Chapter 22

Godwin hesitated outside the door, taking a moment to straighten his armour. It had taken weeks but if Jon Snow was to be believed lord Lannister was ready to meet with him. Of course, he'd heard of yesterday's incident - the two guards who'd crossed paths with their lord had told him immediately, fearful they would be accused of harming him. Godwin had no trouble believing them. The few times he'd seen their lord it had been apparent how unwell he was. Early this morning Jon Snow had sought him out, delivering a message that the lord of Casterly Rock wished to see him - though the arrangement would be unusual.

"Sansa's convinced him to try and work through his fear of the Lannister guards," said Jon. "It's not going to be easy."

"Lord Tyrion has nothing to fear from us - we serve him."

"He doesn't believe that," said Jon, a frown on his face. "Sansa convinced him to talk with you, but she wanted me to warn you as well. This will be difficult for him..."

Jon hadn't needed to go into details, Godwin understood enough. To his shame, he'd seen Kings Landing, and it was a sin he couldn't wash away. Tywin Lannister had been ruthless, but it was serving Cersei that had shamed him and the Lannister army. Serving Tyrion was a chance to make amends - to try and regain some honour.

The old captain straightened his back, knocking on the door and awaiting his lord's answer.

"Enter," came lord Tyrion's voice.

Godwin opened the door, sweeping his eyes around the chambers. Lord Tyrion sat in an armchair by the hearth with Jon Snow's direwolf lying at his feet. His eyes moved from his lord to the desk where Sansa Stark sat, her attention on the pile of papers in front of her. Godwin's heart sank. It was a good step that lord Tyrion would speak with him, but the Queen and the direwolf were evidence enough of how difficult this was for lord Tyrion. Queen Sansa was trying hard to look engaged in her work but Godwin knew she'd be listening to everything, acting as support for the lord of Casterly Rock. Nevertheless, Godwin smiled, inclining his head as he stepped into the room.

"Lord Tyrion, your Grace."

Sansa's eyes flicked to him, a silent warning in them as she nodded a greeting. Be careful with him, she seemed to say.

"Thank you for coming," said Tyrion, his voice soft. "Would you join me?"

Godwin tread carefully as he moved towards the chairs, wary of startling his lord. He dropped to one knee before his armchair, bowing his head.

"My lord."

"Oh," said Tyrion, shuffling in the chair. "Will you sit with me? I-I have to speak to you."

Godwin did as requested, perching on the edge of the chaise but keeping some distance from Tyrion. It was obvious how nervous he was and Godwin was keen to leave him some space. The lord of Casterly Rock looked better than when he'd last seen him. His face wasn't so gaunt and he was dressed in clothes befitting his station, though a sling secured his right arm across his chest once again.

"Are you injured my lord?" asked Godwin.

Tyrion followed his gaze to the sling before glancing away. "A strain. I caught my shoulder yesterday and Sansa insisted the Maester look at it."

"You'll only need the sling for a day or two," said the Queen, without lifting her head.

"Yes, well, that arm isn't much use anyway," said Tyrion.

An awkward silence fell and Godwin sought some way to move through it. Lord Tyrion had summoned him here but it was increasingly obvious he didn't want to be having this meeting. His eyes continually moved between the ground and the Queen, as if he hoped she would come to his aid.

Godwin was careful to hide his disappointment. No matter what, this was still progress. "My lord, the men who approached you yesterday asked me to pass on their deepest apologies. They did not mean to startle you, but thought it would be rude to not acknowledge you at all."

"It was my fault," said Tyrion. He glanced at Sansa and Godwin found himself doing the same.

Lords did not speak like this; Tywin Lannister would have died before doing so. It was then Godwin understood the purpose of the meeting and why Sansa had convinced Tyrion to have it. The lord of Casterly Rock was afraid of his men - if he showed weakness in front of them he would end up with a reputation worse than his Grandfather Tytos had.

"Lord Tyrion, how can I serve you?" asked Godwin, suspecting the answer.

"Ah, yes, well," he swallowed, glancing at the Queen once again, though she continued to feign interest in her papers. "I can't hide in here forever. I'll inevitably come across more of your men and I'd rather not repeat yesterday's incident."

"Familiarity will help," said Godwin. "The men are quite keen to be of use to you."

Tyrion grimaced, fiddling with the sling. "Sansa says I can trust you, and I trust her judgement. I need your help to handle them."

"Of course my lord. They are eager to please you, and I'm sure you'll see that."

"They needn't bother. I only need to survive them long enough for Bran to accept the surrender of my titles."

All courtesies fled Godwin's mind. "What?"

"I have been told I must write the letter myself," said Tyrion. "Writing with my left hand isn't going well, but as soon as I can write a letter I will renounce my titles."

"You're the lord of Casterly Rock."

"It's a Lannister seat."

Godwin swallowed, staring at his lord. "You are a Lannister."

"Tywin wanted me dead from the moment I was born and now I am. Never again shall I call him my father, or the Lannisters my family."

"What of Ser Jamie?"

"If not for me he might still be alive. He was kind to me and I admired him, but if not for me he'd have still had a mother. Jamie didn't blame me for it, but I don't doubt he wished me dead more than once..."

Tyrion trailed off, turning his eyes to Ghost lying at his feet. Godwin stared at him a moment longer before looking to Sansa. The Queen had stopped pretending to work and now watched Tyrion with obvious concern. She shook her head, subtly warning him to not push the issue.

"Lord Tyrion, I am yours to command," said Godwin, "and it isn't my place to try and dissuade you, but I can assure you the Lannister army serves you. Whatever you ask of them they will do."

"Then leave," he said quietly. "My final command."

"They can't leave Tyrion," said Sansa. "You know why."

"You're going to be stuck here until I write that bloody letter then."

"My lord, there is no rush. It is our duty to serve you wherever you are. Taking your place as lord doesn't mean you need to leave the Winterfell immediately."

Tyrion's eyes widened at the mention of leaving, and he quickly turned to Sansa. "I don't want to go."

"You never have to go. I've told you to think of Winterfell as home - nothing will change that."

