Chapter 33
"You have my deepest gratitude, your Grace," said Varys. "I'd begun to fear I'd never feel clean again."
"Tyrion mentioned you've been travelling for some time."
"Indeed. Far longer than we should have been, but circumstances forced our hand," said Varys. To be accurate the circumstances had prompted him to take action and he'd in turn convinced Bronn, but that was far from the most important detail of his story.
They'd arrived at Winterfell in the early afternoon, but the Queen had apparently been in no rush in her meeting with Tyrion. While Varys was grateful for the brief respite to get back to himself, time was of the essence. Sansa had sent for him a few hours after she disappeared with Tyrion but received him in her study rather than her bed chambers. From the whispers he'd heard on the way to Winterfell, Sansa and Tyrion were very much in the same position they'd left Kings Landing in, with a marriage that had neither dissolved nor progressed.
"I'm curious how you and Ser Bronn ended up in a group set on abducting Tyrion," said Sansa, sipping her wine. She'd poured for them both, but Varys thought if he started now it might be hard to stop.
"The plot to abduct Tyrion is precisely why we were part of the group – it is imperative that the Westerlands remains in Tyrion's unquestioned control. How much did he tell you of lord Lydden's schemes?"
"Not much. He told me how he was lured away from our party and that he woke up a prisoner in the wheelhouse, but we didn't speak of it a lot."
Varys paused, trying to ignore the sudden clenching in his chest. His voice was strained when he spoke. "Can I ask why?"
"Tyrion…he was struggling. And he was exhausted. I've told him to get some rest and we'll talk more later."
Hours of time lost doing nothing; Varys hoped it wouldn't prove vital. He studied the Queen sitting opposite him. While Sansa had tried to remain detached in the courtyard, he was practiced enough to pick out her obvious relief at having Tyrion back at Winterfell. Now her expression had changed entirely, almost as if she was trapped in some happy daze. Inwardly, he grimaced – it would fall to him to shatter whatever mood she was in, but the situation was too urgent to ignore. It needed quick, decisive action from the Queen in the North and the lord of Casterly Rock working together. He'd caught snippets of news when travelling and King Bran hadn't been seen in weeks, suggesting he was indisposed but also alive. Were the council keeping his condition hidden on purpose? It was the smartest option. If Bran was dead or in a poor condition, potential challengers to the throne would begin to make moves. No one would have claimed against the Starks after Kings Landing, but now a few months had passed Varys didn't doubt there were some whose sights were set on the Iron Throne. Poor fools – they had no idea who else was set on taking the throne.
"I fear lord Tyrion can't afford to rest," said Varys.
At that Sansa's face tightened. She straightened in her chair, fixing Varys with a pointed look. "Yes, he can. He will rest and I'll deal with whatever the problem is until he's ready to handle it."
"You're certain about that?"
"You know as well as I do what Tyrion went through in Kings Landing. I won't disrupt his peace with trivial matters."
Varys drew in a breath. "Very well, your Grace. I expect you wish to know what happened?"
"I'm sure you have an interesting story to tell."
"Forgive me, your Grace, but as I believe time is of the essence I'll be as brief as possible. King Bran's ability to see through the Raven's eyes became compromised. He struggled to see the North and couldn't see the Westerlands at all. Ser Bronn and I were sent to investigate where we found lord Lydden and Ser Harys Swyft openly plotting with the lords of the West. Some houses refused his call, but too many were curious, I fear. We were captured and held prisoner for many days. It was during this time I was introduced to the Queen…"
Varys paused, struggling to find the right words to accurately convey what he'd seen. For her part, Sansa waited patiently, though the glint in her eyes suggested Sansa Stark had gone and the Queen in the North had arrived. To many, it would simply appear dutiful, but Varys knew the protectiveness in her eyes was for Tyrion, and there was every chance he would need it.
"I saw their Queen, your Grace, with my own eyes several times. Do you think me prone to flights of fancy?"
"I do not."
"Then believe me when I tell you I saw Daenerys Targaryen as clearly as I can see you."
The Queen's mask slipped away, her face morphing to disbelief. "Not possible."
"But true. Lord Lydden has fallen in with followers of the lord of light – I believe it is they who brought Daenerys back. When I served her in Essos Tyrion and I met with some red priests, and their belief in her was beyond doubt. They believed then that she was the prince who was promised, and that belief has caused them to flock to her in the Westerlands."
Sansa's voice was carefully controlled when she next spoke. "How?"
"I am not privy to all of the details, but from what I've gathered lord Lydden was advised to reach out to red priests across the narrow sea. If they brought Daenerys back to life, lord Lydden assumed she would be indebted to him and the Westerlands."
"Who advised him?"
"Maester Gallard."
Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Traitor."
"It seems he took your dismissal personally. Of course, we knew he'd sided with lord Lydden and Ser Harys during the hearing for custody of Tyrion, but I must confess I'm surprised he'd betray a King for such a poor plan."
