The Edge of War's End
[AUTHOR'S NOTE] Wow! I really had no idea how much response my story would have in one day! I had time to give you chapter 2 on the same day! I really love your feedback and kind words. I'm honored you're reading.
Chapter 2:
Tyrion
Tyrion,
I might cripple your tongue and mind, but you shock me. Being that I'm a Queen, I thought your reply would be more…diplomatic. I scarcely know what could be an appropriate response.
Regardless, I am pleased you will venture here. The north always remembers. We shall never forget His Grace's kindness.
I remember lemon cakes.
Sincerely,
Queen in the North
— — — — — — — — — — —
Women would be the death of him.
— — — — — — — — — — —
Queen in the North,
I'm sorry if I offended your delicate graces. I humbly ask that you not ask for honesty from me in the future. You obviously are ill-equipped to handle it.
A bit of free council:
If we were equals, you wouldn't sign letters reminding of your pretty titles. Don't make your reign built on lies. It's far too early for that…even for you.
I remember endless stores of wine. It's a shame MY queen's dragon burnt them to a crisp.
Not sincerely,
Not the Queen in the North
— — — — — — — — — — —
What had he done? Writing drunken replies to a queen of a neighboring nation was hardly the best way to begin a tidy foreign relation.
— — — — — — — — — — —
Tyrion,
Forgive me.
The ghosts of the war still haunt me. Everything you wrote was true. I shall not have my rule based on lies. Lord Baelish taught me many lessons. I want no part of how he ruined Westeros.
I have little to say aside from a thousand apologies.
I trust few people. Although our family histories clash, I do picture a day where both of us speak freely. I might have pushed myself too far by claiming I could handle your life experience. Regardless of what I've seen, my young experience holds me hostage. I hope to be free someday.
I value your counsel.
I remember my mother brushing my hair. I miss her so.
Always,
Sansa
— — — — — — — — — — —
Tenderness.
Sansa's letter brushed against the emptiness in him, permitting a heavy sigh. He shook his head, unable to contain the way the words affected him. She was a daughter in need of her mother's guidance.
Sansa didn't need him.
Yet, the world was cruel due to the decisions of a deranged few. The rest of them had to live with the consequences. In a different world, she would have married a kind prince, virginity still intact.
The queen in the north was a woman. No longer a child. But she was still a lady. That was a miracle after the things he'd heard…the things she'd alluded to him.
He would not deprave her further. The world had done enough.
— — — — — — — — — — —
Sansa,
To make my inevitable visit more tolerable, I want to convey my sincerest apologies. My letter was disgusting. There's no excuse for such behavior to a lady of your caliber.
Admittedly, I've never been friends with a proper lady. The company of whores is more my level. It's all I'm worthy of.
That you consider me a friend is a privilege I know not what to do with. If I make you feel uncomfortable, you may command me how best I can remedy my…life experience.
You will receive this letter a few days before I arrive. We shall talk more then.
I remember my niece. I miss her so.
Yours,
Tyrion
— — — — — — — — — — —
The rocking carriage kept him awake. Winter had yet to ebb. He would never miss the foggy exhales the north made visible. No matter how many furs Bran had stocked him with, the cold paired with the fact he'd decidedly sworn off wine until he knew where he stood with the queen made for a decidedly unhappy Hand.
The caravan traversed through the north from White Harbor. Thankfully, he was alone. There was solace in his loneliness. He could make out words of those he had killed. For the moment, flashes of Varys' banter invaded his mind, casually reminding him of his true nature.
No woman would ever hold his heart or mind. Following Daenerys until the bitter end would be a sin for which he'd never atone. He'd trained his mind to steel against the delicacies of the fairer sex. Besides, who could ever love an imp who'd killed two of three of his loves?
Jaime should have lived. He should have stayed north with Brienne, but leave it to Jaime to ruin his future. It's what Lannisters did best.
Tyrion's gaze fell to his hands. These hands killed, pleasured, and hurt others. In no realm or afterlife could he be considered good.
The carriage hit a rock, breaking his dark thoughts. "What a pessimist I've become…" Peeking his head out of the door's window, he found a guard escorting him on horseback. "How much longer?"
The pale man looked to him, pointing ahead. "Look there."
"Excellent! A warm fire awaits us soon, then!" Tyrion examined the castle in the distance, passing abandoned homes and buildings along the way. The haste with which Daenerys insisted they leave for Dragonstone prevented him to really gauge the magnitude of damage Winterfell suffered.