Godwin shifted uncomfortably on the chaise. This wasn't going at all as he'd expected. He knew Tyrion would be hesitant with the guards but he hadn't expected him to want to surrender his titles.

"There's no hurry to make any decisions," said Sansa. "Bran can see everything. Even if you write the letter he won't accept it if he thinks you're unwell. Take some time, try and get comfortable around your men and then see how you feel."

Godwin nodded quickly. "Wise advice if I may say so."

Tyrion sunk into the armchair, dropping his head to the side and away from them. Godwin's audience was over but he found himself at a loss for what to do next. What good was a captain to a lord who didn't wish to be a lord?

It was impossible to think of trade deals. They were important but they were boring, and Sansa's mind had so many more interesting places to be. Like yesterday, in her chambers for example. Tyrion's panic in the corridor had been heartbreaking but the hours that followed were some of the happiest she'd experienced in a long time. Tucked away in the sanctity of her chambers she'd found the real Tyrion. His experience in the corridor had shaken him but rather than withdraw he'd let her distract him. They'd drank wine, talked and sat quietly together - passing the day in blissful peace. Of course, there was that other thing. Over the past few weeks, she'd noticed how negative Tyrion's beliefs about himself were. It had likely been a problem for many years, but Kings Landing had laid it bare. Yesterday she'd made a game of correcting his wrong assumptions, hoping it might lighten his mood and restore a little self-esteem to him.

A smile flickered across her face as the Maester and lord Manderly discussed the trade deal with Dorne. Kissing Tyrion hadn't been her intention, but when he brought up their wedding in Kings Landing she couldn't help herself. His belief that he was a disgusting, ugly monster was one she couldn't stand for - kissing him had seemed the perfect way to correct it.

She had no idea whether it had worked, but he'd certainly been distracted after that. Any other self-deprecating thoughts he might have had seemed to have fled his mind afterwards. It was the perfect time to convince him to let Wolkan check his shoulder. She'd seen him wincing since they got to her chambers but she'd held off suggesting the Maester check it through fear of driving him away. Fortunately, it was nothing serious. The sudden movement had strained his shoulder and the Maester insisted he wears a sling for a couple of days, but even when the old man left Tyrion had seemed in no hurry to leave. She recalled a vague offer to leave her in peace but it hadn't taken much to convince him to stay. It was only when dinner time arrived he left, refusing her invitation to join her and the other lords in the great hall.

"Are you sure you won't join me?" she asked.

"No, thank you. I'm rather tired."

Her smile fell at the expected answer, but she was quick to hide her disappointment. "If you're sure. The offer is always open, you know."

Tyrion stepped into the corridor, turning to face her. "Thank you, Sansa. I never meant to cause you such disruption today or distract you from your duties."

"It wasn't your fault and I rather enjoyed being distracted."

Kissing Tyrion had been a risk, but he'd seemed confused rather than upset by the gesture. With luck, she'd convinced him it was part of their game. As eager as her heart was her mind still urged caution. He wasn't ready, and she wasn't ready to risk his rejection.

"Anything to add your Grace?" asked lord Manderly.

Sansa blinked, drawing her mind back to the present. "Everything seems in order, my lord. Let's move on to the next trade agreement. I believe it's with my uncle Edmure and the Riverlands."

The talk began once again and Sansa's mind soon drifted. Spending the day with Tyrion had been rash and kissing him had been risky - it could have led to questions she wasn't ready to answer. Fortunately, the gamble had paid off. She'd got to spend the day alone with Tyrion, and he'd left her chambers with a smile.

"How's your shoulder?" asked Jon.

"It's fine, just a strain."

Tyrion had thought it was the sudden twist that strained his damaged shoulder, but the Maester had placed the blame firmly on lack of use.

"Your hand is damaged beyond repair, but everything above the wrist still works fine. If you want to keep it that way you'll have to start using that arm again."

"What am I supposed to do with it?"

"Remembering it exists would be a good start. As I've said before, your right hand can still help you in your daily life - you need only find a way to adapt."

Damn the Maester. The old man had bound his arm in a sling again as he lectured, telling him to keep it like that for the next couple of days and leaving orders for him to then start using it. Of course, Sansa had been there to hear it all and she would expect him to follow the advice. His shoulder had been aching after the corridor but he'd had no intention of seeing the Maester about it. He'd agreed to let the Maester check him only because he was completely distracted by what Sansa had done. She'd kissed him - and there'd been no disgust in her eyes.

The Queen had carried on their conversation as if nothing unusual had happened between them. He'd sat in her chambers most of the day and she never mentioned the kiss or showed any sign it had even happened. Tyrion might have thought it a trick of his mind if her lips hadn't felt so very real against his.

Jon's voice drew him back to the present. "I heard you spoke with Godwin?"

"Yes. If I can't get rid of the Lannisters it's better I not go into a panic whenever I see them."

"I've spoken to Godwin before - I think you can trust him."

"I need only tolerate him until I can surrender my titles."

Jon shifted uncomfortably but didn't try and dissuade him, much to his credit. No matter how well-intentioned it was the constant advice to see how he feels when he's better grated on him. Almost everyone he spoke to had either tried to dissuade him or seemed confident he'd change his mind. That wouldn't be the case. Casterly Rock was the home of the Lannisters, and it was damned clear he'd never been one of them.

With the Queen busy this morning Tyrion had found himself with nothing to do and a desire to do something. It was strange. For weeks he'd had no desire to leave his chambers but the last couple of days he'd found himself growing restless. Sansa's visits had quickly become the highlight of his day and if not for yesterday's incident in the corridor he'd have joined her on the balcony. Tyrion hid a smile, knowing Jon was watching. As humiliating as yesterday had been he'd spent the rest of the day with Sansa. Clever, sharp and formidable - she was always interesting company. The kiss drifted through his mind once more but Tyrion forced himself to not think too deeply about it. Sansa had done it to prove him wrong, and nothing more. There was no point pondering what if's that couldn't be true. He'd need to remember that. Sansa seemed to enjoy spending time with him now but it couldn't last. She was a Queen and sooner or later she would want to marry and move on.

