The Edge of War's End
[AUTHOR'S NOTE] I love the way this story is going. Thank you for all your kind words. I don't know when Tyrion's POV will return. This chapter was SUPPOSED to be it, but nope. Many of you are worried about the ending of this story. Don't be. I'm writing them a story I believe they deserve (imo). Enjoy.
Chapter 9:
Sansa
The large door slammed shut after she entered the room. Sansa jumped, tripping until a hand caught her by the elbow to steady her. "What was that?"
The urge to remind him her business wasn't his concern nearly ruptured her patience. It was his business—sort of. "Don't scare me like that again!"
"Sansa, I'm not bickering with you about this." Jon gently let her go and backed away. "I may not be your Hand, but since you call brother, you will listen to me."
"What's the problem with me kissing a man?"
Jon stalked toward her until he chased her backward. Sansa stumbled down into a chair behind her. "That was not just a man! He's Tyrion Lannister! A Lannister!" Jon shoved a hand in his dark hair. "He's the Hand of the Dragon Queen you so admonished, the man who encouraged me to betray his queen and KILL said queen!"
"Tyrion is a good man, Jon."
Jon grabbed the sides of her face, the pressure increasing. For a moment, she thought he would snap her head in two. When she winced, he widened his eyes and eased his touch. "You're a queen, Sansa. He's highborn, but he's no good for a woman in the north. His family slaughtered our blood. His fucking sister put your wolf to death and tortured you with her son for years!"
"Enough, Jon…" Sansa moved out of his grasp, back turned. "No more!"
"Tyrion loved Dany, Sansa!" When she looked at him again, he looked down and battled with a sad sigh. "He loves her."
"I knew he did from the moment I saw him look at her." Sansa adjusted her posture, squaring her shoulders. "We've talked a lot about all this, Jon." Biting her lip, Sansa put her hand on his shoulder. "It's been handled."
Jon shoved her hand away. "You just don't handle feelings like love."
"His love was not a mirror of yours."
Opening his mouth, he glared at her. "Sansa, he isn't a good man. The last days of Dany's life could have turned out much different if his head had been on straight." When she shook her head and formed words on her mouth, he stopped her. "She was my aunt. That didn't seem to bother her, but it cut me deeply. I had conflict, and I could have handled that much better, but Sansa…" Jon softened his eyes. "A man like him in love is a death sentence. He's whored around for Gods know how long, and he's been a close ally to every last enemy of the Starks."
Sansa looked away, but he caught her cheeks, brushing his thumbs on her affectionately. "Jon, he was good to me in King's Landing. He never touched me," she explained. Shaking her head and searching his eyes, she continued. "Tyrion showed me the only kindness I knew whilst I was there. I didn't recognize it then, but it's clear to me now that his marriage offered me safety and protection."
"Is protection what you're worried about?" Jon smiled, believing he'd solved a lost riddle. "I'm here now. You don't have to be afraid anymore."
Sansa closed her eyes, desperate to find patience. "Jon, I lived every single day in King's Landing as if it were to be my last. My life fell into the mercy of Joffrey's cruel hands. The only true peace I've known since leaving Winterfell is when he's with me."
"Sansa…"
"Please listen to me!" With a reluctant nod, Jon crossed his arms over his chest. Sansa sighed. "Tyrion is the reason I'm alive. I do my best, Jon, but I know I'm no warrior or assassin. I have no instincts to count on in battle; instead, my talents will always be political by nature. Tyrion is a man who places a priceless value on his own life, yet he always protects me when it most counts. He makes mistakes, but so have I. Through cruelty of birth and mockery of the masses, he's dedicated his life to knowledge. Although a slow learner, I've learned how to play the political game and gamble against sleuth and scrutiny."
Jon sat down on the table, resting his wrist on his sword. "I don't like this, Sansa…"
Joining her hands behind her, Sansa fixed a neutral, easy smile on her mouth. "What does love feel like for you?"
He drew his head back, eyes narrowing. "Sansa."
"Just answer the question."
