Tyrion collapsed onto the straw bed, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. "This straw is prickly," he muttered. "I miss the velvet beds of Pinkmaiden."
Sansa lay beside him, her fiery hair spilling over her shoulders, sapphire eyes bright with laughter.
"I didn't feel a thing," she teased. "The only prickling I noticed was you."
"You wicked girl," Tyrion groaned. "How can you say something like that?"
"I'm no longer just a lady. I'm your wife. Not only can I say it," she propped her flushed cheek on her hand, "I can even call you my lion."
"You heard all that?" Tyrion felt heat flare up his neck. "I thought… no one would notice."
"The soundproofing in the Tower of the Hand isn't as good as you imagine," Sansa said as she slipped her gown back over her shoulders. "I hope my first child is a boy. My mother hoped the same."
His wife curled up neatly, legs pressed together. A wave of guilt washed over Tyrion. He thought of King's Landing, of the rose of Highgarden. He knew the truth—no matter what threats were made, that child would never be his.
"You focus on the son. I need to write a few letters." Tyrion stood. The hearth snapped and sparked; despite the sharp autumn wind outside in the Riverlands, the small room was warm.
"You work too hard."
"Finishing things helps me think." Tyrion sat down at the table near the fire and picked up paper and quill.
"Why do they call you the Lust Demon?"
"Because I look handsome but act like a devil," Tyrion said, planning his first letter for Runestone. "At least I used to. Thinking back, I was a carefree scoundrel."
"But you're a hero to me."
"Because I'm your husband." He wrote on, already planning their departure for the Bloody Gate in a week. "I never liked training or practice, never served as anyone's attendant. Father spoiled me, I suppose."
"My faults were set early. I wasn't made for knighthood." Should I tell Yohn Royce how many men I'm bringing? he wondered as he wrote. "I'm not even a knight."
"You're more knightly than anyone I've ever known."
"Lies. Every Lannister lies." Tyrion decided to be honest; he wouldn't deceive the bronze. "But I try not to lie to you."
When he finished, he folded the letter, slipped it into an envelope, and held a small crucible of wax over the hearth until it melted.
"If I had a bastard like Robert or your father, what would you think?" Tyrion asked casually.
"Then I'd be just like my mother."
"I should pour the wax on your back," Tyrion joked, but he dripped it onto the envelope instead and pressed the seal down. "You're as stubborn as she was."
"I take after Mother—Robb too," Sansa said, tossing her fiery hair. "Arya is the Stark. She's like Jon, like Father. What do you plan to do about Arya?"
"Do about her? I don't like how that sounds. She's your sister."
"She doesn't like me," Sansa said softly. "Ever since she saw Mother, she's been even colder."
"That's because you're the Queen of the North." Tyrion rose and reached for his cloak. "Stay here. Don't move. Give the letter to the attendant. I'll be right back."
Tyrion pushed the door open. Lanterns glowed outside.
"Pod?" Podrick was supposed to be on night watch, his little cot tucked in the corner. Maybe he should have moved him farther off so he wouldn't overhear anything between him and Sansa.
But Pod wasn't there.
"Pod?" Tyrion called again.
"My lord."
The sudden reply made Tyrion jump. He turned to find Jaqen H'ghar behind him—he had no idea when the man had appeared, though with Jaqen, that was hardly surprising.
"You've finished the task?" Tyrion asked.
"Yes, my lord. Someone has completed the task," Jaqen said. "Your attendant has gone to relieve himself. I am taking his place for now. Has my lord chosen the next name?"
Tyrion thought for a moment. "What if the person is already dead?"
"Already dead?" Jaqen smiled. "Her life already belongs to the Red God. Granting release to the dead who linger is the duty of the Faceless Men."
Of course. Followers of the Many-Faced God believed death was mercy.
"Lady Stoneheart. Catelyn Stark," Tyrion said. "Would you grant her mercy?"
"Of course, my lord." Jaqen smiled again. "This is what a Faceless Man should do. It brings back memories… but this does not count as the life someone owes you."
Tyrion nodded and tightened his grip on the letter. "Starting tomorrow, Podrick, Edric, and Hoster Blackwood will all stand night watch together." He dragged the small cot farther away. "Thank you, Jaqen. If you see Thoros, tell him to come to Darry."
"Yes." Jaqen bowed and slipped away, swallowed by the darkness.
Tyrion returned to the bedchamber. His wife was still waiting. He set the letter back on the table and stirred the hearth with the tongs; the flames cracked sharply.
"Tomorrow, have the Bracken and Blackwood men gather at Darry. Once they're here, we leave."
"So soon?"
"I wrote that we'd set out in two weeks, that Bronze Yohn would meet us at the Bloody Gate," Tyrion said. "But I think we should leave early and seize the Bloody Gate ourselves."
"The Bloody Gate can hold off an army," Sansa said. "Even a little girl like me knows that. How do you plan to take it?"
"Ser Brynden served as a knight of the Bloody Gate for more than ten years. He knows every part of the fortress," Tyrion said as he sat on the bed. "Bronn and Timett know the mountain roads. Taking the Bloody Gate won't be difficult."
"Lord Yohn will take it as an insult," Sansa warned.
"No. I won't harm anyone," Tyrion said. "After we take it, everything stays the same. Ser Brynden will keep order. But this must be done. If Bronze Yohn hesitates, we'll be trapped inside the Vale. A handful of men might climb out, but an army would never make it."
"Yohn Lord would never do that," Sansa said. "I've met him. My father knew him. He's honorable."
"Do you know what an exception is?" Tyrion lay down beside her. "If he falters even once, we're doomed. We can't allow a single accident."
"Should I write to Aunt Lysa?"
Yes. That reminded him. He kissed her cheek, and she flushed again.
"Not just your aunt. Write to your uncle as well."