Tyrion's chest tightened and he ran his thumb over the ring on his finger. Thinking about that future would lead nowhere positive. It was safer to focus on the present, and that meant Jon Snow. With nothing else to do Tyrion had taken a walk around the corridors of the family rooms, accidentally crossing paths with Jon who invited him into his chambers. Tyrion tried to relax. Jon was a friendly face, but since Kings Landing the only person he felt truly comfortable around was Sansa.

"Sansa mentioned what happened yesterday," said Jon.

Tyrion ducked his head. "Ah yes. A rather embarrassing incident."

"She didn't give me the details, but she told me Ghost led you away from where you were going. I was hoping you might be able to help me. I have no idea why Ghost came south of the wall and he's been acting strangely ever since he arrived."

Relief spread through Tyrion - he should have known Sansa wouldn't spread the embarrassing details of yesterday. He turned his mind to Jon's request instead. He wanted to find a way to be useful to the Starks and this was a good enough place to start.

"I was on my way to join Sansa on her balcony," started Tyrion. "I was only a couple of corridors away when Ghost blocked my path. He wanted to go down another corridor and seemed to want me to follow. I did, but he led me to the window at the end where Drogon was."

Tyrion sucked in a breath as he finished. He hadn't realised he was rambling - gods, why was he so nervous? He knew Jon, he was only explaining what happened; it shouldn't make his throat tighten like this. This wasn't Kings Landing; the Starks wouldn't hurt him.

Jon watched him closely, surely picking up on his panic but mercifully not commenting on it. "I don't understand Ghost's interest in Drogon. When he and Rhaegal were here with...last time, Ghost had no interest in them at all."

"It is peculiar."

"I hate to ask this," said Jon, "but you know more about dragons than me. Drogon was fine when we first came North, but something changed when Ghost appeared. He won't stay in the clearing he originally chose, he comes back and forth to the castle and I have no idea why."

Dragons were the last thing Tyrion wanted to think about. In his childhood he'd been fascinated by them and soaked up any information he could find about the creatures, but that Tyrion was long gone. Lions and dragons - neither could be trusted. Yet, he wanted to help the Starks. He squirmed in the chair, wincing at the pull on his shoulder.

"Dragons are unpredictable but less so when they're bonded to a rider. I don't know why Drogon has suddenly changed his behaviour, I can only guess..."

"Please Tyrion, anything would be useful."

He chewed his lip. Could he really give Jon his opinion? Daenerys had grown tired of his opinions and traded him away to his death.

He searched Jon's face quickly, dropping his eyes before he spoke. "Dragons bond with their riders. You say his behaviour changed when Ghost appeared, correct? That might be the problem. I don't know how dragons bond to their riders but we've seen how strong the connection can be. What if your connection to Ghost is what changed? Dragons can be territorial - if he senses you're more closely bonded to Ghost it could be unsettling him. Rhaegal might not have minded, and Drogon wouldn't have cared before...he already had a rider."

Tyrion braced himself, though he wasn't sure what for. Jon wouldn't strike him, nor did he rebuke his theory. The younger man slumped in his chair, running a hand through his hair.

"You might be right. Bran said something similar in Kings Landing; he said if there was doubt in the rider there was doubt in the dragon."

"You're connected to both sides of your family history. It might explain why Ghost and Drogon are acting as they are."

Jon leaned forwards, patting his arm. "Thank you. I know it's not an easy subject for you."

"If I can offer any meagre service I will. Your family has been exceptionally kind to me."

"You don't need to offer any service for that."

Of course, Jon would say that; Sansa would too. That did nothing to change his resolve. Leaving Winterfell was unthinkable, and he would stay unless he was told to go - the day would come sooner or later. Until then he would find a way to make himself useful. Perhaps if he did, he could stay with Sansa and her family.

Bran followed Ser Davos as he made his way to his chambers. In the five days since the attack Kings Landing had fallen into a state of unease. Ser Davos and Brienne had tried to hide the truth. Officially, there had been a fire in the King's chambers but he wasn't in there at the time. The lie was perfectly believable - Bran was a rarely seen King. It would take a longer absence for people to notice, but the truth couldn't be suppressed indefinitely. Too many guards and servants knew the King was injured and unconscious - no threats from Brienne could suppress the truth forever.

In his five days of wandering this in-between world, Bran had tried to make contact with his council, all without success. At first, Bran had searched for any other traitors in the castle but he'd found none, it appeared Romel had been the only attacker. There were some pieces of the puzzle missing but forcing his way into Romel's mind had shown Bran enough of fill in the blanks.

The King watched as Ser Davos sat at his desk, staring at the half-written letter as he did every day. The old knight wanted to write to Jon and his family, to tell them what had happened. Brienne thought it better to wait until they knew more as Bran had made it clear to the council that his family weren't to know of the Westerlands. The stalemate had lasted days with Samwell eventually breaking it.

"The hand rules in the King's absence," said Samwell, "I think Bran's family deserve to know but we don't have anything to tell them. Maybe waiting for Varys and Ser Bronn to write is better."

It was a reasonable position to take and one which Brienne and Davos had agreed with. The longer they waited though, the more Davos wavered. Something about this situation unsettled Davos and he believed telling Jon was only right, but if Bran could speak to him he'd tell him the truth and why his family couldn't leave the North. The older man stared at the letter before turning away from it. Bran nodded. Without a way to communicate Bran could only watch his council and hope they didn't make a deadly mistake.

Ser Davos was right to be unnerved by the situation. The lord of light's followers were in Westeros, and the only hope of preventing war was Varys and Bronn.

Tyrion bit his tongue as his left hand wobbled, disrupting what should have been a straight line. He quickly turned his focus elsewhere, trying his best to ignore the flaws in favour of the bigger picture. Sansa's idea that he practice drawing to strengthen his left hand wasn't as laughable as he'd first thought - to his surprise, he'd come to enjoy it. The first few times had been the most challenging. He'd struggled to get past the idea it was a shameful activity for a man grown to waste his time on, but Sansa had been perfectly patient. The first time he'd tried it Sansa had joined in, using her left hand in solidarity with him. It had taken a few attempts for him to separate the activity from Tywin Lannister's voice telling him it was a waste of time and a humiliation to the family. That man was never his family, and if anything the thought of pissing him off spurred him to continue the practice.

