Chapter 14
A knock on the door drew Sansa from her packing. She'd travelled lightly to Kings Landing but there was still plenty of preparation to do before they left later today. She closed her trunk, turning towards the door.
"Enter."
Maester Henly stepped in and Sansa's heart immediately picked up pace. "Is anything-"
"Lord Tyrion is fine - still asleep," said Henly. The man was familiar enough now to know her first concern. "I apologise for calling on you so early. I know you have much to do today and I wanted to ensure you had my instructions and notes to give to your Maester."
"What notes?"
"On lord Tyrion's care. I've prepared everything your Maester will need to know to continue his care at Winterfell."
Sansa stared at the man. "Why would he need that? You're coming with us."
"I'm not a castle Maester my lady. I focus on healing and it is a skill I learn through practice. That means travel - learning all I can, and helping those in need."
"Tyrion's in need," said Sansa, her mouth turning downwards. "You can't leave him."
"The Maester at Winterfell is Wolkan, correct? He's a decent man. His skills should be sufficient to aid lord Tyrion."
"I want you to help him! You've treated him from the beginning - you understand what he's been through."
Henly shook his head. "I'm sorry my lady. I've done all I can for lord Tyrion's injuries."
Sansa's stomach twisted. It had never occurred to her Henly wouldn't return to Winterfell with them, and it appeared the Maester had never thought she wanted him too. While she liked and trusted Wolkan it was Henly who'd treated Tyrion and understood how he'd been hurt.
"You'll be paid for your services of course," said Sansa.
"Wealth doesn't motivate me my lady, healing does."
Sansa stepped forwards, crossing her hands. "Very well. I propose a deal then. You may have no interest in gold but you need some to travel Westeros and heal people. Come with us to Winterfell and stay long enough to see lord Tyrion is awake and stable. His injuries will be near healed by the time we arrive. You can show Wolkan how to help him and I will compensate you for your time."
"My lady-"
"You do need gold; you can't deny that. How else will you keep a supply of medicines and equipment, not to mention food and shelter. I'll pay you enough that you can pursue healing without needing worry to about those things for some time."
The Maester pursed his lips, before nodding his head. "Very well. When King Bran gathered Maesters to see to lord Tyrion's care I came out of guilt. I didn't know Qyburn but he shamed the Citadel with his experiments and lord Tyrion was his victim. The Citadel should have called for his head rather than expel him. I hoped aiding lord Tyrion might repair some of the damage Qyburn has done to our reputation."
"It has," said Sansa, a smile crossing her face. "Join us in Winterfell and see the Citadel's debt repaid."
"It doesn't feel right going home without you," said Jon.
"This is where I'm meant to be."
"Aye, but Winterfell will always be your home."
Bran's mouth twitched upwards. "The three-eyed raven prefers the North but that's a separate kingdom now. This is where he belongs."
"Doesn't mean you can't visit."
Despite his words Bran would be sad to see his family leave. After so many years apart they'd spent very little time together. It was as it was meant to be though. His place was in Kings Landing as Sansa's was in Winterfell. Jon and Arya were more difficult - this could have been Jon's place.
"Are you still going North of the wall?" asked Bran,
"I am," said Jon. "Be nice to see Ghost again."
"Do you think he'll get along with Drogon?"
Jon flinched. "I was going to ask you about that..."
"Drogon won't obey me," said Bran, leaning forwards in his chair. "You're the last Targaryen-"
"No. I'm a Snow. I want nothing to do with the Targaryens."
"Drogon needs to be kept under control. He lets you ride him."
"Sometimes."
"That's because you don't accept who you are. Doubt in the rider, doubt in the dragon."
Jon frowned. "Easy for you to say Bran - you were always Ned Stark's trueborn son."
"Blood doesn't mean acceptance; ask Tyrion."
He shook his head. "It's not the same thing. What happened to Tyrion was cruel beyond words."
It amused some part of the three-eyed raven. The last Lannister and the last Targaryen couldn't be more different but they shared a similar disdain for what they were. In some ways Bran understood. He might have been born as Ned Stark's son but he was something else now too.
"I'll miss you in Winterfell," said Sansa. As excited as she was to return home it meant saying goodbye. Bran, Pod and Ser Davos would remain here - as would Brienne.
"It's been my honour to serve you," said Brienne. "Know that I'll serve King Bran just as faithfully."
"I don't doubt that."
They walked in silence to Blackwater Bay, where the ships were readying to take them home. The bulk of the army would march back with the Knights of the Vale but that wasn't an option for Sansa. Tyrion was far too weak to spend weeks on the road. A ship would take less than two weeks with good weather and lord Manderly was preparing to host them at White Harbour before the final part of the journey to Winterfell. Her eyes fell on the two ships they would use. Already men were preparing it to sail. Lord Cerwyn and lord Glover could be seen on the deck of one, giving orders to the men.
"Have the Unsullied returned from Dragonstone?" asked Sansa.
The lady Knight shifted from foot to foot. "Lord Tyrion's belongings are being boarded as we speak."
