Chapter 23

There were a thousand places Varys would rather be than Deep Den. The Westerlands had unsettled him since he arrived but lord Lydden's castle was even worse, and now Varys knew why. King Bran could see through a thousand eyes and one, he had access to the past and the secrets they held. For weeks he and Bran had searched for the source of the disturbance that blocked his sight from the Westerlands and the North - there had been no new enemy to find, but rather an old one.

Varys folded his hands into his dusty sleeves as he was led through the castle. People bustled back and forth, and Varys noted each of the sigils he saw. If he managed to survive this the knowledge would be useful for Tyrion - he'd know exactly which traitors to hang. The corridors became quieter the further they went, until they arrived at a set of double doors, with Lord Lydden and Ser Harys Swyft standing outside.

"Lord Varys, I trust you're finding the dungeon pleasant?" said Ser Harys.

"I've seen worse dungeons to be sure."

Lord Lydden smiled thinly. "I considered killing you and the sellsword straight away and sending your heads to Kings Landing, but it's better we keep you alive for now. Our strategy is delicate - you might yet have a use."

Varys lifted his chin, meeting the lord's eyes. "You've turned to the lord of light as Stannis Baratheon did. What fable have they sold you, my lord? That your daughter Jeyne will marry Tyrion Lannister and rule the Westerlands?"

"She will marry the imp and he will father an heir," said lord Lydden. "My grandson will rule the Westerlands, as has been arranged."

"With a red priestess like Melisandre no doubt. Do remind me what became of Stannis, won't you?"

"Stannis was a fool," said lord Lydden. "We will not repeat his mistakes."

"Come spider," said Ser Harys, turning to the door. "The Queen is most eager to see you again."

The double doors were pulled open to a narrow corridor, but the first thing that hit Varys was the heat. The guards had brought him deep into the castle and away from the busy main areas to these guarded corridors, but that didn't explain the unnatural heat that greeted him as he was led further in. Dark things were afoot in Deep Den. It was almost enough to make him miss the cells and Bronn's incessant singing about the Dornishman's wife.

Though the corridor was short Varys noticed a few steps built into the left, leading down to a lower chamber. As they passed there the heat became stifling and Varys slowed his steps to look more closely. The door was perfectly normal, but that was the only thing that seemed to be. Dark magic hung over the castle like a fog, but that door seemed to be the centre of it. No wonder Bran couldn't see the Westerlands. It was strange, but the three-eyed raven took his power from the old Gods of the forest - what could interfere with such power but another God?

"Move along," grunted a guard, shoving into the back of him.

Ser Harys smirked. "It isn't that Queen you'll be visiting."

A shudder ran through Varys as they continued. Whoever was waiting in the room at the end of the corridor must have been expecting them, for Ser Lydden didn't hesitate to enter. Few things could have surprised Varys. He'd worked out, correctly, that lord Lydden had allied himself with the lord of light's followers to achieve his goals, but he couldn't have anticipated how far the man would go.

Varys froze in the doorway. "No. You're dead."

Daenerys lifted her head, her cheeks hollow and her hair brittle but her purple eyes dancing with madness. "A sword killed me, but I was reborn as all dragons are born; through fire and blood."

The trunk was settled into the corner of the room, followed by boxes of documents. Looking at the boxes was like looking at hours of his life contained in neat stacks and ink – the idea left a sour taste in Tyrion's mouth. How much time had he wasted on work for a Queen that saw him as disposable?

"That's all of it," said Sansa, as the servants left the room. "Brienne went to Dragonstone to make sure all your belongings were packed for coming here."

Was this really it? His whole life contained in a trunk and a few boxes. The vast majority was work for Daenerys; he didn't need to look in the boxes to know that.

"I don't need any of this," he said.

"That's up to you. I brought it here in case you did."

"I appreciate that but it's mostly work. None of it matters anymore."

Sansa nodded, sympathy sweeping her face. "It's up to you what you do with it. You never know, there may be some things you want to keep."

Tyrion smiled tightly, already knowing he didn't want any of it. Sansa had told him she'd kept it in storage until he was well enough to sort through it, but that wasn't the whole truth. The Queen had brought it out now because he was talking with Godwin – taking his place as lord. It wasn't the only change either. A mirror had been placed in the corner of the room again and sharp objects were no longer banished from the room. Since he only ate foods requiring one hand a knife was unnecessary, but he appreciated Yvette was no longer counting the cutlery when she left. Gods forbid a knife be left in the room while he was unsupervised.

"These are for you as well," said Sansa, placing a stack of letters on the table. "The Maester has kept hold of any letters from the Westerlands, but now you're recovering I thought you might be ready for them."

Tyrion nodded. This was just another step in making him lord of Casterly Rock. Little by little pieces of Tyrion Lannister's identity were being assembled - the lion sigils would appear any day now.

"Are you alright?" asked Sansa.

"I'm fine," he said. "Thank you Sansa, I truly appreciate all you've done for me."

"You never need to thank me. Don't feel you need to rush into things either. Take all the time you need to be comfortable…"

He smiled, nodding along as Sansa spoke. Tyrion had spent plenty of time putting things into perspective over the last few days. The Queen was trying to help him, but she didn't understand - how could anyone? None of that mattered. His talks with Godwin had made the way forwards clear.

Jon steadied his horse as it tried to turn away. Not that he could blame the horse - the sight of an angry dragon was enough to make anyone turn around.

Drogon roared, swiping its tail across the ground and destroying an unfortunate group of trees.

"I don't understand," said Jon, shaking his head.

"Still no idea what's upsetting him?" asked Godwin.