The second problem was overcoming his standards. While he'd never attempted drawing for the sake of it with his right hand he was sure it would have gone better than with his left. Perfection and realism weren't the points of the exercise though - using his left hand was. The more he let go of needing it to look good the more he began to enjoy it. Now, when Sansa joined him to do her work he no longer sat staring at his feet but would practice drawing instead - just to strengthen his hand of course. It had the added benefit of pleasing Sansa. Thankfully, she never asked to see his work but he never missed her smile when she saw him practising it.

Today his subject was the railing of the balcony on which they both sat. He'd managed to do some background imagery but the straight lines of the railing were proving troublesome for his unsteady hand. Still, his efforts weren't as bad as when he first began, even he could see a slight improvement.

"Tyrion."

Sansa's soft voice pulled him from his work. She smiled at him, before nodding to the ground below where a group of Lannister guards were passing beneath them. There were five men in the group and all had stopped at the sight of them. Of course - they would greet the Queen, and Sansa had sought to give him some warning.

"Your Grace," they said, inclining their heads towards Sansa. They turned to him at Sansa's nod, following the same pattern, though they seemed warier of him. "Lord Tyrion."

His stomach rolled as his eyes caught the Lannister colours and sigil on their uniforms, but he managed to nod his head. They hesitated a moment before continuing with their duties as if they'd expected him to give them new orders. That wasn't going to happen. The only order he would give them would be to leave, and it was the one order Sansa would block.

"Have you spoken to your men yet?" asked Sansa.

"I don't particularly want to."

Sympathy shone in her eyes but it wouldn't be enough to free him from her questioning. "I thought you and Godwin were going to work on getting used to your position."

"I have no position."

"You know that's not true."

Tyrion dropped his head from her gaze, moving his attention back to his drawing, only for Sansa's hand to wrap around his wrist. He flinched at the sudden contact, a crater opening in his chest when Sansa immediately let go.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly.

"No. It's me...I just..." How could he possibly put it into words? "I'm sorry."

Sansa watched him for a moment before reaching for him again, laying her hand on his this time, as if he were made of glass. The return of her warmth was more than welcome, but it did little to ease his shame for his reaction, however involuntary it had been.

"What are you afraid of about the Lannister guards?" she asked.

"You know what happened."

"I do, but I know as well as you do they were following orders. Some of them took pleasure in it, but most didn't."

"None of them stopped it."

"They didn't," she said, "but when they knew you were their true lord they turned on Cersei."

"Only to save themselves," said Tyrion. "I should hang them all for what they did to me. Perhaps that should be my first order-"

"No," said Sansa, withdrawing her hand. A frown covered her face. "I won't allow it."

"It's no more than they bloody deserve. Tywin Lannister would and they're all so eager to serve the Lannisters."

Sansa drew in a breath, hardening her face. "If you want to execute your men you'll have to leave the North to do it. They serve you and how you discipline your men is your business, but I won't allow it in the North."

The bitterness over Kings Landing had overtaken him as quickly as Sansa's words washed it away. He'd tried hard to ignore the presence of the Lannister army - he wanted nothing to do with them - but the more he saw them, the more he was pushed towards being lord Lannister the harder it was to overcome his resentment. The dark turn of his words was unexpected, as was Sansa's rebuke. He searched her face, quickly seeing she meant it. The prospect of leaving instantly drowned any thought of revenge.

"No! I won't, I promise," he said, his words tumbling out. "Please, I don't want anything to do with them."

At once her face softened. "It's alright..."

"I didn't mean it like that, truly, I just..." He swallowed, his throat tightening to a squeeze that refused to let any words past.

It didn't matter, the Queen understood enough. She reached for his hand again, this time taking it in her own and squeezing. "It's ok. I know you wouldn't carry through with it. You're not your father. Trusting the Lannister guards will be hard - I understand that - you just need to give it time. Godwin will help you, and I'm here if you want to talk about anything. The lordship of Casterly Rock is yours and it always will be..."

Tyrion listened along as Sansa offered her comfort and words she no doubt thought were reassuring. As understanding as she was there was one thing she couldn't accept - that no one would accept. Tyrion Lannister died in Kings Landing, and he would never be lord of Casterly Rock.

"Has anyone had a letter from Bran?" asked Jon.

Sansa shook her head, catching the way Arya's expression darkened at the question.

"Of course not," said Arya. "Gods forbid he reply to his family."

While Bran was never the quickest to reply, and if he did his words were vague at best, the prolonged silence was unusual. Sansa had felt sure explaining her lion dream by the heart tree would be enough for her brother to see it and offer guidance, but she'd heard no more from Bran than Jon or Arya had.

"Nothing to add Sansa?" snapped Arya, impaling a sausage on her fork.

"I was thinking..."

"About Lannister again?" said Arya. She turned to Jon. "You know what Sansa summoned me to her chambers for yesterday? She thinks Tyrion has the beginnings of a beard. Why in the seven hells would I care about that? I went there expecting some important development - not to debate Lannister's facial hair!"

Sansa's face burned red at Arya's tirade. Bran's silence had provoked her, yet once again Sansa found herself on the receiving end. Jon glared at Arya, but it did little to hide his amusement at what she'd revealed.

"We're family," said Jon, lifting an eyebrow at Arya. "I'm sure you wouldn't deny Sansa a friendly ear considering how offended you are Bran won't speak to you."

Arya stared at him, before nodding once. "Fair enough. You listen to it then - offer your support."

"Always." Jon turned his attention to her, but Sansa didn't miss the wince as he did. "What was it about Tyrion's beard?"

Sansa's face was on fire. Excitement had overtaken her when she noticed and yesterday she'd had a better chance to confirm her suspicions. The sun on the balcony had been enough to illuminate the faint shadow of hair on Tyrion's face. Unfortunately, she'd felt the need to tell someone and that someone had been Arya.

"It's nothing," said Sansa, "something silly I thought I'd tell Arya."