"What is it?"
Brienne pursed her lips. "I'm not sure it's my place to say."
"Please. If it relates to Tyrion I should know."
Brienne wavered for a moment before leading her towards the ships. "The Unsullied brought all of lord Tyrion's belongings from Dragonstone. The majority of it is documents for Daenerys and a few books and clothes. I noticed something unusual in one of the boxes - I thought it was there by mistake, but the Unsullied insisted it belonged to lord Tyrion."
Sansa's heart thumped uncomfortably as they reached the docks. Crates and trunks were waiting to be loaded but Brienne went straight to a section that contained two crates and one trunk.
"Open it please," said Brienne, gesturing to one of the dock hands.
A minute later it was open and Brienne was searching through it. Her eyes flitted from Brienne to the crates. Sansa had seen his room in Dragonstone and the documents that covered every inch of it - the crates were full of Tyrion's work for a Queen who'd traded him away and left him to suffer. She clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms. It was tempting to destroy the crates here and now, but Sansa knew it wasn't her place to do that. She'd asked Grey Worm and Brienne to arrange for any of Tyrion's personal belongings to be prepared for Winterfell and the Unsullied would have carried out the instruction without scrutiny. Tyrion might never want to see any of these things again or there may be something in them he wants - he could decide when he was better.
Sansa pulled her attention back to Brienne and the trunk. It had a few more personal belongings including some clothes. They wouldn't be needed - she'd arrange for Tyrion to have new clothes at Winterfell.
The Knight straightened up, turning to Sansa with a grim expression. "Please know that I wouldn't look through lord Tyrion's belongings. I chanced upon seeing it while it was being packed away, and...well..."
There was no need for further explanation when Sansa saw the item. At first she didn't understand but when she did her heart dropped to her stomach. A thick leather collar sat in Brienne's hands, split in half by a clean cut where it had been removed from the wearer.
"Why would Tyrion have this?" she said, her voice barely a whisper.
"I don't know my lady. The Unsullied insisted it was his but most of them don't speak the common tongue very well, perhaps I've misunderstood."
Brienne hadn't misunderstood. All of the Unsullied would know a slave collar when they saw one and they'd been adamant in the knowledge this one belonged to Tyrion. Sansa's mind raced through the bits Tyrion had told her of his time in Essos. He'd skipped many of the details - saying that he'd travelled with Varys before falling in with Ser Jorah and meeting Daenerys. Tyrion wouldn't keep a random slave collar in his personal belongings...
"Thank you for showing me," said Sansa, the words leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.
"Shall we get rid of it?"
Brienne was staring at the collar as if it might attack her. They both knew what it meant but neither wanted to say it. Speaking it out loud would make it too real.
"No," said Sansa. "Put it back in the trunk. If Tyrion's kept it there must be a reason."
Brienne nodded, burying it beneath his clothes and signaling to some men to reseal the trunk.
"I can't wait to get home," said Sansa. "Kings Landing is a horrible place - promise you'll be careful?"
"Of course," said Brienne, a small smile crossing her face. "Good luck in Winterfell. You'll be an excellent Queen in the North."
"I'll do my best. Robb and Jon are difficult to follow."
"You're more than capable," said Brienne. "Is lord Tyrion excited to leave?"
"It's hard to say, but I think so. He'll be better away from here."
That was all she could hope for. Tyrion had been upset yesterday and no better this morning. He'd cried when the Maester examined him, and hadn't stopped when they washed him. Things would be better in Winterfell. He would be weak when they arrived but his injuries would have had chance to start healing. It would take time but he would recover.
'I'll keep you safe,' she thought, watching the trunk being carried onto the ship. 'No one will hurt you ever again.'
Arya didn't mean to spy on her sister. Preparations were well underway to leave and she'd gone in search of Sansa to confirm the final details - she'd never expected Tyrion's door to be open. Normally there were guards there, though after Cersei's death Arya wasn't sure why. With their departure imminent the guards had been stood down and the door to Tyrion's room was open enough for Arya to see them on the bed.
Tyrion didn't look well. Sansa was holding him upright while the Maester strapped his right arm across his chest. Sympathy wound through her at the cries coming from Tyrion. She'd seen the mess of his right shoulder and the splint holding it in place - it must be agony. Moving his arm into a sling can't be pleasant but it was the best way to protect his shoulder from more damage while they travelled.
"It's ok," said Sansa. "Nearly finished."
She couldn't quite see Tyrion's face but she could hear his cries. Sansa told them yesterday Tyrion had become distressed earlier on and he didn't seem anymore settled today. It was strange. Over their stay in Kings Landing Tyrion had often been upset but rarely around Sansa - her presence always seemed to soothe him and Arya had seen first-hand the way he looked at her. Something had changed in the last two days.
Arya eased the door open a little more to get a better view. The Maester had moved away from them to the side table. She winced at the sight of Tyrion - no wonder he was miserable. With his right arm strapped across his chest there was barely a piece of his upper body not covered in bandages. The blue blanket covered his lower half but Arya could see the outline of the bulky splint around his left leg. He was propped in a sitting position against the headboard, but he could hardly sit up - if not for the pillows and Sansa's hands on him he would have fell down.