Checking on Drogon had become a daily task, and today Godwin had offered to accompany him, saying it would be nice to get out of the castle for a while.

"I can't see anything that would bother him," said Jon. "I tried to ride him yesterday but he wouldn't have it."

"Ah, that is a problem."

Problem was putting it mildly. Given Drogon's erratic behaviour Jon had considered speeding up his plans to go North, but the dragon was not only upset but had refused to let Jon close too. The situation became more dangerous every day and Jon was increasingly aware he was losing the little control he had over the dragon.

They watched the dragon from a distance, but once again there was no obvious cause for his distress. The only positive was that Drogon stayed some distance from the villages, though he did come close to Winterfell on occasion.

"Tyrion thought it might be to do with Ghost," said Jon. "He thought my bond with Ghost might cause friction with Drogon."

"It's possible. Lord Tyrion is likely the best placed to advise you - his fascination with dragons was well known at Casterly Rock."

"Doesn't surprise me. He told me once his mind was his weapon - he probably read every book in Casterly Rock."

"Oh he read a lot as a boy, but his fascination with dragons was more than that. I believe he once asked his uncles for a dragon as a name day gift and I heard many times how he would set fires in the bowels of the Rock and stare at them for hours."

"Why?"

"Lord Tyrion was alone for much of his childhood, and when his family was around him he was shunned anyway. Tales of dragons have fascinated many boys, and I suspect he loved the escape. He grew out of it anyway - whores and wine got hold of him - though when I heard he'd joined Daenerys Targaryen I thought of his boyhood fascination."

Sympathy slid through Jon at the sad picture Godwin painted. It shed a different light on Tyrion's knowledge, however. Jon had assumed Tyrion knew about dragons because of how much he read, but if Godwin was right it had gone beyond reading for knowledge. More than ever Jon knew Tyrion was the best placed to help him understand Drogon, but his dislike of the dragon made it difficult. Jon sighed. He would carry on trying to uncover the problem himself. If things got desperate he would ask for Tyrion's help, but given how Jamie had died he understood why Tyrion's love for dragons had twisted into hate.

"I won't do it!"

"You will," said lord Lydden, narrowing his eyes. "You'll be the lady of Casterly Rock - your son will be a great lord."

"Not with him."

The lord ground his teeth. "You will do as you're told to do. The plan is set - do not disappoint the Queens."

There'd already been mistakes. The attempt to kill Bran Stark had somehow been botched. From the whispers they'd heard the King was alive but had yet to wake and to make matters worse the news was being kept secret. Queen Daenerys wanted the throne but with her army disbanded the only way to take it had gone North - drawing it south was proving difficult. That wasn't to mention the Queens themselves - they'd sought to raise one and ended up with two. Daenerys was ruthless and cared only for her throne, but the other one…they had to play their parts and that meant Jeyne playing hers.

The girl's face was sour as she sat opposite him. This could have all been avoided if she'd hid her disgust in Kings Landing and charmed Tyrion. The poor bastard hadn't any idea what day it was but he'd still seen through Jeyne and asked for Sansa Stark instead. If she'd captured his interest then he could have been brought here and Jeyne could already have his son in her belly. Now the wolves held him and there was no telling what state he was in. If he'd recovered his wits he could be dangerous. Many in the Westerlands had joined his cause because he'd convinced them Tyrion Lannister would never be fit to rule but the Queens had changed things.

"Do your duty," said lord Lydden, fixing her with a glare. "When the imp has produced an heir and a spare he can be disposed of."

"That could take years," snapped Jeyne. A shudder went through her. "What if I only have daughters? What if he can't father children? What if they're like him?"

"If you have only daughters it could still work in our favour, though it would be less than ideal. Maester Gallard sees no reason the imp can't father children and says there's a chance he'll pass on his condition but it's not guaranteed."

She shook her head. "I can't do it - I can't lay with him."

"You can and you will."

"If he's recovered he won't want to go along with it," said Jeyne, a hopeful glint in her eyes. "He'll want Sansa Stark instead."

"What he wants or doesn't want is of no concern. One Queen is consumed with the iron throne and the other with revenge. Casterly Rock and the Westerlands will be ours if we play our part."

"Yours you mean."

"Enough of this. You will be wed to Tyrion Lannister and he will get you with child, whether you both have to be forced through the act or not."

Jeyne's face darkened as she stood. "It seems you've decided father."

"I have. Our Queens have."

She turned on her heel, storming from the room. Lord Lydden sank into his chair. Things had quickly become more complicated than he imagined. The Starks couldn't be allowed to control Westeros and when Maester Gallard suggested finding a red priest he'd thought the idea worth a try. Daenerys would be indebted to them - she would want revenge on the Starks and give house Lydden the Westerlands. The other Queen had been an unexpected complication, but she'd agreed to the plan on certain conditions - including the continuation of a Lannister bloodline. The only way that could be achieved was through Tyrion Lannister, as much as Jeyne detested the idea.

It would have been easier if Bran Stark was dead - there'd have been no choice but to announce his death. For some reason the Kings council were trying to hide it and that meant other measures would need to be put in place.

Tyrion's hand cramped as Yvette finished fastening the clasps on his doublet. As the Maester had warned the fingers had stiffened and began to curl in through lack of use. What was he supposed to do with the damned thing anyway? He had only slight movement in his thumb and two fingers - hardly enough to be useful.

"Your hand bothering you m'lord?" asked Yvette, straightening up when she'd finished.

"It's my fault. I haven't kept up with the Maester's stretches." The only time his hand had been stretched was when Sansa had done it for him. "It'll loosen up again I'm sure."

