Tyrion's position as Bran the Broken's Hand of the King was as fulfilling as it could be, as he remembered it being when he'd held the same position in Daenerys's court, at least until he'd started making a series of monumental strategic mistakes that led to her trust in him plummeting. But even then, she had given him a second chance, and a third, before her definitive descent into the abyss of madness. After all the destruction that had been unleashed in the capital recently, Tyrion realized that he'd never truly blamed her for her family's curse. He still secretly believed that, had it not been for that inexorable mental ailment stealing her sanity, she would have made quite a fair queen, because Tyrion had been witness to her compassion, to her kind heart hardened nonetheless by very hard blows, betrayals and tough lessons. It was true that she had been prone to outbursts of fury and ruthlessness very long before she began to lose her mind, but in the times she still kept her wits about her, she'd almost always listened to reason and sound advice from her trusted allies. Surrounded by trustworthy advisors who genuinely cared for the wellbeing of the realm, her rule might have helped the kingdoms rebuild and thrive, or that was what Tyrion wanted to believe.
But well, those hopes had burned and turned into ashes along with King's Landing, and Tyrion had mourned for everything that might have been. Had mourned for her. He still did. He'd loved her, hopelessly, helplessly, despite himself, despite his dead heart. Or that was what he'd believed since he'd squeezed the life out of Shae, that his heart had died along with his last lover. That he was done forever with romantic involvements. Or with sexual involvements, for that matter. He hadn't touched a single woman since the fateful day of his escape from King's Landing several years ago.
But Daenerys had stirred and awakened dormant things. He hadn't wanted to develop feelings for the beautiful Targaryen girl, but he couldn't help it. It didn't matter that she never requited his affections. Definitely his stupid heart wasn't as dead as he'd thought it to be.
And like Jon Snow, or Aegon Targaryen, or whatever the fuck his name was, Tyrion had to kill the woman he loved, for the second time in his own case (it seemed like a curse at that rate). Because that dagger stabbed into Daenerys's chest was as much Tyrion's doing as it had been Jon's.
Now it was all ashes and smoke, and Tyrion's lifeless heart was more surrounded than ever by the so familiar emptiness that had accompanied him for most of his miserable life, and that vacuum only found reprieve in his duties as Bran's Hand, and drowning it in wine, his lifelong and loyal liquid friend.
The irony was that he'd never felt so fulfilled before. His brain and skills had never been so valued by most around him. There was still a way to go for the people in general to fully accept him as the dwarf he was, beyond his looks, and beyond his Lannister name. Some things took a long time to change, if they ever did. But at least, as far a he knew, they'd stopped calling him Demon Monkey or other similar names, and he supposed that he could consider it significant progress.
For the first time in many years, Westeros was enjoying a peace rarely known in its history, and it certainly made Tyrion's broken soul timidly swell with pride and a sense of contentment.
But if someone asked him if he was happy, he wouldn't hesitate with the answer. No.
Had he ever experienced pure, absolute happiness?
The closest to it had been the fortnight he'd spent with Tysha. But Tyrion was aware now that it had just been an illusion. That sense of euphoria couldn't last, of course. He was barely a teenager boy, and a Lannister of Casterly Rock no less, son of Tywin, whereas Tysha had been a whore hired by his brother to give him a good time and introduce him to sex. Had she been acting the whole time? Had she agreed to marry him because he was rich? Or had she genuinely fallen in love with him? He'd never know. The skeptic in him rejected the notion, almost silencing the silly romantic voice in the back of his head.
Either way, for two weeks he'd been completely happy with Tysha, and he hadn't felt like that before or after, of that he was sure.
Well, his own sentimental needs were unimportant, both because of his commitment to the recovery of the realm, and because there was another pressing matter. Jaime had remained in a coma for almost a month after a pile of bricks had fallen on top of him and Cersei in the bowels of the Red Keep. She'd ended up dead along with her unborn baby, but Jaime had survived the ordeal, barely, though it was uncertain if he'd ever wake up from his unconscious state.
Brienne had traveled all the way from Winterfell and she only left Jaime's side when her duties as the new Lady Commander of the Kingsguard claimed her, or when Tyrion or the maester took turns next to the sick bed.
One of the first things Bran had done upon taking the crown had been offering Brienne a position as his Lady Commander. Tyrion ignored what the knight woman truly thought of her appointment, if she'd accepted it wholeheartedly or had just felt compelled to acquiesce because she was too polite and honorable to reject it. Well, that she was one of the most honorable people in the Six Kingdoms went without saying, of course, but Tyrion wondered if she had read between the lines and suspected hidden motives, like for example Bran not so subtly attempting to reunite her with the man who had abandoned her and broken her heart, even if said man wasn't currently in any condition to do anything beyond breathing and little more.
Or perhaps that was why she'd truly come to King's Landing, because she still loved Jaime and wanted to take care of him, nurse him to health if that was possible.
Whatever the true reasons behind her actions, it was evident that she wasn't over her feelings for him, but she was a kind-hearted and compassionate person anyway, and Tyrion doubted that, even if Jaime's betrayal had destroyed her trust in him, she would have simply turned a blind eye to the fact that he was fighting for his life. Tyrion was absolutely certain that she still loved him. Her haunted eyes and haggard appearance, which Tyrion had noticed from the moment she'd set foot in King's Landing, spoke volumes. That was the appearance of a woman mad with worry, and not just the consequence of a long journey from the North. She did care a great deal for Jaime. One didn't need to be a genius to grasp it.
Why did you return to Cersei, you idiot? I could see the love in your eyes whenever you looked at Brienne, up there in Winterfell. Unless you realized that you still loved our sister more than anyone else, even more than Brienne? Did you come back to try to protect Cersei and your unborn baby, to die for her and with her, as it ended up happening?
The answer to those questions would never be revealed if Jaime didn't... But no, Tyrion couldn't finish that ominous thought. Jaime would wake up, one day soon. Tyrion had to cling to that hope.
One morning, King Bran summoned him, and Tyrion assumed that he wished to discuss some of their usual topics concerning the rebuilding of King's Landing and the supplying of food and essential goods for the population of the city and from other ravaged areas of the kingdoms.
It turned out Tyrion hadn't been wrong, not very much at least, save for the detail that it was not the Six Kingdoms Bran was referring to that time.
"I need you to travel to the North to keep in touch personally with Sansa on my behalf, and talk to her about all the matters that letters cannot convey in all their complexity," the young sovereign asked with his unwavering, otherworldly serenity. "You know how difficult it is for me to travel, so I'd like you to be my legs and feet, as well as my spokesperson, outside of this city from now on, and not only inside it, if you agree to that measure."
Tyrion felt an unexpected pang of longing followed by a hint of anxiety and excitement, all at the same time, but he tried to push all that to the back of his mind, because by all means his heart had been dead to those kinds of emotions for a long while.
"I'll go, Your Grace," he found himself saying. What else could he say? Even if Bran was changing progressively lots of obsolete rules, he still was the king, and Tyrion couldn't deny his requests as long as they didn't step far from what was reasonable.
Bran's petition was perfectly reasonable, how not.
And the prospect of meeting Sansa again definitely didn't make his dead heart beat a bit faster. Because he couldn't possibly harbor any feelings for her apart from a comfortable friendship.