"So lord Lydden thought Daenerys would deliver the Westerlands to him, he would take the Rock and become warden of the West." Her voice wavered as she added, "they took Tyrion to kill him."
Varys didn't want to have this conversation. It was plainly obvious Tyrion hadn't disclosed what fate had been planned for him and telling Sansa himself felt like a betrayal, but it was necessary. Tyrion had to bring order to the Westerlands, and Sansa was the best placed to encourage him.
"Your Grace, I hope my old friend will forgive me for disclosing what he has not, but Tyrion wasn't abducted for immediate execution, he was taken for his seed. Daenerys cares little for the Westerlands – she is alive but I'm hesitant to say she is still human. She cares only for the throne, and there are too many Lannister loyalists for house Lydden to try to claim Casterly Rock. He sought to join his house to house Lannister instead. Tyrion would be given whatever potions necessary to allow Jeyne to take sons from him, and when his usefulness was gone he would be disposed of."
Tears glistened in Sansa's eyes, a sight that seemed out of place on the Queen. "That's horrible…he deserves so much more."
"On that, we agree."
"His bannermen wouldn't support that, surely? There must be some honour in the Westerlands."
"They would not, but lord Lydden was careful in whom he trusted and has fabricated a story of long-distance love. Jeyne has supposedly been writing to Tyrion and he instructed them to come and take him home. As soon as they were back in the Westerlands he would be married off to her."
"No, he's my husband!" said Sansa, her voice rising momentarily. She took a moment to calm herself, though Varys noted it was with difficulty.
"Jeyne Lydden confessed she never wrote to Tyrion, nor did her father. Though lord Broome confirmed to me earlier that he wrote to Tyrion on several occasions and received no response, as have several equally skeptical lords. With no instructions from Tyrion to refer to, they've reluctantly gone along with lord Lydden's scheme. I am curious why Tyrion hasn't written to any of his bannermen all these weeks, when his health seems stable enough for at least a minimal response."
"Tyrion hasn't been reading his letters. He burns them all."
It was Varys turn for shock. His eyes widened as he realised the Queen was deadly serious. "Why?"
Sansa pursed her lips. "Tyrion renounced his name and titles – he bent the knee to me in a full courtyard. I knew nothing of what he planned, but I couldn't refuse him. He wrote a letter to Bran to do so officially and has been living as Tyrion Hill since."
Varys often worried, but rarely did the blood rush through his veins as it did now. The words stuck in his throat as he spoke. "That is unfortunate to hear."
Sansa paused at the sight of the Lannister guard standing outside Tyrion's chambers. The man was no older than thirty but held his head high as he swept his eyes around the corridor. The Queen quickened her steps, confusion taking over as the guard inclined his head to her. This wasn't a man fearful of being caught where he shouldn't be, leaving no other explanation than he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
She slowed her steps, pausing completely as the door opened and Yvette came out of the room. The older woman quickly spotted Sansa, and with a subtle tilt of her head, the Queen invited her to approach.
"Your Grace," said Yvette, her head bobbing up and down.
"Do you have a moment?" asked Sansa. They retreated a few steps back down the corridor and away from the Lannister guard. Not that the man was particularly watching them – he recognised neither as a threat and had gone back to scanning the corridors for those who might be.
"How is Tyrion?" she asked.
"Rather quiet, your Grace. He's trying hard to be himself, but I think he's rather shaken if you don't mind the honesty."
"Has he slept?"
Yvette shook her head. "He tried, I think, but he doesn't seem to know what he wants to be doing. It's good to have him back though, I did miss the Prince."
"So did I," said Sansa, her mouth tilting upwards for a moment. "Does he know there's a guard at the door?"
"Aye." Yvette lowered her voice. "The Prince requested it."
"There were no Stark guards available?"
"He wanted a Lannister guard, your Grace. The Prince sent me to ask Godwin to arrange for his most trusted men to guard his chambers. I swear I've never seen Godwin move so fast."
Sansa's face was unchanged but her heart was crumbling. Did Tyrion not feel safe here anymore? She knew how he distrusted the Lannister guards, but it appeared he now trusted them over the Stark guards.
"Thank you," said Sansa. "I'll check on him. He was gone for just over a day, but I'm sure it was difficult for him."
"Of course, your Grace. Do you need any dinner bringing to him?"
"No, thank you. I'll make sure he eats."
Yvette continued down the corridor and Sansa turned back to Tyrion's door and the Lannister guard stood at it. She tried not to take it personally. Varys had told her exactly what lord Lydden intended to use Tyrion for, and how Maester Gallard had been threatening Tyrion when he and Bronn intervened. The thought of Tyrion being treated so poorly broke her heart, and she wanted nothing more than to spend the evening showering him with comfort, but the news Varys brought changed everything.
