A/N: I will be wrapping this story before episode 8x04, but I have so many ideas and more... I have at least one more part to write, and if I have the time another one. Let's see how I fare.

A/N: I don't hate Daenerys per se. I even wrote five years ago a fanfiction where she and Jon had to get married after Cersei and Tommen had been defeated, where it was agreed that since she could not have children and Jon had taken a vow by becoming a man on the wall, they had agreed that the throne would be inherrited by Sansa and Tyrion's brats. Point is: I believe that things have been going too well for Daenerys for a long time, and given the Targyaren propension to burn everything down, I really worry about her. I hope I'll manage to convey this in the next chapter. But yeah, some Dany not too kind feelings in this chapter.

As he rode in Daenerys' coach, Tyrion found himself wishing he was anywhere but there.

They had been on the road for over a month now, and the dead from the battle of Winterfell had been put to rest over four months ago, nearly five. In the meantime, as they discussed strategy, nitpicked, overthought, underthought if such a thing was possible, and more, he had been inhabited with feelings, those he usually buried under alcohol. However, since that night in the crypt, he found it less appealing. What had been ignited then, perhaps ignited again even, he did not want to stop feeling it, ever. He felt like he had awaken from a slumber, like he was coming out of his cocoon or something along those lines. For so long he had self-medicated his feelings, even those he did not have but feared he might experience, he just did not want to go back there. He did not want to miss a thing, whether it was a sting as he remembered his father's disdain, his anger at his brother's holier-than-thou attitude, or this butterfly feeling he felt in his stomach when his stare fell upon a red-haired woman he longed to call his.

Time had not been spent idly, otherwise he would have won his wife already, or so he often told himself, trying to bide himself some hope and patience. Ever since their conversation in the crypt, it felt like people were conspiring to make sure they were never left alone anymore. If he did not know better, he would have suspected the ghost of Lord Baelish to be plaguing them so.

Littlefinger had been buried in an unmarked grave, but Arya had managed to let him know that she had severed the attributes he was know for and had fed them to some stray dogs. Tyrion had smiled, feeling slightly vindicated. If the man had not interfered, and sparked the Lannister and Stark feud every chance he got, perhaps things would have turned differently… Or maybe they had needed for this despiteful man to spew hatred between them so that Joffrey would think it was a good trick to play on both his uncle and his former fiancé to have them tie the knot.

Speaking of the younger Stark girl, since Sansa had told him their big secret, he could see the way her figure changed, but it was so light that most people just assumed that she was filling up, becoming a young woman and leaving her girl body behind. However, he knew better. He had held her hair once while she threw up her stomach's content. No words had been exchanged, though he had no doubt that if he had initiated any kind of small talk, she probably would have stabbed him in the eye. However, from their silent interaction, he understood that Sansa ha told her sister about letting him know about her condition. He wondered how that conversation had gone, especially in a castle where everybody surrounded everyone else all the time. It really had felt like Winterfell could not take the toll of hosting all of them, and that their departure was needed.

It was still winter, and no one knew how long it would last, therefore their first few weeks on the roads had been laborious, having to deal with the snow without the precious accommodation that the castle had provided.

Yet, here they were. The Targyaren queen, the Stark siblings, including the three-eyed raven, alongside their men and more who had rallied them. Even Tormund was part of the trip, looking terribly out of place, but having said that he had lost his woman one too many times to let her out of his sight again. Brienne had knocked him out for uttering such words, but Tyrion could not blame the wildling for his feeling. His phrasing could have been more refined, that was for certain, but this was exactly what he would have shouted if anybody had tried to dissuade Sansa to come along on this trip. He liked to believe he would have stayed behind in Winterfell with her, but he was still Hand to the queen, a pin which felt heavier and heavier on his chest every day that went by.

"Lord Tyrion," Daenerys said, and he turned to face her.

She had done a superb job of ignoring him for the past four weeks or so, only listening to him when she took advice from her small council. It had given him perspective, reinforced by that provided by his new philosophy in life. All his life, he had pined for women who wanted something from him. Tysha perhaps had been the exception, but then again they were only married for a fortnight before his father did what he did best. Shae had expected to be lifted out of her condition, Cersei had expecting him to stand and take each blow she felt like dealing him, while savoring his pain. Daenerys made him believe he was a brilliant mastermind, which he was, period, but in doing so, she had created a fake infatuation in him for her. He had needed to be needed.

Sansa did not expect anything from him. She had no plans for what he would provide her if she let him in her skirts. She just valued him, as a man, as someone who had been her partner during dark times. She could survive on her own, even though she was a social creature. She had been burnt too many times, and she did not let herself hope or long for anything anymore. Therefore, when she had come to him, to let him know about Arya's condition, it had not been about having him pull some strings for herself. It had been about doing the only thing she knew how to do, take care of her people. She did not have a hidden purpose, a secret agenda. She only wanted to make her mother proud while trying to take care of everyone she could.

