have a family, and be a great lord and be who he wants to be. You'll never hurt him again."
"Is that so little dove?" said Cersei, smiling thinly. "You don't know him. The imp will kill you as quickly as he'd fuck you. Come closer. I'll kill you first and spare you the betrayal."
Sansa stared at her for a moment and Cersei fought the urge to squirm. The lion bowed to no one.
"Justice has taken a long time, but sooner or later it arrives," said Sansa, stepping back from the doorway. "These men will prepare you for your final walk. There won't be a chance to speak at the end, but before you're sent to the seven hells I needed you to know; Tyrion will heal and I'll make sure he's happy. I thought long and hard on how to punish you, and then I realised nothing could possibly hurt you more than that."
Cersei threw all her weight forwards but the damnable chains refused to budge. "I am the Queen! You think you've beaten me you little whore?"
Whether Sansa heard her or not the girl didn't turn around as she disappeared into the corridor and a group of guards moved into the doorway.
"Wonder what's hiding under those rags?" said one.
The man next to him cackled, lifting a knife. "Reckon we should find out."
"Stay away!" said Cersei, pushing herself onto her heels.
A third man leaned into the cramped space, the torch light illuminating his grin. "Don't worry. It's warm out there ya see, and you're overdressed."
"Aye," said the first one, leering down at her. "Can't have ya going out like this."
Cersei's blood ran cold as the Northern guards descended on her. There was no one to rescue her. That didn't matter. She was a lion, she could rescue herself...
Sansa didn't like the churning in her stomach. There was no reason for it; Cersei had planted the seeds of her own destruction and now she would, finally, reap the results. The former Queen staggered up the road as naked as her name day, with Qyburn in the same position behind her. The old man had been even more surprised than Cersei that he was to face justice. Had he really thought testifying against Cersei was enough to save him?
The sun beat down on Kings Landing as the two figures were brought through the crowds. Both of them were covered in shit and streaked with blood where stones had hit them. By all reports Cersei had done her last walk of atonement with some dignity - but not this time. More than once she'd tried to escape into the crowds only for them to throw her back. Escape was hopeless. Cersei's hands were chained behind her back and connected to a short length of chain held by the guards, as was Qyburn.
"This isn't right," said Jon.
Sansa chewed her lip, considering her words. "It was the only way."
"That's not true."
"Yes it is. For all of Cersei's crimes she couldn't just be executed - there had to be punishment."
Jon's face looked grimmer than usual as he stood beside her but Sansa tried to not focus on him. He was too much like her father, and if Jon disapproved of what she was doing would her father feel the same?
The platform had been erected on the ruins of the Sept of Baelor and Sansa was joined by Jon, Arya and Bran as well as his council that included Varys, the High Septon and Samwell Tarly. Godwin, the captain of the Lannister guards had joined them as well. The streets were lined with the people of Kings Landing, all eager to see Cersei Lannister brought to justice and partake in her humiliation. Most of them knew Qyburn as nothing more than a prisoner to be executed - few would know what a monster he really was.
"They were just as enthusiastic when it was Tyrion," said Bran.
Sansa's heart twisted. "What does that mean?"
He nodded towards the crowds groping and grabbing at Cersei. "They don't care who she is and what she's done, no more than they cared who Tyrion was. To them this is entertainment - revenge against the nobles who rule over them. See how they don't pay as much attention to Qyburn?"
"Tyrion didn't deserve this," said Sansa, her throat tightening. "Cersei does."
"Agreed," said Arya, her sharp eyes following Cersei's progress. "She still thinks someone will save her."
"The only one who would have tried was Jamie Lannister," said Varys.
Bran shook his head. "Not true. If Cersei had accepted Tyrion and loved him as her brother he would have tried to save her."
"Sansa, just end this," said Jon. "There's nothing to be gained from letting this carry on."
"Are you so uncomfortable seeing a naked woman?" asked Arya.
Jon shot her a look before turning his head away from the sight of Cersei and Qyburn as they drew closer. "I can't watch this."
Sansa suspected Jon's discomfort came not just from what they were doing but that they were doing it at all. It puzzled her why Jon expected them to still be the siblings he'd once known in Winterfell. Jon hadn't changed much in truth, but they had - and it was a difference that clearly unsettled him.
