Disclaimer: Nothing's mine, I'm just a poor mad mage.


AN:Welcome to yet another Tywin/Sansa story! I didn't manage to get them a Christmas one-shot, so they needed a little bit of fluff on Valentine's Day methinks. The story is told in three parts, and you can expect weekly updates. Now, enjoy *winks*


I – With No One There to Hear

The melody was haunting, and Sansa followed it, too curious for her own good. She knew she wasn't supposed to be anywhere near the Hand's Tower let alone sneaking around the lion's den, but once her Stark honor and bravery had been questioned, she had no choice but to accept Arya's dare. The low murmur of singing led her to a partially closed door. It sounded so sad and so beautiful at the same time that she just couldn't help herself and poked her head inside what she knew was the library, strangely fascinated and scared in equal measure.

The room was shrouded in darkness, and she couldn't see a thing. She had had no intention of stopping there to take a closer look at the rows upon rows of books that were lining the walls, she just wanted to listen for a while… and maybe catch a glance of the owner of such a lovely voice.

The singing stopped abruptly, and the same deep voice rumbled, "Who is there?"

Sansa gasped and jumped about a foot into the air, looking around for the speaker with wide eyes. The idea of running briefly entered her mind, but Starks did not run, not even when they were afraid. She couldn't see anyone, but he must have seen her well enough.

"Come closer, little intruder," he commanded. It didn't sound unfriendly or dangerous, but it did lack any sense of warmth. She realized that she knew that voice and there was no real reason to be afraid, was there? She had listened to it on TV a few times, and she had heard the man speak with her father just this afternoon. The outgoing Lord Hand had promised to vacate the premises in the next three days so the incoming Lord Hand and his family could settle in.

Chewing her lower lip thoughtfully, Sansa took a step into the library and the door closed behind her with a heavy thud. Starks were brave to the point of stupidity, and she was just as brave as her siblings. If she survived this encounter, however, she was going to murder Arya.

Her previous fear disappeared completely when a lamp flicked to life, enveloping one of the armchairs and its occupant in a warm circle of light. The first thing she saw was his long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. Her eyes then traveled higher, taking in the strong arms with large hands, the white dress shirt, and the loosened red tie. His face remained hidden in the shadow of the headrest and Sansa focused her attention on the lion's head ring on his little finger.

"Hello, Lord Lannister," she piped up when she came to a stop close to his feet.

"Hello, little wolf." Mr. Lannister shifted in the armchair, turning his head and leaning over to the side. "It is a bit late for a visit, isn't it?"

"Yes," Sansa's gaze followed his hand and she watched as he poured himself a glass of amber liquid. He splashed a little bit of it on the side table before raising the glass carefully. The bottle there was two-thirds empty.

"Do your parents know where you are?" He took a sip and settled his eyes on her.

Sansa chewed on her bottom lip again before she shook her head, gazing up at him worriedly. He looked dead tired and barely awake, his blond hair was mussed up and his shirt wrinkled. It was a far cry from the polished politician giving speeches on TV. She also didn't like the way his eyes seemed to be glassed over but brighter somehow, and red-rimmed. Her eyes were red only after she had spent a good amount of time crying.

"They think I'm already asleep," she offered as an explanation before he would think something bad about her parents. Sansa knew that her father and Lord Lannister didn't like one another because of their work. Dad didn't want to come to King's Landing at all, and Lord Lannister had been forced out of the office because of that new legislation pushed through by Lady Tyrell. Something about only two consecutive terms of office in a row. Not that Sansa really tried to pay attention to Dad's work.

"In Maegor's Holdfast, correct?" Lord Lannister heaved a sigh and passed his other hand over his face. "Seven hells, I'm in no condition to bring you back."

"I can get back on my own. I don't need an escort, sir."

"Yes, you do. A proper young lady always should have an escort, especially around here. Your father is the next Lord Hand, and many people would try to hurt him through you. What are you doing here anyway, Ms. Stark?" During his speech, he slipped and slightly slurred some of the words.

