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Wishes
At the same time, as Jaime and Brienne were in the woods, Tyrion sought out Sansa. Jaime had told him of their conversation. She was pouring over papers again; apparently this was about supplies. Tyrion wondered if he might help – he had been Master of Coin – but that was not why he was here. "Do you remember…." He began, "back when we were married, you told me that courtesy is a woman's armor."
Sansa smiled at him. "My Septa taught me that," she said, "Why do you ask?"
"From what I hear from Jaime," he continued, "you no longer adhere to that philosophy."
Now she laughed, quite loud. "You're right," she said, cheerfully. "I left my armor behind in the South. Are you very disappointed?"
"No," he replied. "No, actually I'm not. I rather prefer it, to be honest, but it was somewhat disconcerting."
"I have changed rather a lot over the years," Sansa said, her eyes becoming a little cooler. "I don't wish to be a pawn any longer."
Tyrion nodded. "I understand," he said. "I thoroughly disliked that too."
"Jon," she said. "Jon thinks Arya and I should make suitable matches."
"But you're not inclined to," he gathered.
She smiled. "No, I'm not, and Arya….. well, she certainly isn't."
Tyrion knew he shouldn't – he really should not – but he dared asked the question. "Who would you… marry?" he asked. "Or rather, what characteristics should a husband of yours possess?"
"Oh," Sansa said, "well, other than the usual… You know, coming from a good decent House, politically helpful and so on…"
"It goes without saying," Tyrion agreed. "No, I'm interested in what you'd want…"
"I'm only answering if you do too," she suddenly said. "Otherwise, it's unfair."
"Very well," he replied. "Ladies first."
A thinking frown appeared on her brow. "He should be…" she said carefully, "The most important thing is…." She sighed. "It's not that easy," she said, her face falling. "I've not yet come across it, I don't think."
"A person may dream," he whispered. "Even if it doesn't ever happen."
She smiled at him. "Aye," she said. "He would care for and respect me," she said. "It should go without saying but often it doesn't. He'd be kind, not too much of a temper but strong as well. Knowing his own mind. Honorable, but not naïve. Mostly though, he would listen, not brush me off."
Tyrion nodded. "A modest list," he said, "yet also not."
"Indeed," Sansa sighed. "Being respected is rare enough."
"He doesn't have to be knight anymore," he gathered. "Nor all that handsome?"
Sansa blushed. "I wouldn't mind him being handsome," she said, "but it's not the first on my list anymore."
"You have changed," he said, not unkind. "My turn."
"Please," she said, "what makes your heart stir?" Sansa teased.
You, he thought, but didn't say so out loud. "Apart from the usual," he said. "House alliances and so on…" She waved them away. "Apart from that," she agreed.
"She would have to…." He sighed. "She would need to respect me without pitying me," he said. "That may be the most important. She'd have to…. like my wits."
Sansa laughed. "Would she need to have your love of wine?" she said, "a similar appetite?"
"Perhaps not as becoming in a woman," he acknowledged. "Though I wouldn't blame her either."
"Not all women think it's becoming in a man either," Sansa pointed out.
He coughed. "I'm aware of that," he said. "Yet life is too short to live austerely. Like…. like Stannis!" he said. "I could not live like that, nor would I want to."
"Like the Unsullied," Sansa said.
"Or the Starks?" Tyrion ventured.
Sansa shook her head. "I don't think we're like that," she said. "Perhaps a little more used to it, but not so on purpose." She returned to the subject at hand. "So someone who respects you, and loves your sense of humor," she summarized. "What else?"
"My list isn't long," Tyrion said, somewhat bitter. "I've given up on passionate, mindboggling love. I thought…. Long ago, for a while, I thought I had found it. And then….later, there was Shae. I have made the mistake of falling in love with whores once too often."
Sansa blushed a little. "I…" she said. "You mustn't repeat this to anyone… and I'd deny it for sure, but sometimes I've wondered why…. " She stopped. "No, I shouldn't," she said.
"Do go on, my Lady," he said. "I promise you my lips are sealed."
"Why men should be able to visit whores but women may not…" she said, reddening. "When a man does not marry, or even when he does, he can do as he likes…. But, a woman…"
"Virginity," he said. "Knowing a child is one's own. A true heir, rather than…"
"A bastard."
"Precisely so," he grinned, "but what are you truly saying here, Sansa?"
"I don't know," she said, shaking her head, "forget I mentioned it," but as he urged her to speak she said: "I simply mean… I guess having experience would have helped, maybe… It might have."
"I can't disagree with that," he said, "but I feel obliged to tell you that it's not everything. Whores… They have a way of getting into one's head, and not in a good way. They make you believe they love you when they do not. It's a game. A game that breaks your heart and hurts your purse."
"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean rake up bad memories for you."
"You haven't," he said. "Not really."
"Not being prepared at all isn't good either," she said. "If I were to ever have girls of my own…."
"What would you tell them?" he asked, curious yet cautious.
Sansa frowned. "To protect themselves. If they ever found themselves… That there are worse things than death. That duty does not save you, nor courtesy. That no one will."
"A grim message," he said.
"A true one," Sansa spat. "Unlike the songs and stories."
"You feel betrayed," he gathered.
"Yes," she said. "I do feel betrayed."
"And all this talk of possible matches and betrothals…."
"It's betrayal all over again," she said. "But I won't let him. It won't happen again."
"Perhaps you should talk to Jon about it," he suggested. "You and Arya. Urge him to let you decide for yourself. He might listen."
"He might not," she said.
"I could…" he offered, "talk to him for you, if you want me to."
She frowned. "I don't know…" she said. "It's good of you to offer, but mayhaps I should do it myself."
"Just promise me you will come to me if needs be," he said a little roughly. "I'll have your back."
She smiled at him. "Thank you," Sansa said, "but it should come from me I think."
"I think so too," he said, "but my offer still stands."