Along the path they traveled, not bodies littered the way. Thank the Seven. From his distance, Tyrion saw parts of the castle still amongst the rubble of battle. Despite having months between that night and now, hardly any effort had been spared for the rebuilding of their capital.
The closer the caravan pulled him along, the more brutality he saw. Snow covered the horrors only so well. The piles of burnt corpses still lay to waste in the bitter temperatures.
Things were worse than what little she'd alluded to in her letters. Tyrion gasped, pulling his head back into the comfort of the carriage. Closing his eyes, he counted to whatever number he could remember. A stabbing pinch jabbed his chest with each breath. Flinching against the seat, he gripped at his chest, pulling the fabric trying to get more in with each breath.
Coughing, the Hand swallowed and shook his head back and forth. "Not again…"
A ringing burst in his ears, causing him to open his eyes, widening as his brows dipped together. His next breath shuddered out of him until he was out of air in his lungs. "Stop this, Tyrion. You're meeting Sansa in a moment. You have no time for this nonsense."
Within a moment, his body eased. He dropped his hand and tipped his head back against the carriage wall. "What I life I was spared to live."
The carriage stopped, and he was slow to stand, surveying the pelts and odds and ends he'd have to inventory later. Wiping his brow, moisture dampened the glove cloaking his appendages. "Fuck…" Patting his sleeve against his face, he did his best to dry his skin. When he felt ready, he said, "Open."
The carriage door opened swiftly, and he stepped down the steps. Once his feet hit the ground, he cast his eyes upward, immediately gravitating to the queen. Gulping, he plastered his best easy grin and pressed forward.
"Your Grace." Tyrion bowed, feeling several watchful eyes on him all around. Hearing snow crunch under shoes, he stood at his laughable height and exhaled as Sansa approached him. Her cheeks were more hollow than the Dragon's pit. The sharpness of her jawline paired with the bags under her eyes made her appear more world-weary and desperate. Despite the increased volume of her furs, she had thinned out. She was starving.
"My Lord," Sansa greeted her tone flat and voice low. "I'm pleased to see you; however, I must insist we continue within the castle at once."
"Of course, your grace."
Sansa looked to two men he did not recognize and said, "Please see to what we discussed. I will be unavailable for the rest of the day. Ensure my people are fed well."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Lord Tyrion, please follow me."
Sansa led him through the ruined castle until they arrived at her private study. The fire was already blazing, ready for their meeting. "I've located what I've been informed is our best wine for you, Tyrion. I know how uneasy the north makes you."
"Why aren't you eating?" Tyrion stepped toward her, causing her to straighten her spine.
Sansa tensed as he approached. "I do eat."
Tyrion reached for her hand, immediately feeling warmth there he hadn't expected. She'd taken off her gloves. His eyes lowered to their joined hands, gasping softly. "Apologies, Sansa," he said, eyes lowering to the side.
"No need to apologize, Tyrion. I'm honored you're concerned for my wellbeing."
Exhaling, hoping to calm his racing pulse, he stared at her. "I'm more than concerned. If things were this bad, you should have said so."
"My people have no home, their possessions are scattered amongst rubble and bodies of their families, and there is barely any food to spare." Sansa lowered to sit in her chair at the table by the fire. "They've been through enough."
Tyrion approached her, capturing her full attention. Those bright eyes set on him with an intensity he'd never noticed about her. Swallowing, he lifted his gloved hand and cupped her cheek. "You've been through enough."
"I love my people." Her words were a whisper he barely heard.
Nodding, he brushed a stray lock of hair over her shoulder. "And your people love you. You must take care of yourself, Sansa."
Sansa rolled her eyes, looking away and effectively moving away from his touch. "Yes, I'm so deprived from up in my warm room with my warm pelts."
"You agreed to my council, Sansa. You asked for my help." Tyrion lowered his hand and sat across from her at the other chair. Folding his hands in his lap, he looked to her. "You were born to be queen. I knew it from the moment we reunited here some months ago."
Sansa chuckled. "Even while you knew your queen would never let the north have independence?"
Tyrion closed his mouth, finding no words worthy to with which to reply. Shaking his head, looked to the fire, not for the first time missing Daenerys.
"You loved her, didn't you?"
Tyrion's eyes widened, snapping back to her. "Daenerys is no longer my queen. And my feelings or lack thereof for her matter not now."