"It wasn't silly to you yesterday," said Arya. "All you could talk about was how good it was to see his beard returning. Gods know why, I thought you preferred your men clean-shaven."

Sansa swallowed. "Lord Tyrion hasn't been able to grow a beard since Kings Landing - it's a sign of how much he's improving."

"That is good news," said Jon. "We should all be pleased to hear it."

Sansa had thought that was the end of it, but it was hoping too much.

Arya leaned back in her chair, grumpiness spread over her face. "I saw him yesterday and didn't notice it. How close were you to have noticed his beard growing..."

She trailed off, just as Sansa decided she'd had enough breakfast. "I hate to leave, but I've got a meeting soon."

Jon looked between them, his brow furrowed. "What are you on about?"

Arya's mouth turned into a grin. "You did, didn't you?"

Sansa turned on her heel, striding from the great hall with her head held high.

"What am I missing?" asked Jon.

"It's not what you're missing, it's what Sansa's missing - and judging by how fast she's walking I'd say she's missing Lannister's beard brushing against her."

Sansa was almost out of the hall when Jon replied.

"Leave Sansa alone," he said, a hint of warning in his voice.

"Make sure you give us a beard update later your Grace," called Arya.

While Sansa would think twice about confiding in her sister, even her breakfast embarrassment couldn't dampen her spirits. It wasn't until after she kissed Tyrion she recognised the faint bristles brushing against her face for what they were. Yesterday she'd looked for it, seeing the truth glinting in the sunlight. To Arya it was amusing and Jon likely thought it sweet at best, but to Sansa, it was so much more. That Tyrion's beard hadn't regrown from Kings Landing had cast doubt on his ability to father children, but if it was returning her dreams for the future might still be alive. She'd love Tyrion whether he could give her children or not, but knowing that particular dream wasn't dead was enough for her to endure her sister's torment with a smile.

"I think you'll be satisfied with the men," said Godwin. "In the absence of your orders they've taken on the same duties as the Stark guards and the arrangement has gone far better than we could have hoped. Of course, now you are well the Lannister army is ready and willing to follow your orders. Working with the Queen's men seemed a good way to keep our men busy and given your friendship with Queen Sansa I thought you would approve."

"Hmm, oh yes. Very good," said Tyrion, fidgeting where he stood.

"My lord, if you have other duties for them the men will be pleased to serve you."

He shook his head. "There's nothing."

Godwin struggled to hide his disappointment. Following their meeting two days ago Godwin hadn't had any luck in drawing his lord towards the Lannister army before today, and he'd mostly managed that by chance. The Maester had been with him when he called, and the old man had pushed Tyrion to go and see the men - telling him the Queen would be pleased to know he'd done so. It was clearer than ever that no one influenced lord Tyrion like the Queen, and while Godwin saw her influence as a positive one it was also a weakness to his enemies. Godwin's stomach stirred unpleasantly. The lords of the Westerlands had made their desires clear enough in Kings Landing. It was more important than ever the Westerlands were brought to heel by their liege lord, but there was nothing in Tyrion Lannister's face that suggested he had the inclination to do so.

The lord of Casterly Rock had been reluctant to leave the familiar corridors and paths he followed near his chambers, and since they set foot in the courtyard he'd shown no desire to move more than a few steps from the castle.

"My lord, our men have been given these barracks to use," said Godwin, gesturing to the building at the far side of the courtyard. "It might be good to call upon them. Most of the Lannister army have yet to greet you as their lord - I'm sure they'd welcome the opportunity."

Tyrion froze in the shadow of the castle. The courtyard was busy with the Winterfell household going about their duties. While the Lannister army was welcome in the castle, aside from the corridors near the family rooms many of the men stuck to the courtyards and entryways. Only Godwin was allowed near the family rooms, and only a few of the men ventured far enough into the castle that lord Tyrion might come across them. Their lord stuck to only a few places in Winterfell, and it was sheer misfortunate two of the men had surprised him in the corridor the other day - now there was nowhere to hide. Groups of Lannister guards were dotted around the courtyard, some mingling with the Stark guards they'd come to know. Lord Tyrion couldn't avoid them here.

"Would you prefer I bring the men out here?" asked Godwin. The Lannister captain had thought he understood why lord Tyrion was reluctant to take his place; he'd prepared to work through it. It was only now he realised how he'd underestimated the depths of lord Tyrion's trauma.

The guards in the courtyard had noticed their lord and several were making their way toward them. It was right. When one's lord appeared you greeted them, you expected orders. Tywin Lannister had drilled these lessons into the Lannister army for years - it was part of the ethos that kept them so disciplined. If lord Tyrion was to be respected he had to play his part.

"My lord, you should greet the men," said Godwin. In normal circumstances, he wouldn't dare tell a lord of Casterly Rock what they should do, but these were not normal circumstances. Queen Sansa might have encouraged Tyrion to engage with him, but Godwin would carry through on their agreement.

"I'd rather not," said Tyrion, his voice wavering.

"Either you will move out and greet them or they will come here to greet you. It needn't be long my lord, seeing you in person will be enough to bolster morale."

"I can't."

"You must."

"They want to see the lord of Casterly Rock and he's not here."

Godwin looked between Tyrion and the cautiously approaching guards. To retreat now would look cowardly, the only option was for lord Tyrion to face them. He locked eyes with the guards as they approached, warning them to be cautious with the lord of Casterly Rock.

The group of guards paused a few feet away, looking at the shadows where lord Tyrion hid. Strategies ran through Godwin's mind as if he were on a battlefield. He needed Tyrion to speak and assert his authority, but it was impossible to find a way of compelling him that wouldn't undermine him in front of the men.

"Lord Tyrion," chorused the men, bowing their heads.

Silence followed, causing Godwin's stomach to twist.

"Everything alright lord Tyrion?"

Godwin's head jerked to the voice, finding a group of Stark men stood along from them.

"Everything is quite well," said Godwin, narrowing his eyes.

There were five Stark men, led by two men Godwin recognised - they were two of the guards most often assigned to lord Tyrion's door when he was under observation. Godwin's heart sank as lord Tyrion took a step toward them.

"It's good to see you outside m'lord," said the other Stark guard.