Jon chuckled, his features heavy. "If I had to put it into words, I'd say it's unexpected, grounding, and fulfilling when it's good love. When it's a bad love, it's poisonous mixed with a taste of pleasure you'll never know without that person. You don't know it's a bad love until your conscience speaks to you…by then, it's too late to save."
Sansa sat beside him on the table, bringing her hands to her lap. "I was a petulant child, but Joffrey was the bad love of my life," she whispered. "Do you want to know what good love is like for me?"
Jon twisted to face her. "Yes."
"It's frightening, yet somehow safe all at once." Sansa looked down at her hands. "Tyrion frightens me. He makes me feel safe."
Jon grabbed her hand, bringing the back of her gloved hand to his lips and sighing. "Have you both…"
Sansa's cheeks warmed. "Tyrion has always been kind to me."
"That's not an answer, Sansa." Jon laughed.
"No, alright?" She looked at him. "For a moment, I thought I could do it…have a lover. Gods know all the queens I've known have had them…"
Jon tapped his shoulder against hers. "What changed?"
"It's not who I am," Sansa admitted. Swallowing, she brushed her hair back behind her ears. "I've never talked to you about this stuff."
"You've talked about this before? With whom?"
Sansa's eyes grew and lips sealed to a flat line. "I can't tell you that."
"Who was it? Someone in King's Landing?"
"If I tell you, you'll be angry again."
Drawing his head back, Jon huffed. "Out with it!"
"Arya!"
"That's not funny, Sansa…"
"Believe me or don't. She wasn't the least bit helpful, anyway." Shaking her head. "This isn't about Arya…" Looking at him shyly, Sansa bit her lip. "I thought things like passion were gone for good for me. Tyrion showed me that they're a part of who I am, but I'm a queen. I must honor my people."
Jon was tense beside her, but after a few seconds, he relaxed, sighing. "And how will you do that? By kissing him openly for all the world to see?" She remained quiet. He lifted his eyes to her, expelling the air from his lungs slowly. He dragged his hand over his face, growling. "Does he make you happy, Sansa?" Jon stood from the table and neared her. "After everything, you deserve to be happy."
"I know I'm happiest when I'm with him." Sansa swallowed, peering down at the floor. "We have yet to explore all we might be."
Jon touched her face and grasped her arm, squeezing a little until he wrapped his arms around her, careful of her wounds. "I don't like this, but I'm willing to give it a chance for your sake."
"This might be the worst idea I've ever had," Sansa stared at a goblet on the table behind him. Eventually, she enveloped him and turned her face in his shoulder. "As queen, I must always do what is best for my people."
"Duty is the death of love." Jon sniffled against her hair. Quietly, he broke down against her.
Sansa tightened her arms around him. "No, Jon. Duty should be because of love."
"And if two loves are at odds?"
Sansa brushed through his hair at the base of his head. "You do what is right, what your heart tells you is good."
— — — — — — — — — — —
The sound of fingers tapping on a wooden table filled Sansa's office. Pinching her lips together, posture stiff, and jaw clenching, Sansa closed her eyes, praying to the Seven for patience.
The small round table clearly wasn't enough space for the two men she sat between. Of the four chairs, Sansa occupied the one closest to her desk. To her right, her brother sat, arms crossed and mouth downturned. Cold eyes bore into the man his opposite. Tyrion stared at his goblet, slouching and supporting his head on the chair's arm with his balled fist.
"Do you both plan on acting like this the whole time?" Sansa raised her brow, eyes darting between them. Lips pursed, Sansa scowled, dipping her shaking head in her hands. Groaning, she straightened and slammed her hands against the table, staring at its center. "We don't have time for this. Until my Small Council is formed, we're the only acting voices in Winterfell. We must learn to work together."
Jon's eyes hardened just as he began complaining, while Tyrion started to defend himself. Sansa heard none of what they said due to both drowning the other out. Slamming her hands to her ears, she shouted and grabbed her hair. "While we're in this room you're not my brother and…guest. You're my Master of War and Commander of the Queensguard and an advisor." Sansa looked between them. "Okay?"