He had seen her interact with Little Sam, and had known instinctively how she was able to compartmentalize, between the maiden who wished she would get her shot at motherhood, while also deeply caring about how the young boy was doing, just because he was one of her subjects.

"Varys tells me you have started a stupid game with Sansa," Daenerys said finally, and swore to himself that he would squash any spider that he ever got to meet, until the day he died.

"I am certain I do not know what you mean. Lady Sansa and…."

"How come you call her "lady" and I've barely heard a "my queen" addressed my way in days, weeks even?

Was she jealous? He could not help but remember the Targyaren tamper. They could tame dragons, sure, but there was a price to pay for this skill, or so he believed more and more.

"You know very well my queen that Lady Sansa were wed many cycles ago, that we share an history that nothing can undermine," he said, speaking the truth yet making sure he did not let his passion shine further into his words.

"She hates me."

"Milady does not hate, it's a commoner's feeling. She disapproves, at best," he offered, though he wondered if Daenerys was right, and furthermore, if it made any difference to him.

The two women could not see eye to eye, but it was natural, given one was coming to reap the benefit of the hard work had done to reunite the North. He was quite possibly biased.

"I don't need her disapproval. I've too much on my plate. I'm so close to getting everything I worked for."

"My advice would be to ignore her then, plain and simple."

Something he would be utterly unable to do.

"I pondered for weeks about whether I could tell you what I found out on the night of the battle, given your connection to Sansa, but as we approach King's Landing, I need to trust my Hand, or get a new one," she announced, and several thoughts ran through his mind.

It had been five months since the battle, and she had kept secrets from her Hand? Why did it not bother him more? Did it have anything to do with his Lady? Then it would be something else altogether.

"I'm all ears, my queen," he said.

He noticed that she knocked a couple of times on the roof of the coach, prompting Dothraki riders to surrender them, blocking anyone from spying.

"Jon Snow told me that he had discovered that he was the son of my brother Rhaegar, and Lyanna Stark. He was named Aegon by his parents before they had to give him away to Ned Stark in order to protect him from Robert Baratheon's wrath."

"Oh."

Yes, sometimes, he was witty beyond what could be expected.

"He is therefore…"

"My nephew. That is not my issue," she said curtly.

Targyarens… Then again, given his siblings' history he was not sure he got to judge how others lived.

"As your brother's heir, Jon Snow has a better claim to the Iron Throne than you do," he whispered as the thought dawned on him.

"He says he doesn't want it, that he never wanted it. The thing that perturbs him the most is the fact that we are related," she went on, looking especially annoyed at this tidbit.

"The Starks were never big on incest," he said.

"He's no Stark. He's a Targyaren, and if people learn his true parentage, he could overthrow me."

"Have you… Have you been intimate since this revelation? Forgive me for asking such a personal question…"

"Nonsense. We haven't. As I said, he focuses on the wrong part of this problem. I wonder if we can salvage what we had."

He wondered too, but would not say it out loud. If they did not mend their relationship, he feared Daenerys might decide to end him, to make sure he would never take her place. He hated that his mind went there, but the look in the dragon queen's eyes had led him there. Jon Snow, or whatever his name was, had to embrace the Targyaren way of love, or he would be endangering his family.

"I thought about putting Sansa and that dirty child, Arya, in chains, in order for him to convince me of his intentions, but since he took a knee in front of me, ages ago, I am not sure there are words he could say that would have speak louder than what he did then. Therefore, I was thinking of finding a knight I relied upon and marry him to Sansa, so that she would stay in Winterfell with him, and Jon would slowly forget about the way Starks did things."

He held his breath. Was she suggesting…?

"Who might be worthy of her, in your opinion? I don't want to blow this trick and have it backfire by pairing her with someone who would not respect her, no matter how much I sometime have to fight the urge to remind her that I am her rightful queen."

If she had had one of her dragons blew fire in his face, it would have felt gentler. He was not on the list. She had never considered letting him claim back his wife.

"My queen, don't you think she would trust a man she had once been married to and had treated her nicely?" He stuttered.

"Varys told me you nursed this delusion. The Queen's Hand will have to be at King's Landing, and Sansa would always be a wedge between me and her brother."

She was so cold. Ice cold. For someone who had been born under the burning sun, she seemed to share the same cold blood that ran through her dragons' veins.

"It is no delusion. No one is irreplaceable. I have led an unhealthy life, my heart could give out at any second, and you would have to find another Hand. Life is unpredictable."