"You can always see the Maester."

"The last time I saw him he put my arm in a sling for two days, gods know what he'd do now."

He gripped the damaged hand with his left, trying to remember the stretches he was supposed to do daily. Perhaps it was nerves causing the tightness. While the appendage would never work as it used to, Maester Henly and Maester Wolkan had both said he may regain more feeling over time - a lot of bloody good that would be to him.

Tyrion let go of his hand, forcing himself to move forwards with his plans. He'd thought carefully about this action - there was no turning back now. Yvette was waiting patiently for him, as she did every morning. After bringing him breakfast she would help him get dressed for the day, but that wouldn't be happening anymore.

"Yvette, I know it may not seem like it but I have appreciated your help over these past weeks. You've been very kind to me, and though I struggle to believe it I know your kindness is genuine rather than merely following orders."

"I'm pleased to serve you m'lord," said Yvette.

"I will certainly miss your assistance."

Her eyes widened. "You're leaving m'lord?"

"I certainly hope not, but I fear you will no longer be serving me. A devastating loss for me, but more than likely a relief for you."

"Not at all m'lord," said Yvette. "I don't understand."

Tyrion tried to smile, his heart picking up pace as his stomach churned. "I do have one last request if you'll help me."

Her head bobbed nervously. "Of course."

"Will you deliver a message to Sansa? I need her in the courtyard at a certain time."

"What reason should I tell her?"

"Nothing specific, just ask if she'll join me."

Yvette didn't seem convinced but she nodded her acceptance, setting Tyrion's plan in motion. Somewhere in the back of his mind doubt nagged at him, asking if he was sure he wanted to do this. The tiny voice was quickly drowned out by every other piece of him. He'd thought it through, considered what could go wrong and come to the only conclusion he could. This was the only path forwards for him, nothing else would do.

There were few whispers that Arya didn't hear in Winterfell, and despite the short time frame between Yvette delivering Tyrion's message and her sister heading to the courtyard Arya was already there. What she didn't know was what Lannister was doing. Hidden in the shadows of the courtyard she'd seen him step outside of the castle, and she saw him hesitate. Whatever he was doing it had taken several minutes to build his courage enough to move forwards, but when he did it was to the barracks occupied by the Lannister soldiers. Intrigued, Arya had gone to follow him - until she saw Ghost trailing behind. Tyrion wouldn't notice her, but the direwolf would.

Forced to stay outside, she'd lost sight of Tyrion when he went into the barracks, but she was certain she'd glimpsed Godwin when the door opened. Sansa arrived five minutes later, a grimace on her face as lord Manderly and a few minor Northern lords followed her. While she'd clearly got the message and arrived on time it seemed she hadn't been able to shake off her council. While Sansa and the lords stood waiting, Lannister guards began filling the courtyard, forming lines near their appointed barracks. The action caused an instant stir. There'd been no trouble with Tyrion's men so far, but old rivalries ran deep and the Northerners in the courtyard were quickly becoming suspicious.

Arya glanced at her sister, noting the furrow of her brow - she didn't know where this was going either. Barrik appeared beside the Queen a moment later, as Stark guards subtly spaced themselves around the courtyard. When all of the Lannister guards were lined up the barracks opened, with Godwin the first out, followed by Tyrion and Ghost. Godwin held his head high, nodding approvingly at his men as Tyrion slowly made his way to stand in front of them. The rest of the courtyard had stopped to watch - it was impossible not to. Arya moved out of the shadows, catching her sister's eye. Fear lurked in the Queen's expression and it wasn't hard to think why. Tyrion had asked her to come here and assembled his men, but Arya refused to believe it was to leave Winterfell as her sister clearly feared. Surely Lannister wasn't that stupid?

"Lord Lannister wishes to make an address," said Godwin, ignoring the onlookers as he spoke to his men. "Look sharp."

The older man stepped aside and all attention turned to Tyrion, who seemed to shrink under the scrutiny. He glanced towards Sansa, his gaze drifting over the lords who had come with her before returning his attention to the Lannister guards.

"As I understand, you switched your allegiance to me during the battle of Kings Landing and turned on Cersei Lannister. At King Bran's order you travelled North and were told to remain here until I was recovered enough to act as lord of Casterly Rock," said Tyrion. He was trying to project his voice as he had done easily in the past, but it was wavering with every word. Facing the Lannister guards was difficult for him - he could barely stop looking at his feet. "I appreciate you have followed orders and maintained peace in Queen Sansa's home, but I have gathered you here today to make the path forwards clear. I will not be the lord of Casterly Rock."

Godwin's jaw dropped at the clearly unexpected development. "My lord-"

"I'm not your lord," said Tyrion, staggering away from the Lannister guards toward Sansa.

He was terrified, Arya realised. Tyrion's gait had improved over the last couple of weeks even though he still had a limp, but now he was trembling. To the onlookers it would seem he was still recovering and nothing more, but Arya could see the truth - Sansa would too.

"You are the rightful lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West," said Godwin, "Tywin Lannister's last son."

Tyrion shook his head, curling his good hand into a fist. "I want nothing to do with him!"

Sansa and the lords stood at the entrance to the great hall, and Tyrion stopped a short distance from them. He dropped to his knees in the sludgy snow, wincing at the action. With his good hand, he pulled a letter from his doublet.

"I have written to King Bran, renouncing my titles and any claim to Casterly Rock. I also renounce the Lannister name."

"You can't do this," said Godwin, his eyes darting between Tyrion and the Queen. "You are your father's trueborn son."