'I love you more than anything…'
Heat ignited in Sansa's chest, warming her from head to toe. As soon as she was alone with Tyrion all the fear she'd carried since his disappearance bubbled to the surface. She'd meant to take care of him, but he'd ended up comforting her instead. Sansa was ashamed at her loss of control, particularly when Tyrion had suffered such a frightening incident that had undoubtedly triggered horrid memories for him – from what Varys had described, Tyrion had every reason to need support. It wasn't enough that Sansa failed to contain her emotions, she'd failed to express the most important one.
Tyrion loved her, but she was too much of a coward to say it back.
She thought it often and freely. She'd whispered it to him while he was confused or sleeping. Saying it to Tyrion when he was awake and his green eyes were free of confusion was a different thing entirely. Sansa wanted to – more than anything she wanted to give Tyrion the feeling he'd given her. Hearing him say the words had felt like a warm blanket being wrapped around her – it was safe and warm and felt like home. The Queen chewed her lip, her head a battlefield of emotions. Tyrion hadn't seemed disappointed she didn't say it back. He'd carried on holding her, whispering words of comfort in her ear of how she hadn't failed and how grateful he was for everything she did.
It was the sweetest moment Sansa had ever experienced, breaking through the negative experiences of love that clouded her heart and replacing them with something far more powerful. More than anything Sansa wished she'd been strong enough to tell Tyrion the truth; that she couldn't live without him and would be there forever.
'I'll find a way Tyrion. You made your feelings clear, but you're braver than I am. Be patient with me, my love, I'll fight my hardest to overcome my fears for you.'
Her early experiences of love had left a festering wound in her heart, but she wouldn't let that steal her future. For now, she'd do everything to show Tyrion how she felt, even if the words failed her. Fixing her heart was a long-term project, but the news Varys brought demanded an immediate response
Sansa smoothed out her skirts, forcing herself towards Tyrion's door once again. Before the meeting with Varys, all she'd wanted was to be with Tyrion again, but after hearing everything the eunuch had to say she was nervous. There were very few options available to them and she knew Tyrion would hate what needed to be done, but not as much as Sansa hated convincing him to do it. He deserved rest and time to recover from his ordeal, not this. The details of what lord Lydden had planned to do to him had only solidified that opinion. Tyrion hadn't told her himself – not that he'd had chance to – but Sansa would tread carefully in breaching the subject. The last thing she wanted was for him to pull away from her rather than let her help.
The Lannister guard's eyes found her as she approached the door, but he quickly turned back to scanning the corridor with only a nod of acknowledgement. She knocked, fighting the urge to fidget. Did Tyrion regret what he said now he'd had a chance to consider her lack of response?
She needn't have worried. Tyrion opened the door enough to peer out, his face brightening when he saw her. Quickly, the door was pulled open wider.
"Am I disturbing you?" she asked.
"Certainly not."
Sansa followed him into the room, her nerves dissolving as they always did with Tyrion. He didn't look any more rested than when she left him hours ago, and while his doublet was hanging on the back of a chair he didn't appear to have changed his shift or breeches yet.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, following him to the desk they often shared.
"I'm quite well. How was your meeting with Varys?"
"It was informative, but I'm more interested in you. Have you seen the Maester?"
"Ah, no…it's just some soreness from the position I was…I mean…"
"Varys mentioned how they found you."
Tyrion's eyes flashed in panic. "What else did he tell you?"
"He told me what he knew of lord Lydden's plan, and your place in it."
"I swear to you, your Grace, nothing happened at all that was inappropriate. I wanted no part of it, but I couldn't escape. Jeyne Lydden made a deal with me to get out – I quite disgust her and she was equally unwilling to participate. It was that bloody maester who thwarted our planning. If Bronn and Varys hadn't turned up-"
Sansa held her hand up, cutting off his ramble. This wasn't as delicately as she'd hoped to tread. Tyrion seemed to be harbouring some guilt over his experience, but that was ridiculous – he was the victim.
"I know nothing happened, and none of this is your fault."
"Yes it is. I was gullible enough to believe those guards." He dropped his head, a sad smile crossing his face. "For all my reading, I'm not particularly clever, am I? I needed little encouragement to follow the Stark guards."
"They were imposters. Varys told me they were sent to infiltrate Winterfell."
"I suspected as much. There were many supposed Lannister guards accompanying the wheelhouse until the real Lannister guards arrived with Godwin." He drummed his fingers against the table, avoiding her gaze. "I suppose you want to know what happened?"
"The last thing I want is for you to be uncomfortable and I hate having to push you for information, but if what Varys says is true the more information we have the better."
"You're right, but I worry I've brought my problems to you. This is a problem for the Westerlands, not the independent North."
"You bent the knee to me, so they shouldn't be your problems either." She reached for his fidgeting hand, closing it in her own. "Let's agree they'll be our problems, and we'll solve them together."
His mouth twitched up. "Together does sound better."
