The Edge of War's End

[AUTHOR'S NOTE] I really tried to deliver on my promise. Sorry in advance.

Chapter 4:

Tyrion

The first month came and left as quickly as Daenerys' reign over the Seven Kingdoms. While Sansa was no closer to naming a Hand—or anyone on her Small Council—Tyrion was proud of Winterfell's progress. Sansa approached the Vale with a vital trade deal: one thousand dragonglass weapons in exchange for enough to pursue the most important parts of the castle repairs and a few months of contingency for food with King's Landing.

Word of what she'd secured reached the farthest edges of Winterfell: to all subjects save one exiled pack member. Sansa swore they weren't close, but Tyrion recognized complicated familial love. Jon trusted her not to tell a soul of his parentage. In exchange for her treachery, she was given a crown, while he was exiled.

Well, Tyrion supposed he was now missing. Rumors eluded him fleeing with the Wildlings. He really was gone. It wasn't his place or responsibility, but he'd promised her she'd see him again one day. She knew better than to believe a half-man's lie, but at least she'd stopped avoiding him.

Somehow, they'd fallen into a comfortable routine—one where she did not kiss his palm and he did not think about fucking her. It was for the best.

The weight in Sansa's cheeks returned: mostly. He shared his modest meals with her each night. He told her his stories about how he escaped Westeros and happened upon a queen in need of a Hand, and she settled on several ordinances until a proper creed could be laid down with the various lords across Winterfell, including appointing new faces to those families wiped out with the Great War.

Sharing their meal tonight, their routine broke. Sansa was whisked away after being told something whispered in her ear by a small boy. She'd asked him to stay in her office.

That had been two hours ago.

The doors burst open, revealing Sansa once again. Her eyes were red and puffy. He leaped from his chair and rushed to her side, taking her hand unconsciously. "What is it, Sansa?"

Her fingers closed around his. Sniffling, she wiped her eyes. "Reports from White Harbor. A band of stray Dothraki killed over twenty people before leaving the city." Her hand shook. Letting go of his hand, she moved to sit in his chair, which was closest to the raging fire. "Most of them were killed, but the strongest fled the city. They're on the way here to assassinate me."

Tyrion gasped, rushing back to her side. "I learned a few words while traveling with Daenerys," he whispered. "Perhaps I could negotiate."

"They rape and pillage!" Sansa shouted. "They're mongrels!"

Tyrion brushed hair out of her face, cupping her cheek. "I won't let them look at you, alright?"

"I knew this was a possibility, but I thought we'd be better equipped and fortified! The gates are still broken!" Sansa worked at her pelt around her shoulders, stripping off the heavy piece. She wore a dark grey ensemble underneath. "Tyrion, if they find me I will kill myself! I will not be had again…"

"Don't speak of such nonsense." Tyrion pulled her into him, but she collapsed on the floor. When he touched her again to help steady her, her whole body trembled, but her eyes were solid, clear. Sansa really meant to kill herself if it came to it. "It won't come to that. I won't allow it."

"I can't stay in my room, Tyrion!" Sansa clutched his shirt, pulling it from his waistband. "Please let me stay with you. Theon's dead. Jon's missing. Arya's Gods know where…"

Tyrion's whole body warmed and froze all at once. "I'm not sure that's proper…"

"For fuck's sake, Tyrion! This is my life, what's left of me! Let people whisper. I don't care! I can't be alone!"

He flinched, unprepared for that language on her lips. "As you wish."

"You can't go outside until they're killed. If they see you here, it could start a new war!"

"My life doesn't matter right now." Tyrion wiped tears from her face. "All that matters is you. You're safe, Sansa."

"How do you know?"

Tyrion smiled. "Your people love you. They're armed with the weapons we used to defeat the Undead." He kissed her forehead, lingering far too long to be considered appropriate. His blood rushed all around. Thinking clearly since coming had proved to be almost impossible, but her life hung in the balance. The whole Undead army could resurrect once more, but he would defend her until he drew his last breath if needed. His life was meaningless, and that would be the most honorable way to die for someone as unworthy as him. "It's a force to reckon with."

Sansa's sobbing quieted, but she said nothing in return. Instead, she simply rested her forehead against his chest. He reached for her hair, gently stroking the soft tendrils there.