"All dwarves are bastards in their father's eyes!" said Tyrion, his face tightening. "I may have been true born but I was never treated like it. The Lannister name can die - I will be a Hill from now on."

The crowd's unease was quickly turning to amusement. The Lannister guards had stood proudly at attention, eager to make a good impression on their new lord - now they were a laughing stock. Arya could imagine the snide comments already; the guards whose own lord didn't want their service. Godwin fell silent, defeat hanging over his face as Tyrion turned his focus to Sansa one more.

He was kneeling awkwardly in the snow but still bowed his head towards her. "I've no name or titles to offer you, your Grace, but I gladly offer myself to you in any service you deem fit. I accept no Queen but the Queen in the North and would gladly give my life for yours. What I offer is poor, but will you accept it?"

Tyrion was struggling to maintain his kneeling position and the grimace on his face made it clear it was paining him, but he waited for the Queen's word. Sansa, for her part, appeared to have been struck dumb. The lords behind her were smirking and lord Manderly looked like the cat that got the cream, but the Lannister men were less impressed. They'd been publically disowned by their lord who had bent his knee to the Queen in the North rather than the King of the Six Kingdoms. To the Northerners it was a victory - the lord of Casterly Rock had made a bastard of himself to join them - but to the Lannisters it was shameful.

Sansa's voice brought instant silence to the mutterings that had broken out in the courtyard. "I accept your fealty. You shall always have a place in the North and my service."

Godwin looked as if someone had struck him as he stood in the centre of the courtyard and Sansa's face was flushed. When Tyrion tried to stand Arya was already moving. She grasped his arm, helping him to his feet as the occupants of the courtyard resumed their work. Godwin was already moving towards Sansa, and the lords were chatting amongst themselves. The Lannister guards remained frozen in place, waiting for someone to give them an order.

"Come on," said Arya, steadying Tyrion. He groaned as he straightened up but didn't resist as she led him away from the eyes of the courtyard and back into the castle. With Sansa and the lords occupying the main entrance, they slipped in through a side gate. Ghost padded after them, but after nudging against Tyrion he wandered off.

Tyrion was panting, and to Arya's surprise, a bead of sweat ran down the side of his face.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Fine," he said, smiling shakily, "better than I've been for a long time."

Arya bit her tongue to keep from pointing out that he looked awful. What he'd done in the courtyard had clearly taken a lot out of him. After Kings Landing, becoming the centre of attention was probably the last thing he wanted but he'd also wanted everyone to see what he'd done.

"That wasn't what I expected when you asked Sansa to meet you here," said Arya. "You've just given up a hell of a lot of power - very publically."

"Exactly. I don't want Casterly Rock, I don't want to be a Lannister - no one would believe me, but now I'm free of it all."

Arya could only nod. Of course she'd heard that Tyrion didn't want to be lord of Casterly Rock, but whoever mentioned usually insisted he'd come around when he was better. It was easy to imagine how it had grated on Tyrion to tell people what he wanted and not be heard. Arya had experienced similar in childhood. How many times had she told her parents she was never going to be a lady? There was no turning back now. Tyrion had publically thrown his titles away along with his family name. Sansa had looked surprised but she had no reason to – Tyrion had made his position clear several times.

"Suppose I can't call you Lannister anymore," said Arya.

"Hill suits me just as well."

"It'll have to." Arya crossed her arms, studying the man her sister loved so much. "What are you going to do with your newfound freedom?"

His brow furrowed. "I don't really know."

Before Arya could ask any more questions a servant ran up to them.

"Lady Arya," she greeted, nodding her head. When she turned to Tyrion she faltered. "My-aah. Um."

When Tyrion had first arrived at Winterfell the household had struggled between calling him lord or Prince. Now he'd made a bastard of himself the problem had resurfaced with extra difficulties. Tyrion might have made himself a bastard and forfeited his titles, but he was technically Sansa's husband and Prince consort.

"Tyrion," he said, a hint of a smile on his face. "That's my name."

"Ah, yes." The servant glanced at Arya, who could only shrug. "The Queen asked me to find you. She wants you to join her for lunch."

"Oh…"

"Thank you," said Arya, nodding at the servant.

"Do you think Sansa is angry with me?" asked Tyrion. "I know she wanted me to be lord of Casterly Rock, but I can't do it…that man died in Kings Landing."

"And to whom am I speaking now?"

He considered for a moment. "Tyrion Hill, a bastard from the Westerlands who serves the Queen in the North – if she'll have me."

"Oh I'm sure she'll have you." Arya sighed. "I imagine Sansa is surprised rather than angry, but you'd better get up there and see for yourself."

Throwing away his titles and name appeared to have eased a burden in Tyrion but now the thrill was fading some vulnerability was creeping into his expression. Arya held her tongue. Now his duties as lord were gone he might open his eyes to what's right in front of him. If he still couldn't see the truth she would nudge him in the right direction, but surely he wasn't that oblivious? Sansa might have been surprised and confused in the courtyard, but Arya had seen the worry there too. Her sister had genuinely feared Tyrion had called her there because he was leaving.

'She's in love with you idiot, and it won't matter if you're a Lannister or a Hill.'

Sansa couldn't help herself. As soon as Tyrion stepped into her chambers she dropped to her knees and pulled him against her. He stiffened at the contact but quickly relaxed into the hug, though Sansa cursed her careless action that could have so easily triggered bad memories for him. Watching him in the courtyard was bad enough. To the lords and onlookers, Tyrion had seemed out of sorts but not bad considering what he'd been through. Sansa had seen straight through it though. How could she not notice the tremble that was from fear rather than fatigue? His voice had been heard by all – he'd meant every word – but Sansa had focused on the anxiety lurking in his eyes instead. The crowd, the Lannister guards, what he was doing; it had all terrified him.