Sansa flushed and lowered her head so she wouldn't have to return his gaze. The answer to his question wasn't on the library's carpet, however, and she noticed him uncrossing his legs impatiently.

"I-I heard you singing, my lord."

"What?"

Sansa chanced a glance up to see his face. Lord Lannister had placed his glass on the side table and was now leaning toward her with his elbows resting on his knees, looking baffled.

"I heard you singing. It sounded… sad." He looked sad. Sad and drunk and Sansa didn't know what to do. Being twelve was the most difficult age, in her humble opinion. She didn't feel like a child and understood much more than adults thought she did, but she was wholly unprepared to deal with unfamiliar situations.

She imagined what her mother would have done in her place but came up short. Lady Stark would never be caught sneaking around another person's home without invitation in the first place. So, Sansa decided to tackle the problem from a different perspective. What would Mom do if she found someone sad and drunk and completely alone? She still had no idea. Well, what would Sansa do if she found someone, maybe a friend, in sore need of a hug?

"Have you never heard of it? The Rains of Castamere?" he asked. Sansa shook her head and braved two more steps closer to the armchair and the man. He watched her, blinking slowly at her actions, and added, "It was supposed to sound that way. It's not a cheerful song."

"What is it about?" Sansa stopped almost at his side, the armrest separating them, and peered up into his face. His eyes were pale green with flecks of gold in them, and there was a blond stubble on his cheeks. His eyebrows were furrowed as he observed her in an equally careful manner.

"It's about one man's folly and about making powerful enemies. Once upon a time, Lord Reyne of Castamere sought to undermine his liege lord, and my ancestor, the man I am named after, sorted the rebellion against our house by eradicating the offending party. Castamere was burnt to the ground and every single Reyne had been put to death. Such is the price for overconfidence, and men would do well to heed the warning. But some lessons… They are meant to be learned the hard way."

"Will you sing it one more time, please?" Sansa placed her hand on his forearm which lay on the armrest and tugged at it when he shook his head. "Please, my lord? It was beautiful."

"You must be a tone-deaf child to think so."

"I'm not a child, my lord."

Their eyes met. Sansa was glowering at him with all her might and Lord Lannister's lips curled in a small smirk as he said, "You are, little Stark."

"I thought I was a young lady. It would be very rude of you to refuse the request of a lady, wouldn't it?" Now Sansa tried her puppy dog eyes on him, and she had it on good authority that her version of that look had no equal. No one ever was able to resist, not even Theon. "Please?"

After an agonizingly long second, Lord Lannister caved in and cleared his throat before singing softly the Lannister anthem. As he got to the part where rains wept over empty halls, his voice cracked and he closed his eyes, a shudder running through his body. His expression was full of pain so deeply etched into the lines of his face that Sansa feared the skin would break, and all that hurt would come pouring out of him, drowning them both.

It truly was a sad song, and it wasn't just about some historical rebel. Sansa swallowed and wrapped her small fingers around his much larger ones tightly, startling him.

"I'm sorry you are hurting, my lord," she whispered, her eyes welling with tears. "Please, you don't need to continue, I'm sorry I asked."

She wasn't sure who moved first but a hug was a wonderful idea. Maybe it was her who reached out to the sad man to put her free hand around his neck, or maybe it was him who lifted Sansa up and over the armrest to first wipe away her tears and then loop his arms around her shoulders and back. The result was the same – Sansa found herself burying her face in his chest and sniffling unbecomingly, but safely enclosed in a gentle embrace with her arms around the man's neck.

He hugged well – almost as well as her dad, but there was something different about the embrace that didn't let Sansa forget not even for a second that it wasn't her father. Lord Lannister smelled like exotic spices, oranges, and rum pralines, and his arms were longer than Dad's. He was also leaner – all harsh angles and edges, and flat planes. She was aware that she had just proved that she was a child still, not a young lady, but it didn't matter at that moment. Sansa was there to hear, and Lord Lannister wasn't left alone in empty halls – at least for a little while.

