Chapter 15
White Harbour was a beautiful city. Why had she never noticed such beauty in the North when she was a girl? In childhood the North had seemed empty and boring - only now could Sansa appreciate the beauty of her home.
"Your Grace," said lord Manderly, bowing his head. "It is the honour of my house to welcome you back to the independent North."
Sansa smiled, inclining her head. "Thank you my lord. The North and its people have paid a great price for independence. It is an opportunity we must take full advantage of."
"Quite so my Queen, I am at your disposal in whatever capacity you need me."
With the formalities observed Arya and the rest of the lords travelling with them moved forwards, as guards and servants hurried to unload the ships. It was only when the smile dropped from lord Manderly's face did she realise the unloading of the ships had revealed unexpected guests.
Sansa quickly bowed her head. "Forgive me my lord, I forgot to mention we have guests. Is it a problem?"
The old lord was quick to hide his distaste. "Not at all my Queen, I knew lord Tyrion travelled with you but I didn't expect a guard to accompany him."
"It was a condition of bringing him North," said Arya. "The Westerlands aren't happy their liege lord is here."
Cley Cerwyn grinned. "You should have seen the looks on the bastards faces when Bran Stark ruled in favour of the Queen."
"Ah, yes, I've heard some whispers of that," said lord Manderly. He spread his arms, smiling tightly. "Lord Tyrion is quite welcome here my Queen, I've arranged a room for him in New Castle. Is he around? I can have the servants show him there."
Sansa stiffened as Godwin and Maester Henly appeared in the distance. Whatever whispers the North had heard of what happened to Tyrion it didn't compare to the truth. Lord Manderly had likely heard he was injured but the look on the old lord's face made it clear he'd expected the lord of Casterly to be walking. Not to be carried into the castle on a board, looking far too much like a corpse. Lannister guards carried Tyrion between them, with Godwin and the Maester keeping watch over him as they approached.
A lump formed in Sansa's throat at the sight of her husband. This wasn't how Tyrion would want anyone to see him, let alone these lords who would tolerate him for her sake. Lord Manderly appeared to be following lord Cerwyn's lead in showing acceptance of Tyrion, but it was nothing more than that. Lord Manderly had lost both his sons through war and knew he was far too old for her to consider marrying. It mattered not to him whether Tyrion was her husband, though she doubted it was his first choice. Lord Manderly's acceptance of Tyrion was an easy way to gain her favour, but the rest of the North would be a different story.
"Poor bastard," grumbled lord Glover, as the procession stopped along from them.
All of the lords were staring at Tyrion, and despite the thick blankets covering him it was easy to see how injured he was. Only weeks ago they'd seen Tyrion at Winterfell, fighting with them in the long night - the difference in him now was enough to sober the lords. Lord Glover and lord Cerwyn had been at Cersei's trial and heard what Tyrion had suffered through, but hearing the story and seeing the aftermath were two different things.
"Your Grace, where are we taking him?" asked Henly. "Its better he doesn't stay out in the cold too long."
"My lord, you mentioned a room for lord Tyrion?" said Sansa.
Tyrion was so close. In a few steps she could be at his side, shielding him from the curious eyes of the North. The three lords around her looked openly disgusted at his poor condition, but there were many in the North who would enjoy it.
Lord Manderly's face was pale as he pulled his gaze from Tyrion to her. "Ah. A room yes, I'll have the servants show your Maester..."
"I'll go too," said Arya, stepping past her to join Godwin and Henly. "You'll be alright Sansa?"
"Yes," said Sansa. "Thank you Arya."
An awkward silence fell over the group as Sansa watched Tyrion disappear into the castle. The lords were watching her. She shouldn't stare. Was it too late? Had her face already given too much away? They couldn't know how she felt about Tyrion. No one could know until Tyrion knew, and until he decided what their relationship would be. Tyrion could wake up and hate her. He could order his men to take him south immediately. Sansa's throat closed up as her composure began to slip.
"My Maester is at your disposal my Queen," said lord Manderly. "I can assure you lord Tyrion is perfectly safe at New Castle."
"The Prince will recover quickly without the smog of Kings Landing," said lord Cerwyn.
Sansa smiled, her stomach rolling. The lords were seeking to reassure her, but it shouldn't have been necessary. If she was to be Queen no one could know her weaknesses, and Tyrion Lannister had quickly become her weak spot.
"I have every faith he will," she said. "Thank you for your hospitality lord Manderly. Trade will be key to the success of the North and White Harbour is a vital part of that."
The lords seemed as relieved at the change in conversation as Sansa was. The large man bowed, spreading his hand towards the castle. "Nothing would please me more than to aid in the growth of the North. Independence is a dream both our families suffered for."
'A dream Tyrion suffered for too.'
Arya sighed, slipping deeper into her chair. The room lord Manderly had prepared for Tyrion was large and plush; almost as grand as the chambers that had been prepared for her and Sansa. At least it proved Wyman Manderly wasn't stupid. Many Northern lords might have been tempted to provide poor chambers for the lord of Casterly Rock, but lord Manderly was playing the safe game. The North surely knew Sansa had refused an annulment and was still married to a Lannister - what they didn't know was what the Queen intended to do next. Most, if not all of the North probably hated Tyrion, but if he was to be the Queen's consort they couldn't let it show.
"You're a lot of trouble you know," said Arya. "For a small man you cause big problems."
Silence met her, but Tyrion was asleep - as he had been since they left Kings Landing.
"Sansa seems to think you're worth it," she continued. "Gods know there's no one else she'd go to war for, apart from family."
Her older sister had floundered as soon as Tyrion was unloaded from the ship. All her politics and courtesies had fled her as the little Lannister was brought towards her. It was baffling. For the two weeks of their journey Sansa had split her time between appeasing the lords travelling with them and hiding in Tyrion's room. Lord Glover and lord Cerywn weren't stupid - surely they all realised where she was spending her time? Sansa was trying too hard to keep things separate. She was treating Queen Sansa and Sansa Stark as two different people.
