Fire In The Ice
Quick A/N: I liiiiive! For anyone who has been following my Star Wars stories, don't worry, I have drafts prepared to finish them up ASAP. But I have to get this short little micro-fic out right now before my head explodes. Whenever I ship something this hard, I have to write about it so I can get it out of my system. This being a Game of Thrones thing, I expect all of this to be utterly irrelevant in 5 days when the new episode drops, but oh well. That's alright. I had fun writing this today anyway.
Content Warning: My other fics have pretty much stuck to a T rating. This one definitely has a solid M rating, even though I don't get as graphic as a lot of erotica in this. But there is sex in chapter 2, and this being GOT, it isn't treated with metaphors or allusions. But I promise to keep it tasteful nonetheless.
An important trigger warning I'll remind you of next chapter, remember that this features a character who has been raped, and that factors in to her experience.
Also there will (probably) only be 3 chapters, and they'll all be posted today. Enjoy! And please leave your reviews! (This fic pretty much only focuses on Sansa and Tyrion. If that ship bothers you, read something else.)
Chapter One
Preparations were underway, and even though the euphoria of survival still lingered over the ruined walls of Winterfell, an old familiar dread had begun to creep in. Those headed south were certain of their victory against Cersei, despite their tiny, ravaged numbers, but everyone knew that there would be some who wouldn't return. And as they prepared to leave, others still worked to clean up the thousands of dead scattered in and around the castle. A permanent cloud of smoke hung in the air outside the walls, born from the enormous pyre receiving all the corpses.
Sansa and Arya stood overlooking the courtyard, a now-familiar and now-comfortable silence between them. Sometimes it was still hard to believe they could be like this, considering their past. But then, neither of them were the people they were when they first left this place. Bran kept saying he wasn't Brandon Stark anymore. Sansa didn't know what he meant — she rarely knew what he meant — but she felt it herself too, deep down in her core. She was and always would be Sansa Stark, but she wasn't the same Sansa who endured the boring, stifling childhood in the North, who had not appreciated her happy upbringing while she had it.
And Arya wasn't the annoyed and annoying little girl who constantly thwarted the Septa's efforts to turn her into a lady.
"I know that you aren't coming with us," Arya said after a moment.
Sansa glanced at her, not fully surprised to hear this. She'd only told Jon, and he hadn't tried to change her mind. But secrets in this family had a funny way of swirling around anyway. "Did Jon tell you? Or was it Bran?"
Arya shot her an amused look. "Neither. I know you. You won't leave the North again."
A great departure from those early days when she couldn't wait to get out of here. What a fool she'd been. "I can't."
"I know." Arya turned to face her. She frowned. "I wish you could. I want you to have your own revenge against Cersei, after everything she put you through."
Sansa laughed. "I don't need my own revenge."
"How?" Arya's single expressive brow lifted dubiously. "What she did to you. What she let her evil son and her evil father and her whole evil family do to you."
"I learned a lot from her." Sansa glanced back down into the courtyard. "She's terrible, and cunning. She deserves what you're going to give her. But that isn't me, Arya."
"Yes it is. I know you're no stranger to revenge. Jon told me about what you did to the Bolton bastard."
Tyrion emerged down below, talking to Varys and gesturing to a few of the wagons. Sansa followed their movements.
"Ramsey got what he deserved. Cersei will too..." she paused and glanced at Arya. "Probably."
"You don't think we can do it?"
"I just don't think any of you should underestimate her."
They were silent again for a moment after that. Arya didn't know Cersei like Sansa did. That might be alright - she didn't need to know much about the Night King to dispose of him - but Sansa had a dread feeling in her heart, knowing some of her family was headed right into Cersei's game again.
She watched Tyrion move about the courtyard, and wondered if Cersei would finally succeed in killing him. She experienced a brief flash of distress at this thought, and pondered on it curiously.
Arya's watchful gaze steadied on her, and she glanced over at her sister again. "What is it?"
"I know they made you marry him, but what more do you to have to do with each other?" Arya asked, thrusting her chin at the pair below. "You watch him like you care what happens."
"What's with you and the smith?" Sansa fired back, more playfully than defensively. She'd seen how the muscular, battle-filthy smith had rushed immediately to Arya after everyone straggled back together in the aftermath of the Night's King's death. There had been a lot going on, but Sansa had seen that much at least.