Terror was a feeling Sansa knew all too well. Arriving at the courtyard to find Tyrion's men lined up had nearly made her heart stop. For several minutes Sansa had lived with the possibility Tyrion was leaving her, and every second she spent in that reality had made the idea even more unacceptable.

Tyrion's good hand brushed against her back, tentatively rubbing. "Are you alright my Queen?"

"I'm fine," she said. "You scared me before."

"How so?"

Sansa swallowed. "I thought you were going to leave."

He laughed. "You're not that fortunate."

"Don't say that. You're one of the only people I trust...I-I'd miss you."

"Oh…" He rubbed her back. "You don't need to worry about that. I bent the knee to you, your Grace – I'm yours to command."

"Then you'll stay here," said Sansa. She squeezed him gently, savouring the hug before pulling back to see him properly.

Tyrion's eyes were uncertain but he was more relaxed than he'd looked in the courtyard. "I'm sorry if I caused you any upset your Grace. I wanted to make things clear but didn't want anyone to try and talk me out of doing it."

Sansa studied him. "I understand. I trust you understand what you've given up. Doing it so publically makes it difficult to be undone."

"As far am I'm concerned I've exchanged a great burden for freedom. I will not change my mind."

Sansa sighed, straightening up. She offered Tyrion a smile, gesturing to the table. "Very well Tyrion. Come and share bread and salt with me. You'll always have a place in Winterfell."

Tyrion stretched on the bed, tugging the blankets closer around him. It was hard to remember a time when he'd felt so relaxed, but getting rid of his name and titles had been like casting off the final chains holding him captive. Never had he felt so free. Getting through the act had been difficult. Having all the eyes of the courtyard on him was uncomfortable and he'd struggled to not flee when the Lannister guards assembled. In the end, a desire to be heard had overcome his fear. If he didn't make his position clear in his own voice, others would speak for him. Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West were hefty titles to bear and if he hadn't escaped now they'd have consumed him. Now he was free of it all.

Losing his titles and Lannister name had been a difficult step to take, but he'd expected bending the knee to be worse. The last Queen he'd chosen was Daenerys and she'd traded him away to a cruel fate as if he was nothing. The idea of serving anyone made him nervous, but he'd make an exception for Sansa. There was no one else in Westeros he'd have considered bending the knee to, but with Sansa he felt safe – she wouldn't hurt him. It was still a risk. He'd worried afterwards the Queen would banish him or reject his oath of fealty but that hadn't been the case at all. If anything, Sansa had seemed relieved he wanted to stay.

"You didn't have to do that you know," said Sansa.

"I don't want Casterly Rock-"

"I know, I just don't want you to think you had to choose between your lordship and staying here. You could have done both." Sansa shuffled through the stacks of paper on her desk, pulling out a single piece and placing it on the table next to him. "Here it is."

Tyrion quickly scanned the document, a frown pulling at his face. "I don't understand."

"Before we moved on Kings Landing to rescue you we stopped at Dragonstone to try and reason with Daenerys. She said she didn't trust you anymore; that you'd proposed Northern independence to her. I didn't know if it was true or not so I asked Varys to find out. He found the proposal for independence you presented to her…"

A lump formed in Tyrion's throat. It had become increasingly clear while at Winterfell the Starks wouldn't take Daenerys as Queen and the rest of the North would follow suit. Rather than see Sansa and her family burned in a battle over the North he'd proposed Daenerys let it go and written an outline of how the arrangement could work. Of course, she'd been furious. Daenerys was a conqueror at heart, no matter how much he'd believed differently.

"I know you wrote the proposal for a different Queen, but I used it to get independence from Bran. Your suggestions were fair and saved us months of work. When I was crowned as Queen my first act was to reward those who'd made it possible. I made sure everyone knew you'd written the document that got us independence, and in return I made you a citizen of the North. I know it's not much, but I wanted to acknowledge what you'd done. You were asleep at the time and there's been so much going on I forgot to tell you. I'm sorry Tyrion – I hope you didn't give up your titles for something you already had."

Tyrion brushed his fingers over the document that gave him a place in the North. "Thank you, and you needn't worry. I gave up my titles and name for me…"

"I'm a bastard now, Ghost," said Tyrion, finding the wolf's red eyes in the dark. "Is that why you've been following me? Do you have a tender spot in your heart for cripples, bastards and broken things too? I can claim all those titles."

Tyrion turned his attention from the wolf to the room itself. Despite surrendering his titles and highborn status the Queen had insisted on certain things.

"Is there room in the servant's quarters for me?" asked Tyrion.

"What?"

"Or anywhere else you'd prefer me?" he swallowed. "If you'd rather I leave the castle I understand. I can sleep elsewhere and return for work, your Grace."

Sansa stared at him as if she expected a joke. When none came she found her voice. "Do you not like your chambers?"

"Of course, but it's a room fit for a lord."

"It's your room."

"Your Grace-"

"No," she said. "You gave yourself to my service did you not?"

"I did."

"Then you will follow my orders. You will keep your chambers and continue to honour the deal we made to care for yourself." Sansa's face softened as she reached for his left hand, her thumb brushing over the direwolf ring. "You gave up your titles and position, but our marriage still stands, unless that's something you want to be rid of too?"