It was difficult for Tyrion to recount what had happened. Several times Sansa found him hesitating before admitting to something that clearly shamed him. She didn't interrupt as he spoke, merely nodding to encourage him along. In truth, his story lined up with what Varys had told her, but it was his conversations with Jeyne that infuriated her. How dare that girl speak so poorly to Tyrion? He passed off her remarks and aversion to him with the cynical humor he'd used when they first married, but Sansa knew him well enough to know he was hurt. Tyrion hadn't wanted the girl's affection or even friendship, but he'd done nothing at all to earn her poison. That she judged him based on his appearance had struck a sore point for Tyrion, who so desperately wanted his appearance to be overlooked. Sansa knew because she felt it herself - she was judged as a Queen before a person, and Tyrion was judged as a monster before anyone knew him.
'Little Monster'
Words written on the back of his shoulder by his sister.
How could anyone think him a monster? When Sansa looked at Tyrion she saw all his best qualities, she only wished he could see that himself.
Tyrion was halfway through his story when he trailed off. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"It's just…Jeyne, during one of her many rants, mentioned Kings Landing. She said it wasn't her fault that I asked for you instead. Is that true? I'm not sure what she meant."
"Oh." Sansa's face heated up at the question, but she'd promised Tyrion long ago to answer any questions honestly. "I told you before there was a hearing to decide where you would go from Kings Landing, right? I wanted you to come North with me, but lord Lydden and Ser Harys Swyft were determined to take you to the Westerlands – you know now what they wanted you for."
"My much sought after seed. I spent so many years wasting it, if only I'd known it was liquid gold." He cringed as soon as he said it, but there was no shame in his past, nor did he need to hide it from her. She knew all she needed to know about who her husband was.
"It was so obvious that's all they wanted you for. Lord Lydden had Jeyne with him at the hearing and when it was clear he was losing he suggested you would take to Jeyne's care just as easily as mine. I was careful in who I let visit you – strangers would upset you so it was mostly me, Maester Henly and Missandei. Lord Lydden demanded to test his theory and Bran agreed. He went with the new High Septon, lord Lydden and Jeyne to see you. They wouldn't let me go or let Missandei stay with you, though Henly was there. I was allowed to choose someone to go in my place, so I sent Jon."
"And?"
Sansa smiled. "You asked for me."
Tyrion's brow furrowed. "When I saw Jeyne in the wheelhouse she did seem familiar, though I had no idea how. That must have been it."
"Trust me, it was the first and last time I let any of them near you."
His face relaxed, though it was tinged with sadness. "Her look of disgust is quite the sight. It must have stuck with me."
"She's lucky I didn't sheep shift her bed after Jon told me how she treated you."
Tyrion laughed, the sound warming Sansa's heart. "You'd do that for me?"
"Any bed, any time."
His mood brightened slightly, but Sansa suspected he was more hurt by Jeyne's treatment of him than he let on, not to mention how his bannerman planned to use him. Tyrion wavered a moment before continuing his story and Sansa left her hand over his throughout. She might not have the courage to say the words to Tyrion, but she wanted him to feel her love regardless. For Sansa saying the words came with more than just her heart – it came with duty and a kingdom, and now wasn't the time to sort through that.
Tyrion's story finished much the same as Varys' had. By the sound of it, Tyrion had been tied to a chaise for the entirety of his captivity, with only Jeyne Lydden as a source of information and company until Maester Gallard appeared. Anger spiked in Sansa at the thought of the old man and what he'd been about to do to Tyrion.
"What happened to the prisoners?" asked Tyrion.
"In the dungeon. Godwin and Bronn sorted through them to separate the traitors from those misled by lord Lydden and Ser Harys Swyft. Maester Gallard and lord Westerling are in there too. Lord Broom has been given chambers in Winterfell, as has Jeyne – against my better judgement. The men loyal to you have joined the Lannister guards in the barracks."
He nodded, chewing his lip. "I truly am sorry Sansa. You've been unfailingly kind to me and I do nothing but cause you trouble."
"Enough." She squeezed his hand. "We're in this together, aren't we? Winterfell is your home as much as it is mine."
"Did I tell you how much I missed you?"
"As I missed you - it was the longest day without you here," said Sansa.
Tyrion shook his head. "I missed you yesterday – badly – but I mean, I missed you when I left Winterfell. All the way to Dragonstone I missed you. All the politics I used to enjoy mattered less and less the closer we got to Dragonstone. You were right by the way, I was afraid of Daenerys. When I agreed to trade myself for Missandei it wasn't because I was desperate to hold my position as Hand, it was because I feared what she'd do if I refused."
Sansa's stomach tossed and turned at his words. She already had no idea how to tell him the news Varys brought, or what they needed him to do. More than anything, Sansa wanted to hide away with him. They could stay here, or go to her balcony and forget everything. She couldn't do it. She was Queen, and that came with a duty. Tyrion had done everything to be rid of his duty, but it had still followed him here. The Queen swallowed thickly, taking Tyrion's hand in both of hers. His eyes had grown worried at her silence, but he would understand in a moment. He needed the truth, but these weren't the three words Sansa wanted to give him.