Sansa Stark was allowed to love Tyrion, and spend her days fussing over him. Queen Sansa was a political force whose marriage status was tucked away in a grey area. Tyrion Lannister could be her husband and the prince consort, or the marriage could be annulled in days. No one knew, and the lords of the North would tow a careful line until they did. Even what title to use for him was a subject of confusion - prince, lord, imp - in Sansa's presence she'd heard the first two, but in the shadows she'd heard the latter.
"I don't get it," said Arya. "If Sansa wants you she should take you. Twice she's been married against her will - why shouldn't you suffer the same indignity? Most men would love to wake up one day and find they were married to her."
Her eyes swept across Tyrion, taking in his healing injuries and the constant frown on his face. His face was hollow and if not for the rise and fall of his chest he could easily be mistaken for dead.
"Sansa won't do that though," said Arya, rolling her eyes. "She's made sure nothing is permanent until you can make your own choices. The North doesn't know what Sansa wants and she won't admit the truth even to herself - I hope you can figure it out. You're supposedly a clever man but I'm yet to be convinced. Prove me wrong Lannister."
An hour later the door creaked open and Sansa appeared in the doorway. Her sister glanced at her before her eyes darted to the bed.
"Arya, how is-"
"He's fine. Maester Henly went to see lord Manderly's Maester for advice so I stayed with him."
A smile flitted across Sansa's face. "Thank you."
"I figured you'd want someone in here. Given how lost you looked when he was brought into the castle I'm surprised you didn't come with him."
Sansa moved further into the room, pausing at the end of the bed. "You know I couldn't."
"You're the Queen. Tell the lords you can't listen to their cries for attention because you'd rather drool over your Lannister."
"I'm not the Queen yet."
"You will be."
Sansa sighed. "There'll be a coronation at Winterfell in ten days' time. That should give Jon and the rest of the Northern army a chance to arrive."
Arya nodded, moving stiffly from her chair. "What about Tyrion?"
"What about him?"
"Is he your consort?"
"You know I can't decide that now."
One look at Sansa's face told Arya she'd already decided. For all Sansa had changed part of her was still the girl who'd believed in dreams and fairytales. There wasn't a doubt in her mind Sansa knew on some level what future she wanted, but that part of her sister was badly damaged and hidden beneath a layer of mistrust. There was nothing to do but wait. The only person capable of reaching that piece of Sansa couldn't do anything without assistance at the moment, and Tyrion was in need of far more fixing than Sansa.
Riding a dragon would never feel familiar. Every time Jon had sat on a dragon's back he'd been reminded of just how fragile people were. Drogon could slaughter hundreds in one breath of fire, or crush them beneath his huge form. As fascinating as dragons were they were twice as deadly. Bran often claimed he couldn't see the future, but his little brother was convinced Daenerys would have used Drogon to slaughter King Landing.
Drogon huffed beneath him, as if he could sense the thought.
Killing Daenerys had killed a piece of Jon, but that was a price worth paying to spare the people of Kings Landing, wasn't it? The people of Kings Landing who'd watched on as Ned Stark was executed; who'd jeered and taunted Tyrion as he was tormented. Sansa hated Kings Landing and part of Jon was tempted to as well.
'It's not their fault. They only know what they're told.'
That was what Ned Stark would probably think. The people of Kings Landing had been lied to and manipulated more than anyone.
Jon pushed the thoughts away, turning his focus to the army somewhere beneath him. No one was more surprised than Jon when Drogon let him ride him. The dragon had easily accepted him as his rider when their departure came and showed no hesitance in travelling North. It wasn't an arrangement Jon was pleased with but riding a dragon had a few benefits. The sky was a great place to think without distraction. The Northern army and the knights of the vale were uneasy about the Lannisters travelling with them, but many saw it as an opportunity to mock the Lannisters lack of honour. The shame of what had happened to Tyrion would stain the Lannister army for years - failing to protect one's liege lord was looked down on throughout Westeros.
Drogon dipped lower at Jon's urging until he could see the army marching peacefully. There'd been a few minor skirmishes to sort out so far but the perpetrators were nearly always Northern. The lord of Casterly Rock was being brought North to safety and rest, and the Northmen were only too eager to remind the Lannister army of their failings.
Jon sighed, directing Drogon higher again. He hoped Sansa knew what she was doing. It didn't matter to him if she chose Tyrion as her husband, but the politics of the situation rested on a knife's edge.
Returning to Winterfell should have felt like coming home, but every time Sansa looked at the castle her first thought was of Ramsay Bolton lurking in its halls. It was irrational. The Bolton bastard was dead and Winterfell was firmly back in her family's hands. Still, the ghosts of her past loved to linger. Joffrey and his cruelty had stolen her childhood innocence but it was Ramsay who had broken her into pieces.
It took five days for them to journey from White Harbour to Winterfell. Lord Manderly had been only too pleased to host them but Sansa was keen to get home. Lord Manderly and his men had joined their party as they sailed up the White Knife and after days of travel they were finally at Winterfell.
As soon as she stepped through the gates Winterfell had burst into life. There were guests to house, preparations to be made for the coronation, and over the next couple of days more guests would arrive. The lords and ladies of the North would come to Winterfell to see her crowned and Jon would arrive with the rest of the army before then.
The Lannister guards were the biggest problem, and one Sansa sought to resolve swiftly. She called a meeting with Godwin and the Winterfell captain, making the situation clear to both.
"There are to be no hostilities between either group. The Lannister guards are here as guests and should be treated as such," she said.
The Winterfell captain was a heavyset man of few words, with a perpetual scowl on his face. Despite his appearance Sansa found Barrik loyal, if somewhat blunt.
"Aye, your Grace," he said. "I'll tell the men."
Sansa turned to Godwin. "I expect the same from your men."
"I shall see to it. We are here to serve lord Lannister, not start a conflict with the North."