Her voice wavered and Tyrion was certain he glimpsed moisture in her eyes. He leaned forwards, awkwardly covering her hand with his damaged one. "Certainly not. I'm perfectly happy for the marriage to stand as long as you are. I pledged myself in service to you - if I can shield you from ghastly suitors I will gladly do so."

She smiled. "You might be married to me for a long time."

"Quite the honour for a bastard dwarf."

Tyrion's brow furrowed. Sansa had seemed unusually panicked that he might want an end to the marriage but in truth, he hadn't thought about it. Not that it mattered. Sansa surely wanted their marriage to remain as a way to ward off potential suitors and he would happily oblige. The Queen had made her expectations clear; he would continue to use this room, Yvette and the servants were still available to him and he was to continue taking care of himself as he had been. He was to address her as Sansa as well unless they were in formal company.

Given Sansa's orders, it was like nothing had changed, but Tyrion didn't want that to be the case. The Queen had accepted his oath and he had every intention of finding a way to serve her and the North. There were plenty of servants in Winterfell and he would join them.

Yvette was confused. Like the rest of Winterfell, she knew what had happened in the courtyard yesterday, but that still didn't explain why the Prince was in the kitchens. According to a couple of the younger girls, he'd asked them where they reported to for assignment and then followed them to the kitchens for the morning chores. The problem was what to do with him. He might have stopped being lord of Casterly Rock but the direwolf ring was still on his finger – a sign of the Queen's favour and her intentions towards him – even if he didn't realise it.

Erik was the steward of Winterfell; a wiry, balding man who ensured the servants ran like clockwork. Staunchly loyal to the Starks and fairer than his natural frown would suggest, he was at a loss for how to handle the Prince. Like Yvette, he knew who Tyrion could become and it made the situation even more awkward.

"Alright then," said Erik, his eyes sweeping over Tyrion amongst the crowd. "Lord Mollen and lord Wells are leaving tomorrow and the Queen wants to feast them tonight as a thank you for their support. We need extra hands in here later to prepare the food and the lords belongings will need to be packed ready for travel…"

Erik went on, assigning servants to the various tasks that needed to be completed. Many servants worked in specific areas but some moved around jobs depending on the needs of the Queen. As an experienced servant, Yvette had mostly served visiting lords or the Stark family before being assigned to the Prince. As the other servants went away to their own assignments Yvette found herself waiting and it dawned on her why. Erik wasn't sure what to do with Tyrion. The steward's eyes pleaded for help when only she and Tyrion remained.

"What can I do?" asked Tyrion, glancing warily at the steward.

"Not sure there's much else to do," said Erik, rubbing his chin.

"I…is there nothing? I'll do anything to serve our Queen…"

Yvette had watched the Prince throughout the assigning of jobs and it had made two things clear. Firstly, that Tyrion was here to work as they did, and secondly, that he was terrified. Nervous energy radiated from him and Yvette winced. She knew well how hurt he'd been and the struggle to regain his strength. What she didn't understand was why he was choosing this particular struggle. He might have given up his name and titles but the Queen wouldn't want him to work as a servant – Yvette didn't need to be highborn to see she loved him regardless of status or family name.

'Why are you doing this my Prince? You've done enough service, enough suffering. Rest and spend time with the Queen – I don't think anything would make her happier…'

The handwriting was a huge improvement on what Sansa had last seen – a testament to Tyrion's resilience, and how much he wanted this. She'd told him he couldn't resign his titles unless he wrote the letter himself and that Bran wouldn't accept it unless he was sufficiently well. It was a criteria she could no longer deny Tyrion met. His writing lacked the flow of his dominant hand and went up and down across the page but it was clear and written well enough that she knew it couldn't be his first draft. How many times had he written out the letter, frustratingly using his wrong hand until he produced this as his best effort?

He'd given her the letter yesterday after he bent the knee and they were alone in her chambers. Tyrion had invited her to read it as his Queen and then asked her to send it on to Kings Landing.

"Well?"

Sansa lifted her head at Arya's voice. "I'll send it on to Bran. I don't think there's any point trying to convince Tyrion to keep his titles."

"It's not like he suddenly decided this," said Arya. "Even I knew he didn't want the lordship."

"He said he didn't – maybe I should have listened – I just didn't want him to do something he'd regret."

"You can't protect him from everything. Besides, I thought you'd be happy he was staying."

"I am, I just worry about him. You saw how difficult it was for him yesterday."

Arya raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure you were fussing over him later."

In truth yesterday had passed in a blur after Tyrion bent the knee. She'd shared bread and salt with Tyrion in the old tradition and then been consumed with the fallout. The Winterfell household didn't know how to treat him, Godwin was torn between fury and crushing disappointment, and the lords who remained in the castle had loved the new gossip at dinner last night. All the talk had been on how Tywin Lannister's last son had thrown the family legacy aside to live as a bastard in Winterfell – one final dagger through the old lion's cold heart.

Of course, the lords were careful in how they spoke of Tyrion around her. Lord Manderly had pointed out how Tyrion's loyalties were no longer conflicted with the Westerlands – a not so subtle question she hadn't answered. It was pointless to think she could avoid talk of marriage and an heir forever. In a way, Tyrion had made things easier and lord Manderly had clearly wondered if the display in the courtyard was a ruse. Surely for a Lannister to cast aside the Rock and family name it could only be for something better; to be Prince consort.