"Daenerys is alive."
Lord Lydden paced back and forth, treading the same familiar path behind his desk. No matter how many steps he took it never solved his problems, offered insight or lightened the burden, but perhaps that was to be expected with such a high-stakes plan.
He glanced sideways noting Ser Harys handling his concerns the traditional way. Over the last few days, the wine cup had become a common fixture in the other man's hand.
"Surely they've got him by now," said lord Lydden. "How long can it take to kidnap a dwarf?"
"Traveling is slow going up North," said Ser Harys. "They've got the wheelhouse to move too."
"If they waste too much bloody time someone will notice them and get suspicious."
"Look at this way, if all goes well your girl could already be carrying the next lord of Casterly Rock."
"If." Lord Lydden stopped pacing, leaning on the back of his chair. "I don't like this – things have gone beyond our control. Did Daenerys seem amenable to you?"
"She agreed. If she is Queen, her word should stand."
"She's no normal Queen, is she? For seven's sake, she burned men alive who dissented, and that was before Jon Snow killed her."
Ser Harys gulped from his cup, slumping in his chair as he did. "Why did you bring her back to life then, if you're so distrustful now?"
"You agreed just as readily. The plan was sound enough, but we got more than we bargained for. Daenerys is madder than her father and the other…I bloody hope she doesn't come back from the North."
It had been a simple enough plan at the start. All they'd needed was for King Bran to let them take Tyrion Lannister to Casterly Rock, but Sansa Stark's interference had forced their hand. Sending to Volantis for a red priest seemed the next logical step. Maester Gallard had made a convincing enough case – Daenerys would be indebted to them if she took the throne. Rather than one red priest dozens had arrived, all swearing loyalty to Daenerys and vowing to sit her on the throne. The development was unexpected but welcome. They were the beginnings of Daenerys' new army and far more trustworthy than sending their own men on tasks that required fervent devotion and absolute discretion.
The first problem had come in the form of the second Queen. Whatever ritual the red priests performed on Daenerys it had required a second Queen. Burning that body, supposedly, was enough of a sacrifice to raise the Dragon Queen, but it had worked too well. Two Queens. Enemies in life, but who found common cause in death. It should have been simple – take the Iron Throne, gain control of the Westerlands.
None of it had been simple. King Bran had sent two of his fools to investigate, and both had managed to escape. Daenerys looked no different than she had in life, but there was an inhuman coldness to her now that amplified her most dangerous qualities. The other Queen was another problem entirely – more monster than woman.
"You worry too much," said Ser Harys, lifting his cup. "We've heard of no complications so far. Everything must be going to plan."
"That's fools talk! This game is bloody dangerous and if we make one mistake it will be the rains of castamere for our houses."
Ser Harys snorted. "Not likely. The lion has no claws, and soon he'll be under our power."
Lord Lydden grunted, resuming his pacing. The plan had got away from him, and he didn't like the loss of control. For now, there was nothing to do but wait.
The atmosphere at dinner was frosty to say the least. Perhaps it wasn't the best place to have this discussion, but it was the easiest way to have it with all of the lords present. It was also the least stressful way to have it with Tyrion.
He was doing his best to play the part, but Sansa suspected the stress of his captivity and news of Daenerys would catch up with him sooner or later. She'd tried to break it to him gently. Sansa tried her best to be sensitive when she told him of Daenerys and what they needed him to do. Of course, he'd agreed without protest. Only the fear in his eyes had betrayed his true feelings and he'd tried to hide that behind a distant mask too.
Knowing Tyrion would hate to have a formal meeting with so many lords she'd broken the news to them at dinner, hoping the familiar surrounding would put Tyrion at ease. It hadn't really worked. Tyrion was too quiet for a lord whose bannermen had wronged him. Rather than demanding robust action, he sat quietly at her side, tugging uncomfortably at his clothes.
There should be nothing uncomfortable about the clothes themselves. They were made of fine, heavy material suited to a lord and they fit Tyrion perfectly, but even Sansa could see they no longer fit Tyrion.
It was her insistence that he wear Lannister colours to dinner. A way to reinforce his position as lord of Casterly Rock. When Tyrion was first brought here, Sansa had arranged for clothes to be made for him. He had several doublets in Lannister red and gold, with the lion sigil worked into the design, along with several sets of plainer clothes in neutral Northern colours. Since he'd been here Tyrion had never worn the red or gold that he'd once proudly worn in Kings Landing, but at her suggestion, he'd dutifully put on the doublet she picked out for him – once again wearing the colours, sigil and name he'd given up.
"You look very handsome," she said, nudging his hands away from the clasps to do them herself.
"I'll take your word for it."
