A year had passed since the death of Sauriel. And while it seemed impossible at first, life had somehow managed to move on. No more evil had come to them, no further searches been made for the little family. Lord Thurandin grew older, with less strength of sight, less keenness of mind. Tyrion continued to pick up the slack, and was largely managing the castle affairs, the library, and the diplomacy with the villages on his own. Few could argue that he was good at what he did, and what small dreams he had of making the current generation of mountain children literate was coming to pass. Some now were old enough to go down into the valleys, to the ports, and try to forge a way for themselves with their new ability with letters and numbers.
One evening in mid-spring, Tyrion was working late in the library, organizing books high on a ladder, when he heard footsteps – manly footsteps – in the corridor. His jaw instantly tightened, and then the sound of metal being unsheathed make him whip his head around.
Upon seeing who it was, Tyrion’s mouth fell open. “The bastard…”
John Snow, adorned in traveler’s clothes, hovered the sword near his throat. “The half-man.”
Tyrion sighed. “Touché.” He started to climb down from the ladder.
“Stay where you are!” Snow bellowed.
“Although equal level eye contact may well be desirable, I don’t believe we can have this…reunion to the fullest if I’m hanging off the side of a ladder…”
“Where is my sister? What have you done with her?”
“As for where she is, I believe the answer is outside gardening. As for what I’ve done with her…well, clearly if she’s planting a garden outside, she’s not locked up in the castle dungeon, or hanging from the walls in an iron cage…”
“Do not make sport of me, Lannister,” her brother growled. “Those glass orbs in front of your eyes do nothing to curb the tartness of your tongue that marks you out.”
Tyrion grumbled and pulled off the primitive spectacles. “They were not exactly my preference,” he stated. “A certain strong-willed Stark insisted on foisting them onto me. I am innocent of the outrage. And really, bastard, don’t you think I would have more wits about me than that if I really took the notion to disguise my features? There is one thing about me: I’m not a pretty sight, but I am a memorable one.”
“Someone would have to cut off your tongue to disguise you!”
“If you recall, cutting off a man’s tongue doesn’t prove he’s a liar,” Tyrion noted. “It just means you’re afraid of what he might say.”
“I do not fear lies,” Snow declared, “but am only wary of your games. Now where can I find my…?”
“Tyrion, the handle on my rake broke; do you know where I can…?” Sansa was standing behind one of the book shelves, her long apron smudged with dirt, along with her hands and face. Her crystal blue eyes widened suddenly at the sight of the tall man with sword drawn. At first, she seemed not to recognize him, seemed to think yet another assault on their safety was upon them. Then her eyes glimmered, then softened, then melted into tears.
“Jon?” she whispered, and started to approach him slowly.
Jon Snow, himself struggling with the lump in his throat, dropped his sword with a clank on the ground and fell into an embrace with the sister he had long given up for dead.
“Jon…Jon…Jon!” She pressed her face against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck and he turned about almost as if falling into a dance of remembrance after so long, so very long…
Just then Tyrion’s gaze drifted to the threshold of the room, where he saw the figure of a young woman with a fur-trimmed hood. She pulled it back, and golden hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her eyes met his, and she reached out her hands to him. Was it…could it be…?
“Myrcella…?” His throat tightened in disbelief at the sight of the niece he had long given up for dead. He had always been fond of her, recognizing in her all of her mother Cersei’s beauty, but none of her cruelty. He took her hand in his. “Are you well? Have they…has he been…?”
“I have been treated with honor, uncle,” she assured him. “My lord Snow would have it no other way.” She smiled softly in the northern solder’s direction, and Tyrion quickly read it. Had an alliance been made, he wondered? Then his eyes fell to her belly, and he noticed the size of it. It was the earliest stages, and yet he could detect it well enough…
“His?” Tyrion queried.
Myrcella nodded shyly.
Sansa had by now caught wind of this and came over to the girl. “Princess…I mean…I…” she stammered, clearly uncertain what title still stood with all the change.
“Queen, Sansa,” Jon filled in. “Queen of the North.”
Both Sansa and Tyrion’s jaw fell open at this. The former hand of the king looked over his shoulder at Snow. “I believe…we have much to discuss about that which has transpired since last we shared an acquaintance in service to the throne…”
“That we do, half man.”