"Yes," said Tyrion, "it's quite a bit further than I've walked."

"Do you need help getting back upstairs?" asked the first.

Heat rushed through Godwin. "That's not necessary."

"It's no trouble," said the other man. "We can escort lord Tyrion inside if he's ready."

Tyrion was already nodding before Godwin could reply. "Yes, please."

It took every ounce of control Godwin possessed to hold his tongue as the Stark guards formed a loose circle around Tyrion and led him back inside. The lord of Casterly Rock still looked uncomfortable as he left, but it was a far cry from his performance before his own men.

Godwin turned to the Lannister guards. "Back to your duties. Lord Tyrion is back on his feet, but he struggles to walk still."

The men quickly nodded their acceptance of the obvious lie. He could try and disguise it but the men had seen first-hand how damaged their lord was. His silence was bad enough, but the obvious relief at leaving with the Stark guards was more damaging than anything else. No sooner had the men left did the crunch of footsteps announce a visitor.

"Your men should not have interfered," said Godwin, appraising his Stark counterpart. "Tyrion Lannister is our lord, whether he likes it or not."

The other man grunted. "Aye, but he's our Prince."

"That's not official."

"Do you see him going anywhere, or the Queen choosing someone else? It's not official but a lot of the guards and servants want to start right. To them, it's a matter of time."

Godwin chewed his tongue, considering his response. The Winterfell captain - Barrik - was a man of few words and while Godwin thought him cold he couldn't fault his leadership of the Stark guards. There had been no hostilities between the Starks and Lannisters other than the odd disagreement. Keeping the peace had been easier than anyone had dared to hope and Barrik was as responsible for that as he was. Whether he liked the Winterfell captain was hard to say, but he did respect him and that tempered Godwin's annoyance.

"Lord Tyrion asked me to help him with the men. You know as well as I do why he acts as he does around them and as lord of Casterly Rock it can't continue. Your men should have let me deal with it - they had no authority to intervene."

Barrik stared at him for a moment, his face as unreadable as his monotone voice. "They had my authority."

"You knew they were interfering and let them do it?" Godwin hadn't noticed Barrik until the groups of guards had cleared, but he'd assumed the other man had arrived too late to stop his men.

"I told them to do it."

"Why?"

"You said it yourself - we both know why he reacts like that - I'm surprised you didn't see the problem."

Heat rose in Godwin's cheeks. "What problem?"

"You had him stuck with his back to the wall and a group of guards blocking him in. I'm no Maester but I doubt that's what he needs to get over what happened in Kings Landing."

"They meant him no harm!"

"Doesn't matter." Barrik shrugged his broad shoulders. "To the Prince, they were a threat - it was all over his face. Some of my men who'd guarded his door saw it too. I suggested they escort the Prince back inside."

The Winterfell captain was already moving past him when he found his voice.

"It might not work out like you think - the Queen could choose another."

Barrik grunted. "Not likely."

"Perhaps not, but if lord Tyrion doesn't want the responsibility of Casterly Rock I doubt he'd want the responsibility of being Prince consort either."

The other man shrugged, seemingly unbothered by whichever way the situation went. The Westerlands had prospered under the Lannisters, and it was only with a Lannister in Casterly Rock was the Westerlands united. If Tyrion Lannister wouldn't take his rightful place the Westerlands was likely to fall into chaos. Only a lion could unite them, and Godwin was beginning to realise there may not be any left.

"Why can't they leave me alone?"

Ghost tilted his head to one side but Tyrion had hardly expected an answer.

"I will not be the lord of Casterly Rock; why won't anyone accept that?"

Tyrion sank deeper into the armchair, rubbing at his face. The faint bristles of his beard seemed foreign now, after so many weeks without it. For the first couple of weeks in Winterfell, he hadn't noticed it was missing at all. It was only when the Maester commented on it that he noticed - not that he particularly cared.

A shiver ran through him as his mind turned to the last time he'd had a beard. The Lannister guards had served his sister at the time, and they hadn't hesitated in carrying out her orders. At their hands he'd been stripped of his clothes, hair and dignity - now they called him lord and wanted to serve him.

It was late in the evening but he wasn't ready for bed yet, not with so many thoughts filling his mind. The Stark guards had seen him back into the castle, but he'd declined their offer of helping him upstairs. It was slow going but he could just about make it alone now. He'd passed the afternoon wondering if Godwin or Sansa would come. In theory, he'd done what he said; he'd engaged with Godwin, and seen the men - did it really matter if he hadn't spoken to them? The Stark guards made him nervous too, but it was nothing to the raw fear that threatened to swallow him with the Lannister guards.

Tyrion shuffled to the edge of the chair, his body groaning at the sudden movement. It was no use. He couldn't sleep and sitting around all afternoon had left him restless. It was hard to believe but the exhaustion that had plagued him since he first woke in Winterfell had steadily diminished. The ache in his leg and shoulder was still there, and became more prominent the longer he moved about, but even that was fading too. His injuries were fading, his hair was growing back - he had a lordship waiting for him. Somehow, he was healing.

He pushed out of the chair, lurching towards the door. Ghost rose as well, padding silently next to him. Parts of him were healing, but Tyrion wouldn't fool himself into thinking everything could. No matter what the tattoos would never leave him. When he got dressed he closed his eyes to avoid seeing them. His hand would always be useless too. No matter how many pieces of him were put back together there would always be some damage, but Tyrion knew his body had gotten off lightly compared to his mind.

Bronn was bored. Since their capture, he and Varys had been left in the dungeons and practically forgotten. The only sign they hadn't been left to die was the food brought to them twice a day. To make things worse, the eunuch had passed the time muttering to himself and occasionally bemoaning 'the dark tidings' in the Westerlands without actually saying what they were.

"The walls have ears," said Varys. "If my theory is correct lord Lydden has allied himself with a great darkness…"

That was all he'd say on the matter and Bronn had been left with nothing to do but try and find a means of escape. After nearly a week it was beginning to seem impossible. The cells were solid and the guards never lingered enough to be useful.