"We're finally going home," said Sansa, her voice wavering. "Aren't you excited?"
"Sansa...please," said Tyrion. He sounded no better than he looked. Weeks of mistreatment and weeks in bed had destroyed any strength he had - every word was a struggle. "...no more."
"That's right," said Sansa. "No more pain. You'll feel better when we get home."
Tyrion's crying only increased and a cold feeling settled in the pit of Arya's stomach.
"I know what you want," said Sansa, lightening her tone.
She reached over Tyrion, kissing his forehead. His soft cries broke off at the action that had surprised him as much as it had Arya.
"Another one?" asked Sansa. She repeated the action, lingering a moment longer. "That's better. You don't need to worry about anything Tyrion, we're going home now."
Arya only half-listened as her sister carried on chatting to Tyrion. The Maester joined them again, handing Sansa a cup of nightshade to put Tyrion to sleep for travelling. What had she just seen? She knew Sansa was in love with Tyrion, whether she'd admit it or not, but she'd hadn't realised how far gone her sister was. Tyrion's confusion had given Sansa a free outlet to express her feelings for him and by the Gods her sister had taken. The soon to be Queen in the North would be far more reserved if Tyrion was his usual self.
"Don't try to fight it," said Sansa, when he'd had the drink. "You'll go to sleep now and when you wake up we'll be home."
Sansa leaned forwards on the bed and a moment later Tyrion's tear stained face appeared at her shoulder as Sansa held him against her. Tears were slipping steadily down his face and he was trembling in Sansa's arms, but his eyes found Arya in the doorway. Sansa was oblivious as she cuddled her husband, whispering in his ear and running her fingers across the back of his head.
Arya swallowed. Was Sansa truly oblivious or did she not want to acknowledge the truth? Deep green eyes pierced Arya, filled with a crushing shame. He couldn't communicate properly - his body's weakness was his current prison, and the nightshade was pulling him to sleep. There was no mistake though. Something had changed over the last couple of days and Arya now knew what it was. Tyrion Lannister was awake, and heartbreakingly aware of it.
"It will sadden me to see you and your family leave Jon Snow," said Varys. "This isn't the outcome I expected but I truly believe Westeros can have peace again."
"Bran and Sansa will see to that," said Jon.
Despite knowing Jon's true parentage Varys couldn't help but see Ned Stark in him. Both were honourable men who refused to play the game, and both were easy to read when you knew what to look for. While Jon had no interest in politics he was usually around his family, offering his support at meetings and generally being present. His absence at this morning's meeting had piqued Varys' curiosity enough to seek him out. The last Targaryen had been wandering the ruins of the Dragon Pit when he caught up to him.
"Cersei didn't deserve mercy," said Varys. "I've no stomach for violence but she truly deserved the fate she brought on herself."
"She deserved justice, and she got it," said Jon, his shoulders slumping. "Who am I to disagree with Sansa and Bran? Between them they'll rule Westeros."
"It could have been your decision if you'd chosen differently."
"I don't want it; I've never wanted it."
Varys sighed, folding his hands in his sleeves. "It's too late for that anyway. King Bran will bring stability to Westeros and Sansa will secure the North. It's not how I imagined it, but I believe it's a good outcome."
"All it cost was fire and blood."
"Not how Daenerys wanted it. King Bran believes thousands of lives were spared because of your decision to kill Daenerys before she could attack Kings Landing. This is a good outcome."
"Not for everyone," said Jon.
Varys shifted uncomfortably. "I called upon lord Tyrion last night. He was asleep but your sister wasn't. It's safe to say lord Tyrion paid a high price for his faith in Daenerys."
"Too high."
"Perhaps, but his sacrifice inadvertently saved countless lives. As fond as I am of Tyrion Lannister it was a sacrifice worth making."
Jon's mouth pulled downwards, his eyes full of warning. "Don't let Sansa hear you say that - or Arya."
Varys hid a smile. The Starks were always predictable. "Apologies, I didn't realise you'd accepted Tyrion as one of your own."
"Sansa wants him," said Jon, "and Tyrion is a friend. He has no other family."
"He does not, a fact which upsets many of the Westermen. They aren't keen on the last Lannister seed going North."
Jon hesitated, weighing his words. "They'll have to get used to it."
He didn't need to say anymore, Varys well understood what was unsaid. If Sansa Stark had her way Tyrion would remain in the North. Varys hoped his friend might find peace in the North, but the Spider heard too many things. Grumblings from the West, carried on the wings of little birds.
Bronn wasn't one for formalities. In hindsight he should have probably knocked before walking into Tyrion's room, but the door was open and there was no one to tell him not to.
"Get out," said Sansa. The Stark girl had leapt from the bed as soon as he entered and now stood between him and Tyrion.
Bronn snorted. "Or what?"
"Or I'll have you removed."
"There's an empty corridor out there. Who's removing me?"
