The night in King's Landing was like a noblewoman draped in dark silk—mysterious and full of allure. As the last blush of sunset slipped behind the towering walls of the Red Keep, the city sank into a deep shade of violet-blue. Lamps flickered to life one after another, like delicate stars kindling across the heavens, until together they formed a river of light flowing down the cobbled streets.
The Blackwater shimmered silver beneath the moon, rippling like a slumbering dragon winding through the city's heart, cleaving King's Landing into north and south.
A pity there were no dragons left in the world, Tyrion thought.
Far off, Dragonstone loomed faint in the night, like a silent sentinel keeping watch over the city. Overhead, the occasional night bird cut across the sky, leaving a long, mournful cry in its wake.
A knock came at the door. Tyrion turned from the window.
"Come in."
A young lady stepped across the threshold, with fine cheekbones, clear blue eyes, and a mane of rich auburn hair. She was beautiful—what Catelyn Stark might have been in her youth, though even she had never been quite this lovely.
"You must be Sansa Stark." Tyrion pulled a chair out for her, then raised his voice toward the hall. "Bronn, bring in the little one!"
"My lord Tyrion." Sansa dipped in a small curtsy before sitting. "The septa was stopped by the guards at the base of the tower. Does that mean…"
"It's nothing." Tyrion gave her shoulder a reassuring pat, then snatched his hand back as if from a hot iron. If Sansa worried over gossip, he too would keep his manners sharp.
"I asked you here for one reason—to write a letter."
"A letter?" Sansa asked.
"One to send you home. Both of you," Tyrion said.
"Both of us?" Sansa looked puzzled. But another knock came, Bronn's voice carrying through the wood. "She's here."
"Bring her in." Tyrion fetched another chair and set it beside Sansa's.
The door opened, and a tomboyish girl was pushed inside.
"Let me make the introductions," Tyrion said as he returned to the table. "Sansa Stark, this is Arya Stark. Arya, your sister."
"Arya!" Sansa gasped, hand flying to her mouth. She reached out to seize her sister, but Arya stepped back out of reach.
Arya Stark's eyes flicked from Tyrion to her sister.
"Arya, I thought I'd never see you again." Tears welled in Sansa's blue eyes.
"You confessed Father's treason and got him killed!" Arya shot back.
"I didn't..." Sansa tried to explain, but Tyrion cut across her.
"Enough, ladies." Tyrion tapped the table. "Do you want to spend your lives in King's Landing, or go home quickly? If it's Winterfell you long for, best set aside your quarrels and listen."
"As for me, I mean to trade you for my brother Jaime. Of course, Lady Sansa might make a fine wife, but a man never lacks for wives." Tyrion rambled on.
"But I... I'm betrothed to King Joffrey..." Sansa whispered.
"Still clinging to your prince?" Arya sneered. "Your prince who murdered...!"
"Enough." Tyrion rapped the table again. "My horse-faced girl, can't you see your sister's on the verge of tears?"
"Let her cry. She brought it on herself!" Arya snapped.
Tyrion sighed and pushed parchment toward Sansa, setting out pen and ink.
"Write, Lady Sansa," he said. "Write what you will—about life in King's Landing, anything at all. Tell your mother and brother you and your sister are safe."
Sansa's hand shook as she took the pen and began to write. Tyrion didn't look at her words, but he heard the soft patter of tears falling onto the page.
Pour it all out, little bird. I wager Lady Catelyn will go mad when she sees this crumpled letter.
He turned to Arya. "And you? Will you write?"
"Of course," Arya said. "I'll write about how Sansa betrayed Father!"
"You're lying!" Sansa shouted. "I didn't betray him... I only wanted to save him. Ow!"
Arya had kicked her under the table.
"Arya!" Sansa leapt to her feet, lunging at her sister. Arya darted away, circling the table.
Tyrion made no move to stop them. Instead, he sat, took up the parchment, and wrote below Sansa's hand.
"To Lady Catelyn Stark: these words come from Tyrion Lannister. I thank you for your care at the Eyrie. In return, I allow your daughters a brief exchange, to ease their longing."
"Arya!" Tyrion called while writing. "Are you writing or not? Is your hand even legible?"
"No need!" Arya shouted, still dodging Sansa. "I'd rather kick her again!"
"Her writing's as ugly as her embroidery!" Sansa panted.
"Don't either of you touch me, or I'll lose my temper," Tyrion muttered, then continued writing.
"As you know, King's Landing is gripped by famine. The people starve, yet your girls eat heartily. I fear I cannot keep them much longer."
"So I propose trading your two daughters for my brother Jaime Lannister. Two mouths for one—if you ask me, the North comes out ahead."
"This letter ought to go to Robb Stark, but I think you and I are better acquainted. If you wish, you may read it to your son, as a mother might read a tale to her child."
Sansa had driven Arya against the wall, and the two grappled fiercely.
Tyrion hurried to finish.
"I await your reply. Yours, Tyrion Lannister."
He rose and strode over to part them, but froze in place.
Arya had torn half a sleeve from Sansa's dress, revealing an arm covered in dark bruises and welts. The little wolf froze too, her assault forgotten.
Tyrion crouched, rolling up Sansa's other sleeve. That pale arm was the same—mottled with bruises and dried blood.
"Whose orders were these? Joffrey's?" Tyrion demanded.
Sansa lowered her head, tears streaming unchecked. Arya reached to wipe them from her sister's cheeks.
"It was... because of Robb's victories," Sansa choked out. "Joffrey often ordered me beaten. He had the Kingsguard strike only where clothes would cover—my arms."
"Which Kingsguard did this?" Tyrion pressed.
"Meryn Trant."