The door creaked open at the end of the room and the familiar thump of boots on the ground told Bronn it was dinner time. With Varys lost in his own thoughts in the opposite cell, Bronn turned his attention to the two guards. They glanced in a cell each, unlocking a hatch near the bottom to push in some slop masquerading as food.

"I'd save the food lads," said Bronn, "reckon the King's rescue party will be arriving soon enough."

The man at his cell sneered. "Not likely."

"You don't think King Bran values me? I'm his master of coin, the troops will be here any time now."

"You haven't heard?" The other man turned from Varys to join his comrade. "Bran Stark hasn't been seen in over a week."

Bronn snorted. "That aint unusual. He's probably busy arranging spikes for all your heads."

The men shared a look, and Bronn's stomach sank.

"They're keeping it quiet but it's damned near certain the King is dead."

"Nah, don't believe it," said Bronn.

"Lord Lydden wants you two alive for now, but it won't be for long. The Queens will decide what to do with you soon."

"What the fuck are you talking about? The old badger trying to make his daughter Queen in the West?"

The guards laughed as they left, offering no more words. As soon as they'd gone, Bronn turned his attention to Varys wondering what his take on the conversation was, but there was no point asking him. The King's hand had turned white as a sheet, staring ahead as if seeing a ghost. The sight chilled Bronn. If he'd doubted the guard's taunts Varys hadn't, and it seemed enough to confirm whatever suspicions the eunuch held.

"I've heard our good brother has taken to walking the corridors at night," said Arya.

"I heard the same," said Jon.

"Don't you think it's odd?"

Jon sighed. "Who are we to judge how Tyrion processes things? Maybe it's his way of coping. At least he's leaving the room more."

"I didn't mean that, I meant him and Sansa."

Of all the times for Arya to want to chat did she have to choose when they were following Drogon? She didn't wait for him to reply before ploughing ahead.

"Sansa brought him North, nursed him back to health, spends every bloody morning with him - practically admitted to kissing him the other day - yet she still insists they're just friends. Do you think Lannister isn't interested in her or is he really that oblivious?"

"I can't speak for Tyrion, but when I saw him in Kings Landing he asked for Sansa as if she was the only person in the world who could make him happy."

"Ah, so you think he's oblivious."

"I think he's dealing with the fallout from his imprisonment. I'm sure he's noticed her behaviour, he just isn't in the place to process it."

The irony wasn't lost on Jon that Arya, who complained frequently about listening to Sansa talk about Tyrion, often chose them as a topic of conversation. While it was clear to Jon that Sansa's infatuation was growing every day, he had more immediate issues to deal with. Drogon had stayed in the near distance of the castle for the last few days, closer than anyone truly wanted him but far enough that Tyrion and the rest of Winterfell could sleep easier. The uneasy arrangement had shattered this afternoon. The first sign of a problem was Ghost, who had been in Tyrion's chambers this morning while he and the Queen did whatever they do in there. According to Sansa, the direwolf had gone from lounging to agitated in a matter of seconds, nudging at Tyrion and darting between him and the window. A message had been sent from Sansa, telling him that Tyrion thought it was to do with Drogon, as it was similar to how the wolf had led him to the window several days ago.

Arya hadn't been with him when he got the message but by the time he was saddling his horse she was saddling hers too. Telling her to stay here would have been pointless, so he hadn't bothered. They'd ridden from Winterfell with all the speed they had and were in time to see Drogon shaking his great head back and forth, shooting flames into the sky. There was no one near the dragon - no obvious reason for his distress. Drogon had stomped the ground, shaking his body and flapping his wings as if he might take flight. Fortunately, he hadn't flown off but had stomped into the distance instead, leaving Jon and Arya to follow.

"Do you think I should tell Lannister the truth since he can't figure it out himself?"

Jon grunted, guiding his horse over the uneven ground left in Drogon's wake. "Stay out of it Arya."

"I could prod him in the right direction."

"Do not prod Tyrion."

"Sansa wants him to prod her..."

It was hard for Jon to imagine admiring Ned Stark any more than he already did, but knowing he chose to go to Kings Landing with Sansa and Arya brought Jon to another level of respect. He'd thought they were difficult as children, but Gods was he naive.

"You know nothing Jon Snow."

A smile tugged at Jon's mouth as the cold Northern breeze wrapped around him. Soon he would go North, where he truly belonged, but he couldn't do that without Drogon. He wanted nothing to do with the Targaryens, but as the last of that blood, it was his responsibility.

"I know you're scared but you're not alone. Please come back - I'll help you through this, I promise..."

"...It's ok if you're not ready yet. I'll be here when you are..."

The voice was soothing and familiar, the words drifting into his ear like a song. Tyrion knew the voice; he knew there was someone sitting next to him, but his mind refused to connect the pieces. He was trapped, lying helplessly on his back and staring at the ceiling.

"You're not allowed in here," said the voice, coldness frosting over her previously warm voice.

"You shouldn't be here," answered another voice.

Tyrion couldn't connect the voice and the person sat next to him, but he had no trouble identifying the newcomer. Red, gold, lions - Lannister. The guard raised a sword towards him and the sight broke through his paralysis, though he still wouldn't escape execution. The guard stepped towards him as someone threw themselves in the way, shielding him with their own body. Soft hair tickled his face as three words slipped into his ear...

Tyrion woke with a start, flinching under the blankets. His heart pounded but it soon settled down as he took in his surroundings. He was at Winterfell, there was no danger. He glanced at Ghost who lay on the bottom of the bed, noting the direwolf hadn't moved. Tyrion relaxed a little more. It was just another dream.

Or was it a memory?

Differentiating between the two had become difficult since he first regained consciousness, but the last couple of weeks had made it worse still. As some meagre strength returned to his abused body, his mind had become more active, taking him back to the horrors of Kings Landing more and more. He groaned, rubbing his good hand through his growing hair. Why couldn't he just forget? If there was a potion to take away his memories he'd take it in a heartbeat, if only to forget the feel of Cersei molesting him.