"My watch continues…"

— — — — — — — — — — —

"I've sent ravens to both Bran and Lord Royce." Sansa absently said from the desk in Tyrion's guest room. "I hope it reaches us in time." The wood chair squeaked as she turned back. "I'm sorry if what I said earlier disturbed you, Tyrion."

Facing the fire, Tyrion waved a hand over his shoulder. "I suppose I'd say the same thing if I had a c…was a woman." Downing the last of his wine bottle, he sighed. "The destruction of King's Landing is a day I shall never forget," he muttered. From where he sat on the floor, the heat from the hearth reached out, licking his face—even all the way through his beard. Screams, the smell of burning flesh, and the distant cry of surrender bells swirled around his mind.

"In the wake of burning corpses, the Dothraki managed to find dozens…maybe hundreds, of women and girls to violate. They had no preference for how they took them." The fire cracked, and he closed his eyes. "Some of them were even dead. Those men would fuck anything-"

"Stop."

"It was all in Daenerys' name…" Tyrion dipped his head back, holding his tongue out as he tipped the bottle over him. A few drops rained down into his mouth, earning a lazy grin. "When it was all over, the Dragon Queen did nothing to them. No punishment or a breath of reprimand." Wobbling, he stood, preferring the fire's song that stole his focus than the idea of turning around to face Sansa. "Though raped herself, she condoned such behavior in the name of liberation…"

Burping, he wiped his mouth. When did the intoxication set in? He'd been careful to drink slow. Hadn't he? "Can't remember…" he drawled, his voice sing-song and joyful. Tyrion shifted his attention to his feet, seeing several empty wine bottle surrounding him. "Well, that's not good."

"You're drunk." Tyrion jumped, legs unsteady. Hands caught his shoulders. "Careful…" Sansa's breath teased the back of his neck, sending his nerves ablaze. "What about your watch?"

Tyrion winced. Her voice was no longer warm, inviting. The deflection of the last words from her lips cut him deeper than any pain he'd endured in recent memory. Dipping his brows, he curled his top lip and whipped around. "You asked me to be who I am!"

For once, he looked down on her. Sansa sat with her legs stretched together under her simple, elegant dress. She'd lifted the pelts from her shoulders. At this angle, he noticed the curve of her breasts and her narrow waist. Throwing his hands up, he gestured to himself. "This is who I am!" The corner of his mouth stretched up. "I drink, and I know things…"

Sansa's eyes were wet, and they danced in his shadow up at him, searching for answers he knew not to give. "You're so much more than that, Tyrion." While she made no move to touch him, she didn't move back away from him. Their mouths were so close. All he had to do was reach for her.

He did not.

"You're a good and generous man, Tyrion. You've restored honor to House Lannister."

Tyrion softly chuckled. "If you believe that to be true…" Shaking his head, his eyes sobered. "Then you're more naïve than I thought." He walked around her, hearing her adjust her skirts to keep her heavy gaze on him.

"I was right about the Dragon Queen. I took out Baelish before he could use me any further. He, too, thought me naïve." Sansa curled her legs closer to her, no longer relaxed. "You said it yourself."

Tyrion looked over his shoulder. "And what was that?"

Squaring her shoulders, Sansa took a deep breath. "Everyone who has ever crossed me is dead."

"Is that supposed to be a threat, Sansa Stark?"

Sansa rolled her eyes. "If you think I'm capable of hurting you, then you really are just an old, drunken fool."

"What if I am just an old, drunken fool, Sansa?" They shared a look, both remaining apart until Tyrion sighed. For some reason, his boots were now the most fascinating object in all of Winterfell. He flinched when he heard her skirts shifting. After a breath, he boldly stole a glance at her, seeing her straightening her skirts back to her original, relaxed posture by the fire. Legs outstretched, hair braided out of her face and flowing over her breasts and down to her waist, she looked otherworldly.

"Do you want to know one thing the Dragon Queen took from me?"

Brows twitching toward his nose, Tyrion faced her and stepped a few paces closer. "Tell me."

Sansa moved her hands to her hair, twirling the ends absently. "She stole the possibility of my words carrying weight to you."

Tyrion's chest constricted, aching until he had to comfort himself with his own hand on the afflicting spot. Rubbing the fabric above his heart, he swallowed, looking away. "That's not-"

"It is." Sansa nodded. "You can't even look at me when you lie, Tyrion."