Her nighttime adventure had tired her out more than she had thought because Sansa found herself fighting sleep soon after she stopped sniffling. The idea of falling asleep on the Lord Hand was so embarrassing that she managed to open her eyes and turn her head upward to look up at him.

"All better now?" he asked, eyes half-closed, voice rumbling deep in his chest right under Sansa's ear.

"I think so."

"Ready to return to your bed, then?"

"I-I guess," Sansa said but her face blanched. While she had enjoyed sneaking around the Hand's Tower alone, and her adventurous trek across the grounds of the Red Keep, she didn't fancy the idea of going all that way back on her own. It was late, and it surely was much darker and colder than when she had set out, wasn't it?

He noticed Sansa's reluctance, huffing out a breath in amusement.

"Allow me to escort you, Ms. Stark," Lord Lannister offered and held her more securely, raising to his feet with care. Once he was standing upright, he took a deep breath while Sansa gave him a searching look. All color left his face, and he closed his eyes, his jaw clenched tightly.

"That's all right." Sansa managed to squirm out of his arms and slid down to stand on her own feet. He had said so himself, he was in no condition to bring her back. "I can walk back myself."

"Nonsense, we've already covered why you will not wander alone through the night. Just one moment." He opened his eyes to give her a hard look. Then he reached to the back of his armchair a produced his suit jacket, placing it around Sansa's shoulders, proclaiming gruffly, "There, now we can go."

He looked marginally better, and Sansa beamed up at him, snuggling into the jacket. It smelled like him – like spices and dark chocolate. Her smile broadened even more, when he offered her his arm with a slight bow, "Ready, my lady?"

"Yes, thank you, my lord." She took his arm with as much dignity as she could and ignored the faint blush she felt blossom on her cheeks. She couldn't even express how impressed she was by Lord Lannister's manners. He treated her like Dad treated Mom… like a lord treated a lady. She absolutely loved it and swore to herself that if she was to have a suitor one day, they had to be like Lord Lannister.


It was years after Arya's dare that Sansa realized something important. She was reading through old newspaper articles for a school project when the headlines 'LADY LANNISTER BRUTALLY MURDERED' caught her attention. Then she noticed the date and realized she had come upon Lord Lannister on the 5th anniversary of his wife's death. She read the article twice, blinking back tears at the memory of the man's sorrow and pain, and felt incredibly proud of her younger self's attempts to offer him comfort on such a terrible night.

Sansa had thought about the previous Lord Hand from time to time, often rather fondly. He had retained his hereditary seat in the upper chamber but refused to be part of Dad's Small Council, focusing instead on his business venues – but the media always liked to get his comments on various happenings… and Sansa liked to catch these glimpses of him. For a man his age, he looked quite good, and his voice was probably the nicest thing she had ever heard.

She would never admit it to anyone, but Lord Lannister was the reason why she was interested in political science and history, and why she had even subscribed to the Westerlands' Lannisport Herald where the probability of reading about him was higher than in the papers in King's Landing.

After that school project, however, she began to wonder if there was another soul to listen to his singing, or if he was left alone in his family's seat to drink the horrible anniversary away year after year. The image of his pale green eyes was firmly burnt in her memory, and she thought of him regularly. Sometimes it was only a passing thought when she caught sight of a particular shade of Lannister red, and sometimes she wondered what she would say to him if their paths crossed ever again.

Until they met, and she didn't have to wonder anymore.


AN: Happy Valentine's Day! *cheers loudly and forces heart-shaped chocolates into your hand* So, what do we have here? Someone's got a crush? Uh-huh. Is there a grumpy old lion? Check. Does he cuddle his plush wolfie? Yep. Angsty? Oh, yeah! *claps happily* That looks like all is on the right track… Also, I hope it was clear that nothing was going on between a grown-up man and a minor. The very idea makes me cringe, especially since our youngest has just discovered boys *shudders*

Lots of love, hugs, and kisses, your Mage : )