“Then do you think you possibly manage to do so in the garden? In spite of your rather rude entry, I suppose introducing you to your nieces would be in order.”
His eyes widened. “Then you’ve…?”
“Quite obviously.”
“Oh…”
“So, everyone…to the garden?” Tyrion gestured grandly towards the door.
“Er…yes…” Snow relented, finally sheathing his sword.
***
“Glad you came to find us?” Tyrion queried, walking with Jon Snow on the far side of the castle yard. “It was certainly impulsive of you under the…questionable circumstances.”
“I made a vow to find my sister as soon as there was peace. And I trust Lord Davos to keep the peace for a spell. He’s an honorable man and has come to be well-respected in the North.”
“So…are you going to explain what…?”
“I am still getting used to all this,” Snow cut him off, obviously trying to talk about anything but more pressing matters. “You have children?”
Tyrion squinted impatiently. “No, they’re mirages.”
Snow rolled his eyes, and a slight smile played at the edge of his lips. “I like them, your daughters. The oldest is like Arya…a mix of her and you, really.”
“She likes you, too, it seems,” he noted.
As soon as Tyrion had managed to convince the now quite suspicious Sophie that Jon Snow was not in fact another spy come to do her family harm, she had asked her newfound uncle a variety of questions about the aunt she had never met, the one who Snow said she bore a resemblance to. Snow seemed to brighten just seeing an image of his favorite sister still alive and largely untouched by the horrors that had transformed her from a feisty yet still innocent youth to a hardened assassin with vengeance on her mind.
“And the younger one, she’s like Sansa, and her mother,” Jon stated. “She’s aptly named.”
“Even as a dwarf?” Tyrion blurted, frankly. “Would not your stepmother have…been revolted at the concept?”
He shrugged. “She loved Sansa enough…anything that was hers, she would have loved. And besides her…” He exhaled. “Whatever she’d have thought, I’ll tell you what I think. Because you’ve a fine intelligent child there. Those drawings she showed me, those things…they take skill. She’ll make you proud, I think.”
“She’s already made me proud,” Tyrion shot back, and he knew he meant it.
“Of course she has,” Snow conceded mildly, slightly embarrassed by his misstep.
“Now enough about the children. You’re hard testing my endurance. Tell me, Snow. Tell me the whole of it. What’s happened in Westeros?”
“How much do you know already?”
“As much as I could piece together from Baelish’s rantings, rumors of the dragon queen on my last trip to the city, and your presence here,” he stated. “Clearly my sister found it ever harder to keep a good grip, and eventually, it slipped.”
“Have you not heard of the Walkers?”
“The what?”
Jon exhaled. “The White Walkers.”
“You mean from the fairy stories?”
“No!” He shook his head. “Damn it man, they were very real. I saw them…fought them, at the wall.”
Tyrion gazed at him skeptically. “You’re telling me these…things tried to cross the wall?”
Jon was started to become exasperated. “Alright, you know about Daenerys. She…allied with us, in the North…”
“Against Cersei?”
“No, against the Walkers. Cersei was originally a part of the alliance.”
Now Tyrion looked utterly disbelieving. “My sister…joined a Targaryen and Stark alliance?”
“Temporarily.”
“Hence the marriage to Myrcella, whom you held as hostage?”
“She wasn’t so much a hostage by then,” he mumbled awkwardly. “Just…a guest, as it were. But…yes our marriage served a purpose. Or at least we thought it did. But when he faced off against the Walkers, Cersei withheld her forces.”
“I might have told you that part the story ahead of time, my naïve brother-in-law,” he clucked. “But I assume you succeeded in spite of odds?”
“At heavy losses.”
“So Daenerys played her part, I assume? Her dragons fought the walkers, and now she sits prettily upon the Iron Throne?”
Jon’s eyes shot down. “No.”
“No?”
“I mean…yes, her dragons fought the Walkers. But then…I fought her dragons.”
Tyrion looked flushed now. “How…did this come about?” he croaked.
Snow was silent for a long time. “She wanted to burn King’s Landing for what Cersei had done. She wanted…her revenge. But it was more like…madness. I saw it happening, a little at a time.”
