As they approached the black cells, Tyrion saw he was not the only one investigating the dungeons. There was a certain amount of noise and activity coming from one, where he was surprised to recognize the Wolf's marauders taking apart Qyburn's private laboratory. The Wolf exchanged a few remarks in their guttural language. A man in a cowled robe, hunched over a cane that came up to Tyrion's head seemed to be directing the operations, pointing silently at various flasks and alchemical glassware for the marauders to take away.

"What are your men doing here?"

"Looting. Fighting for glory is all well and good, but it won't put food in their bellies or gold in their pockets."

"But what manner of plunder can they hope to find down here? Shouldn't they be looting... I don't know, the wine shops and jewelers?"

"Usually they would, but I told them to look for the lair of your sister's alchemist."

"Qyburn? He wasn't the type to turn lead to gold."

Tyrion smiled grimly.

"We could have solved quite a few problems if he had."

"Ah, but you haven't traveled far enough, Shield-slayer. Alchemists, wizards and sorcerers will pay a small fortune for their ingredients, the stranger and fouler-tasting the better, sometimes more than their weight in gold. I once had a voyage that paid for itself with a single barrel of exotic plants from the other side of the world."

Tyrion was about to ask if the Wolf had gathered the plants himself before the most likely way it had come into his possession occurred to him.

"So you don't like sorcerers, but you don't mind taking their money?"

"Hah! Best kind there is, after tax collectors. They make their living with no true effort where we make it through sweat and toil."

The hooded man turned on hearing the Wolf laugh.

Tyrion gasped. The man's skin covered in thousands of angry red pustules like a reptile's scales. The leper opened his mouth, revealing a desiccated tongue, and made a croaking sound that could have been a greeting or a threat.

"Find what you need in there?"

The man nodded vigorously. Behind him, two marauders lifted an entire shelf of dried plants and glass jars, their faces screwed up in concentration as they maneuvered it through the door without dropping or breaking anything.

The Wolf stood aside to let them pass, then followed them out the door, as did Tyrion.

"Who the hell was that?"

"I understand he was a Maester once. Although I do wonder if he's not an assistant who fled after drinking something he shouldn't have. Good man to have making potions... as well he should be, given how many he's made trying to fix his condition. At this rate he'll be able to bring back the dead before his face returns to something like a man's."

Tyrion turned. The repulsive man was staring intently at him. There was a tiny grunt from the Wolf and the creature started pulling ingredients down from a shelf and into a sack.

They moved on.

A squad of Winterfell soldiers were gingerly pulling a skeletally-thin woman from a cell, her stick-like arms batting at them with no more strength than a newborn's, babbling fragments of words and lullabies, her hair falling out in clumps whenever she shook her head. Tyrion stared in horror at a face he had seen so beautiful and full of life long ago, at the trial that had changed his destiny forever.

"Ellaria?"

The Wolf sniffed and poked his head inside the cell.

"There's a dead body in there, you'll want to clear it out."

Mad cackling rose from the hideous wreck of a woman.

"Dead? No, no, not dead, not dead, asleep! The long farewell... Sleep, my daughter, until the whore joins you... Sleep! Feed..."

She broke into sobs.

"No... Not here, alone... Don't leave me..."

Inside the cell were shackles set in opposite walls, a funnel connected to a long tube which the Wolf took down and looked at curiously, enough torches to light the great hall of Winterfell for a week, a chopping block, and several crates of dried meat and preserved vegetables. Tyrion made a mental note to have the food carried away and put to better use, even as he stared at the rotting corpse in Dornian finery still shackled to the wall. Its head had fallen off and rested on the ground, looking straight up at where Ellaria had been chained. What had Cersei been up to?

The squad moved away, carrying their burden with great care, nearly running into the disfigured alchemist supervising the looting of Qyburn's laboratory. Ellaria screamed again, thrusting her claw-like fingers towards him before breaking down into sobs.

Still further down, several soldiers were retching next to a cell.

"What's going on here?"

The soldier looked blearily at Tyrion, shook his head, and pointed at the cell moments before he started vomiting again. Tyrion looked at another one, who seemed slightly less green.

"That's- that's..."

"Get a hold of yourself, man. Who's in there?"

"S-Sister Unalla. What's left of her."

The man blanched and heaved onto the flagstones. Tyrion felt no need to satisfy his curiosity and hurriedly moved on. The Wolf stuck his head through the door and caught up moments later, still holding the leather funnel. Fearing he might describe what he had seen within, Tyrion asked no questions, which did nothing to deter the Wolf.

"Peculiar amusements your sister has. Should I expect a harness allowing her to be mounted by horses in the next cell?"

Tyrion clenched his fists but did not answer.

Finally they reached the cellars. Mounds of bricks fifteen feet tall towered above them both like the dunes of the southeastern coasts. The Wolf made a dubious face.

"Don't see anyone getting out from under that. Especially not a pregnant woman."

"They had the Mountain with them. Maybe they hid under him."

Tyrion's voice had trembled with hope that refused to die. The Wolf looked at him, opened his mouth, closed it, and shrugged.

"Stand back, Shield-slayer."

The giant threw himself at the nearest pile of bricks, his arms moving in a blur as he cleared dozens of bricks with every swipe. Tyrion stood far behind him to avoid being pelted, but an ominous creaking noise made him look up and he jumped back just as the pile collapsed on the barbarian.

Dust filled the air, and the thunderous echoes finally died away to be replaced with what was probably cursing as the Wolf punched his way out of the debris, coughing and spluttering. The skulls covering his armor were dusted red, except one with horns that seemed to drink in the colored powder, remaining a deep blue.

"Sun-Eater's hairy left- Let's try that again."

Slower excavation turned up the mangled corpses of three servants, a courtier and a guard, but of Cersei or even the Mountain there was still no sign. The Wolf left to fetch several of his marauders, leaving Tyrion to continue looking through the piles alone, and returned shortly after. They dug through the bricks with what Tyrion suspected was not altruistic enthusiasm, something that was confirmed when he saw a marauder rip the golden rings off a knight's corpse.

Hours later, every pile of bricks had been sifted through and two dozen bodies had been extracted, and still Cersei Lannister was nowhere to be found.

Tyrion sent the Wolf and his men away. Only once he was alone in the quiet cellars did he break down into anguished sobs.