"His name is Gendry," Arya said, a blush rising in her cheeks.
Sansa smiled more fully now, delighted to have found something to make the scary, stoic assassin Night-King-Slayer blush. "So you do like him."
Arya shrugged, trying to put on a face of nonchalance. "We have history."
"Well, I'm happy for you." Sansa had never imagined that her tomboy little sister would ever get swept up in something as utterly girlish as romance, but there it was. It amused her.
"You don't disapprove of him just being a smith?"
"Arya. You really think that sort of thing matters? Now? After everything we've all gone through?"
"Not to me, but once upon a time it would have mattered to you."
"We've both changed a lot."
Arya motioned to the courtyard again. "You're evading. Tell me about Tyrion. He's a Lannister, Sansa. Or have you forgotten?"
Sansa rolled her eyes. "I think I know that particular fact much better than you. Remember, Arya, I was still trapped there with all of them while you were scampering around Westeros doing...whatever you were doing."
Arya looked like she wanted to make some snappy retort, but reconsidered. She looked down into the courtyard and said quietly, "I didn't forget. You're right. I just don't know why there's anything redeeming about any Lannister."
"It's hard to fathom," Sansa acknowledged. "But he was the only decent one of any of them. He never tried to touch me. He was the only one who was ever kind to me during that time. Like you said, we have history."
And then there was more recent history too. The night in the crypt, and their wry conversation in the face of certain death. And what passed between them in that most harrowing moment before they decided to embrace death and fight to save as many as they could.
Sansa didn't really know what to feel after that.
"You deserve someone better," Arya said, wrinkling her nose.
Sansa drew in a deep breath and shook her head subtly. "I don't think there will be anyone ever again. Love is for fools. It makes people forget, makes them stupid."
"It tells them it's okay to drop their guard," Arya agreed. "I know."
"So don't go falling in love with this Gendry of yours. Besides, there are other things that happen between men and women that, trust me, you don't want any part of."
"I know about those things, Sansa," said Arya. When Sansa looked at her, she lifted her chin just a little. "It wasn't so bad. I'd do it again."
Sansa stared at her, uncomprehending. "With Gendry?"
"Yes." This time, Arya didn't blush at all. She had that cool, detached look on her face again.
Sansa bristled, her whole body filling with a flash of anger. "Did he-"
"No," Arya cut her off. "It was my idea."
Sansa's heart was beating too hard. She looked down into the courtyard again, at Tyrion and Varys and everyone else making ready to go South. Her head swam with mingled horror and confusion and annoyance. Her little sister had experienced...that? And chosen it? And would choose it again?
"Sansa," Arya prompted again. "It's alright. I'm an adult. I can make my own choices."
She still struggled to swallow her dismay, but Sansa had learned nothing if she hadn't learned to manage her emotions after all this time. So swallow it she did, and she turned to her sister with a nod of acceptance. "Good. Well, Winterfell needs an heir anyway. Jon's offspring will probably be the dragon queen's heirs. And we both know Bran isn't going to do it. So the task is up to you and this smith."
Arya laughed loudly, drawing a few stares from below. Sansa caught Tyrion's eye.
"I like him," Arya admitted, "but trust me, I'm the last person in the world who should be anyone's mother. I'm no one. It falls to you - you're the Lady of Winterfell, after all. Just tell me you aren't thinking of a certain little lion to use for that purpose."
The corner of Sansa's mouth curled up in amusement, and she slid Arya a sideways glance. "I'm not. We'll have to hope for a cousin left alive somewhere."
Arya grinned.
The silence stole their teasing away, and they looked at one another with a shared understanding that once again, they were about to be parted. It had taken six years for them to reunite last time. Would it take so long again?
"Be careful down there," Sansa said softly.
Arya rushed in and hugged her tightly. Sansa wrapped her arms around this little killer, and realized that though Arya might be a frightening assassin and thief of faces, an avenging angel, and the savior of humanity from an eternal night, she was still just Arya, her little sister. Tiny, fragile, mortal.
"Come home," she whispered.
"I promise," came the ardent reply.
A/N: Okay, next chapter will be up in a jiff!