A few steps toward her eased the burning in his chest. While dangerous, proximity to her offered him a momentary peace. The last person to make him feel this way, however briefly, he'd killed with his hare hands. "I don't want to hurt you."

Sansa glanced down, darting to her fidgeting hands. Fiery strands coiled around her pale finger, entrancing him. "Let's not build our friendship based on lies."

"Even if the truth kills you?"

"Wouldn't it be nice to have an equivalent exchange of honesty and trust with even one person?"

"In a perfect world, Sansa…" He took another few steps toward her, standing almost as close as he had previously.

Lifting her gaze to his, Sansa gasped, exhaling loudly afterward. "I'm tired of hiding behind pretty, diplomatic smiles and miserable, blank expressions, Tyrion." She reached for his hair, lowering her hand through his beard and twisting the hair between her fingers. Her eyes narrowed as if questioning herself.

A stray finger brushed his cheek, and he felt her shaking. He took her hand and couldn't stop himself from leaning in. "Sansa…"

"Since leaving Winterfell all those years ago, my heart has deflated of emotion. One by one. Joffrey broke me. He took my father from me. One by one, men used me, killed my family, and started wars in my name." Sansa curled her fingers around his hand. "I thought Ramsay would watch me for the rest of my life, lingering just beyond my shoulder."

Tyrion lowered his head to hers, bringing her hand to his chest. "Sansa..."

"I feel again, Tyrion." Sansa closed her eyes. "When the clouds lift away, and the sun, for a brief moment, shines on my face, I feel it. I touch the snow, and the cold stings my fingers again."

Swallowing, she nuzzled against him gently. "When Arya rode away, my heart broke. And when Jon fled north, the armor he'd sheltered me with disappeared." Tyrion moved his nose against hers, lifting his jaw and angling himself above her mouth. He reached around and settled a hand at the back of her neck, searching her eyes. "I'm naked, alone, alive and broken."

Sansa brushed her mouth against his, her touch fragile and delicate. "Break with me, Tyrion."

"Seven hells."

Tyrion shoved his lips to hers, eyes sagging closed and throat holding a guttural moan hostage. He parted his mouth to take them deeper, but her lips stayed closed. Touching the tip of his tongue against her lower lip, she tentatively obeyed him and opened slightly. Together, they stilled as he approached her tongue with his own. He drew back, but she chased his lips, capturing him and enslaving him.

The hand gripping the back of her hair tightened, clutching her hair and guiding it over her shoulder. She reached around and gathered the rest of her hair over her opposite shoulder.

They touched their tongues together, his more eager and hers unsure. The moan caught in his throat escaped just as she gasped. He'd never kissed a highborn lady before. Gone was the frenzied tongue war he was used to: replaced by an unyielding tenderness and peace. He slowed his perusal of her mouth and lowered his hand from her shoulder to the center part of the back of her dress, fingers crawling upward until he found the topmost buttons holding her dress together.

His mouth, still sealed on hers, distorted Sansa's moan. He tinkered with the top button until it gave way, moving onto the next few until he earned a small opening from her high collar. Tyrion unlatched only a few more until he was able to pry the stiff fabric away from her throat.

Sansa shivered as the cool night air seeped over her exposed skin. Tyrion's mind blurred with the promise of passion and protection in her arms. Bending the top of her dress back, he earned a better view of the top of her chest.

Never had the sight of a collarbone aroused him, but there was certainly a first for everything.

Hands moved to his back, stroking the many layers of clothes there. Opening his eyes, he reached for her jaw, which he lifted with his hand as he eased her back on the floor. Her long hair spilled back over her shoulders, but she didn't try and cover herself. They both heaved and gasped for air, desperate for something he could not name. "Sansa…"

He shifted over her, instantly freezing when his erection found the valley between her legs. At that exact moment, Sansa moaned, echoing and bouncing all around them. A bead of sweat pooled down his nose and dropped onto her dress. Had he been a grown man, he could both suck at her nape and earn that same noise from her all at once.

Tyrion moved toward her chest, lowering his mouth onto the nape of her neck. Sansa titled her head to the side, exposing more skin to his exploration. Grabbing a fist full of her hair, he teased her flesh with his mouth, sucking and warming her with his tongue. He shocked himself when he growled after she curled her fingers around his belt. The action sent a shockwave across his body, encouraging him to feast more ardently at the spot he claimed. His whole body shook, trembling in the wake of Sansa's demolition, breaking down walls he'd fortified ages ago. Tyrion chanced a light nip at her skin, earning him a wanton moan emerging from the deepest part of her perfect chest. The noise vibrated against his mouth.