She narrowed her eyes and Bronn wandered further into the room, only to find her blocking his path.
"What do you want?" she asked. "Tyrion isn't well enough to see anyone."
"Doesn't mean we can't see him." Bronn sighed, rolling his eyes. "I aint here to hurt him. You're leaving soon and I wanted to see what happened to the poor sod."
"What you heard at the trial wasn't enough?" Sansa held her position a moment longer before stepping aside. "Fine. See for yourself what the sister you served did to him."
As soon as his eyes fell on Tyrion he wished they hadn't. Hearing what had befallen Tyrion and seeing it in person were two different things. The lord of Casterly Rock looked like he'd died and no one had told him. He was propped against the headboard and sound asleep, giving Bronn the chance to see the damage. His right arm was strapped across his chest, and swathes of bandages wound around his shoulder. His left arm was bandaged near the top, and the outline of a splint around his left leg was visible beneath the sheets. All that remained of his hair was short, prickly gold and his beard was gone. A couple of small, healing scars joined the old one on his face.
Bronn swallowed. "I didn't serve Cersei, I served her gold."
"Same thing," said Sansa, retaking her seat on the edge of the bed.
A grey shift lay beside her and a patchwork blue blanket was folded neatly near Tyrion's feet. Her face softened as she adjusted Tyrion. Pillows were propping him up but Bronn could see how weak his old friend was.
Having accepted she couldn't remove him the Stark girl ignored him instead, turning all her focus to Tyrion. She lifted the shift, easing his left arm through the sleeve but hesitating before continuing.
"Why the shift?" asked Bronn.
"To give him some dignity," said Sansa. "He'll be moved to the ship soon and I don't want everyone gawping at him as he's moved - he'd hate that."
"Aye, he would."
Sansa rubbed her face, once again adjusting Tyrion as he began to slide.
"He aint gonna know," said Bronn, shifting on the spot. "If it's easier to leave him as is he won't know."
"That doesn't matter!" snapped Sansa. "Tyrion's a lord, he deserves to have some dignity."
"Has he noticed he's been naked as his name day since you rescued him?"
"No...I wanted to give him a shift or something but it makes it difficult to take care of him and check on his injuries. For now it's easier he wears nothing, but I want him covered until we get to the ship at least."
Bronn sighed, moving to the side of the bed. "Alright then."
"What are you doing?"
"Holding him while you get him dressed. Come on, we both know you can't do it yourself."
The lady of Winterfell studied him like a wolf stalking prey before nodding her head. "His shoulder is very delicate, be careful with him."
"I got him," said Bronn, easing his friend forwards.
As Sansa busied herself with the shift Bronn's eyes fell on the patch of ink on Tyrion's lower stomach, near his hip. The word 'Kinslayer' was written nearly there, but Bronn knew it was an ink that wouldn't come off. The trial for Cersei had mentioned several tattoos she'd ordered be done to her brother, but this was the only one not hidden by bandages. Bronn turned his attention back to his friend. He didn't need to see the others to know they'd be as cruel as that one. As if Tywin Lannister hadn't deserved his fate at Tyrion's hands.
Sansa pulled the shift over Tyrion, tucking the empty right sleeve across him. "That's better. All ready to go."
As cold as the Stark girl was there was nothing but warmth in her eyes as she fussed over Tyrion.
'You've had shit luck so far in life,' thought Bronn. 'Maybe this time will be different'
Jon squinted, taking in the sprawling mess of Kings Landing and the sun beating down on it. If there was some charm to be found in a place like this it was lost on Jon. Despite only being here a few weeks he could well understand why Ned Stark hadn't fit in. For some reason this place brought out the worst in people. Cersei's execution had brought out a side in his sisters he never wanted to see again. Cersei had been found guilty of all crimes - death would have been enough. The spectacle of her walking naked through the streets and then Arya's slow execution had been too much. Despite his feelings on it, the biggest shock was Arya and Sansa. If nothing else the execution had demonstrated how little he truly knew them these days. Bran was somehow worse - a stranger wearing his little brother's face.
"Lord Snow."
Jon turned at the voice, narrowing his eyes as lord Lydden and Ser Harys Swyft approached.
"My lords," he said, turning his attention back to the sky.
The curt reply wasn't enough of a warning. The sound of footsteps on grass let him know the two Westermen weren't merely passing by.
"We hoped to speak with you," said lord Lydden, appearing at his side.
Jon sighed, turning towards them. "What is there to speak about?"
"Your sister," said Ser Harys. "She's gone to great lengths to take our liege lord North. I don't doubt her regard for lord Tyrion is genuine but surely you can see it isn't a sensible solution."
"Too sentimental," said lord Lydden, shaking his head. "The lady has left reason behind in her pursuit of him. She wanted Northern independence and she has it - why take the warden of the West with her? As capable as your sister may be certain decisions need a man to take charge, and cut through the sentimentality to practical solutions."
Jon looked between the men before laughing. The false smile dropped from lord Lydden's face at the sound.
"You want me to tell Sansa what to do?" said Jon. "She's the Queen in the North."