"I understand," said Sansa, "but until lord Tyrion is fully aware of the situation you will keep your distance."
"Lady Sansa-"
"Queen," cut in Barrik.
Godwin faltered, bowing his head. "Fair enough. While in your Kingdom I will respect you as Queen, but we do serve lord Tyrion-"
"I realise you and some of the men are keen to repair your honour in serving him dutifully now, but that doesn't change what lord Tyrion endured for weeks at the hands of his sister, supported by the army that should have been protecting him," said Sansa. She held her hand up when Godwin opened his mouth. "Yes, I know you believed lord Tyrion was disinherited. Tyrion has yet to regain full awareness of his situation and since he was rescued any mention of Lannisters or lions had caused him distress. I'm asking you to protect Tyrion by keeping away from him until he is well enough to handle the situation."
Godwin stared at her for a moment before his shoulders slumped. "Very well. I will instruct my men to do the same. When our lord is of sound mind once more we are at his service."
It hadn't been the easiest of conversations but Godwin at least seemed committed to keeping the peace. The Lannister guards were a condition of having Tyrion here but there wasn't a chance she'd let them make Tyrion uncomfortable - this was a safe place for him.
It was two hours after their arrival that Sansa finally slipped away from the lords and servants to her chambers. Arya had promised to oversee Tyrion being brought into the castle and Sansa had asked her sister to wait until the castle was a little quieter before moving him. The last thing he needed was to be stared at while being carried in. Two hours was plenty of time to have moved him. Sansa hurried up the stairs towards the family rooms. A quick stop at her chambers to freshen up and then she would visit him. Maester Henly was keen to start the process of waking him up and consult with Maester Wolkan - conversations she needed to be present for.
Sansa pushed open the door to her chambers, freezing at the sight that met her. Tyrion was in the bed. Propped up by pillows and covered in thick sheets he was perfectly at peace as he slept. Warmth enveloped Sansa at the sight, her chest tightening. Before she could attempt to decipher the fluttering in her heart, her logical mind took over.
"Not funny Arya," she said, stepping into the room and searching for her sister.
Predictably, Arya was lurking in the shadows. She stepped forwards, a smirk on her face. "We both know this is where you really want him."
"I've had a room prepared for lord Tyrion."
She snorted. "Is it next door?"
"No."
"You're putting him in the guest house? I don't believe it."
"Lord Tyrion will be staying in the master room in the east wing of the castle."
At that the smile dropped from Arya's face. "That's Robb's room."
"It was," said Sansa, her throat tightening. "Lord Tyrion needs privacy and peace to recover, and that part of the castle is ideal for him."
Sansa had sent the raven before they left Kings Landing, telling the Winterfell household to prepare that room for the lord of Casterly Rock. It was one of the family rooms, but distant enough from her own that Tyrion could have some privacy, with the added effect of reinforcing their marriage was neither annulled nor consummated.
For a moment, Arya looked as if she might argue, but it was an argument that would be pointless. Hundreds of Starks had used that room before Robb, and like them he wasn't coming back to claim it.
"Do you have a problem with that?" said Sansa.
Arya clenched her jaw. "I suppose not."
"Good. Summon the Maester and servants to move lord Tyrion to his new chambers."
Grey eyes met blue. Sansa knew using her new authority on Arya would end badly, but finding Tyrion in her chambers had pushed her too far. Why didn't Arya understand that she had to be careful? The pieces of her heart were hardly worth giving to anyone, but some part of her knew who they belonged to, and if he rejected her there would be nothing left.
To Sansa's surprise, Arya backed down first. Her sister moved towards the bed, turning her gaze to Tyrion.
"Are you sure you don't want him to stay here?" asked Arya. "He could do a hell of a lot worse than waking up next to you."
"That wouldn't be at all awkward, would it?" said Sansa. "Lord Tyrion is not a toy - don't use him to mock me again."
Arya rolled her eyes. "I'm not mocking you..."
"Just go Arya."
Sansa's voice wavered, and it was enough that Arya left without another word. As soon as the door closed behind her tears stung at the back of Sansa's eyes. It wasn't fair. She'd missed Tyrion as soon as he left Winterfell with Daenerys. Only in his absence did she realise a long forgotten feeling had taken root in her heart once more, and it was a sentiment she couldn't share. The trauma Tyrion had suffered would change him forever and the politics of the situation were nearly as complicated.
She glanced at the door, checking it was shut before moving to the side of the bed. Tyrion was nestled among the blankets and furs, breathing softly as he slept. Truly, he looked at peace - and completely oblivious to where he was and all that had changed in his sickness. Sansa brushed her hand against his cheek, leaning down to kiss his forehead.
"Welcome home."
"Have they arrived safely my King?"
Bran tilted his head, considering his answer. "They've arrived. Jon will most likely arrive the day after next."
"Are they well?"
"Yes and no."
Varys was excellent at hiding his true thoughts but the way he pursed his lips gave away his annoyance at the vague answers. Bran shifted in his wheelchair, moving his focus from his third eye to his two.
"My sisters have arrived in Winterfell with Tyrion," he said. "Sansa will be crowned as Queen."
"As expected."
"Whether they are well is a different matter. The Westerlands are not happy."
"Also as expected," said Varys. "Their liege lord is in a separate kingdom, and for all intents and purposes he is married to Sansa Stark. There are no clear challengers to take control of the Westerlands. Tywin Lannister made certain Lannister rule would be unopposed, and the clearest path to power for the smaller houses is through marriage to Tyrion."
"Something my sister stands in the way of."
Varys leaned forwards, resting his hands on the table. "My King, if you've seen something of concern..."
"I see too many things. The three-eyed raven sees the past clearly, but the future changes all the time. By the time I see something it could be too late."
"You knew Cersei Lannister was plotting escape."
"Because Arya heard whispers and I followed that thread into the past. Do you see lord Varys? A thousand eyes and one are too many to look through."
"The past you see can help you predict the future though," said Varys. "If we can avert problems before they arise..."