The roar of the crowd grew louder as Cersei and Qyburn reached the steps of the platform. Qyburn was panting and blood trickled down his face from his nose, but he looked barely touched compared to Cersei. Whatever beauty she'd once had had long faded. Sansa had ordered the guards to cut her hair after removing her clothes and her already short hair was nothing more than patchy stubble. Various cuts covered her body, and bruises were already forming from where she'd been roughly manhandled. A tiny piece of Sansa stiffened at the sight. It was too familiar.
'I'll always be part of you.'
Sansa swallowed thickly as Cersei was hauled onto the platform. Ramsay was long dead, and Cersei had brought this fate on herself - she wasn't an innocent victim. This was what she'd inflicted on Tyrion without a hint of mercy.
The former Queen was shaking where she stood, though her eyes burned like wildfire as she glared at Sansa.
"You...you murderous little bitch..." said Cersei. She pulled against the chains, but there was no chance she could escape.
Qyburn was pulled alongside her having suffered the same fate. The old man's face held little emotion but that shouldn't have been surprised Sansa - this man had tortured Tyrion - cut away pieces of him and kept them in jars. A monster like that could only have an empty space where there was meant to be a heart. He looked past Sansa to where Bran sat at the side of the platform.
"Your Grace, I could serve you well...I could fix you, and lord Tyrion..."
Cersei turned on him, snarling. "You treasonous bastard. I should have killed you. I gave you power and you betrayed me!"
"Enough!" said Sansa, letting her voice carry over the excited chatter of the crowd. "You have both been tried and found guilty of all charges. Qyburn, you are sentenced to death for your role in the explosion of the Sept of Baelor and for carrying out unethical experiments and torture on multiple victims including lord Tyrion Lannister."
"The imp is no lord!" said Cersei.
Sansa nodded and one of the guards holding Cersei's chains stepped in front, backhanding her across the face. Her head jerked to one side under the force of the blow, a few drops of blood appearing at the side of her mouth. The crowd cheered but Sansa's eye caught Jon stood at the edge of the platform. His face was set in a deep frown at the display, reminding Sansa too much of their father. Jon might have Targaryen blood but he was raised as a Stark.
Qyburn was forced to his knees at the front of the stage and Godwin took up position to one side of him. Bran had suggested she let Godwin perform this task, though she was loathe to let the Lannister guards take any part in Cersei's punishment after a number of them had taken part in her escape attempt. Godwin was the Lannister captain however and despite her distrust of the Lannister army Sansa did believe the man's loyalty was to Tyrion. Only this morning he'd overseen the hanging of the Lannister guards who'd plotted with Cersei.
"On behalf of lord Tyrion, the captain of his guard will take justice," said Sansa.
Qyburn was still trying to make eye contact with Bran, as if the King might have a final change of heart and spare him. That wouldn't happen. Godwin lifted his sword and brought it through the man's neck in one clean stroke. There was no great ceremony to Qyburn's death - to the people of Kings Landing it was no more than a warm up for the main event. Still, a grim satisfaction filled Sansa as the man's head rolled on the platform.
Cersei had fallen quiet as her former ally was executed, and Sansa knew her well enough to see she was trying to construct a mask of indifference. Yet, Sansa also knew enough to see the cracks. The woman was looking for someone, anyone, to save her. Did she think Jamie was going to arrive and save her? Her twin was likely the only one who would have tried if he hadn't been burned alive - though her treatment of Tyrion might have turned even him away. Sansa's heart twinged at the thought of Tyrion. Had he imagined someone coming to rescue him? How long had it taken for him to realise he'd been betrayed by his Queen?
Sansa lifted her head, nodding for the guards to bring Cersei forwards. "It was on this spot our father, Eddard Stark, was wrongfully executed by Joffrey Baratheon. It is here that you used wildfire to destroy the Sept of Baelor and kill hundreds of innocents. Your crimes are monstrous and the damage you've caused will be felt for years to come, but today you finally face justice. Cersei of house Lannister, you are hereby sentenced to death."
She struggled as she was forced to her knees, but it was a weak, desperate attempt. "No...I am the rightful Queen..."
"All your children were bastards," said Bran, his dark eyes studying the woman. "The Iron Throne was never meant to be yours."