Sansa chewed her lip. She knew that wasn't true and many of the lords and servants seemed to think it was a final insult to Cersei and Tywin, but there would always be questions about Tyrion's intentions. The ambiguity of her marriage to him only made things worse – they were neither married nor single. Not completely joined but still bound together. That couldn't last forever. Sooner or later they'd need to join or separate, but moving from the established safe zone was a challenge. Could she make the first move and risk losing him, or could she wait for love that might never come? The power dynamics had changed too. Tyrion had made it very clear he wanted to serve her. Would he take her love as a command he had to obey, rather than a feeling brighter than any fire?

"You alright Sansa?" asked Arya.

Sansa sat back, moving Tyrion's letter aside. "I'm fine."

Arya stared at her for a moment before moving on. "Why is breakfast so slow this morning?"

"The servants are normally on time."

Several minutes passed in idle chat before the door creaked open. When it did Sansa's heart climbed into her mouth.

"Your Grace, m'lady," said Yvette, setting down the tray on the table. "Apologies for the wait, your Grace."

Tyrion followed after her, clutching a basket of bread in his good hand as he limped to the table. He kept his head low as his contribution joined the rest of the food. "Your Grace, lady Arya."

"Is there anything else your Grace?" asked Yvette. The woman's eyes darted between her and Tyrion, a silent plea in them.

Sansa couldn't speak, however – she'd lost the ability when Tyrion entered the room as a servant. Far from the horror Sansa felt, Arya seemed to find the situation amusing.

"I'm sure I can think of something," said Arya, a grin on her face.

Fortunately, Tyrion wasn't paying attention to her. He bowed his head towards Sansa – lower than her husband ever should. "Apologies your Grace. It's my fault the food is late. I thought I could carry it but my hand…it's not the other servants fault."

When Sansa didn't answer, Arya did. "Well I am hungry and you did keep me waiting, but you were honest so that wins you some leniency-"

"Enough," snapped Sansa, glaring at her sister. It was obvious enough Tyrion was nervous and the last thing Sansa needed was for him fear some punishment more than he already was. That wouldn't happen; it would never happen. She turned her attention to Tyrion softening her voice. "It doesn't matter about the food, Arya is hardly going to starve. I am confused as to why you're bringing it to us."

Tyrion was staring at his feet and the sight pulled at Sansa's heartstrings. He shouldn't be serving her – he should be sitting beside her enjoying breakfast.

"There were no other jobs left, your Grace," said Yvette, glancing sideways at Tyrion. "Erik had given out the other assignments and he was keen to do something. I thought bringing breakfast to you was a good idea."

Yvette was careful with her words and Sansa quickly picked up the message. Tyrion had gone to work as a servant and no one knew what to do with him – delivering breakfast was a subtle way of letting Sansa know what he was doing.

"I understand," said the Queen, nodding to the woman before turning her attention back to Tyrion. "Are you free after breakfast?"

"Um, I'm not sure what my assignment is then…"

"If the Queen needs you, Erik will understand," said Yvette. "We often change tasks to suit the Queen and other nobles."

"I do need you," said Sansa. "Meet me in your chambers after breakfast."

"Yes, your Grace," said Tyrion, though he wouldn't meet her eyes.

Yvette took her leave and Tyrion followed, lurching unsteadily on his feet. When the door closed behind them Sansa found she'd lost her appetite for breakfast. Arya didn't have the same problem – her sister was clearing her plate like a ravenous wolf.

"Did you have to mock him?" asked Sansa. "You know how badly hurt he was in Kings Landing – he's already afraid he'll be punished for any mistake."

"We both know he won't be punished, and it's time Tyrion realised that. You see the funny side to this, don't you? I wonder how long it took him to find the kitchens. We should hope they don't let Hill try and cook – he could kill us all."

"Don't call him that!"

Arya shrugged. "He's not a Lannister anymore. He made that damned clear."

"He's not a bastard either."

"Then what is he?"

Sansa bit her lip. "I don't know."

"You know what you want him to be."

"Tyrion doesn't know that."

"Seven hells Sansa, just tell him and end this identity crisis before we starve."

"I can't tell him now – maybe I should have before." Sansa's eyes burned. "If I tell him now he might take it as an order, or think he has to do something he doesn't want to."

"He doesn't know what he wants, but you do. You want him here; to be your husband and Prince consort and father your children."

"I want all those things, but only if it comes from love and not duty!"

Sansa wrapped her arms around herself, her heart beating too quickly. This was her fault – she should have told him before he left Winterfell – she should have asked him to stay. Now everything was different. Tyrion had suffered horrendous abuse that could take a lifetime to heal from, and the circumstances made her afraid of pushing him into anything he didn't truly want.

"It will be strange when you leave," said Sansa, quickly catching herself. "The castle has been so full with everyone here."

Tyrion glanced sideways at her. "Yes, it will be strange. Perhaps I could come back after we take Kings Landing – the North suffered great losses in the Long Night – you'll need help rebuilding. As the Queen's hand, I could help with that."

A strange warmth flooded Sansa's chest. "That could work well. The Northerners don't trust Daenerys all that much."

"But they'd trust a Lannister instead?"

"No, but I trust you."

Why hadn't she stopped him from leaving? At the very least she could have told him the truth – that she'd miss him dearly when he left, and Winterfell was colder without him. She'd raced to Kings Landing when Bran told her of the betrayal, terrified Tyrion would die not knowing the truth of how she felt. Yet now he was here, alive and healing, she still hadn't told him the truth.

'You're right in front of me but I still can't claim you. I'm sorry I'm not strong enough Tyrion, but I fear the chances of losing you are higher than the chances of you loving me.'

