"You must go," her husband told her, and Sansa looked at him with eyes wide and full of hurt.
"You are sending me away?" she whispered in disbelief. Tyrion looked uncomfortable.
"It is already settled," he said briskly. "A ship will take you to Pentos. You should be safe there, and when I can, I will join you."
"When would that be?" she asked, expecting him to meet his gaze, but as he did not, she went to him and knelt before him and took his hand in hers. "You cannot do this, Tyrion. You... you took me for your wife in the sight of gods and men - and we both know how our marriage began, but now it is real."
He looked startled. "Of course it is," he said quickly, and his expression softened as he placed his other hand on top of hers. "You mustn't take it this way, my love. I am only doing it for your safety."
"But this means staying here is dangerous!" Sansa cried. "Why do you need to do that, Tyrion? Let us go away, both of us. Let us take this ship to Pentos. What does it matter to us in which of the Free Cities to stay? Or is there something you are hiding from me?"
By the way Tyrion opened his mouth, then closed it, and by how uncomfortable he looked she knew she must have hit the mark. "It is true, is it not?" she demanded. "'Tell me. Is it about," she hesitated, "about Tysha?"
"No," Tyrion hurried to say, then halted. "That is to say, I do not know. I hope not, because otherwise..." he trailed off.
"I do not understand."
"No," he shook his head. "Of course not, as I didn't truly explain, and to be honest I hoped I would not have to, but... Sansa, I found out there is one man in Braavos who by right should be half a world away."
"Who?" Sansa asked, suddenly fearful.
"Littlefinger," her husband said succinctly. No more words were needed. Sansa's hand flew to her mouth.
"But... surely that means Queen Cersei is looking for us here in Braavos, and if we stay it's only a matter of time until he - "
Tyrion was shaking his head again. "I am not so sure," he confessed. "Petyr Baelish is not a man to do the queen's dirty work, and frankly, for a long time now I have been convinced that he is playing a game of his own. No, I am not at all certain his being here has anything to do with us."
"But Tysha," Sansa said, "she warned you..."
"Yes," said Tyrion. "This troubles me. Coupled with Littlefinger's unexpected presence, this bears an ominous message - not only for us, but for Tysha as well. Because if she has any dealings with Littlefinger, she might be dancing on the brink of a chasm without even knowing it."
"So this is what you mean to do," Sansa realized, and her tummy fluttered with fear. "To... to ask her or... rush headlong into it. But you needn't, Tyrion. You ought to leave. She told you so herself."
The expression that passed upon Tyrion's face was pained. "You do not understand," he said gently. "I am in debt to her. Nothing can rectify the mistake I made all those years ago, but if Tysha is in danger, even if it is her own doing, I ought to try and keep her safe."
"Risking your own life?" Sansa protested. "I cannot... cannot accept this," she said, swallowing with difficulty. Her eyes swam with tears. "You are all I have. And even if Mother and Father and my brothers and sister were still alive, you would still be the most important of them all. You are my husband. I chose you for a husband. I would not have you taken away from me, not now."
She put her arms around him, and Tyrion embraced her gratefully, yet even though his words came out muffled by the fabric of her gown, Sansa heard them distinctly. "Your love is wasted on someone like me," he said.
She held him at arm's length and looked at him fiercely. "Do not talk so," she said, tears streaming down her face. "Ever. Do you hear me?"
He touched her face gently. "Forgive me, my lady. I have underestimated you, I know. I should have confided my thoughts to you at once. Do I take it that you won't leave for Pentos, then?"
"Not without you," Sansa said, and he looked anxious and grateful at once.
"In that case, precautions must be taken. If, as I am hoping, Littlefinger doesn't know that we are here, he must not find out. Thankfully masks are currently in fashion in Braavos; wear one of them whenever you go out, no one must glimpse your face. I shall do likewise, although of course, my short stature makes me much more conspicuous," Tyrion concluded with a half-laugh. "I would hire guards, but I fear that would only draw attention to us. I swore to keep you safe," he added, kissing her fingers, "and I intend to do so."
Their faces were closer now; their brows touched. Sansa's lips fluttered over his closed eyes, his cheeks, his lips. "If I had to suffer what you suffered," she whispered, "I would surely have grown bitter and cruel."
"I grew bitter," said Tyrion. "Some would say I grew cruel, too. Many call me a monster."
"Perhaps," she said, caressing his face and tasting salt where her tears mingled with his. "But you still have honor, you protect the weak, you are generous and good and kind..."
"I believe you are mistaking me for Baelor the Blessed, Sansa," he told her, and she gave a shaky laugh and kissed him.
"No," she said, "I am certain Baelor the Blessed didn't know half the... the things you showed to me in our bed," she blushed furiously again, and Tyrion laughed in earnest now, for the first time since they met Tysha in Braavos.
"My lady Sansa," he said, tenderly caressing her auburn locks, "I am certain that when my lord father broached the notion of this marriage, he had no idea of the sort of gift he would eventually give me."
Sansa was still kneeling in front of him, and their heads were on the same level. "And me," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears again. "And me."
A/N: So, here it is, the first entry after a long, looong time. I have been (still am, in fact) busy with my original work, but I decided to slow the pace a bit and allow myself time to sit back, relax a little, and perhaps pick up the thread of this story again. If there are any scenes/plot twists you would like to have included in this story, you can tell me in a review or a PM.