The crowd roared around Sansa as Arya stepped forwards and withdrew needle. Jon's face twisted in surprise, but Sansa didn't know why he was surprised. Arya had asked to do this and cross Cersei's name off her list. It was only right - she and Arya had both been here when their father died.
Cersei struggled as Arya loomed over her. The former Queen, lurched forwards her eyes blazing. "A wolf has no right to judge a lion! You're nothing. You're-"
Cersei's voice faltered as needle slipped slowly into her neck. Arya had promised it wasn't an instant death and she was right. Cersei's eyes widened as the blade continued its journey, blood beginning to dribble from her mouth. She gurgled as if choking on something before needle appeared at the other side of her neck. Cersei stared straight ahead for a moment, before her body slumped forwards.
"That wasn't easy to watch," said Gendry.
"It wasn't supposed to be," said Arya. "After everything Cersei did her death was still clean."
"She was walked through the city naked, and I heard she was starved since the trial."
"It was barely a taste of what she's done to others" said Arya, crossing her arms. "She deserved every second of it."
"Jon didn't think so."
Arya sank back in her chair, pursing her lips. It was damned obvious Jon hadn't approved but it had been Sansa's decision. If Arya had decided Cersei's punishment it would have been far harsher, whereas Jon would have simply taken her head. Bran was impossible to understand; he'd neither approved nor disapproved of Sansa's decision. She moved her focus from Gendry to the room they were in. They'd been in Kings Landing nearly two weeks but Gendry's chambers seemed barely used.
"Have you even slept in here?" asked Arya.
"Of course I have Arry."
"This room is spotless."
"You think I'd leave a mess because I'm lowborn? I can tidy up after myself."
"You're the lord of Storm's End now. There are servants who tidy up after you."
Gendry wrinkled his nose as if he didn't like the thought and Arya knew she was wasting her breath. Gendry had lived his life in poverty and would have more sympathy with the servants and lowborn household than he would with the other lords and ladies of Westeros - it was one of the reasons Arya knew he'd be a good lord.
"We're leaving for Winterfell tomorrow," said Arya. "Sansa doesn't want to stay here a minute longer than necessary."
Gendry's face fell. "Are you going?"
"Where else would I go?"
"You could come to Storm's End..."
"Why? I need to arrange a ship and a crew to find what's west of Westeros. The North is the best place for that."
"I could go with you," said Gendry.
Arya blinked. "You're a lord now - you can't just abandon your position."
"What if there's something better..."
Arya stiffened. "I'll never be your lady - it's not who I am."
"I don't need to be a lord."
"You do," said Arya. "The people deserve a decent lord for a change."
Gendry sighed but had clearly sensed her shift in demeanour. He slumped in his armchair, staring at the hearth. "How was your visit with Tyrion?"
"No problems. I don't know what Sansa was so worried about, he barely noticed I was there," said Arya.
"How was he?"
"Like a frightened child whose world consists of Sansa time and the bad time when she's not there," said Arya, grimacing. "He has no idea what's going on around him."
"That's a good thing, right?"
"Not really. Sansa's been smothering him with affection since he was rescued - she won't act like that when he's coherent, but she's got so used to doing it the separation will kill her."
"Maybe not. She might just tell him how she feels."
Arya shook her head. "Not Sansa. She'll be worried about pressuring him or something stupid. She's always been a proper lady - she'll be impossible when they crown her."
"You could avoid that in Storm's End..."
"No. Someone needs to be there for the start of Sansa's reign. Besides if I'm not there she'll probably spend the rest of her life giving Tyrion moony eyed looks when he isn't watching."
Gendry gave a half smile. "Does it still bother you? At Winterfell you didn't like them together."
"I've no choice, Sansa gave him a token and claimed him as her husband - for now at least. After everything she's done for him I suppose I'd better get used to him being around us. Gods know why but Sansa loves him."
"Give him a chance Arry. He's the last of his family now, and you know how lonely it can be on your own."
'I could be your family'
The memory shot through Arya before she could block it, and it filled her chest with a heaviness she didn't like. Tyrion wasn't really alone - he had Sansa, whether he knew it or not.
This was wrong, it had to be a dream.