"And how well did Cersei and Daenerys work out as Queens? Women shouldn't hold these positions. Bran is King in Westeros, and you should be King in the North."
"Sansa is Ned Stark's trueborn daughter; she's the Queen the North chooses," said Jon.
The idea of anything else was laughable. Did these men truly think he would oppose Sansa's rule, or Gods forbid, separate her from Tyrion. One look at their faces told Jon that's exactly what they wanted him to do.
Jon shook his head, stepping away from the men. "You need a new perspective. Sansa will be a great Queen, and my support is always hers."
"What about our liege lord?" said Ser Harys. "What you do in the North is your business but at least leave lord Lannister out of it. He should be taken to the Westerlands."
"King Bran made his decision."
"He made the wrong one," said lord Lydden.
"Lord Tyrion made his choice too. He didn't want your daughter my lord, he wanted Sansa."
"That was hardly a fair test," said lord Lydden. "What kind of King allows the last male of a great house to be taken to a separate kingdom in such a vulnerable state?"
"Tyrion will be safe in the North," said Jon. "Men like you won't be able to use him."
Lord Lydden's eyes flashed. "What are you suggesting lord Snow?"
"You know what I'm suggesting. Don't pretend your concern for Tyrion is anything more than politics."
"Careful boy", said lord Lydden. "The North's independence is a fragile thing. Anything could unsettle it."
Jon paused, facing the men once more. "Are you threatening my family?"
"Of course not," said Ser Harys, smiling. "We're simply warning you to be careful. The North is so spread out, empty..."
"Anything could happen," said lord Lydden.
A cloud fell over them, followed by a thump behind Jon. Drogon leaned over Jon's shoulder, sniffing at the lords.
"The North may be spread out my lords," said Jon, "but not when you travel by dragon."
"Your men understand their orders?" asked Sansa.
Godwin inclined his head. "Yes my lady. Twenty of us will sail with you and lord Lannister while the rest of my men travel to Winterfell with the bulk of your army."
Sansa searched the Lannister captain's face for any hint of deceit and mercifully found none. The last thing she wanted was Lannister guards in Winterfell but it was one of the conditions she'd agreed to in order to take Tyrion North. After the attempt on Tyrion's life she'd tried to dissuade Bran to no avail - he insisted there be a number of Lannister guards with Tyrion until he was deemed fit enough to give orders himself.
"These men watched him suffer and did nothing," said Sansa. "Tyrion won't want them near him."
"Some tried to help. A few gave him extra water and scraps of food - Arya saw two men giving him something for his pain."
"They did the bare minimum."
"They did what they dared to in the circumstances," said Bran. "Many of the Lannister guards are guilty of doing nothing, few helped and few truly enjoyed what happened to Tyrion. Cersei's escape attempt exposed many of the traitors."
"Tyrion doesn't need a guard in Winterfell, our guards will protect him."
Bran shook his head. "The lord of Casterly Rock will be accompanied by a number of his own guard. They're under orders to defend their liege lord and complete any duty he asks of them when he is deemed to be in a fit state of mind. Godwin will maintain control of them and he will work with you to ensure things remain peaceful."
It was an uneasy alliance between Stark and Lannister but if it was the only way to take Tyrion home she would make it work. She couldn't imagine Tyrion wanting the Lannister guards near him but she was well aware it was a political move by Bran. The lords of the Westerlands would be in uproar if their liege lord was taken to a separate kingdom without protection - not that any of them actually cared about Tyrion.
"I trust there won't be any problems," said Sansa, turning towards the ship with Godwin.
"We serve lord Lannister," said Godwin, straightening his back. "I've made certain the guards accompanying us understand that. If he is your guest at Winterfell we will act as your guests, if he is your hostage we will defend him."
Sansa turned to the man, nodding her understanding. "And if your men betray him again I'll hang you all from the ramparts of Winterfell without hesitation. Understood?"
"If my men betray him I'll hang them myself," said Godwin. "My life has been in service to house Lannister, serving lord Tywin, Ser Jamie and then Cersei. I needn't remind you of the terrible things Tywin and Cersei have done but it would please me now to serve a lord without those tendencies. Ser Jamie was an excellent commander and swordsman but his reputation as the Kingslayer hounded him."
As untrusting as Sansa was she couldn't help but trust Godwin. He'd helped them overthrow Cersei and seemed sincere in his desire to serve a lord worth serving. They boarded the ship that was in its final stages of preparation, parting company on the deck. Godwin went to prepare his men for their duties while travelling and Sansa went straight to the cabins. As the soon to be Queen she'd been given the largest cabin, and at her request the smaller cabin next door had been prepared for Tyrion and his Maester.
"My Queen!"
Sansa paused, her hand hovering over the door to the passageway leading to the cabins. Her lip curled, but she was quick to hide it as she turned to lord Cerwyn. Lord Glover was with him as they approached.
"If all is well we can be underway within the hour," said lord Glover.
"The Prince has been boarded too," said lord Cerwyn, smiling. "The Maester was settling him into his room when we left."