"As you should." She smiled, cupping his face. "This is only temporary, remember? I know your feelings on the matter, but the best way to bring order to the Westerlands and protect our family is for you to take control of the West."
"I'll do anything for you and your family."
"Our family," she said, leaning forward until her lips brushed against his. "I accepted your oath Tyrion – Winterfell is your home and I'm your Queen – this is protecting the North, and our allies."
She hated herself for doing it. Tyrion wanted only to be free from his old life and she couldn't even give him that. It was Varys who'd suggested it might be best if Tyrion play the part of lord Lannister.
"If they sense weakness, the West will crumble," Varys said. "Tyrion must act and look and speak like a lord. His father ruled Casterly Rock with an iron fist. The time has come when bannermen will start to consider if Tyrion is the leader the West needs. In years gone by it would be less of an issue – one Lannister would be replaced by another, but Tyrion is the last of the main bloodline. If word gets back to the Westerlands that Tyrion bent the knee to you…well, it will end badly, my Queen."
Temporary. It was only while they untangled this mess, then Tyrion would be free of Casterly Rock forever. For now, she'd do whatever she could to support him. Perhaps it might help him regain some lost confidence too. Tyrion was more than capable, he just needed reminding.
That wasn't to say Sansa didn't feel conflicted whenever she looked at Tyrion. For months she'd thought she missed Tyrion as he was in her memories; first as a golden lion in Kings Landing, unflinching before Joffrey and bathed in Lannister red and gold. The second image was more recent. The Tyrion who came to Winterfell with Daenerys, bearded and wearing dark clothes, with a hand of the Queen badge pinned proudly over his heart.
Seeing Tyrion dressed in red and gold once more was like a flashback to the man she'd married. If his hair was long again it would be hard to tell the difference at first glance. Sansa had thought she missed Tyrion as he was, and part of her did, but she loved Tyrion for who he is.
Red and gold. Long hair. Beard. Lion sigil. Dragon sigil.
None of it suited him now, because Tyrion wasn't comfortable in it now. He was at ease in the dark Northern colours and she thought he'd grown used to his short hair and beardless face – it certainly suited him.
Sansa searched for his hand beneath the table, squeezing it tightly in hers. That Tyrion wasn't comfortable broke her heart, but she'd help him through his duty as lord, and do whatever she could to shield his battered self-confidence.
The dinner plates arrived and Sansa took in the faces gathered around the table, from lord Manderly and the Northern lords to Bronn, Varys, Jeyne Lydden and lord Broome. It was an odd dinner table, and far from Sansa's first choice, yet it was all they had to work with.
Sansa straightened in her chair, still clutching Tyrion's hand beneath the table. "Shall we begin?"
Concentrating was a struggle.
Tyrion tried to look engaged in the conversation going on around him. He nodded in agreement when needed and repeated some parts of his story when prompted by Varys or Sansa, but otherwise, his focus was on more immediate problems, like trying to stop himself from shaking. He could try and convince himself it was because he was wearing Lannister colours, but he knew it went deeper than that. Being ripped away from Sansa and Winterfell had cracked the shield he'd slowly begun to build up again. The fear of his situation had been terrifying, but not as overpowering as the helplessness.
His skin crawled at the memories. Once again he'd been overpowered; reliant on others to save him. Waking alone, tied down to that damnable chaise had sickened him to his stomach. Completely vulnerable. Alone. At the mercy of his captors. It was hard to imagine how things could have got worse, but there was Jeyne Lydden – appraising him like one might a runty dog to see if it was worth the trouble of keeping alive. Followed by Maester Gallard, the man who would have amputated his leg and left his shoulder to heal wrong if not for Sansa's intervention. Tyrion hadn't realised, but these weeks in Winterfell had slowly begun to piece him together. He hadn't paid much attention to the slow progress until it was undone. Now he was raw again – exposed as he had been in Kings Landing when he walked the streets with the hands and the laughter.
Tyrion scratched his arm, unable to escape the griminess that clung to him. Jeyne Lydden had made him feel lower than dirt, and the plot he'd narrowly escaped only amplified that. What made it worse was having to pretend to be someone else now. Tyrion's throat tightened – he'd thought Winterfell to be the one place he didn't have to pretend.
"Are you alright, my lord?" asked Sansa, her voice low.
He flinched at the sudden return to the present. "I'm fine."
"You've not had much to eat."
"I don't have a great appetite right now."
Sansa's brow furrowed, worry shining from her blue eyes. "You don't look well."
"It's nothing. I think it's tiredness catching up with me."
"You're doing so well. We can decide this quickly with any luck – I've no desire to linger here."
If there was anything that could be counted upon to take a long time, it was a meeting of lords and ladies. To Tyrion, it seemed to rattle on endlessly but that could just be because he wasn't paying attention. The majority of his focus was spent on trying to be as invisible as possible and ignoring the looks Jeyne Lydden continued to throw at him. The sour girl was seated at the furthest end of the table and didn't look happy about it. Why was she glaring at him? He had nothing to do with the seating arrangements, though, he supposed it was likely Sansa did. The thought almost made him smile.