If it was a dream, why did he ache so much? Why could he feel the soft blankets tucked around him and the stabbing ache in his right shoulder that was the centre of his misery? Why could he smell and taste the warm broth being spooned into his mouth?
"That's it," said Sansa, catching hold of his jaw to keep him still as the food was spooned in. "Nearly half way through the bowl. You need to eat all of this, ok? We're going home tomorrow."
Tyrion tried to move, but his body simply wouldn't answer him. He'd never been strong, but now he was as feeble as a newborn - and just as helpless. It was impossible to pinpoint when his mind had decided to take notice of what was going on around him, but when it did the first thing he'd noticed was Sansa Stark sat on the side of the bed and lifting a spoon to his mouth. It had to be a dream - he'd had similar dreams before.
Except, if this was a dream he would've woken up by now. That left only one option and considering it made his heart hammer in his chest.
"You're doing so well," said Sansa, gently cupping his face as she lifted the damned spoon again. "Just a little more."
Tyrion tried to move, to protest, to do anything that would end this humiliation - but he was a prisoner in his own body. He'd managed to curl his left hand into the blanket but lifting his arm was impossible; he simply didn't have the strength. Almost everything ached though his shoulder was by far the worst, followed swiftly by his left leg. His right hand...no, it was better not to think about that.
He tilted his head away as much as he could when Sansa lifted the spoon again, forcing his unused vocal chords into action. There were so many things he needed to say. Was this real, or was it a dream? What happened? Where were they?
"Sansa..." he said, his voice feeble. "..ugh...please..."
Her face twisted in sympathy and she brushed her thumb against his cheek. "I know you don't like being fed like this, but it's only for a little while. Just until you're better. A few more spoonful's and we're finished, ok? You need to build your strength up."
Ice crawled down Tyrion's back as Sansa continued feeding him with practiced ease. He couldn't move; he wasn't even strong enough to speak in complete sentences. Was this his punishment? Would whatever remained of his miserable life be spent as an invalid; with his mind trapped in an unresponsive body? Gods, no. Anything but that - death would be better. Surely he'd suffered enough to at least have the relief of death?
"Are you alright Tyrion?" asked Sansa, her brow furrowing. "You don't look well."
Tyrion stared into her blue eyes, that were for once wonderfully unguarded. This was the Sansa who'd come to Kings Landing, the one he'd caught momentary glimpses of at Winterfell. Tyrion relaxed. This was a dream. The lady of Winterfell would never look at him like this, or sit at his bedside tending to him. No, this was simply a vivid dream. He'd wake up eventually, and the cycle of pain would begin again. Cersei would never let him rest for long - he might as well enjoy this kind vision of Sansa Stark.
He didn't try and resist as Sansa finished feeding him, and instead tried to focus on the nice aspects of the dream. Qyburn had experimented on him with plenty of modified poisons - perhaps that had caused this current hallucination. Whatever had caused it, at least it was an escape from reality.
"All done," said Sansa, smiling brightly at him as she wiped his mouth. "Can I get you anything? I can summon the Maester if you need the chamber pot?"
Tyrion felt the first crack in his conviction as if he'd been struck by a whip. He'd had plenty of vivid dreams, and hallucinations - there was something off about this. Something in his face must have changed because Sansa's smile fell, replaced instead by a pitying look. She ran her hand over his head, her voice as gentle as a feather.
"You'll feel better when we get home. Kings Landing is a horrible place..."
She carried on, her voice soft and soothing. Tyrion couldn't focus on that. He often felt his injuries in his dreams, but the sensation of Sansa's hand on his head couldn't be ignored. In his dreams he always had hair, yet now he could feel the unfamiliar sensation of Sansa's fingers brushing over the short prickly hair he'd been left with when Cersei truly began her revenge on him. Tyrion swallowed, his throat rapidly tightening. The food had been warm and tasty - that wasn't normal in a dream either.
"No..." he whispered. "No, no...please..."
"Tyrion?"
Sansa's eyes widened, her gentle hands gripping him as he began to shake. This wasn't a dream. He was a cripple; totally unable to care for himself and excruciatingly aware of it.
"You're ok Tyrion," said Sansa, holding him in place. "I promise, you'll be ok."