Tyrion focused on his drawing, trying to put this morning's disaster out of his mind as he waited for Sansa. The servants made balancing a tray of food look easy but it was apparently a skill that went beyond him. Joining the servants this morning had seemed the right thing to do – he was a bastard dwarf serving the Queen in the North – where else would he go? Unfortunately, his desire to prove his worth had only caused more problems. He'd dropped the tray as soon as he tried to pick it up, forgetting his useless hand in his nerves. Neither Erik nor Yvette had berated him for the incident, even though they were senior servants and would have been within their rights. Sansa hadn't either, despite the wasted food and late breakfast.

He ignored the guilt churning in his stomach, focusing on his drawing. It was his first day, mistakes were expected. At least if he did make a mistake Sansa wouldn't have him beaten. It was difficult to remember that in the moment, when fear overtook his rational mind. The Starks were not cruel though, and serving them was the best chance he had of repaying the debt.

"No," Tyrion muttered. "No debts – that's a Lannister saying."

Tyrion was so lost in his musings he didn't notice anyone else was in the room until the chair scraped against the floor.

He flinched, jerking in his seat. "Your Grace, I'm sorry-"

Sansa held her hand up. "My name please, and I'm sorry - you looked so focused on what you were doing I didn't want to distract you."

"Oh this…" he pushed his drawing to the side, out of sight. "I was just wasting time until you came."

Sansa was perched on her usual chair and it occurred to Tyrion her eyes were puffy; rings of red framing the light blue.

"Is everything alright?" he asked.

"Yes."

Tyrion still thought she looked upset but decided to not push the issue. He knew well enough that Sansa wouldn't talk about whatever troubled her until she was ready.

"Did you have breakfast?" asked Sansa.

"I ate some bread with the servants."

Sansa nodded, though her mouth was a thin line. "I was hoping we could talk about that."

"Oh…I know I made a mess," he said, shrinking in his seat. "I'll get better with practice, I promise."

"No Tyrion, that's not what I mean." The Queen drew in a breath, rubbing her face. She looked tired – as if she'd had troubled sleep. "I understand you've surrendered your titles and chosen to give up your name. I won't try and change your mind again and I've passed the letter to Wolkan for sending to Kings Landing, but we need to discuss how we move forwards."

Tyrion's throat tightened. "Of course, your Grace."

"Sansa." Annoyance flashed in her eyes but it left as quickly as it came. "You wish to serve me, correct?"

"You've been immeasurably kind to me at a time when no one else was. I want to make it up to you in whatever way I can. I may be crippled but there must be something I can do to pay the deb-I mean to repay the North."

"Your injuries don't make you who you are," said Sansa, a smile flitting over her face, "and there are many ways you can serve North, though I'll remind you there's no need to."

He shook his head. "I can't take your hospitality and give you nothing in return."

"Very well," said Sansa. "You're happy with our marriage remaining as it is?"

"Of course." Tyrion's brow furrowed. Sansa had asked him this yesterday – did she fear he'd change his mind? That would never happen.

"Alright then," said Sansa, her blue eyes watching him. "If you wish to serve the North you'll need to do so in a capacity that befits your station."

"I gave up any status I had-"

"No, you didn't. You can call yourself as a Hill if you wish but you are still highborn. You are highly intelligent with a vast amount of experience, and as long as our marriage stands you are my legal husband."

Understanding dawned on Tyrion, flooding him with shame. "Sansa, I'm sorry – I never meant to embarrass you-"

She held up her hand. "You could never embarrass me."

"I never even considered…"

"Everything's fine," she soothed. "It doesn't matter at all..."

Tyrion swallowed past the lump in his throat. In his desire to prove of some use to Sansa he'd humiliated her instead. He'd readily agreed to maintain the marriage but it hadn't occurred to him once this morning that acting as a servant would put the Queen in an awkward position. What would the lords of the North think if they saw him in such a role? It would make things uncomfortable for Sansa – they could pressure her into a more suitable marriage she didn't want.

"I'm so sorry," he said, ducking his head.

He flinched as Sansa cupped his face, her fingers brushing against his cheek. The Queen waited until he relaxed before tilting his head up to see her.

"Don't be sorry Tyrion. I know you want to find a purpose in Winterfell and I won't stop you, I only ask that you find something more suited to your station and abilities."

"I understand." He smiled weakly. "I won't bring you breakfast anymore."

"I'd rather you join us for breakfast instead."

"I'm sure lady Arya will be relieved I'm not bringing it. I thought she was going to eat the cutlery as well."

"You'd never think she was raised as a lady," said Sansa. "Don't pay any attention to her either. I heard her plotting to have you clean her room or be her cupbearer – neither position is acceptable."

"Understood."

Sansa gazed at him a moment longer, a strange warmth stirring in his chest as she did. The Queen was so close and her touch so gentle, it was tempting to move closer, her eyes were drawing him in. Tyrion caught himself at the last second, breaking eye contact with her. It stirred Sansa to life too. She let go of his face, sitting back with a soft smile.

"Do you have any idea what position you might like?" asked Sansa. "There's no pressure to do anything you know, I understand how difficult it must be for you."

"Thank you, but I really would like to be of use to you. Perhaps a servant isn't my calling."

"I think not."

Tyrion's mouth twitched upwards. "I could try the kennels. Ghost seems to like me so I don't see dogs being any more difficult – I could keep them company."

"Hmm. An interesting idea, but maybe not."

"My dreams of shovelling shit are dead?

Sansa laughed, the sound falling from her lips like a sweet song. At once, Tyrion knew he wanted to hear it again.

"I think the dogs have enough to occupy them," she said, "but you can always keep me company."

Tyrion grinned, settling more comfortably into his seat. "A high honour for me and a great relief to the servants of Winterfell."