GOT: The Great Khal — Chapter 145 - Stole the Little Demon's Wife

Tyrion Lannister wandered the stone corridors of Storm's End for quite a while.

The castle was larger than he'd imagined. Corridors twisted and doubled back on themselves, staircases rose and dropped without warning, and every wall seemed to carry some remnant of House Baratheon, antlers, shields, the bones of a dynasty that no longer needed them.

There were guards everywhere. Every Unsullied who spotted him watched with open curiosity.

He walked without direction, and somewhere along the way turned down a corridor he hadn't meant to take.

The dining hall door was half-open. Laughter drifted out.

He stopped and looked inside.

Sansa sat at Drogo's right hand at the long table. Light blue dress, red hair loose over her shoulders, and on her face an expression Tyrion had never seen there before, easy, unguarded, relaxed in a way King's Landing had never allowed her.

Drogo held a small lemon cake between his thumb and forefinger and brought it to her lips.

"I had the kitchen make these especially for you."

Sansa took a bite, smiling. "How did you know I loved them?"

Drogo looked at her. The corner of his mouth lifted.

"There is nothing in this world I don't know."

Tyrion walked in.

His boots rang against the stone floor. Sansa turned, and her smile froze for just a moment.

"Oh." Tyrion spread his hands, keeping his tone easy. "It seems I've interrupted your breakfast."

Drogo glanced at him. He didn't rise, and he didn't look displeased.

"You haven't interrupted." He tapped an empty seat at the far end of the table. "Sit."

Tyrion didn't sit. He stayed in the doorway, his gaze moving from Drogo's face to Sansa's, then back again.

"You kidnapped me, and you stole my wife?"

Sansa's face went red. She dropped her head, fingers twisting in her skirt, lips parting without finding any words.

Drogo leaned back in his chair. He put the last of the lemon cake in his mouth, chewed it slowly, and swallowed before he spoke.

"Sansa is a delight."

Tyrion's brow furrowed.

Drogo looked at him, his tone flat, like a man reciting something obvious.

"You know Sansa will never love you. Not only because of how you look — though that is a problem — but because of your family. Her father, her mother, her brother. All dead because of your house. How could you ever expect her to love the son of her enemies?"

Sansa's eyes went red at the edges. She bit her lip.

Missandei sat quietly with her eyes lowered. Scarlett touched her belly, a small, absent gesture. Daenerys's gaze moved between Drogo and Tyrion.

Tyrion stood in the doorway, his small figure casting a short, blunt shadow in the morning light.

"You're right." He looked at Sansa, and his mismatched eyes held no resentment. "I know she'll never love me. I never expected it. I only wanted to protect her. In King's Landing, in that nest of vipers, the only thing I could do was not touch her — not let her become another victim."

Sansa raised her head and looked at him.

No love in that look. But no hatred either. What was there was gratitude, and something close to apology.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

Tyrion gave a bitter smile and waved his hand, as if shooing away a fly.

Drogo watched him for a moment, silent. Then he said something no one in the room had expected.

"You protected Sansa well. As repayment, I'll grant you one request."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow.

"For instance," Drogo said, "you could choose to save one member of your family. Trust me, you'll find a use for it."

Tyrion's pupils contracted slightly.

Save one family member. The words landed like a needle, finding the softest place in him with no effort at all.

Jaime. Tywin. Cersei. Even that detestable Joffrey. Any one of them might need saving someday.

Or someday, he might have to choose which one.

He didn't answer right away. He only nodded, and tucked the promise away in the pocket of his heart like a gold coin.

"I'll remember it," he said.

Drogo stood, rounded the table, and walked over to him. He looked down at the dwarf who barely reached his thigh.

"Storm's End is large enough. You'll have room to move freely."

His gaze sharpened. "Don't think about watching my army, or finding ways to get word to King's Landing. Varys already has informants placed around me doing exactly that. You'd only be wasting your time. Stay here. Be comfortable."

Tyrion let out a short, bitter laugh. "Comfortable? How does a man under house arrest get comfortable? No wine, no one worth talking to, this stone pile is so dull even the echoes are boring. You might as well throw me in the dungeon. At least there I wouldn't have to walk."

"Lonely?" Drogo said. "I can have Podrick Payne bring Shae here. In Storm's End, you won't have to sneak around."

Sansa's head snapped up. "What? Shae?"

Shae was her handmaiden. The black-haired girl with dimples when she smiled, who combed her hair and helped her dress and sat with her when the nights were long.

Tyrion's expression shifted. He opened his mouth, and for once, something close to panic crossed his face.

He drew a slow breath. He had thought the secret was airtight, never letting Shae hold his gaze a moment too long in public, never spending the night in her room.

And this Dothraki had taken it apart with one offhand sentence.

He breathed out, and when he spoke, his voice had the sound of a man accepting something he couldn't fight.

"Your informants have turned King's Landing into a sieve."

Drogo neither confirmed nor denied it. He tilted his head slightly, and a faint half-smile settled on his bronze face.

"I know everything."

Then he shifted, and his tone turned brisk and formal.

"Dorne and the lords south of the Stormlands have quietly assembled tens of thousands of troops at Griffin's Roost. They don't yet know that the northern column under Kevan has already been destroyed. They're still waiting for a signal, planning to hit me from the south in a pincer."

A cold smile.

"I'm going to give them a surprise."

He strode past Tyrion without another word, his boots striking the stone in a steady, unhurried rhythm, and disappeared around the corner.

The dining hall went quiet.

Tyrion stood where he was, staring at the empty corridor for a long moment.

Sansa sat at the table, looking like she didn't know what to do with herself.

Daenerys picked up a piece of dark bread, tore it slowly, and pressed a slice of cheese inside.

Missandei spoke first, her voice gentle. "Lord Tyrion, would you like to sit? The food is still warm."

Tyrion let out a long breath. He walked to the seat Drogo had pointed out and hauled himself up into it.

"Wine," he said. "Wine makes it easier not to curse."

Missandei poured from the pitcher beside her, autumn ale, and slid the cup across to him.

Tyrion drank deep, then turned to look at Sansa.

"About Shae," he said. His voice came out rougher than he intended. "I'm sorry. I never thought you'd find out this way."

"She was good to me," Sansa said. "Whoever she was to you, she never treated me poorly. I just..." She paused. "I just never realized that everyone has secrets."

Tyrion took another drink and said nothing.

Outside, beyond the gates of Storm's End, came the sound of hoofbeats and horns.

Drogo's army was assembling.

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