How could that be true? He couldn't even voice his thoughts. Why was Sansa here? Something warm burned in the back of his eyes, spilling down his face before he could even attempt to control it. No. Sansa couldn't see him like this. Of all the horrible relationships in his life, the friendship he had with Sansa had been something to cherish. She was clever, kind and beautiful - Tyrion knew he hadn't deserved the friendship, but at least before he'd been whole.
Now he was useless - this isn't how he wanted Sansa Stark to see him.
Sansa shifted her arms around him, carefully pulling him against her soft body. "Shh, you're safe. I'm here with you..."
Tyrion trembled like a leaf, hating himself more with every second that passed in this state. If the Gods had any mercy, surely they'd grant him one request.
"...please...kill me..." he said, his voice barely managing to get the words out. Whether the Gods heard him or not was anyone's guess, but Sansa did - and her arms only held him tighter.
"I'll be sorry to see ya go," said Ser Davos.
"Not as sorry as I'll be. Bran seems to be keeping half our allies here," said Jon. "First you join his council, now Brienne and Pod are staying here as Kingsguard."
"It's not what I expected to be fair."
Jon smiled. "Sansa will be Queen, she could always use a trusted ally..."
The older man shifted in his chair, rubbing his hands together. "As nice as that is to hear the North is too bloody cold for me."
"Not as cold as the real North."
"You're still going beyond the wall?"
Jon sighed, sinking into his chair. "I am. I've had enough of this - power struggles, politics, not knowing who you can trust - it isn't for me."
"Aye, you'd have been a good King though."
"Bran will do fine, and Sansa will rule the North just as well. They don't need me."
"They'd both want your help though, if you were willing..."
"I'm not," said Jon. "I'll travel to Winterfell with Sansa and Arya, but then I'll go beyond the wall."
"What about Drogon?"
"I don't know. He keeps flying between here and Dragonstone - I don't know if he'll come North or not."
"Nothing personal, but I hope he goes with you. The memory of him burning Jamie Lannister...it aint a pleasant one."
"Agreed."
Jon rubbed his face, trying to ignore the familiar guilt. He should have acted sooner. Daenerys had been his Queen, but it had blinded him to what she was becoming. The guilt would never truly leave him, both for killing her and for failing to do it sooner. The few times he'd visited Tyrion the guilt had near overwhelmed him, and listening to Qyburn's journal in court had only made it worse.
"It's not your fault," said Davos, turning his gaze to the hearth. "What she became-"
"It is my fault," said Jon. "Sansa saved Kings Landing and she saved Tyrion."
"In fairness, I think they might be linked."
Jon smiled tightly. "She loves him Davos. After everything Sansa suffered she deserves to be happy, and when she found someone who made her happy look what happened to him. Tyrion has his flaws but he didn't deserve what Cersei did to him - what Daenerys let happen to him."
"No argument here," said Davos. "At least he can get away from Kings Landing now. If I was him I'd never want to come back."
"Neither do I."
Sansa bit her lip, rubbing Tyrion's hand between hers. He was sleeping peacefully now but he'd been utterly distraught before - even the Maester had agreed to sedate him.
"I don't understand," said Sansa, tucking the blankets around Tyrion. "He's usually fine when I feed him, but halfway through he started to get upset. He was crying and asking me to kill him. I don't know what I did wrong."
"It's nothing you've done my lady, lord Tyrion's distress is most likely caused by his memories returning."
"You think he was actually awake?" asked Sansa, her stomach rolling. "Did he realise where he was?"
"That I cannot say, but I've noticed his increased agitation the last couple of days. It is a positive sign that given time lord Tyrion will regain his sense of self. I don't believe his confusion will plague him forever."
Nothing Sansa had done had been able to settle Tyrion; if anything he'd grown more distressed at each failed attempt. Henly was reluctant to sedate Tyrion more than necessary but in this case he'd agreed it was for the best, lest he harm himself in his upset.
"I'm sorry I couldn't help you," said Sansa, stroking his fingers. "I-I tried. I'll keep trying. You're not alone Tyrion. I can't imagine how scared you are after everything's that happened, but you can trust me - I'll take care of you."