Sansa adjusted her legs underneath him. "Tyrion…"

Of all the exotic lands he'd seen and foreign languages he'd heard in his life, his name on her lips brought his cock to full attention, hard and ready for her.

Sansa reached for his hand, claiming it as he descended her body to allow her body to cradle him once more. Placing a gentle kiss between her breasts, Tyrion arched his back and ground his cock at her center. Though they both had many layers between them, he felt her sweet warmth.

"Fuck, Sansa." Was she wet for him? Did she need him as much as he needed her? Would she come for him? Could she break for him? He was so close.

Sharp gasps and guttural moans were all she was capable of saying in response to his attention. His arms shook, so he alleviated the pressure by resting his head on her breasts, increasing his speed. "Come for me, Sansa." Slamming his eyes shut, he suppressed the pressure burning his cock.

Sansa held his hand tighter the faster he worked them. Clothes had never felt more like a prison cell. He wanted to feel her against his bare flesh for hours. It would never be enough.

"Tyr…"

He looked up, seeing her bite her lip and squeeze her brows together. "Come for me." Arching her back, she shook against him. Her moan was quiet, desperate. "Break with me, Sansa."

Tyrion moved a hand, cupping her arched waist to steady himself against her. Fixing his eyes on her face, he knew he wouldn't last much longer. Tears glossed her eyes, and the fire radiated off her smooth skin. In the low, flickering light, her hair looked like real fire emerging from her skull.

Sansa was a goddess between his hands.

It was too late. He couldn't stop his body from erupting in the passion she'd inspired within him, evoking fresh, but ancient emotion long thought dried up.

"Tyrion…I…I think I'm…" Sansa shivered underneath him.

His throat swelled, blocking off whatever he wanted to whisper or promise to her then. Three more pumps into her skirts were all he could handle before he surrendered to her.

"Sansa I'm-"

Gasping, she opened her mouth and gasped. "Breaking."

Tyrion gulped, watching her break apart with him. Her eyes were closed, but she bit her lip again. Sansa was overcome with the passion he'd given her. Tyrion had done this, gotten her to this place. The sounds and sights of this moment he would never forget.

His pants were wet, but he stayed there, watching her fly back down from the heavens. Back to him.

"I've never…felt that before."

He didn't know if it was the words or the way she'd spoken them, but Tyrion's eyes widened. "You've never had an orgasm?"

A blush bloomed on her cheeks. "A what?"

"Fuck." Tyrion bolted upright, rubbing his face with the hand he'd pulled out from hers. "Fuck!" When he attempted to climb to stand, she reached for his face, snagging his attention back to her. He pulled away and grabbed her wrist tightly. "I'm drunk!" Tears stung his eyes.

"Don't leave me, Tyrion. Don't pull away!"

Tyrion threw her hands away from him. "No, this isn't right!"

"What's not right about it?"

"You're a girl." Tyrion turned from her. "You're a queen!"

He heard her rush to stand. "No, we're equals!"

Tyrion's eyes watered. He whipped around and seethed, head shaking. "No, Sansa! You've been brutally fucked by one single madman, while I've fucked dozens, possibly more than a hundred whores."

Sansa's face broke, tears pouring down her cheeks. He should have just slapped her. Why couldn't he shut up? He only ruined things and hurt people. The weight of the guilt her pain inspired in him crippled him much like his own brother and sister under the stones. He wanted to vomit.

"I'm a Lannister. You're not just a queen, but the Queen in the North. You're a Stark. A highborn lady undeserving of my impish attention."

The pain breaking her perfect features cooled, fixing almost as quickly as she had broken. She flattened her brows and mouth but made no attempt to wipe her tears. "I trusted you." Her chin trembled, despite the effort she poured in regaining her composure. He could see how much she was fighting. It was there in her eyes, which glistened in the firelight. Bowing lazily, She turned around and opened the door without fixing her buttons that he'd undone.

"Good night, My Lord."

"Sansa…" A tear left his eye. The door closed, and he fell to his knees.

[A/N] Ok. I'm going to stop promising lighter chapters, because the next one is a bit heavy, too. You will all have a bit of fluff in no time, but they apparently need to sort out their emotional trauma first. Please review!