Jon lowered his chin, leaning back in his chair. Tyrion sipped his wine. Eventually, both muttered something she interpreted as an agreement.
"Good," Sansa stood and moved to her desk, grabbing a stack of opened letters. "I've been quite busy establishing eyes all around Winterfell—both to hear word of Dothraki whereabouts and to learn more of the political challenges I'll be facing."
"You're running a spy network?" Jon sighed, but he sounded impressed. "How'd you manage?"
Sansa tried stopping her eyes from moving to Tyrion, but his gaze was already settled on her. Sharing a brief look, she glanced at Jon. "When the Dragon Queen was here, I paid attention to many things. Most importantly, I discovered The Spider's web. Once news of Varys' reached us, I offered the few connections I'd found shelter and safety. It's quite small, but it's growing. I've learned a great deal."
Jon sank in his seat. Tyrion downed the rest of the cup, setting it on the table afterward. Jon cleared his throat, shaking his head for clarity. "What exactly have you learned?"
"I've found hidden routes away from the main roads to take my people to safer locations until this Dothraki nonsense ebbs via old trade routes."
Tyrion chuckled. "You thought of that?"
"A bit of light reading." Sansa smiled. "Castle Black and the New Lord of The Dreadfort have graciously volunteered to take in a majority of those who live Winter Town and around Winterfell. I know a number of people will refuse to leave their homes, but if we have the chance to spare even a few lives, I want to take every measure of safety possible."
"Traveling halfway across the north is hardly safe." Jon rested his elbows on the table, staring at her.
"That is why everyone shall be offered the choice to go or not. We have enough supplies and food to get two-thirds settled and taken care of for three months. By reopening the trade routes, we'll be able to share resources more easily. There are those in the North less fortunate than we are."
"Two birds," Tyrion quietly said. "One proverbial stone." Lifting his brows, he reached for his cup. Bringing it to his lips, he quickly realized there was nothing left.
"Caravans draw too much attention, so it will be at a steady pace." Sansa looked at Jon. "Can you handle bolstering Winterfell's defenses and arranging escorts for the trade convoys?"
Nodding, her brother reached across the table to take her hand. "I'll handle everything."
Sansa pulled away and looked to Tyrion. "Do we have any other options?"
"Unless you have any other resource in abundance you're willing to part with…" Tyrion sat up, reviewing a few papers scattered before him. "I see no way around borrowing."
A knock at the door broke Sansa's focus. "You may enter." When the door opened, Lysa poked her head in. "Is something the matter?"
"Of course not, Your Grace…well, now that you mention it…" Lysa pressed her lips flat. "Winter is awfully rowdy this morning. I was hoping it would be okay to drop him off with his mother."
Sansa's face tensed. "I'm the mother of nothing," she snapped. Dropping her eyes at the young direwolf now nearing the size of a grown wolf. Winter rushed passed her and toward Sansa. "No." Winter whined, but she just sighed, pointing to the corner of the room by the window. He decided to obey her silent command. She looked to Lysa. "You may go."
Lysa balked, pulling in the rascal and bowing. "I'm sorry to have bothered you." The door closed.
"Don't you think that was a bit rude, Sansa?" Jon sighed. "I thought I did well in choosing her."
"You did your best." Sansa looked to Winter, whose eyes were on her. She closed her eyes and rolled her head back, stretching the muscles in her shoulders. When she rolled to the left slightly too far, her shoulder stung. She sucked in air through clenched teeth. Leaning her head back against the chair, she opened her eyes. "I cannot wait for these wounds to heal…"
"It could have gone much worse." Jon moved his arms on the table.
Sansa regarded him. "Jon, will you leave us to wrap things up?"
Narrowing his eyes on Tyrion, he sighed. "Is that a wise idea?"
"We'll find out."
Jon stood, turning to her. "As you command, Your Grace."
When the door closed, Sansa deflated against the chair, inhaling slowly. Shoulder sagging once more, she leaned forward. "There is another way, albeit a short-term option."
Tyrion sat back in his chair, letting the papers clumsily scatter back in front of him. "Go on."