"I saw it in the crypt, Tyrion. I thought I had nothing left to reason with you then. Yet you plotted with Jon to kill her."
Tyrion's brows dropped. "What do you want to know?" He leaned over, slamming his covered palm on the table, causing her to jump slightly. "Just say it." He exhaled twice until the anger subsided. Looking down, he relaxed, sitting back in his chair. "Please."
"You loved Shae, right?"
"I see no reason to bring her into this."
Sansa reached across the table for his hand, palm hovering before she touched him. Sighing, she settled her hand on the table next to his. "Tyrion, I've only heard rumors of your relations with Shae. Of what happened. I can only imagine the truth is far worse."
Tyrion's eyes watered, a tear dripping from his eyes as he glared at Sansa. "Why does any of this matter?"
Eyes following the stray tear, Sansa reached across the table and wiped her thumb at his cheekbone, catching his tear. Before he could react, she pressed her hand on his. "I grew up under the influence of horrible people. I've tried my best to do good. To be good."
Tyrion didn't move away from her touch. He sat still.
"Within the deepest parts of who I am, Tyrion, I'm exactly like Petyr and Cersei. I am a player without a game, which is dangerous. I need you to promise me something."
Straightening, he took a deep breath. "What else will you ask of me?"
Sansa's eyes became glassy, but she never left his gaze. "I love my people."
Tyrion drew his head back, rushing to stand and move toward her. "What is it you're afraid of?" He searched her eyes, gaze dropping down her face and onto her throat, noticing a gulp. A tear landed on his glove, stealing his attention. When he grazed his hand on her face, he felt her tremble. At once, he knew what she meant. "Becoming them…"
"Arya went west. Jon is exiled. Bran is in King's Landing." Sansa moved to stand, but fell, the chair toppling beside her. "Everyone I trust went away or died in battle. I have no Hand, no real council…"
"No one to tell you you're wrong." Tyrion fell to his knees beside her, almost matching her height while she wept on the stone floor. A ruler needed guidance. The principal was easy to understand. He hadn't been thinking of her when he'd suggested Brienne come to King's Landing. He'd left her defenseless and alone.
She sniffled, wiping her tears away. "I know you care about me like I care for you. You're one of the only few people I trust. You comforted me in the crypt. I thought we'd die." She shook her head and glanced up to him. "I cannot let my people's sacrifice go to waste. If I…ever…show signs…"
Tyrion's stomach lurched, the sensation so powerful he needed to steady his abdomen with a fist. His mouth hung open. "You think I could kill you because I've murdered two people I claimed to love." He reached for her face with both hands. "Is this what you're asking of me? Why you asked me to come at all?" When she didn't answer, he shoved himself away. "You said we're equals!" Why did he bring that up?
Sansa remained where she was, ensuring to never break her eyes away. "And we are! You've not denied killing people. You've admitted to whoremongering. I know you believe yourself to be bad whether you admit it here or not."
The flicker of the fire stole his focus. Closing his eyes, he desperately tried to calm the anger riling him up. "I am not having this conversation with you, Sansa. I no longer follow a queen. Do you have any idea what it's like to kill? To watch as someone's life bleed before your very eyes?"
"I do."
Tyrion's body froze. All he could do was meet her morbid gaze with trepidation. His stomach felt fuzzy and his head light.
Sansa's expression hardened. "I watched Ramsay be eaten by his hounds." A tear fell from her eyes. "I even enjoyed it."
Tyrion swallowed, unmoving from where he stood. Shaking his head, he looked away, the sadistic sparkle in her hues too much for him to bear.
"Does this make me a bad person, Tyrion? Will the Seven forgive me?"
Shoulders deflating, he turned to her. "Good people sometimes do bad things, Sansa." Carefully, he walked closer until his shoes brushed the edge of her cloak. Falling to his knees before her, he reached for her hand and kissed the back of it, thumb rubbing the spot for a moment.
She smiled. "You think I'm good?"
Tyrion only nodded. Words were useless underneath the swelling emotion rising in his throat. Smiling, he reached for her, bringing her against him. Stroking her hair, he closed his eyes. She clutched onto fabric at his back with both hands, crying into the fluffy cloak at his shoulder. Swallowing, he tried to stay his shaking hands.
Women would be the death of him.
[A/N] Please be assured, Sansa & Tyrion find each other in this story (not just literally). We'll have a dose of angst where appropriate. The main point I think is interesting is the healing after war ends. Please review!