Bran shook his head. "The future is too fluid, and individuals can change their choice at any time. Nevertheless we must be careful. Send your little birds to the Westerlands lord Varys. If you find a thread I can follow it through the past, and perhaps I can help my family."
"Very well my King," said Varys, sighing. "How fares lord Tyrion?"
"He has yet to wake."
"I suspect he'll be rather confused when he does."
Bran folded his hands in his lap. "The world has changed a lot since he took Missandei's place."
The feast was still underway when Sansa slipped from the Great Hall to check on Tyrion. It had been hours since he was moved to his new chambers but for Sansa it felt much longer. The lords and ladies of the North were her duty - as Queen it was her responsibility to court them and welcome them to Winterfell. It had felt more like a burden than it should have. Sansa had never been taught to be a Queen - she'd spent her life preparing to be a lady. Even if she had married Joffrey she'd have had no power. Queen in the North was a different title entirely. Every decision was hers to make; the people were relying on her to make a success of Northern independence. It was a task Sansa had begun to doubt she could do.
Jon would be here soon, but he would go North of the wall. Arya had no interest in politics and Bran had his own kingdom to run. There was only one other person whose guidance she would trust, and he was in no condition to help her. All afternoon her mind had flitted between politics and Tyrion. It was unacceptable. As Queen she needed to focus - but Sansa Stark needed to check on Tyrion. After weeks at his side leaving him in the hands of the Maesters and servants had felt too much like abandoning him.
"Rest assured my Queen, we'll take good care of the Prince."
Sansa's stomach twisted as the older woman directed the servants to lay Tyrion on some blankets next to a tub of steaming water. Yvette was an experienced servant and Maester Wolkan had recommended she be assigned to lord Tyrion's personal care while he recovered. Two younger servants accompanied her - whispering and giggling to each other as they knelt next to the 'Prince'.
Yvette followed her eyes to the girls. "Ah, don't worry my Queen. They're quite taken by the stories you see."
"Stories?"
"How you marched south and defeated two Queens to get your husband."
Sansa's cheeks burned as she looked at the girls in a new light. They weren't going to mock Tyrion, they were swept up in the supposed romance of what had happened. It was ridiculous. There was nothing romantic about it - Tyrion was her friend, and Daenerys had been a threat to them all. Yet...it was the kind of tale Sansa would have loved as a child.
The three servants were looking at her and it occurred to Sansa they were waiting for her to leave. Yvette was a plump woman with grey-brown hair and a round face. She exuded a confidence that only came with experience, but Sansa's continued presence was giving her reason to pause. Despite the servants friendly demeanour, they knew she was to be Queen and tending to the 'Prince' was a position of trust and responsibility. It was a trust Sansa wasn't sure she could give. The door opened behind her and Maester Henly appeared, followed by Maester Wolkan.
"Your Grace," he said, inclining his head. "I've asked your Maester to assist me with lord Tyrion. After he's been bathed we will reevaluate his injuries. The nightshade could take some time to clear from his system but he's had more than enough of it."
"Quite so," said Wolkan, moving closer to Tyrion. "However well his injuries have healed the weeks of immobility will leave him very weak. The sooner he is able to start moving the better."
They were all watching her now. There was no reason for her to stay - Maester Henly would make sure Tyrion's injuries weren't jostled by the servants and Maester Wolkan was more than capable of assisting him. Her eyes flitted to Tyrion lying on the blankets. He still wore the shift they'd dressed him in for the move into the castle, but that would be removed to wash him. The servants would see his injuries, see all of him - Tyrion would hate it. Yet, what choice did she have? She could dismiss the servants and wash him herself but what message did that send? The welcome feast would start soon, and as Queen she needed to be there.
"All seems to be in order," she said, every word like a knife through her heart. "Lord Tyrion is a guest of Winterfell, I expect him to be treated with respect."
"Of course your Grace," said Yvette. She bowed her head, smiling. "Don't worry about a thing. The Prince will be fresh as roses when we've finished."
Leaving Tyrion had been far more difficult than it should have been. Throughout dinner worries had plagued her. What if someone hurt him? What if he woke up and she wasn't there? He'd been so lost and afraid in Kings Landing, she didn't want him to feel like that here.
Sansa fought the urge to hurry as she turned up the corridor to Tyrion's new chambers. Winterfell had eyes everywhere; whispering guards and servants - lords and ladies filling the castle. Her duty to the North was important, but she had a duty to Tyrion too. She'd promised to take care of him and forfeited her right to an annulment - he was hers to look after until he was well enough to decide otherwise. Balancing that with her responsibilities as Queen was difficult enough, without considering the politics of the situation.
She paused at the door, rapping her knuckles lightly on the wood. The journey to Winterfell had been a long one and had given Sansa plenty of time to discuss Tyrion's treatment with the Maester. Restoring healthy boundaries was part of that and the sooner it started the better - when he began to recover no one would enter his chambers without his permission.
Maester Henly opened the door, a smile pulling at his mouth. "Ah, I thought it was you your Grace."
"How is he?"
"Resting comfortably." He pulled the door open and Sansa stepped inside, away from her crown and into a more familiar place.
The room bore little resemblance to when it was Robb's. It was a spacious room at the corner of the castle, with two wide windows that would fill the space with light during the day. A desk sat beneath the windows with two chairs, and a hearth burned cheerfully at the side of the room, with a chaise lounge in front of it. After weeks in that horrid cell she'd thought Tyrion needed some brightness and space. The bed was to the left of the room and Sansa smiled when she saw her instructions had been followed. Blue blankets covered the bed, matching the blue drapes and accessories in the room. She'd seen in Kings Landing how lions and Lannister colours upset him and if blue was Tyrion's favourite colour it only seemed right to decorate his chambers in it. The patchwork blanket she'd given him had been cleaned and lay over the top of Tyrion as he slept.
The servants had done well. Tyrion looked completely relaxed and the bath appeared to have done him some good. Maester Henly followed her to the bed, standing beside her as she sank into the chair.