Sansa's stomach rolled. The Prince? She'd claimed Tyrion as her husband and gave him a token to make it known, but she hadn't expected the Northerners to accept the match. Not that it was a match. The arrangement was temporary; until Tyrion could make his own decisions.
"Wonderful, thank you," said Sansa, forcing a smile.
Lord Cerwyn bowed, striding off to to see to the preparations, leaving Sansa with lord Glover.
"Is he to be your consort?" asked lord Glover, as blunt as his armoured fist sigil.
Sansa flushed. "I-I don't...now isn't the time-"
"It doesn't matter," he said gruffly. "So long as you're our Queen the North won't care who shares your bed. After the Bolton bastard no one will-"
"Thank you my lord," said Sansa, her heart squeezing in her chest. "For now my marriage to lord Tyrion stands but given his condition it can neither progress nor end. Lord Tyrion and his guard are guests of the North and should be treated as such."
"Understood your Grace," he said. "I'll spread word. Lord Tyrion?"
"Yes, I think that's best."
He strode off leaving Sansa to force some air back into her lungs. She cursed herself. As soon as lord Glover questioned her she'd floundered like a trout out of water. That wouldn't do in the North. All of her decisions would be scrutinised and that included the decision she'd made to refuse an annulment. Sansa breathed in and out, assessing the situation. Lord Cerwyn had seemed perfectly pleased to tell her they'd boarded the Prince, whereas lord Glover seemed resigned. Three possibilities awaited Tyrion in the North; open hostility for being a Lannister, grudging acceptance or being treated as a spoil of war. Lord Glover appeared to have chosen the second option - as long as she was Queen and the Starks ruled he could turn a blind eye to the Lannister beside her. Cley Cerwyn and the bulk of the Northern army had chosen the third. She'd noticed it at the hearing to bring Tyrion North and then again at Cersei's trial; Tyrion was a prize they'd won in the war. Did it amuse them? Probably. The Lannisters had been their enemies for years and now Tywin Lannister's last son - the lord of Casterly Rock - was dependent on them for care and protection.
Sansa's stomach twisted at the thought. It wasn't a good option. Lord Cerwyn was likely hoping to win some favour with the new Queen by acknowledging Tyrion as her husband, but many of the small folk would see Tyrion as a charitable cause - a sign of how honourable the Northerners were that they'd take in Tyrion Lannister.
For now she pushed the thoughts aside. Things would be different when they reached Winterfell, she'd need to have answers to appease the North and Tyrion would hopefully begin to recover. He'd been so upset this morning - nothing she'd done had soothed him and there was no obvious cause for his distress either. Sansa straightened up, pushing through the door and into the passageway. Arya would take the cabin closest to hers and Tyrion's leaving a few smaller rooms on the deck below for the other lords. The bulk of the men would sleep where they could around the ship, taking watches in turns. Sansa slowed her steps as she approached the cabins. Maester Henly was stood outside Tyrion's room, waiting patiently in the passageway.
"How is he?" asked Sansa, her throat tightening.
"He's sound asleep," said Henly. "Lord Tyrion is settled and ready for the journey. I've brought enough nightshade to keep him asleep while we travel though it will be necessary to let him wake to some extent between doses - long enough to check all is well."
"That's good," said Sansa. "Do you have any idea why he's been so upset the last couple of days?"
"Trauma. As unpleasant as it is I would take it as a positive sign his mind is beginning to process things again."
Sansa nodded, fiddling with her hands. It was more than unpleasant to see him in such discomfort and be unable to help but she could do nothing but hope Henly was right. She turned to the cabin door, hearing movement within.
"Missandei and Grey Worm," said Henly, following her gaze. "They wished to say goodbye to lord Tyrion so I stepped out to give them some privacy."
A pang of guilt shot through Sansa. It hadn't occurred to her they might want to say goodbye. The preparations to leave had consumed her all morning, but of course Missandei and Grey Worm would want to see him. They'd travelled together since Essos-
Sansa lurched forwards, grasping the door handle before she could change her mind. If anyone would know they would. The door swung open, startling the occupants. Grey Worm was already moving into a defensive position but relaxed as he saw her.
"Lady Sansa," he said. "We came see Tyrion."
He stepped aside and Sansa's eyes fell on where Tyrion rested. Her stomach lurched, bile clawing up her throat. She pulled her eyes from the sight to Missandei. The woman was leaning over Tyrion, a sad smile on her face.
"I owe him my life," said Missandei. "If he hadn't taken my place as Cersei's prisoner she'd have killed me - Bran said it would have happened."
Grey Worm stiffened, dropping his head. "You alive. I not let you be hurt again."
Sansa stepped closer, focusing on Missandei and not where Tyrion was lying; she could deal with that later. "I'm sorry, I got so distracted I never thought anyone else would want to say goodbye to Tyrion."
"Don't worry," said Missandei, offering her a smile. "You've been run off your feet looking after him."
"You've been a great help with that."