“From what I had heard of the daughter, I hoped she would prove different from the father,” Tyrion responded. “They called her the breaker of chains, the one who speaks for the voiceless.”
“She might have been different, once,” Jon noted, almost wistfully. “Perhaps she wanted to do right, perhaps she thought herself destined to do us all good. It was just too much power for her to wield. I wonder if it was too much power for anyone to wield.”
Tyrion squinted. “Did the Mother of Dragons hold power over you?”
“What are you saying?” Snow snapped.
“Did you bend the knee to her?”
Snow shook his head. “The North would see no foreigner rule them.”
“The only king in the north is a king whose name is Stark,” Tyrion recited quietly. “But might not a Stark find himself…bound to other things than his people alone?”
“To a point,” he shrugged.
“Daenerys was your ally, you fought alongside her against the armies of the dead, and without her, all of Westeros would have been frozen over in an age of ice,” Tyrion recounted, reading the man’s heart with deadly precision.
“And with her all of Westeros would have consumed by dragon fire,” he spat out.
“But your heart was not?”
Jon gazed over at Sansa walking in the garden with Myrcella for a moment. “You love my sister. I thought it might just be lust at first, knowing you as I did.”
“You flatter me,” Tyrion chuckled.
“No, I can tell,” he assured. “Such is a rare thing in this world. She’s fortunate to have you.” He grew thoughtful, reflective. “I loved a Wildling girl at the wall. Her name was Ygritte. But it all fell to ruin. She died with an arrow in her…” His voice ebbed out. “I admired Daenerys, I had hope in her. I hoped she might strive for something different than the others. I hoped she might break the wheel. I wanted to believe in something…”
“But you could not all the way?”
“Not when she wished to use the dragon fire to compel the bending of the knee.” He looked to the ground. “Not when she wished to use it…on King’s Landing.”
Tyrion gazed at him, almost in disbelief. “You would fight your ally to save Cersei’s city? The city of your mortal enemies?”
“They’re not all my enemies,” he muttered. “Just people, no better or worse than I. And even those who are all the worse…even they don’t deserve a death like that. Or if they do, I would not be the one to lay it on their doorstep, nor let it be laid there without an effort to stop it.”
“Then a bastard killed a queen,” Tyrion noted airily. “How did you manage it?”
Jon looked up. “Shall I confide in you, Lannister?”
“I highly doubt I have anyone with whom I might betray your confidence for advancement,” he twitted.
“That is not the thing,” he replied. “It is…from Sansa.”
“What is it she would say that she might not know?”
“That I might wield the power of dragon flame,” he rasped. “That I wielded it when Daenerys refused to listen to reason, when she would have murdered thousands. That I used it against her as you once used Wildfire.” He looked into Tyrion’s shocked eyes, seeking out some understanding. “I did not wish to use it. I would not have, but I had to stop her from using it first on those who could not defend themselves…”
“How could you ever control her dragons?”
Snow inhaled nervously. “Because, Lannister, I have…a burden. Dragon blood is in my veins.”
“I don’t understand, Snow.”
“I was sired by Rhaegar Targaryan, and borne by Lyanna Stark. Eddard Stark chose to take me in as his own rather than let his sister’s son become a causality of the powers that raged.”
“Then you are a…?”
“A Stark,” he finished, and his eyes were as keen as the winter on the northern wall.
“But your blood gives you claim now,” Tyrion challenged. “Some would surely say you killed the Queen of Dragons to claim what you discovered to be yours…the throne would be yours…”
“The Iron Throne is no one’s now,” he blurted. “I would sooner suffer the sting of the last smoke than sit upon it.”
Tyrion’s eyes widened. “Was it offered to you?”
He shut his eyes. “Offered or not, I would not…bend the knee to it. I left it behind, and the swords were pulled out of it, and broken. They said I knew nothing…still…”
And Tyrion nodded slowly. “And what has become of the dragons?”
“The dragons have been released in the wilds of the desert lands from which they came. They are free to fly there, causing no harm to man ever again.”
“Then it is you who have broken the wheel.”
“No one else would do it.”