"His injuries are healing as well as can be expected," said Henly. "Maester Wolkan and I gave him a full examination, and I briefed him on what we'd learnt from Qyburn's journal. The burn on his arm doesn't need a dressing anymore, though it's left a rather nasty scar. His ribs are much better and his leg is healing nicely too. It will take a little longer for his shoulder to heal given I had to rebreak it but our travels haven't harmed him."
Sansa breathed out, sinking into her chair. "His hand?"
The Maester grimaced. "That won't heal my Queen. You saw a piece of it in a jar as I did. The extent of the damage won't be clear until lord Tyrion is coherent but your Maester agrees the hand is likely ruined."
Sansa nodded, her heart sinking. There was no use clinging to false hope. No matter how carefully they treated his injuries some damage would always remain. They hadn't put the shift back on him. Sansa understood why - tending to him was easier without it - but the indignity irritated her all the same. She'd arrange for new clothes to be made. Many of the ones he had at Dragonstone weren't suitable for the cold weather, and a petty part of her didn't want him to have anything from Daenerys.
"When will he wake up?" asked Sansa.
"Hard to say. He could wake within hours or over the next day or so - either way the effects of so much bed rest will linger I'm afraid. Maester Wolkan has more experience in potions than I do, and he was rather concerned with how much nightshade he's had, as well as whatever Qyburn was giving him. We're in agreement its best he not be given any more sedatives."
"What if he's distressed like he was in Kings Landing? We can't just leave him to suffer."
Henly smiled. "I understand you wish to protect him, but sooner or later he must face what has happened. Lying in bed and drifting in and out of confusion is no way to live."
Sansa leaned forwards, fiddling with the end of the patchwork blanket. "You're right. Thank you Maester. Get some rest - I'll stay with him for now."
She only half heard his response and the door closing behind him as she focused on Tyrion. As Queen she couldn't stay in Tyrion's chambers as she did in Kings Landing. Too many people would talk and it was whispers Tyrion didn't need to hear. She tugged his left arm free of the blankets, bringing his hand to rest in her own. The direwolf ring glinted on his finger and Sansa's heart constricted at the sight. The token had been necessary while Tyrion was confused and travelling, but now he was here it was no longer required. When Tyrion was fully coherent and recovering she would confess what she'd done to get him to Winterfell. For now the ring was a question she wasn't ready to answer.
She slid her fingers between his, gently tugging at the ring to free it from his finger.
It didn't move.
Sansa tried again, turning and twisting the ring only to find it wedged snugly against his finger. It would barely turn or move at the base of his finger - there wasn't a chance she could get it over his knuckle. Her throat tightened as she pulled the ring, tugging harder with each pull.
A grunt caught her attention, pulling her focus to the frown on Tyrion's previously peaceful face.
"No..." she whispered, quickly rubbing his hand. "Shh, sleep a little longer. It's alright. It's all ok."
It wasn't ok. The ring was well and truly stuck. She swept her eyes over Tyrion, noticing what she should have before. He was painfully thin but the Maester had started feeding him heavier foods on the journey North to put some weight back on him. Sansa drew in a ragged breath, and then another. She'd had the ring sized so it was a secure fit in Kings Landing, when he was malnourished from weeks in a cell. Whatever meagre weight he'd gained had turned the secure fit into a snug fit.
Her hands trembled as she looked at the direwolf ring. How was she going to explain this to him? Gods, she'd put in on his left hand without thinking. If his right hand was crippled he wouldn't be able to take it off himself either. Would he think her cruel for doing so, or take it as another humiliation? Another mark he couldn't remove.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I wanted you here...I never thought...I'm so sorry."
Tears burned at the back of Sansa's eyes as she watched her sleeping husband. The ring had seemed such an innocent token, but now her mind ran wild with all the ways Tyrion could wrongly interpret it.
Would he hate her for the humiliation? He was the lord of Casterly Rock, and he had no idea about their marriage - the direwolf sigil could offend him. Tyrion could be prideful, and he'd once clung tightly to his Lannister identity. Just because he'd been afraid of lions and Lannisters in Kings Landing didn't mean he still would be when he woke up.
Sansa's stomach twisted and churned as her mind played its games with her. No matter how much she fought to keep her heart hidden it had a way of breaking free. Had her desire to keep Tyrion with her ultimately lost him?
Arya rubbed at her eyes, struggling to contain a sigh as she looked between Sansa's tear-stained face and Tyrion. It was ridiculous. When a servant had woken her and delivered Sansa's vague message Arya hadn't imagined it was for this. As tempting as it was to tell Sansa how stupid she was being the diplomatic route would be better. The Queen hadn't taken finding Tyrion in her bed well, despite how much it had amused Arya. Helping her sister now could make up for it - if she held her tongue.
"Sansa, I don't think it will matter to him."
"Of course it will. Cersei degraded him for weeks, she covered him with those awful marks he can't remove and now I've done the same."
"That 'awful mark' is our family sigil, and Tyrion should be honoured to wear it."
"You know what I mean! Tyrion doesn't know what's happened - he'll think I'm using him."
Arya bit her tongue until the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. When Sansa summoned her to Tyrion's chambers at three in the morning she hadn't expected to find her sister distraught. The lack of logic in Sansa's panicked thoughts was as mystifying as it was worrying. Sansa was a clever woman, and since they'd reunited at Winterfell her older sister had developed a cold, logical shield. The Sansa in front of her now was a different story. If anything she was reminiscent of the girl who'd worried if Prince Joffrey would like her or not. Whatever confidence Sansa had in politics and ruling it no longer extended to her heart. What Sansa had suffered since leaving Winterfell had left deep scars, even if they couldn't be seen.
Pushing the thought aside Arya turned to the problem at hand, or rather Tyrion's hand. Sansa was sat beside him on the bed, cradling his left hand in her lap as if it was a delicate thing.
"Alright, let me try," said Arya, reaching for his hand.
