Ah, another chapter, another day. I've never updated a chapter a day. This is weird. But nice. I like it. It keeps me jazzed!
Yes, I killed Margaery. I took the easy way out too and just had her die from fever (or something equally dark ages). Sorry. I love Margaery. She's Sansa's only friend who has no interest in using her as a pawn. But it had to be done. Logistically. You'll understand soon.
The song for this chapter is My Immortal originally by Evanescence but I used the Vitamin Piano Series. Truly beautiful.
TISSUE ALERT! You have been warned.
Connect with me!
twitter: teamdemonmonkey
facebook: teamdemonmonkey fanfiction
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the Iron Throne, not the North and definitely not Tyrion Lannister. But oh the things I could do if I did.
Chapter Seven: My Immortal
Margaery's death hit the capitol hard, casting a gloom over everyone. The peasants liked her because of her generosity, the nobles because she was the queen, and a good one at that. But Tyrion didn't care about any of them but Sansa. She was the last person to have seen the queen aside from Maester Pycelle and apparently her last words haunted his wife. She confined herself to their room, staring out the window and crying one day, throwing her things around angrily the next. Tyrion had tried at first to offer comfort and calm but Sansa had pushed him away inexplicably, saying that she needed space to sort through her feelings. He would never force himself upon her in any manner and so he attended to his new problem of finding money to pay back the Iron Bank. He would stay up working long past moonrise and when he went to their rooms, Sansa would usually be slipping fitfully. He would climb into bed and hold her, watching her distress and pain ease slightly at the contact. Then he was up again before dawn, casting a loving and pained glance at her before he left.
He didn't know what to do about it and after several weeks of this new pattern, he was ready to start throwing things himself. He hadn't been able to find a solution to their debt yet and Varys had come to him weeks ago to tell him that a little bird had told him Daenerys Targaryen was boarding a fleet of ships with an army at least thirteen thousand strong and sailing for Westeros and the Iron Throne. This news was not well received since everyone blamed him, accusing him of failing to pay the debt so that the bank funded her assault on them. Tyrion tried to explain that he was still negotiating with the bank, that they had not written him off yet, but no one cared. He was their scapegoat and the false blame only fueled his anger and frustration. He was determined to find a solution but the imminent invasion called for him to find money to defend the city first. Reports claimed that Daenerys would be there within the fortnight.
Tywin had called a war council and demanded that Tyrion be there. He was unsure as to why be had a very good idea of what his father wanted. He hadn't been disappointed. As he walked back to his chambers, his heart was heavy, his stomach weighted down with lead. It hadn't been good news and he was loathe to share it with Sansa who was already in such a precarious emotional state, he wasn't sure she wouldn't fling herself from the window upon its utterance. He pushed open the door slowly and was surprised to find Sansa sitting at a table doing needlepoint. He entered cautiously in case she was in the mood to throw something at him.
"Sansa," he said quietly and she turned to him and graced him with a bright smile. It took him off guard after over a month of her tears and depressed spirits. He hadn't realized how much he missed it, almost like sunshine and warmth after a cold winter's day. It warmed him completely, filling his tired and depressed soul with light and strength. He strode to her, pulling her into a heated kiss, the first kiss they had shared in weeks. He kissed him back, her hands moving into his hair and pulling his face to hers, holding it there. He squeezed her to him, unable to stand any distance between them. She pulled from the kiss, breathless but eyes shining and rested her forehead against his.
"I'm sorry I pushed you away. Please forgive me," she whispered. He raised her chin with his thumb and brushed his lips over hers softly.
"There's nothing to forgive, darling," he said. She shook her head.
"There is. There are so many things that I need to beg your forgiveness for. But first you must tell me of the council with your father. Why did he want you there?" Tyrion's heart dropped. He had told her where he was going today, trying to include her in his routine, to have some semblance of the open marriage they had been enjoying before Margaery's death. He hadn't expected to come back to find her demeanor changed.
"Perhaps we should speak of something else," he said evasively, moving to pour them both a glass of wine.
"Is it that bad," he heard he ask faintly behind him and he sighed, setting the wine down. He turned to face her and he saw just how weakly she was holding herself together. It was as if she were holding a shattered wine glass, attempting to make it keep its shape while wine poured through the cracks and through her fingers. He approached her, taking her hands in his and feeling the trembling of her fingers.
"My father, Joffrey and I will be leading an ambush. We are going to try and head them off before they can reach the capitol. And… we leave in the morning," he said and she bowed her head, shaking it from side to side. "It will be fine," he started but she cut him off.
"No it won't," she said, raising her head and he could see her face contorted in pain, the tears already streaming down her face. "It won't be fine. I have heard what people are saying about this girl and her army. She has dragons, Tyrion. No one will get close enough to her to stand a chance." She stood, pacing around the room while he watched helplessly. "You can't go. I won't let you. We can leave the city. We'll sneak out. We can ask Lord Varys to assist us."
"Sansa," he said but she continued, muttering to herself and pacing around the room like the caged wolf of her house. "Sansa!" She stopped, her eyes flying to his at his raised voice. He shook his head.
"We cannot escape this. No," he reiterated when she made to argue. "We cannot escape this. I must go with my father in the morning." She sat down, dejected. "But if this is to be the last night that I see your beautiful face, I do not want tears," he said, gently wiping away the tears and she smiled sadly at him.
"If this is to be your last night with me," she said softly, "I plan to make it the most memorable night of your life." She pressed her lips to his softly, deepening it when he moved his hands to cup her face.
Later, as they quietly in bed, his hands moving through her hair and her hands brushing along his jaw tenderly, he knew that this was the moment, his last chance to tell her that he loved her, to let her know that if he didn't come back, she would always have his heart and soul and everything attached to it. If he didn't tell her now, he would never get the chance to.
"Sansa," he murmured softly. "If I… If I don't come back, I have to tell you-" She stopped his mouth with her fingers, replacing them softly with her lips.
"You are going to come back to me," she whispered determinedly. "This is not the end." He stared into her eyes, desperately wanting to believe her.
"But if I don't," he continued but she shook her head.
"You will come back to me. I cannot bear to think about alternatives, Tyrion. I will not survive your absence if I consider the possibility that we will not see each other again. You have gone into battle before and come back alive. Injured, yes. Scarred, yes. But you came back. That is all I want to think about." She kissed him again, lifting her body back onto his and he found it impossible to argue, clinging to her hope like a lifeline.