Tyrion glanced sideways at Sansa. She'd heard the ill tidings Varys brought, but rather than dwell on it like he was, she was already taking action. Logical, regal, unfazed – she was a true Queen, and she deserved far more than he could offer. Telling Sansa of his feelings had been terrifying, but he was glad he'd done it. His kidnapping had made him fear he'd never have the chance and it had certainly cleared some weight from his chest to make it clear to Sansa. Seeing her struggle to express the same hadn't hurt him – she said it in so many other ways – like her hand finding his beneath the table every so often. The gentle squeeze said more than a thousand words, and he knew well enough why Sansa struggled with romance and marriage. Nothing would change between them. He doubted Sansa wanted a true marriage and she seemed content to use theirs as a shield for now. If the time came when she wanted a real husband he would honour her wishes and step aside. Annulling their marriage would do nothing to separate his heart from Sansa's, but he would never stand in her way.
Sansa did love him, he knew that now, but he also knew of her duty to the North. There may well come a day when she decided to marry a stuffy bore to father heirs and sit beside her at dinner, but until then he was perfectly happy to be at her side.
"You gonna eat that?"
Tyrion turned his attention to across from him, where Ser Bronn was already reaching towards his plate.
"Go ahead," said Tyrion. "I'm not sure how you can eat so much."
"I've been travelling for weeks in a bloody suit of armour with only Varys for company – you soon work up an appetite."
"I can imagine."
"You look better than the last time I saw you."
"Really? I feel worse."
"Than Kings Landing?"
Tyrion furrowed his brow. "I thought you meant earlier on. When did you see me in Kings Landing?"
"When they were getting you ready to leave," said Bronn, in-between mouthfuls of food. "The lady was struggling to dress you when I barged in. You looked a damned sorry sight – never thought I'd see you so quiet."
Despite knowing the situation had been entirely out of his control, Tyrion couldn't deny his embarrassment. Everyone in Westeros knew what had happened to him, from the first betrayal to every betrayal that followed. It was hard to see how it could be worse, but of course it could – one of the monsters was back from the dead, if Varys was to be believed.
Tyrion leaned forwards, keeping his voice low. "Did you see her?"
"The dragon bitch? No." Bronn's usually hard face softened momentarily. "Varys is convinced but it's just him. He could be wrong."
"Let's hope so."
"He's not wrong," said Jeyne. The girl had been quiet throughout dinner but had clearly grown tired of the lack of attention. She'd heard their quiet exchange and decided to amplify it for the whole table. "Daenerys Targaryen is alive."
All eyes of the table turned to her, including lord Broome and the Northern lords.
"You saw her, m'lady?" asked a squat Northerner seated along from lord Manderly.
"No, but my father mentioned her several times."
"Hardly evidence," said lord Broome. "I heard the same whispers. By all accounts only a select few were allowed to see her, ironically, they were the ones working the closest with lord Lydden and Ser Harys. The whole thing could be a damned good mummers farce."
"You doubt me, my lord?" asked Varys.
Lord Manderly spread his hands. "I believe lord Broome is merely suggesting you saw what they wanted you to see."
"Oh I understand the scepticism. I'd be exactly the same if I hadn't seen it – but it is Daenerys Targaryen." A chill crept down Tyrion's spine as Varys continued. "There was no attempt to hide her features that might have hinted at an imposter, and there was no denying her presence, or her eyes. She is quite alive, and I dare say more obsessed with the Iron Throne than ever."
"Whatever the case, we cannot allow lord Lydden's plan to move forward," said Sansa. "Whatever Queen they're supporting must be stopped."
The attention moved off Jeyne quickly, but she wouldn't allow that. "Why haven't you asked me about my father's plot? I was at Deep Den for all of it."
"Are you so willing to betray your father?" asked lord Wood, a middle-aged man from a relatively small Northern house.
"Why not? He didn't care what I wanted. No matter what I said he was happy to make me marry the imp-"
"Careful," said Sansa, her voice icy. "You are at this table rather than in the dungeon because of lord Tyrion's mercy, not mine."
The threat was enough to at least register with the girl. She swallowed before continuing. "Yes…well, we made a deal. I'm to be pardoned and then I want to go home, but I can't go back while my father is there."
"You know your father is for the rope, don't you girl?" said lord Broome.
"That's his fault." She sniffed. "He didn't care about what he was sentencing me to, why should I care about his sentence? Do you want to hear what I know or not?"
Tyrion was used to insults. They always stung but most passed him by with only a prick. That wasn't the effect they were having on Sansa, however. He could almost feel the Queen bristling beside him at Jeyne's casual jabs towards him. He reached for her hand beneath the table, giving her a quick squeeze. Her protectiveness meant everything to him, but the fastest way to shut the girl up was to entertain her.