Sansa's gaze followed her every movement and Arya resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She wasn't going to hurt him, but if Sansa wanted the ring off she'd need to try some force. Sansa had probably been too gentle with it.
Arya rolled the ring between her fingers, getting a feel for how it was fit. Sansa had spared no expense on it, considering her insistence it was only a token to take him North. The band was a high-quality metal and the direwolf sigil was finely engraved on the flat top.
"Why did you get it made so small?" asked Arya. "He's hardly put on any weight and it's tight."
Sansa looked away. "I didn't want anyone to take it off him."
Her sister said it as if there was a line of people queuing up to claim him. No one but Sansa had given a shit about him. Perhaps that was unfair. Jon, Varys and Pod were friendly with him; Missandei and Grey Worm had been guilt-ridden. Sansa was the one who'd marched south for him though, and the only other people who wanted Tyrion were the lords of the Westerlands who sought to use him.
Arya sighed, giving his hand back to Sansa. "That won't come off, and cutting it off would be risky given how tight it is."
"Do you think it's hurting him?" asked Sansa.
"He's fine. It's not tight enough to hurt him, it's just too tight to get over his knuckle. Unless he gets fat it probably won't bother him."
"He'll hate me," she said softly, rubbing her thumb into the back of his hand.
"Why would he hate you? When he was at Winterfell he spent half his time following you around."
"That's not true-"
"Seven hells Sansa, where one of you was the other was too."
Arya crept along the corridor on silent feet, pausing as laughter reached her ears. The door was open a crack and with a nudge it widened to reveal the occupants. Sansa had her back to the door as she sat on the chaise, and neither she nor her guest noticed her lurking. The lady of Winterfell rarely smiled but there was no other word to describe her expression as she listened to the Queen's hand.
"Ser Jorah was a truly miserable travelling companion," said Tyrion. "I don't think I saw him smile once on our journey to Mereen."
"He's a Northerner. We're not prone to amusement," said Sansa.
Tyrion wagged a finger. "Now I know you're lying."
"Are you accusing the lady of Winterfell of being untruthful my lord?"
"Certainly not my lady, the smile on your face is making a liar of you."
Sansa laughed, her eyes brighter than Arya had seen in a long time.
It was a regular occurrence, finding Sansa and Tyrion tucked away in Winterfell. Whether it was the library or a quiet room with a warm hearth the two were normally together - working they claimed. To most observers it could pass as the truth. The Queen's hand and the lady of Winterfell would naturally co-ordinate the alliance together. Arya wasn't most observers. When the two were truly alone, or thought they were, work would quickly fall away as they enjoyed each other's company.
Arya's heart twisted as she looked at her sister now, holding Tyrion's limp hand in hers and struggling to contain her fears he would reject her when he woke. It wasn't fair. Sansa had always wanted love, and after all she'd endured another chance of happiness had been pulled from her.
Turning on the spot, Arya moved to the Maester's table of supplies, returning a moment later. "Give me his hand."
Shining blue eyes peered up at her. "Why?"
"I'm not going to cut his finger off for seven's sake. Do you want him to see the ring when he wakes up?"
Sansa reluctantly released his hand and Arya began threading a bandage around it.
"You're covering it," said Sansa.
"The ring won't come off, will it?"
"He'll wonder about the bandage."
"You really think after weeks of abuse by his sister and Qyburn the first thing he'll care about is a bandage around his hand?" said Arya. "I doubt he'd notice the ring to be honest, but if you're set on keeping it hidden this is the best way."
"It'll need changing if he has a bath."
"Gods Sansa, how long are you planning on keeping your marriage a secret from him? Tell the Maesters and servants not to touch it and when he's properly awake tell him what you did to save him."
"What if he wants to leave?" whispered Sansa.
Arya tied off the bandage that looped between his fingers and around his left hand. It was enough to cover the ring without affecting his mobility.
"If he wants to leave because you saved his life and kept him safe then he doesn't deserve you," said Arya. "You're worrying about something that won't happen."
Sansa took his hand back, lacing her fingers between his.
"You don't know what will happen when he wakes up," said Arya. "Stop worrying about it big sister. He's got bigger things to deal with than a ring from a friend."
A smile pulled at Sansa's mouth. "Arya - thank you."
She nodded, satisfied Sansa's fears were under control and she'd made amends for her earlier joke. Her eyes drifted to Tyrion and her stomach twisted. She didn't doubt he cared for Sansa, but trauma had a way of changing people.
'You better recover Lannister,' she thought. 'The sooner you're awake the sooner you can deal with Sansa.'
Waking up wasn't easy. It was almost as difficult as separating dreams from reality. A thousand images swirled through Tyrion's mind, and deciphering which memories were true and which were false was a task he wasn't eager to claim.
Don't focus on that, he told himself. Focus on waking up and staying awake. Glimpses of a man in grey pouring nightshade into his mouth swept through his mind and Tyrion redoubled his efforts to gain control of his body. He kept his eyes closed, maintaining the illusion of sleep as the world came back to him in pieces. It was better this way. If he showed signs of waking he could be put to sleep again, or worse.
'Maybe that's for the best,' whispered his mind. 'Oblivion is better than the pain.'
Tyrion's stomach twisted at the thought of what awaited him. As far as he could remember he hadn't seen Cersei or Qyburn for some time. His body ached but it was a far cry from the blinding agony he'd once thought would never end. This could all be a trap - Cersei could be lulling him into a false sense of security. Making him believe his suffering was at an end when it was merely a break to prolong it. That had to be it. Let him heal a little before starting again. Any restraint Cersei had was gone with Jamie - she'd tear him to pieces...
His chest tightened as panic took hold of him. Tyrion swallowed, forcing himself to focus on the present. Whatever the situation was he had to know. There were images in his head that didn't make sense. He was sure he'd seen Jon Snow and Missandei leaning over him, but the strongest images he held were of Sansa Stark.