"Missandei was right, you have feeling for the little tart…"

He bit his tongue. It was a fight for another day. Unknowingly, she had given him leverage. She wanted Jon Snow to be her consort, and she would not get him back if she did anything to his sister.

They had not talk about their familial piety lately, but he could tell from having seen how Jon Snow fretted over his …. Cousins? That he still considered them his flesh and blood, his true siblings, and that he would kill anyone who did anything to them. Perhaps it would also come in handy when Arya popped her baby, if someone had the misfortune of spilling the Baratheon's beans.

Tyrion looked at the queen, mimicking the way he used to, before everything. He had liked or loved her ruthlessness, the fact that she was willing to fight for what she thought was hers. However, he was realizing she had never seen that they were cut from the same cloth. She had seen his strategic acumen, but she had been short-sighted, in not noticing that he had debts to settle, fight to lead, and more. If getting revenge for all the shit he had gotten in life had fueled him before, he had another star guiding him, true north. Her hair was red like fire, and though she had grown up in the coldest weather of the Seven Kingdoms, she was warmed than girls from the rest of the world.

There was some yelling, and the coach stopped.

"What's going on?" Daenerys asked, and he opened the door to enquire.

His eyes met Sansa, who was in the coach behind them and had done the same.

"Milady?" He asked.

"It's Nymeria," she said, as if she did not expect it to make any sense to him.

Yet it did. Arya had jumped off the coach where she had been hiding and was reuniting with her direwolf.

Tyrion felt sorrow, as he remembered what had happened to Sansa's pet. The woman had never gotten a break from any despair, or so it really felt.

He got out of the coach, telling the queen he would be right back, then surrounded himself in the fur coats he still needed.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he whispered to the lady of Winterfell.

She gave him a look, as if she could not believe he knew what he was talking about, but he did, and tears formed in her eyes.

"Goddamn Cersei. Goddamn Joffrey," she whispered.

"It's a good thing Jon went ahead," Arya interrupted them with huge wolf by her side. "Nymeria is heavy. Given how likely the chances are that there are more direwolves anywhere, I'm guessing she took a page from the Targyaren love book and had a tryst with Ghost."

"You ladies know?" He uttered, hoping no one had heard them.

They nodded, and he was amazed by their loyalty to their brother, for he clearly was not a cousin in their book.

"When she gives birth, you should have one from the litter," Arya told her sister. "It's only fair."

"I won't be able to explain why I'm weeping, but that is what will happen if you people keep on crushing my emotions like it's just another day," Sansa said, forcing a smile on her face. "Thank you, sister, I would be delighted to take care of any present you decide to bless me with, but let's not consider retribution or anything of the sort. It would just be you making up for all the birthdays you missed."

"What should I tell Daenerys?" Tyrion interrupted them, not wanting to do anything that would put the women in jeopardy.

"Tell her the caravan can go on. If she asks why we stop, tell her my direwolf came back after years of being gone. She loves her dragon, and Jon, she had seen how he is with Ghost, she should be able to understand. She'll probably be prissy about the fact that we stopped for little old me to be reunited with my wolf, but she'll let it slide," Arya said.

"I shall."

He did not realize he had not moved until the brunette cleared her throat.

"Just get married again already," she said, and he knew it was a joke, but there was a light in Sansa's eyes.

"If I have my way, we'll do soon," he said, feeling proud as he told the younger sister that he intended to be her brother-in-law once again, and knowing that she did not seem to find the idea so surprising. "Let's just kill Cersei, and then we'll be able to have the fanciest wedding you never dreamt you had…."

"You forgot to ask me if I wanted to," Sansa said.

"You don't fool me," he said with a wink. "But do put a fight of wit. I believe it will make it even more evident for you how well suited we are for each other."

"Plus, when it happens, you'll have a direwolf, sister. That will keep the Imp on his toes," Arya said.

"I'm always on my toes when It comes to your sister. Her fault for being so tall," he said with laughter in his eyes.

"Oh my Gods, what did I ever do to deserve you?"

"Does she mean you or me?" He asked Arya.

"Probably both…. Quick, people are coming, go back with the ice queen."

He did so, his heart light in a way it had almost never been before. If Arya, the lady of Death, blessed their union, what could Daenerys really do about it?

He hid his thought as he climbed back in the coach and told the story of the missing and recovered direwolf. Daenerys started talking about Jon Snow. He tuned it out, as he considered how such a small exchange could make his hear sing with joy.

Doves… He would not let himself whisper of a dream, yet it was the thought that made everything bearable.

A/N: Your words make it possible for me to stay up so late and write even though I should be in bed. Therefore please review, if you want to make my day (and night)!