This is (mainly) a Tyrion / Sansa romance, which follows on from my story Wedding Bells, so it'll help if you've read that one first. This starts 4 years on from where WB finished. Enjoy.

Sansa

"Robb, stop fighting with your sister!" she called. The twins were four and a half and had the run of Casterly Rock. Blonde beauties who were identical. The only difference between them was that Maeri's hair had grown much longer than her brothers. Robb looked at his mother then let go of Maeri, who slapped her brother for good measure.

"Maeri, don't hit your brother!" Sansa shouted, grabbing her daughters hand to separate the two of them. They fought like cats and dogs, but if anyone came between the pair of them, they'd stick together like glue. Even at only four years old. Sansa was already dreading how wilful they could be as teenagers.

Sansa suddenly heard a cry, and she whipped around, recognising the sound of her youngest child in pain. Before she could even move, she saw Tyrion picking up Daeniel who seemed to have tripped over, falling on the ground. At three, Daeniel was really too cumbersome for Tyrion to carry, especially when the boy was wriggling like a fiend, and screaming loudly. Sansa quickly exchanged children, and comforted Daeniel until he was just whimpering.

"I fell mama…"

"I know sweetheart," she said gently. "Where's it hurt?"

"Hands," Daeniel snivelled, holding out his palms. They were a little grazed, but nothing too bad. Sansa kissed his palms gently.

"All better." Daeniel looked sceptical at that and she had to smile at her boy. Daeniel had a mass of dark black curls and dark brown eyes, almost black. He didn't really resemble either of his parents, so much as he looked like he could have been Robb Stark's son. Daeniel had the look of Sansa's brother very much.

"We have to leave," Tyrion said. "If we're to make any decent progress today."

"I know," she said. Sansa looked around, seeing the large train to make their progress northwards. Everyone was either bustling around with last minute packing, or sitting on their horses, looking bored at the interruption the children had given them to their departure.

"Daeniel, Tya will look after you," Sansa said firmly. Daeniel's bottom lip quivered as if he were about to cry. "You've got to go in the carriage. We're leaving," she added with a smile.

"'kay," Daeniel said with a sniff. Tya took Daeniel's hand, Robb and Maeri running to catch up. Sansa didn't envy Tya and her maids. Looking after three children under five on a long journey north was not for the faint hearted.

"Get me Ashi," she said, a note of command in her voice. She'd become used to being the Lady of Casterly Rock after the four year winter, and she knew how to give orders. And especially, how it felt to have them obeyed.

A guard brought her her snow white horse, and helped her into the saddle. She sat on her horse with joy. It felt good to be riding again.

Within ten minutes, they were off, their children safely ensconced in the carriage. Even at a sedate trot, she enjoyed riding. Her horse was a good tempered animal who'd become used to their children. She'd let them ride with her, but with three children it was difficult. They'd all want to ride, and there was no one she'd trust with her children atop a horse. Except Tyrion, but being a dwarf, it was hard enough for him to ride alone. She wouldn't embarrass him by asking.

They'd travelled a mile or two when Tyrion's horse appeared next to her. He rode a small bay horse, which wouldn't let anyone else except Tyrion ride him. Very temperamental horse, that one.

"You look beautiful, my lovely wife," he said quietly. She smiled at him, feeling the fresh Spring breeze across her face.

"Even with shorter hair?" she asked. After a long consideration, she'd cut it off, until the length just reached her breasts. She'd felt that a maidens hair didn't suit a respectable married woman, and while looking after three children, it did have a tendency to get in the way.

"You're beautiful," he repeated, eyes sparkling at her. "Do you know, I think I must be the envy of every Lord of the seven kingdoms. Rich, married to a beautiful woman and with everything I could ever want."

"Are you happy?" she asked.

"Most days," he said. "At least there's good Dornish wine." She smiled at that.

"And no war," she reminded him. "It's good. Not to be at war."

"Yes indeed," he agreed. "Though I'm going to miss Bron." Because there was minimal danger, and Bron hated to travel in slow trains, Tyrion hadn't asked him to join them. Instead he was to travel to Kings Landing and report back on the state of affairs there. The rumours, the supposed facts. What Littlefinger and Varys were doing, who shockingly enough had both wormed their way out of trouble and into the new Queen's favours. Daenerys still ruled, the hand of the Queen was Ser Barristan Selmy, though there were reports of his health failing. Hardly surprising at his age though. Bron would be useful there. After a few weeks, he was to ride North and join them at Winterfell. Tyrion didn't trust the ravens.

"Oh," he said, as if suddenly remembering. "You forgot this." He reached into his cloak and pulled out a fat pouch, the herbs almost spilling from it. There were several months worth in there.

"Oh, thank you!" she said, unable to believe that she'd forgotten it.

"Did you take the herbs this morning?"

"I take them every morning," she said quietly. He knew that. She saw a muscle in his jaw twitch and she suddenly felt like she'd been completely wrong footed. He didn't say anything though, but she could tell he was less than pleased. "Tyrion?" she asked, her voice pathetically quiet and timid.

"It's nothing," he said, in a tone which told her it was something. Something very important indeed.

"But…"

"We'll discuss it later," he said firmly. Before she could answer, he rode ahead of her, out of earshot. She debated catching up with him, but before she could turn, Arya appeared, racing to her. She had two rabbits hanging from a rope, and the wolf padding alongside her. She seemed pleased.

"Freshly caught this morning," she said proudly. Sansa looked at her sister contemplatively. Arya was now eighteen and had grown into a beautiful woman. But she still insisted on dressing in men's clothes, and hadn't let her hair grow beyond shoulder length. The time was coming when she was going to have to have a husband. The subject hadn't been brought up and Sansa was dreading it.

"What's wrong?" Arya asked, picking up on her sisters mood.

"Nothing."

"Sansa…" she said.

"I think Tyrion's upset with me," she admitted.

"Hmm," Arya said without adding anything more. Tyrion was not her favourite topic of conversation. She tolerated him, and didn't hate him, but asking for anything more was pushing it. There was too much past between their families, and Arya refused to let it go. No one demanded it of her either, for which she was grateful. Sansa's horse shied at the presence of the wolf, nervous with the predator. The wolf had changed allegiances and was now owned completely by Arya. Sansa had had her hands full with first two children, then three and (the wolf) Arya didn't appreciate small children. So she'd gone to her sister instead.

"Can you take the wolf away?" Sansa asked. "She doesn't like her," she added, stroking her horses mane gently.

"I'll catch up with you at the inn," Arya said, then raced away in the opposite direction to the train.

Let me know what you think, and thanks for reading.