The lady of Winterfell's blue eyes were soft and open as she stroked his face, whispering soothing words in his ear. There were many glimpses of Sansa in his memory - holding his hand, kissing his head and spoon feeding him. The thoughts ignited warmth in his chest but Tyrion was quick to take hold of it. That wasn't possible. Sansa was a proper lady; she wouldn't care for a used, broken imp, nor would she allow herself to show such vulnerability. Sansa was a formidable, fiercely intelligent woman - the imaginings of his mind were nothing more than that. A comforting fantasy he could escape to.
Tyrion lay in a false sleep until reality once again felt real to him. He was in a soft, warm bed. Blankets covered him and a pillow was propped beneath his head. He wasn't restrained, nor did he have much movement. That seemed to be an issue of his body though rather than his position. Every inch of him ached, and his right shoulder was the worst of all - though not as unbearable as it had once been. There was nothing else to be gained from his fake sleep, but opening his eyes wasn't a pleasant thought either. What fresh hell would greet him this time?
Before he could talk himself out of it Tyrion peeled his eyes open, finding himself staring at a ceiling. The room was bright and spacious - fit for a lord rather than an imp. He turned his head, taking in the area around him. The room wasn't familiar but the style was. He'd been in this castle before...
"Lord Tyrion."
He flinched at his name, automatically pulling his head deeper into the pillow. A Maester was seated at the desk, younger than most with a silver link in his chain. He was familiar too. The man in grey who put him to sleep when he woke. The Maester rose from the desk, reaching the bed in a few strides.
"How do you feel my lord?" asked the man.
Tyrion eyed him warily. He was highborn and he'd never hesitated before a servant or Maester, but a new impulse fought against his natural instincts. The urge to hide swelled within him, warning him he was nothing, that he had no status. This man was a Maester but that was better than being an imp.
The Maester's brow furrowed. "Are you in pain?"
"No..." he said, the words cutting his throat like glass. "No more...nightshade."
"I quite agree my lord. You've been asleep for long enough."
Tyrion pulled in a breath, struggling to control the fear surging through him. This was ridiculous - he shouldn't be so afraid. The man wasn't Qyburn and had made no move to threaten him.
'Yet,' taunted his mind. 'The pain always comes back...'
"Where am I?" asked Tyrion. His left hand wound into the patchwork blanket on top of him. He didn't know why, but something about it was comforting.
"Winterfell, my lord."
At that he froze, fear slipping through him. Why Winterfell? Had Cersei come for the Starks? What if she'd brought him here to watch their deaths?
"Lord Tyrion, you must relax. Your body has been greatly weakened by your experiences - too much stress is no good for you." The Maester stepped away from the bed, turning for the door. "I will send a message to the Queen. There is a lot you need to catch up on, and it will be best if she tells you I think."
A shudder ran through Tyrion at the man's words. "The Queen?"
"Yes my lord. The lady of Winterfell has yet to be crowned but she is already known as the Queen in the North."
Jon smiled as he spotted Arya in the crowd. It wasn't the first time the North had seen a dragon, but the people had gathered to see it nonetheless. When Daenerys had come the Northerners had been both awed and wary of the Queen and her dragons. Jon was a familiar face. As far as these people knew he was Ned Stark's bastard and the man they'd once called King - they had no fear of watching Drogon when he was the rider. The dragon hadn't protested their route North and when Jon climbed from his back Drogon had wandered into the distance, huffing fire and shaking his wings. It was fortunate the North was so spread out. There was plenty of room for the dragon to roam without Jon worrying too much about innocent people crossing paths with it. Even so he made a mental note to make sure the guards knew to keep people away from Drogon.
"You finally made it," said Arya, as Jon approached.
"Aye. I think we made good time."
"In time to see Sansa crowned tomorrow."
"Where is she?" asked Jon.
Arya rolled her eyes as the crowd dispersed around them. "She was on her way to greet you when we got word. Of course she ran straight there..."
"What word?"
"Tyrion is awake. He's been on the edge for the last couple of days but the Maester's note said he finally woke up."
"He's been through a lot Arya."
"I know that. I'm glad he's awake so he can deal with Sansa. Ever since we got here she's been nervous about how he'll be when he wakes up. I can't take her pouting anymore."
A smile pulled at Jon's mouth. "Sansa needs our support, and so does Tyrion."
"It's nice of you to volunteer. Father would be proud."
"I won't be here long."
"They'd better sort their shit out quickly then."
Sansa struggled to slow her pace as she hurried towards Tyrion's chambers. She hoped Jon would understand. The Queen should really be there to greet him and the rest of the men, but she'd know no peace until she saw Tyrion, and more importantly saw which Tyrion it was. Maester Henly's note had offered no indication of how Tyrion was, only that he was awake. Would he be back to his old self? Or would confusion still plague him as it had in Kings Landing?
As the door came into view Sansa forced herself to slow down. With no way of knowing what awaited her she had no choice but to prepare for every possibility. Tyrion could be scared and confused. Or he could be furious.
'Why would you bring me here? Why would I want to be at Winterfell?'
The questions swam through her mind, accompanied by the image of angry green eyes. Sansa paused outside the door, swallowing past the lump in her throat. The past few nights her dreams had taken a dark turn. No matter how she distracted herself during the day, the night always brought out her worst fears. Between her nightmares of Joffrey and Ramsay a new one had taken root; imagining all the ways Tyrion could reject her.
It wasn't true, she told herself. Tyrion had never looked at her in anger and she had no reason to believe he would now. Everything about the arrangement was temporary and could easily be changed, even if the thought of doing so stirred a multitude of unpleasant feelings. Sansa drew in a deep breath before knocking on the door.
"Enter," said Henly.
Sansa eased the door open, taking a small step into the room. The Maester was sat in the chair next to Tyrion's bed and appeared to have been examining him. A smile crossed her face as she saw Tyrion. A few pillows were arranged to prop him against the headboard and his left hand was trying to pull the blankets higher around himself. A pang went through her chest at the sight. He had no reason to be embarrassed, but the logical part of her knew Tyrion didn't know that. New clothes had already been placed in the draws of the room, but even if he couldn't wear them yet she would insist he be offered a shift to give him some privacy, whether it made it harder to care for him or not.