"It's the least I can do," said Missandei, turning her attention back to Tyrion. "I owe you my life twice now, don't I? I'm not a Lannister, but if there's ever anything I can do to repay the debt I will."
"Twice?" asked Sansa.
"Tyrion saved my life in Essos. We were under attack and I would have been killed if he hadn't killed the man first."
Grey Worm nodded. "I owe him debt too. Missandei life most important thing to this one."
"Tyrion didn't tell me much about his time in Essos," said Sansa, fidgeting with her hands. "When his belongings were being loaded on this ship Ser Brienne noticed something unusual. I wondered if you knew anything about it?"
"What was it?" asked Missandei.
"A black collar," said Sansa, the words sticking in her throat. "It looked like it had been cut off."
"It's not unusual," said Missandei. "Many who've been slaves keep the collars afterwards. I carry mine with me too - a reminder that I'm free."
"Some Unsullied do same," said Grey Worm.
They said it as if it was perfectly normal to have been a slave, but she supposed it was to them. To Sansa it was unthinkable. "Tyrion was a slave?"
"Him and Jorah the andal were caught by slavers and sold at auction. Their master bring them to fighting pit where they meet Queen Daenerys," said Grey Worm.
"Tyrion became her advisor then," said Missandei. The horror must have shown on Sansa's face for the other woman quickly continued. "He wasn't a slave for long. A couple of weeks I think."
Coldness spread through Sansa, starting in her chest and seeping into her limbs. It didn't matter how long Tyrion had been a slave, all that mattered was he had. Was that why he'd believed in Daenerys so much? She saved him from slavery and fought against the practice. It was impossible to imagine Tyrion being sold. He was too clever, too proud - he was her husband.
"Tyrion not tell you?" asked Grey Worm.
Sansa shook her head. "With everything going on at Winterfell we didn't talk much about the past."
"It's not the easiest thing to talk about," said Missandei. "In Essos it's common but I can see why Tyrion wouldn't mention it in Westeros. Everything about this place is different."
"Not stay here," said Grey Worm. "We leave for Naath tomorrow."
Missandei nodded, adjusting the covers over Tyrion and kissing his forehead. "Thank you Tyrion. I hate leaving you like this but I know you're in good hands."
"You get better," said Grey Worm, inclining his head to Tyrion. "You get your vineyard."
"A vineyard?"
"He once say he wanted vineyard to make own wine," said Grey Worm, scrunching his nose. "He call it 'Imp's delight' I think."
Sansa smiled despite the tightening in her throat. Tyrion had never told her that. Was it something he really wanted?
Missandei straightened up, pulling a sealed letter from her belt. "Would you mind giving this to him when he's better? I can't thank him properly now but I wanted to. I've been working on my writing but I asked Varys to help."
Sansa took the letter, nodding. "Of course I will."
Grey Worm and Missandei lingered a few minutes longer, wishing her well in the North and talking of their plans in Naath. Sansa nodded along, thanking them for their aid and helping with Tyrion but her mind couldn't get past what she'd learned. It was impossible to imagine Tyrion being sold as a slave - the thought alone made her sick. How had he moved past the experience? Surely it had affected him, but the Tyrion who'd arrived at Winterfell had been as witty and charming as ever. More mature perhaps, more likely to measure his words than he had under King Joffrey - but he was still Tyrion.
Sansa held herself together until the door shut behind Missandei and Grey Worm and then forced herself to confront the scene before her. Maester Henly had been concerned about the journey and Tyrion's injuries; she knew he'd examined every possibility to find the safest way to get him home. That didn't make Tyrion's position any easier to swallow.
The lord of Casterly Rock was in a child's cot. Not an infant's cradle but a bed with raised sides to keep Tyrion still. Sheets had been used to pin him in place with the blue blanket lying over him to hide it. For once Tyrion's feet were near the end of the narrow bed. A pillow cushioned his head and his chest was rising and falling evenly, but the sight broke her heart all the same. Tyrion would be utterly humiliated if he knew this was how he was travelling. A normal bed across the room was prepared for Henly and the draws had been filled with supplies, but knowing Tyrion's position was for the best did nothing to ease Sansa's guilt for allowing it.
She knelt next to the cot - no, bed - and reached out to Tyrion. He was too deeply asleep to notice as she freed his left arm from the sheets and held his hand. Her fingers brushed over the direwolf ring, protectiveness stirring in her heart.
"Things will be different when we reach Winterfell," she said. "I'll be Queen and you'll hopefully be more like yourself. It won't be easy, but I know you're strong enough to recover from this - I'll help you as much as you want."
Tears stung the back of her eyes as she stroked his cheek. "I don't know if I'm doing the right thing or if you even want my help. You're my husband for now but it's only temporary. One thing isn't temporary though; Winterfell is your home for as long as you want it to be."
Tyrion remained silent, unaware of the indignity of his position. Sansa smiled at his peaceful face, free of the distress that had plagued him since he was rescued. She leaned forwards, kissing his cheek.
"I do love you," she whispered. "It doesn't matter if you don't feel the same; you have my heart anyway."