Tyrion could not help but smile, just a little. Because this boy he had known for so long, the bastard sent to serve at the Wall, wet behind the ears and oh-so petulant, but with a good heart, this boy….had gone on to do what no one else would do. And that measured the man, measured him high in Tyrion’s eyes. Sometimes the last in line are the ones who last in time…
“Eddard Stark…I know now, he saved my life,” Snow murmured. “At the cost of everything, he would not leave me to be killed. He said I was of his blood.”
“You are a true-born Stark. Your father – Eddard Stark of Winterfell – he would surely be proud.”
“And you, Lannister, are your own master,” Snow returned in kind.
Tyrion nodded in assent. “So then you will lead your own people?”
“I will try, and hope I might never forget…” He turned to the half-man knowingly, remembering a conversation between them long ago. “Never forget what I am.”
“At least you’re not ashamed of it anymore,” Tyrion noted.
“And you? Are you ashamed of what you are?” Snow questioned.
Tyrion was caught off guard. “Have I ever struck you as shamed?” he queried, a touch more nervous than he meant to sound.
“Sansa tells me you both have suffered much at the hands of those who found out the truth of your name,” he told him.
“What we are has a way of following us,” Tyrion admitted.
“But now that the Council of the Kingdoms has been called, a new settlement will be established,” Jon explained. “No one is left who would hunt or harry you and my sister and your family. You may all live out your days in peace here, or return to Westeros in peace, if you wish it. You might claim Casterly Rock for you own, or even settle in the North.”
Tyrion’s eyes misted for a moment. “The Lannisters and the Starks again returned to the same land? Is such a thing possible…after so very much blood?”
“It has been done in my own dwelling,” Snow retorted.
“You are now lord of Winterfell then? And Myrcella is the lady? King and Queen of the North?” He tilted his head slightly. “How did your people feel, with your sharing a marriage bed with a Lannister by blood?”
“I could not do what they wanted me to do to her,” he stated grimly. “I remember when Sansa was in the hands of Joffrey, and then I learned she had married you. While I didn’t know for certain, I had reason to hope that you would treat her well, that you wouldn’t harm an innocent girl. And I could not mete out what I hoped you would not.”
“It seems she thought you might, at first,” Tyrion noted. “Did you think you might?”
Jon closed his eyes, as if trying to chase away a bad memory. “When she was brought to me, she was meant to save my sister’s life, to put Cersei against her own flesh and blood, and to face the consequences if she slew another Stark.” He bit his lip. “After the thing was done, after they cut up Arya like an animal, I thought to do the deed…to teach Cersei a lesson she would remember…”
Jon Snow inhaled, remembering the look on Myrcella’s face that night, and how when he had drawn his sword, she had innocently assumed he was merely showing her the engraving, and touched it, and brokenhearted, he had pulled it back from her. The sword had accidentally slipped along her hands, tearing the skin of her palms. She thought he had done it on purpose and gasped to see her own blood welling up in her hands.
“So…?” Tyrion queried.
Jon swallowed, recalling how the girl’s terrified eyes had caused his palm to grow sweaty, and how he had loosened his grip on the hilt, and let it fall to the ground with a clatter as he shouted at her to run, and how she had done so, and how he had been left alone to his tears.
“I could not kill her for her mother, not when her own mother would not put down her sword to save her. Would I have brought my sister, or any of my family back?”
“No.” The half-man looked at him with some admiration. “We seem to have come to the same conclusion over time. Few things are gained and even less restored by continuing to turn the wheel. In the end, marrying proved of more use to everyone than…what they had wanted me to do.”
Tyrion gazed over at Sansa and Myrcella, sitting next to each other on the stone bench, seemingly quite enjoying each other’s company. The sight of these two women, Lannister and Stark, sharing the day in peace warmed his soul.
“She loves you, Snow,” Tyrion remarked. “As soon as I saw her smile in your direction, I knew…she has eyes for you. And that is no ill feat to achieve, especially in as lovely a creature as she.”
Snow’s eyes shot in her direction. “You think that’s true?”
Tyrion heaved a sigh. “Seriously, in some ways you haven’t changed at all. But this I will say: You will treasure that girl, or you’ll have a demon on your back.”
Snow laughed at that. Then he grew pensive. “I do treasure her,” he said. “She’s been a good wife, and a patient one, far more patient than I have been with others. She’s been…patient, waiting for me to love her as I should have long ago.”