The blankets pooled around his stomach, exposing the bandages wrapping around his right shoulder and pinning his arm in place. He lifted his head as she approached, quickly dropping his gaze to his lap.
"Your Grace," he said, bowing his head.
"Lord Tyrion," she said. "It pleases me to see you awake."
An awkward silence fell between them and Sansa struggled to fill it. Every instinct urged her to fall into her familiar pattern of caring for him - to sit with him, holding his hand and offering her comfort. That pattern wasn't compatible with this Tyrion. Even at a glance Sansa could see his confusion had passed.
Maester Henly rose, looking between them before settling his gaze on her. "I will give you some privacy my Queen. Now lord Tyrion is awake the true work of his recovery can begin. I will consult your Maester if all is well here."
"Yes, thank you Maester."
"I thought it best if you tell lord Tyrion what has transpired during his incapacitation," said Henly. "My lord, I will call upon you later if it please you?"
This was part of Tyrion's recovery too - restoring healthy boundaries - but the lord of Casterly Rock was shrinking into the pillows as they waited for his answer.
"Is that alright with you?" prompted Sansa.
Tyrion's gaze flicked to them before dropping back to the blankets. His answer was so quiet Sansa strained to hear him. "Yes."
The door closed behind Henly with a soft click, leaving Sansa alone with the man who didn't know he was her husband. All her fears and worries ebbed away as she watched Tyrion fiddle with his blanket. It seemed ridiculous now to have feared Tyrion's rejection when he was in no place to give it. Weeks of sleeping and rest might have begun healing his body but his mind was a different matter entirely.
'Don't worry Tyrion, I'll help you get through this. No matter what, you're my friend and that won't change, no matter what else we are to each other.'
She smiled, perching on the edge of his bed. "How do you feel?"
This wasn't how he wanted Sansa to see him. Her friendship had been one of the few good things in his life and now it was tainted with pity. How could she even look at him? Tyrion dropped his head, staring at the blanket as Sansa waited patiently for his reply.
"I'm fine," he said softly.
"Are your injuries bothering you?"
He shifted on the bed, his body creaking at the movement. "They're alright."
He lifted his head, chancing a look at Sansa. She was perched on the edge of his bed with her back straight - the very image of a lady. That wasn't true anymore. Somewhere between his leaving Winterfell and his return she'd become a Queen, and it was a title that already suited her. Tyrion forced himself to look closer, searching for the Sansa that fit the fragments of memories in his mind.
No, the memories had to be false. Sansa was smiling at him, and her blue eyes held familiar warmth but she hadn't tended to him through his incapacitation. Tyrion relaxed a little, fighting the urge to hide his face. The memories of Sansa holding and feeding him were nothing more than fantasy - a craving for the comfort he'd always been denied. It was bad enough Sansa was seeing him in this state, thank the Gods she hadn't seen him in a more humiliating position.
With that issue resolved his mind turned to the next problem; why was he at Winterfell? Daenerys hadn't trusted Sansa - there was no chance she would have let the North leave the seven kingdoms, let alone name Sansa Queen. A crushing ache closed around his heart as he thought of Daenerys. How could he have been so stupid? For once in his life he'd believed in something, believed in her, and she left him to Cersei.
"Tyrion?"
Sansa's voice snapped him to the present. There was only one way he would get answers.
"Apologies your Grace," he said, turning away from her kind gaze. "I fear I'm a little confused."
"I'd be surprised if you weren't. A lot has changed in the last few weeks."
"You're the Queen."
"In the North, yes. Bran is King of the six Kingdoms."
At that his head shot up. "Bran?"
Sansa smiled, nodding. "We took Kings Landing."
"With..."
"Daenerys is dead," said Sansa, her eyes hardening. "So is Cersei - and Qyburn."
Could it really be so simple? Three people who'd betrayed and hurt him beyond measure dead? It didn't seem possible.
"How?
"Jon killed Daenerys. She was unstable and betraying you cost her lot of support. If she could turn on her hand who else might she turn on? When she was dead we marched on Kings Landing with the Unsullied. It wasn't much of a fight. Cersei had little support and when we proved to the Lannister guards you had never been formally disinherited they turned on her. She and Qyburn were executed after a trial."
Tyrion's head spun as he took in the information. The Lannister guards had rejoiced in their mockery and abuse of him, the thought of them made his skin crawl. Of all the possibilities he'd imagined this wasn't one of them. Daenerys and his sister were dead - the Starks ruled the seven Kingdoms between them.
"I'm at Winterfell?" he asked quietly.
"Oh...yes, we're in Winterfell. You were badly hurt when we reached you. I didn't think you'd want to stay in Kings Landing to recover or go to Casterly Rock so I brought you here."
"Thank you," he said. "I-I won't trouble you any longer..."
"What? No!" said Sansa, her eyes widening. "You're no trouble and you're too hurt to travel at the moment. I brought you here so you could recover in peace."
Tyrion swallowed, searching Sansa's face. "You're sure I won't bother you?"
"Of course not," she said. The Queen reached out to him and then seemed to reconsider. She dropped her hand to cover his, her blue eyes bright and warm. "Think of Winterfell as your home, for as long as you want it to be."
"I can't impose on you like that."
"You will," she said, withdrawing her hand. "Don't worry about anything else, focus on getting better. This room is yours and no one will bother you here."
He nodded, trying to return Sansa's smile. Despite his words there was nowhere else he would go. The thought of Kings Landing and Casterly Rock made him nauseous and he found himself without purpose. The Queen he'd served had betrayed him and his sister had pulled him apart piece by piece. He was a broken shell with Gods knew how many pieces missing. Somehow he'd survived his sister and Sansa sounded sure he would heal. The biggest question was whether he wanted to.