Arya raised her hand as the ship moved further into Blackwater Bay. Bran, Pod, Brienne and Ser Davos were little more than specks in the distance now, but it wasn't them she was looking at. Gendry had joined them and the sight of him on the dock was annoying. Almost as annoying as his suggestions he go with her. Why was he being stupid? He had to be the lord of Storm's End and she had to be no one. A lord needed a lady, not a no one.
Sansa joined her at the railings as the figures grew smaller. "I know how you feel."
"I feel nothing," said Arya.
"You do," said Sansa, lifting an eyebrow. "Don't deny it."
"Shouldn't you be with your Lannister, or have the formalities already started?"
Sansa pursed her lips. "My Lannister is sleeping, and your smith is getting further away. I know what that's like - I watched my friend leave Winterfell with a dangerous woman."
"Friend?"
Sansa sighed. "You know what I mean."
"Gendry's a lord."
"You're a lady, as hard as it is to believe."
"I'll never be a lady," said Arya, turning away from the railing. "A castle, husband, children - that's your dream, not mine."
"It was mine."
"It isn't now? You're only missing children. Winterfell and the crown of the North is yours. We both know what you want from Tyrion."
"I don't know what Tyrion wants, or who he'll be when he regains his sense of self. Just because I didn't annul our marriage doesn't mean it's moved forwards either."
Arya shook her head. "You'll need to decide what you want sooner or later Sansa. If you want Tyrion make sure he knows it - he owes you a huge debt."
"I don't want that," said Sansa, grimacing. "The last thing I want is for Tyrion to think he owes me anything."
He owed her everything, but Arya bit her tongue from saying such. Sansa was already constructing a Queenly mask of indifference - as if Tyrion's rejection wouldn't crush her. She'd been hurt and betrayed more than anyone, and she wouldn't move forwards with Tyrion until she knew how he felt. Arya rubbed her eyes, already seeing how the next few months at Winterfell would develop. It would take months to prepare for her journey West of Westeros. Was she doomed to spend that time watching Sansa and Tyrion dance around each other? Sansa had been badly hurt, and Tyrion was badly hurting. It had been obvious enough at Winterfell that they had feelings for each other, but since then everything had changed.
"Why did Jon get out of sailing with you again?" asked Arya, casting a final glance at Blackwater Bay before turning to the cabins.
"He's travelling with the rest of our army."
"You mean flying over them on a dragon's back?"
Sansa scrunched her nose. "I'd rather not have Drogon in the North."
"There's not much else to do with him. He seems to have a relationship with Jon."
"I still won't trust him, no matter who rides him."
"Won't be your problem when Jon takes him North of the wall."
"I'd rather Drogon go and Jon stay."
Arya said nothing. There was no point hoping and wishing. If you wanted something you had to reach out and take it. Jon wanted freedom and he was taking it North of the wall. If Sansa wanted Tyrion he was hers for the taking.
Something was going on. Things had started to make a little more sense. Piece by piece the world was coming back into focus for Tyrion, and then it was ripped away once more. Daenerys had betrayed him and left him to Cersei - that he remembered.
Cersei had...hurt him.
Tyrion screwed his eyes shut as the memories threatened to overwhelm him. Breathe, he told himself, don't let them know you're awake. He'd gotten good at waking up silently. Sometimes, if he stayed very still in his cell they'd leave him alone a little longer.
Someone had rescued him from the cell and the image of Sansa Stark was impossible to shake from his mind, though it made no sense. Why would Sansa be in Kings Landing, let alone tending to him? The answers were so close but something was blocking them - a heaviness that kept his body asleep and his mind groggy. He wasn't in the same room as before. Several times he'd woken enough to glimpse his new surroundings but before he could put the pieces together nightshade was tipped down his throat.
"Ah, lord Tyrion, you've woken sooner than expected."
He tried to move but his body was sluggish and the sheets were trapping him. He tilted his head as the man in grey leaned over him. Each time he woke the Maester was there, waiting to dose him again. This time was no different. The Maester easily caught his face and poured the liquid down his throat.
"You're growing too used to the nightshade," said the Maester, studying him. "It's fortunate our journey is nearly at an end my lord. The Queen is rather anxious to get you home."
The nightshade spread through Tyrion as the Maester began examining him. Despite the relaxing effect of the potion, tension rose in Tyrion. What Queen? Cersei. Not Cersei. Gods be good, not his sister. Not Daenerys either. She'd betrayed him - left him to face the knives and the hands and the laughter.
The world swum around Tyrion as he was pulled off to sleep. His left arm was free of the sheets and without thinking he rubbed his fingers against the patchwork blue blanket on top of him. The Maester wasn't Qyburn, he hadn't hurt him. That still left the question of who this Maester was, and more importantly, where was he taking him? Maybe this was a dream. What Queen would want an imp in her home?
Tyrion pushed the thoughts away as his eyes closed. There was no telling what fresh hell awaited him, but for now he turned his mind to a happier place. Sansa would never know, but the time they'd spent together at Winterfell had healed his heart more than serving Daenerys ever had.