"I've tasked Lysa was gathering up bits and baubles around the castle. Some of my mother's things."
Straightening his posture, Tyrion closed his eyes and pinched his brows. "You mean to part with your late mother's possessions?"
"That's why I sent Jon away. He wouldn't approve, but I refuse to seek the aid of the Six Kingdoms so quickly, Tyrion."
"I wish you were consistent on your stance with the Six Kingdoms. You accept His Grace's Hand for guidance, yet you reject the possibility of other aid."
Sansa set her hand on the table, her outer finger sliding over the top of his. When he looked at her, she swallowed. "One man isn't the whole realm."
"Your people won't see it that way."
"Why can't I sell my things, Tyrion?"
Capturing her hand in his, he said, "Because they're your family's relics."
"They're just things. I'll always have them in my head."
"You say that now…Sansa," Tyrion paused, resting his blank, distant stare on their joined hands. "I'd give anything to have had a day with my mother."
"I wish it had been different for you."
Tyrion locked onto her. "Don't say that." Reaching for his cup, he sipped again. When nothing came, he dropped it to the floor with an eye roll. Swallowing, Tyrion evened his racing breathing with a sigh. "Everything I've endured…I'd do it all over again."
Sansa opened her mouth, sure she knew what words to say that would ease him; however, nothing came to mind. She reached for him with her other hand, but he caught it and brought the back of her hand to his lips. "Again and again, until I reached you." Pulling her hand to the side of his face, he nuzzled his nose against her sleeve until it rose, exposing a small part of her wrist. Pressing his lips on the cold flesh, Tyrion closed his eyes and repeated the action twice more. His breath quickened, his lips brushing her flesh until he surprised her with a gentle nip. "Back at this very moment."
"Tyrion," Sansa gasped.
When she leaned over, he lowered her hand, his hands shaking. "To these small fragments of time we have together. Sansa, please don't readily spare yourself from her things."
Sansa sobered, head shaking. Tugging on her arm, she scrunched her nose. He didn't let her go. Gulping, she parted her lips. "Why does this mean so much to you?"
Tyrion brought her fingers to his lips. "The same reason why you don't want to love Winter. The past."
"Lady has nothing to do with Winter." Sansa hauled her hands away from him and bolted out of her chair and turning her back to him. The direwolf in the corner of the room spooked, quickly righting himself with a whine. "Leave me."
"I won't."
Tears stung her eyes. Buried wounds beckoned to be broken if not to flood the world with her blood. Chest burning and heaving, she looked over her shoulder down her nose at him. "I never wanted him to follow me!"
Tyrion flattened his hands, approaching her as if she were one of Daenerys' dragons. "Then why did you save him?"
"I had no reason."
"Sansa, you nearly died for the pup." Tyrion swallowed. "He's lain at your side since you were on the healer's bed. You've barely shown him the affection he's starving for." She shook her head, sealing her eyes to the floor in front of her. His footsteps stopped. He was so close. "You want a taste of what used to be. Admit it…"
Sansa whipped around, her red locks flying after her until it pounded against her shoulder and chest, quickly cascading and swinging. "Is that the reason why you patroned the whore house for weeks after what we shared? To have a taste of what used to be?" Sansa contained the tears that begged to be set loose, though her chin trembled.
"Shout at me, hit me, hurt me…Sansa, I care not what you do with me." Tyrion moved his shoulders back, sucking in his cheeks and dragging his tongue against his lower teeth. Eyes twitching, he shrugged. "You can't keep everyone at arm's length. In order to find love, you must first keep your heart open."
He brought her to her knees. She grabbed him by his collar, pulling him in as she battled for control. Flashes of every soul she'd ever loved danced across her mind. Distant words painted her thoughts. "I can't remember what her voice sounded like. Not any of them." A thick, hot tear burst from her glassy eyes. "All your sister had to do was not bed her brother. Joffrey would have never existed, and my family would still be here if it weren't for yours! Lady wouldn't have…maybe she would have grown like Ghost. She could have saved me from…" Her hands trembled. Her chest convulsed as she gasped for breath. She hyperventilated, clutching at her chest. Coughing, she looked down at the floor, tears splattering against the stone surface like rain. She crossed her hands over her chest and grasped either arm, leaning forward and rocking back and forth as she sobbed uncontrollably.