Tyrion didn't stir and Sansa tried to draw some comfort from the steady rise and fall of his chest, but it was impossible to ignore the fear gnawing at her. She knew Tyrion wouldn't suddenly wake up as he was when he left Winterfell - she readily accepted his experience would have changed him - but would even a piece of Tyrion remain? Her eyes fell to the silver ring sitting snugly on his finger.
It didn't matter if Tyrion was different, she'd forfeited her right to an annulment and claimed him as hers. They were bound together as husband and wife now, at least until Tyrion was coherent enough to understand the situation. Only he had the power to end their marriage.
Sansa pushed the thought away, focusing on Tyrion's sleeping face instead. There was no need to think about that. The journey to Winterfell would take nearly two weeks and Tyrion would be kept asleep for most of it. Maester Henly had warned her it would be a long recovery, and not just for his broken bones to heal. Every day he spent in bed was only weakening him further, but given the extent of his injuries there were no other options. He'd have to learn to walk again - he could barely sit up without support.
"It's a good thing you're small," said Sansa, brushing a hand against his cheek. "At least I can move you around the bed myself. Can you imagine trying to move someone like King Robert around?"
'A pleasure reserved for my sweet sister, though she would have likely suffocated him before help him.'
A bitter smile crossed Sansa's face as she imagined Tyrion's witty reply. "I miss you."
They'd been careful to avoid any mention of Cersei or Qyburn around Tyrion, but Sansa couldn't help but wonder if he knew his sister was dead. Surely it would be a relief for him, but her death also signaled the end of his family. On some subconscious level did he realise he was the last of the Lannisters?
Sansa had feared herself the last of the Starks once, with her only hope being Jon at the wall. The loneliness had nearly crushed her.
The door creaked open startling Sansa from her thoughts. After the Lannister guards tried to kill Tyrion she'd become overly sensitive to unexpected visits. The sudden tension eased out of her as Arya slipped into the room, followed by Bran and then Jon pushing the wheelchair.
"What are you doing here?" asked Sansa.
"Visiting," said Arya, dropping onto the bottom of Tyrion's bed.
Jon left Bran near the foot of the bed before retrieving the spare chair and positioning it beside hers.
"I-I don't understand," said Sansa, glancing between them.
Jon gave a small smile. "We didn't want you to be alone."
"Either of you," said Bran, staring at Tyrion as he slept. "I heard lord Tyrion was unwell before."
It took Sansa a moment to find her voice. "He was upset and wouldn't settle, but he's resting now."
"Maybe he's as sad we're still in this shithole as I am," said Arya. She glanced sideways at Bran. "Meaning no offence to your Kingdom brother."
"None taken."
"I'm sorry," said Sansa. "I know I've been distracted and not seen much of you all..."
"No one blames you," said Bran. "You were caring for your husband."
A few moments passed before Sansa realised Bran was staring at Tyrion's left hand, or rather her hand holding his. Instantly she let go, heat burning through her face as she pulled back to a more dignified position.
"Seven hells..." said Arya, rolling her eyes. "I thought we'd moved past this."
Jon's dark eyes were full of regret as he smiled. "It's alright Sansa. You don't need to pretend."
"You should get comfortable with the truth," said Bran, nodding towards Tyrion's hand. "You've given him a token."
"He needs to come North - this place is no good for him!" said Sansa.
"Agreed," said Bran. "The High Septon and Grand Maester are both in agreement all is in order - you can take lord Tyrion north when you're ready."
"Why be so formal?" asked Arya. "You know we're leaving tomorrow."
"I am King - some things needs to be formal."
Arya sighed, making herself comfortable on the bottom of the bed. "You don't need to be formal with family. As long as Sansa's married to Tyrion he's our brother by law."
Sansa lifted an eyebrow. "That's oddly accepting of you. Didn't you spend weeks stalking him around Winterfell?"
She shrugged. "That was then. Who knew you'd get so attached to him?"
"You're one to talk Arya - Gendry's been following you around all day," said Jon.
The conversation drifted on around Sansa but she found her focus drawn to Tyrion instead. Slowly she inched her hand back towards his, until the familiar warmth was in her grasp once again. Her finger brushed over the top of the ring, hoping some part of Tyrion knew he wasn't alone.
'You might be the last lion, but there's a place for you among the wolves.'