“There are different victories to win, you know,” Tyrion counseled him. “Some are won with steel, others with wit, and others yet…” He smirked. “Others may be won with many things a man has at his disposal. But I have learned, down through the years, a woman is apt to judge you on your heart. It’s best to show her as much of it as you can.”
“I’ll take your word for it, Lannister.” Snow glanced over at Sansa again. “You seem to have won your own victory right here.”
***
“It amazes me how Myrcella has grown,” Tyrion chattered happily as he lay in bed with Sansa that night. “It truly amazes me. She was such a little thing the last time I set eyes on her, and now she carries herself like a queen. And not like her mother, either. She’s…all her own.”
“She always was a sweet-natured girl,” Sansa agreed. “Why, I remember her trying to comfort me before our wedding, saying I would have the prettiest dress…”
“What, no scintillating recommendations for her uncle?” he pretended to pout.
“Since when have you relied upon recommendations, my lord?” she challenged.
He grinned devilishly. “I suppose proving one’s own prowess does come with perks…” He leaned over playfully and kissed her neck.
“You’re a rogue, you know that?” she twitted.
“Yes, but I like it when you remind me.”
He seemed headed for another kiss, but she turned to him with a serious glint in her eyes. “So what did you tell Jon…about his offer to…go home?”
Tyrion shrugged. “That I’d discuss it with you, of course.”
“But what do you want to do?”
He blinked. “What do you think, love?”
“I think I should not like for you to spend the rest of your days lamenting a great opportunity that slipped from your grasp.”
“It wouldn’t slip,” he told her. “I would just…let it go.”
“Could you, husband?”
“Could you, wife?”
She smiled slowly and leaned into him. “With pleasure.”
“I rather hoped you’d say that,” he sighed contentedly. “We’ve moved around quite enough in our lives, don’t you think?”
“Indeed,” she agreed. “Besides, I have not had a true home in Westeros since Winterfell…and that is but a child’s dream.”
“I don’t believe I ever truly had a home there,” he confessed. “Or at least…not one like this. I should like very much to…keep faith with something Sauriel said, about cutting the cord on the old world, once and for all. Besides, I’m fairly confident that the bast…well, that your brother will handle things quite well. I had my years in the sun. Now it’s his turn to shine. He’s grown up now, you know? Doesn’t need quite as much sage counsel from the older generation as once he did. I remember back in the days when he couldn’t even take a joke…”
She punched him in the shoulder playfully. “You joke hard, Tyrion.”
“That is why we make a good pair,” he stated. “You comfort the afflicted, and I afflict the comfortable.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know how good I am at comforting,” she told him. “You’ve always been the one doing that for me…”
“Don’t be silly,” he scoffed. “Just look at you today…you made that girl feel worlds better, don’t you know? I can’t imagine Snow being particularly good at the task!”
Sansa made a sly smile. “Sometimes the one who can get through to a pregnant woman is…another pregnant woman.”
Tyrion seemed to miss the connotation for a moment, then snapped wide awake, turning to her with an almost comically stunned look on his face.
“Oh, surely you’ve gotten used to this sort of news by now,” she sighed, fiddling with the collar of his nightshirt.
“I know, but…oh…is…will it…be alright?”
“Oh, Tyrion, I’ve learned not to go on swings by now,” she chided him. “And I had no problem at all with Caitey.”
“Yes, I know. It’s just…”
“It’s just that you worry far too much every time. Now for once, I want you to be as happy as I am. Can you not try, for me, hmm?”
“I am happy, dear girl,” he assured, and kissed her hand. “I just…”
“And this time, our daughter, as Sauriel promised it would be a daughter, well…this time we’re naming her Joanna. I know that would make both of them happy, for surely they are together now, yes…all three of our mothers, I like to think are together now.”
Tyrion swallowed back something and kissed her deeply. “You’re a queen, Sansa. A true queen…I only wish…”
“Wish nothing more than we have now…right now, Tyrion! It’s everything…everything…”
And as they spent that night in each other’s embrace, Tyrion Lannister knew that Sansa Stark had spoken the purest of truths. Now. Right now. Everything is here.