He pushed up, propping himself against the wall to watch the thin trail of moonlight sneaking through the windows. Some of his dreams were memories, of that he was certain. Some things hadn't happened though. He often had nightmares of Qyburn covering his face in Motley or cutting another piece of him away, only to wake up and confirm it wasn't real. Those dreams were easier to define as real or not, it was the other ones that troubled him. Rather than the cruelty he'd experienced these dreams were tender and caring. Often, he was in someone's arms, held against them as if they truly cared while sweet words were whispered to him, promising safety, comfort and to go home. Tonight's dream was another recurring one, made worse since his visit to the Lannister guards the other day. His lip curled at the thought - he'd never trust them. Tonight's dream had felt like a memory, and Tyrion had some idea of who was with him - but there were so many aspects of it that seemed unlikely.

Firstly, why would anyone get between him and a sword? Then there was the soft tone of the woman, who spoke to him as if she truly cared whether he lived or died. The dream ended where it usually did, with the woman throwing herself on top of him and whispering in his ear as the Lannister guard moved to kill him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice urged him to think harder. He knew the truth, he knew who the woman was and which of his so-called dreams were actually memories. If he truly turned his focus to it the answer was there.

Tyrion shook his head, grasping the patchwork blanket in his good hand. He didn't want to think about Kings Landing at all, let alone try and make sense of it. The dreams, the memories - what did they matter? He had no way of knowing the truth and if he pushed forwards with this line of questioning it would only lead to heartbreak. It was probably wishful thinking anyway; no one could ever care for him like that. It was hard enough to imagine when he was whole, but now it was impossible.

The monsters were dead and dwelling on the past was pointless. Almost as pointless as letting himself see the truth would be.

Something had changed with Tyrion. At first, Sansa had thought the kiss was bothering him, but despite his obvious confusion at the time he'd been himself for a couple of days following it. If she had to pinpoint the change she'd say it was after he went to see the Lannister guards with Godwin. She'd heard from both Barrik and Godwin about what happened, but when she casually asked Tyrion about it he'd said only that it 'made things clear'.

What was made clear to him she didn't know. Godwin said he'd barely moved a step from the castle and was only too happy to leave with the Stark guards. Barrik had reported the same but blamed Godwin for letting the Lannister guards crowd Tyrion with no escape. Keen to not pry into Tyrion's role as lord of Casterly Rock she'd refrained from asking him too much, but she'd heard from several sources Tyrion had met with Godwin a few times since, something she took as a positive step in his recovery.

The Queen signed her name on the letter, glancing sideways at her husband. Over the last few days, he'd developed a peculiar habit of watching her, but only when he thought she was distracted. What he was looking for she didn't know, but she wasn't going to bring it up to him - not when he seemed in such a good mood.

As usual, Sansa had joined him in his chambers to work but Tyrion had been more talkative than he normally was as he practised drawing along the table from her. She'd grown so used to his quietness since Kings Landing that hearing his voice again was a happy surprise - one that warmed her from head to toe.

"Your grace, can I ask you something?" said Tyrion.

Sansa sat back, smiling warmly at him. "Of course. It must be important if you're using my title rather than my name."

He blushed. "It seemed more appropriate for the topic."

"What topic would that be?"

"I've been speaking to Godwin as you suggested, and it's made the Casterly Rock situation clear to me."

"Oh?" Her heart dropped to her stomach. Was he going to leave Winterfell? Was that why his mood had improved?

Tyrion searched her face, his eyes full of uncertainty as he chose his words. "I know you've said it before - several times - but I want to be sure before I go any further. I'd completely understand if you've changed your mind, or you only offered out of a misplaced sense of duty-"

"You want to know if my offer of staying at Winterfell is genuine?"

"No! Of course, I don't doubt your sincerity, I merely wondered if you…well, if you truly meant it. No one deserves a happy life more than you Sansa, and I don't want to stand in your way. If you want an annulment; if you want to move on and my presence here would disrupt that you need only say. I promised I'd never hurt you and I meant it - I'll always mean it."

Tyrion would never know, but his offer of an annulment had broken his promise. Did he not think of her as she thought of him? Was she too subtle, or did his feelings truly not go beyond platonic friendship? No, that wasn't fair. Tyrion was recovering from a traumatic experience and she'd done everything to hide her feelings from him. Besides, he'd responded to the kiss - it had left him tongue-tied.

Sansa's throat tightened until the words barely squeezed through. "I meant it Tyrion, every word I've told you I mean it wholeheartedly."

A little of the tension eased in his face, but his brow furrowed all the same, as if he was searching for the meaning behind her words. Not that he would know the meaning. From what she'd seen Tyrion remembered almost nothing after he was rescued in Kings Landing - he didn't know the promises she'd made him nor the secrets she'd shared.

'I love you,' she thought, 'it doesn't matter if you don't feel the same.'

"I can stay?" he asked softly.

"Of course." She tried to smile at him, ignoring the ache in her chest. "I don't want you to leave - I enjoy your company too much."

His mouth turned upwards. "Thank you. I can't imagine leaving Winterfell, or going to Casterly Rock."

Sansa nodded mutely. This must have been what was bothering him. Tyrion likely thought assuming his place at Casterly Rock meant having to go there, but that wasn't the case and it never would be. Sansa drew in a breath, letting her heart slow down. At least Tyrion wanted to stay, the idea of him leaving was unthinkable.

Her voice was steadier when she spoke again. "I don't want an annulment either if it's all the same to you. I've no interest in pursuing a new marriage."

"Of course Sansa, I understand completely. Whatever you need from me is yours."

It was tempting to tell him, to lay it all bare. What she needed from Tyrion was him, but it was a question that carried her whole heart with it.

'If I asked you to be mine would you?' she thought. 'Would you do it for duty or out of love for me?'

Romance had seemed so simple when she was a child. That Sansa wouldn't have let thoughts of rejection consume her, but that Sansa was unbearably naive. She'd seen enough of the world now to know it was better to keep some secrets. Her father had hated the game with its secrets and lies, but he'd played it too - taking Jon's secret to his grave. Sansa lingered a moment on Tyrion's relaxed face as he returned to his drawing.

She hoped not to carry her secret to her grave too, but if the truth would cost her Tyrion perhaps the weight of the secret was worth carrying.