"Alright," said Tyrion. "Tell us what you know, without a word of a lie."
"King Bran is alive," she said. "Ser Harys and my father were complaining about it."
"We know that," said lord Manderly. "The question is why he was attacked in the first place, and in such a cowardly manner. If Daenerys is alive and seeks the throne, I doubt she would use such tactics – she is a conqueror."
Jeyne opened and closed her mouth. "I don't know. My father didn't tell me, I just overheard things."
"Nothing useful apparently," said Bronn, lounging back in his chair.
"Yes, I do! I know there were men sent to infiltrate Winterfell so it would look like Tyrion Lannister wanted to leave with his men. I know Maester Gallard was going to give him potions to make him compliant." The girl was eager to be heard but it was nothing new she was telling. Her eagerness to turn on him was unpleasant despite what her father clearly was. For years Tyrion had tried to honour house Lannister in spite of his horrid treatment. "They were going to keep him hidden until we reached the Westerlands. They had Lannister clothes for him to wear rather than those drab Northern clothes…umm. Oh! There's a direwolf ring on his finger – Maester Gallard was going to have it cut off when we were out of the North."
"Cut the ring from his finger to sever his connection to the North?" said lord Manderly, shaking his head. "Desperate measures, clearly."
"The Maester didn't think the ring would come off, he was just going to cut the finger off!" corrected Jeyne, as if it was exciting gossip rather than talk of a horrible mutilation.
Tyrion's blood turned to ice in his veins. His left hand instinctively curled into a fist, his thumb brushing the familiar ring.
"Gods be good…" said lord Manderly.
Jeyne wasn't finished. Her last words had rightly horrified the table and she was keen to capitalise on the moment. "That's not all. There are two Queens. I never saw the second either, but she was in a separate wheelhouse travelling North with us. A group of men in Lannister uniforms met us – the fake ones – and moved me into a big wheelhouse. I don't know what happened to the other wheelhouse, but that Queen didn't travel with us anymore."
Lord Broome's brow furrowed. "There was a second wheelhouse, but neither I nor my men could get close to it. Whoever was inside was a mystery to every man I spoke to. I wondered if it was empty in truth – perhaps a ruse in case we were attacked."
"I know who was in it, my father told me and I heard him talking about it with Ser Harys." A smile spread over Jeyne's face. "It's Cersei Lannister!"
Silence fell over the table like a black cloud, spreading a chill through the previously warm hall.
Tyrion froze for several seconds before twisting to the side. There was no warning as vomit raced up his throat and escaped him. He leaned over, retching as shivers ran through him. Vaguely, Tyrion registered voices at the table but he couldn't concentrate on the conversation – he wasn't in control anymore. The lord he'd vomited next to was trying to pass him a napkin but someone else accepted it on his behalf. Gentle hands found him, and Tyrion glimpsed Sansa crouching beside his chair. Her face was ashen as she rubbed his back, familiar words of comfort falling from her lips.
As hard as he tried to hold on to the words they were drowned out by a single thought; his sister, his tormentor was alive.
The snow crunched underfoot. The wind whipped back and forth with an icy bite. To anyone else, these things would be dangerous – lethal even. What is it the fools are fond of saying? The night is dark and full of terrors. Yes, it most certainly is.
The woman continued forwards, picking a careful path through the dark. The cold might not bother her anymore but it was better she did not risk a fall, her body…wasn't what it was. Bitterness curled what remained of her lip. The traitors in the Westerlands and the red fools from across the Narrow Sea had sought to use her. What could bring Daenerys Targaryen back to life? They believed she was a true Queen, and to raise her required a Queen. The blood had long gone cold in her veins but the followers of the lord of light had found a different use for her. Her body was taken from its final resting place and placed on a pyre with the dragon bitch. In trying to raise one Queen they'd raised two, however, with differing results. Daenerys was as she had been in life, while she was left as this…creature.
This cursed half-life was a monstrosity, but it did provide one opportunity. The Iron Throne would never be hers now, but she could still exert her influence. House Lannister would not die out – the Lydden's would take control by joining their house to hers – a Lannister bloodline would continue. That was the deal she'd agreed upon with Daenerys. The purple-eyed whore could have the Iron Throne as long as a Lannister bloodline continued. Her other condition was easily agreed upon too. It was an outcome they both sought, but one a Queen should avoid soiling her own hands with.
The woman continued on, a twisted smile on her face. As agreed, she'd left the party travelling to collect their prize a few days ago. She had her own mission and how she did it was up to her. The lords of the West could have what remained of her little brother. He would father the next generation of Lannisters - stripped of any dignity he still had - and then he would die.
Killing a Queen was dirty work, but it was a task the woman gladly undertook. The throne, her brother, Daenerys Targaryen – none of it mattered anymore. The only task left to complete was revenge, and Sansa Stark would pay the debt in full.