The world slipped away, suddenly plucked from reality and cast back in time—back when her father was beheaded before her eyes, back when Joffrey tormented her at every chance and hearing about her mother and family being killed off one by one. The fear she'd felt walking arm in arm with Joffrey up to Tyrion at their wedding broke her all over again. The weight of their wedding night, undressing for a man she'd only heard scandalous rumors about, caved in over her.
Then there was the bed Ramsay made her bend over on. Fabric whispered between her hands, spilling between her fingers—just like that night. The tightness of the dress threatened to suffocate her. A laugh shrieked behind her just as she screamed as her maidenhood broke for him.
Hands burned her shoulders through the thick layers of fabric. This time, she would kill him! He wouldn't hurt her this time. The hands grasped her wrists, and she used her whole body to move away, but they found her again.
They weren't Ramsay's. They were smaller but strong and steady. They were so powerful that they froze her, slowly wiping the pain away. Everywhere on her body was cold except her tear-drenched face. Lifting her head, the room flashed back to where she'd been whisked.
Shivers splintered all senses except touch. She shuddered, struggling to find air to fill her chest. Tears stung her eyes, breaking and bending reality. Forever squeezed into mere seconds, but her vision cleared, revealing Tyrion looking down at her. He knelt before her, now moving closer. His bent knees padded her head as she lowered it, eyes darting as shame flooded her body.
"I've been so scared…"
Tyrion stroked her hair, saying nothing.
Sansa needed to anchor herself to him, fearing she'd fly back to the world she was a prisoner of at night. She patted the ground with her shuddering hand, finding the fabric at his thigh. Decorum had no place in her mind at this moment.
"I don't want to feel anymore…"
Tyrion adjusted and shifted out of her view. He withdrew from her briefly, but stayed close enough, so she could still clutch his pants. He gently ushered her from the floor, delicately guiding her to sit. He scooted back a few inches and slid his hand from her elbow to her fingertips.
Sansa crawled into him, settling against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. She clutched at his shirt possessively as he adjusted her pelt from her shoulders to drape over them like a blanket.
"You were right," Tyrion murmured, his voice vibrating across his chest. "We are equals." Sansa looked at him, meeting his soft eyes until he brushed her cheek and kissed her eyelids. He swallowed against her temple. "You feel as much as I do…if not a bit more."
Stretching his arm to his side, Sansa lifted her head, rising until she matched his eye level, her cheek on his arm and head comforted by his balled up pelt. Tears subsiding, she burned her hues in his, slowly lowering her hand down his chest until she reached his belt. Pulling his shirt up, she dipped her eyes to his lips but did not close the distance. Switching back to his easy stare, she dug her way up her shirt, feeling hair, scars, and hot flesh.
Tyrion gasped, quaking at her touch but never moving his eyes from hers. She settled her hand over his heart. Twitching his brows together, he swallowed and exhaled.
Sansa reached up to play with the ends of his beard. His lips folded inward, but worked his free hand beneath her pelt, slithering up until he placed his hand over hers. Sansa adjusted herself, earning her more proximity to him.
Resting her forehead to his, she lifted her nose over his, provoking his lip to curl. Searching his eyes, she pecked his lips a few times before pulling away, opting to settle her head against his and resting her eyes. He gasped, clutching her fingers under his shirt. His chest moved up and down at an increasing pace until he nudged her. Her eyelids fluttered open in sync with a small smile.
Tyrion's mouth hung open, head and hands quivering. "I love you, Sansa."
Sansa pressed her lips to his, lingering for a moment. Adjusting her fingers in his, she closed her eyes. A few seconds later, Winter settled at her back, licking the spot on the side of her face. With another whine, the direwolf rested his head on her shoulder.
Shortly after, sleep took her.
[A/N] We'll get back to our regularly scheduled plot after this chapter.
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