Tyrion shuddered as the silence of the crypt was broken by the grotesque noise of the dead scrabbling to emerge from their tombs. The ancient stones grated as skeletal hands flailed out from the walls of the crypt to grasp and choke the living. The nightmarish shrieks of the dead created a horrifying cacophony, layered with the screams of the children cowering in the corners. Tyrion looked around him in horror and swore at himself, "What fucking idiot decides to hide from the dead in a fucking crypt?"
Tyrion cursed his idiocy that doomed them all to die a horrific death – the children, the vulnerable, the poor people who were unable to fight. He was supposed to save the Seven Kingdoms with his mind cause he was too useless to fight and his stupidity had condemned them all instead. The shriek of a rising corpse shook him out of his harsh musings to face the reality that he was the only one in the crypt who had ever fought in battle. He reached for the dagger at his belt and braced himself as he watched the corpse come closer, writhing across the floor of the crypt.
From the corner of his eye, he saw that Sansa had apparently come to the same conclusion – that they had no other choice but to fight and take out as many undead as they could. It was unlikely that they would make it out alive but they had to try to protect the children. Maybe some of the soldiers would come to check on them if they could hold off the dead for long enough. In the flickering torchlight of the crypt, Tyrion saw how Sansa braced herself for the desperate fight ahead. Her jaw clenched with fear but also with unshakeable resolve – a fierce expression that he saw when she dictated battle provisions for Winterfell or stared down the Dragon Queen. Sansa pulled out a daggr and Tyrion recognized it as the one Arya often used. She looked grimly down at the weapon and then at the gruesome scene before them, ready to fight however she could. Tyrion thought that he had never seen anyone look so regal and indomitable at once, with her eyes hard as ice and dagger clutched in her hand.
Tyrion always thought that he was going to die after drinking himself into oblivion and fucking whores who slept with him for his coin. Being killed by undead corpses in the crypts of Winterfell was not in his plan but perhaps it wasn't the worst way to go. The gods had a twisted sense of humor – reuniting him with Sansa years after their sham of a marriage and now they were going to die together.
He glanced at her unwavering profile and marveled at how much Sansa had grown from the naïve girl he had met at King's Landing to the fierce resilient woman ready to die to protect her people. He saw how much the people of Winterfell loved and admired her, and she deserved every bit of that respect and more. Sansa had survived unspeakable horrors and emerged not unscathed but strong and shrewd and fiercely loyal to those she loves.
He wished he could have protected her more in King's Landing from the wrath of sadistic Joffrey and the terrible fate she had ahead but looking at her now, he saw how she didn't need anyone to shield her anymore. As they grasped their weapons and prepared to attack the shrieking corpses, Tyrion realized that he never told Sansa how much he admires her resilient and brilliant mind. She's the strongest person he knows and he wishes that he had told her that.
It was too late to put what he was feeling into words now but he reached across and squeezed her hand with his own, willing her to understand. Sansa looked back at him and when he gently raised her hand up for a kiss, her eyes shone with warmth for a fleeting moment before they turned steely with focus for the task ahead.