III - Come Once Again And Love Me

Tywin was irritated and he felt a dull throbbing in his temples. It came with the job, he supposed. While Lord Stark had looked always unnecessarily worried when he had been the King's Hand, Tywin gave off the impression of constant annoyance. It kept feebleminded people from approaching him.

Thinking about the Starks inevitably led to thinking about their eldest daughter. Would he meet her among the celebrating crowd tonight? The chances were good. Tywin had caught a glimpse of the elder Starks near the buffet earlier and even noticed their eldest son dancing. Taking a sip of his water, he looked around the throne room discreetly.

Another celebration, another prince born. That was his third grandchild, but at fifty-two, Tywin felt too young to be a grandfather of three. He supposed he should muster more joy at the fact that Cersei was doing well in her chosen life, but the king was an idiot. A charismatic man, at least, but an idiot. If his daughter claimed one more time that she loved the oaf, Tywin would worry for her mental health.

Catching sight of his daughter as she danced with a grinning Jaime, the Lord Hand allowed himself to smile. Cersei did look radiant, resplendent even; motherhood and the role of the queen suited her. Even Tyrion seemed to be enjoying himself tonight in the group of younger would-be politicians and businessmen. He wished that Joanna was there to see their children all grown-up and happy.

With an internal sigh, he refocused on his conversation with Robert. Listening to his son-in-law as he went on and on about his most recent hunting trip was making his headache worse. He made a noncommittal humming sigh when it was expected and let his gaze wander around the throne room once more.

The little wolf had told him she loved to dance, where else would he find her, then? He had been looking forward to seeing Sansa in King's Landing more than he was willing to admit to anyone but himself. Would she enjoy trading witty remarks with him in person as well? He certainly hoped so.

So far, however, Tywin had not seen even a glimpse of red hair. Hence the growing irritation.

"Oh my, oh my!" Robert chuckled and whistled, leaning to the side so he could see behind Tywin's head. "Is that Ned's little daughter!?"

Tywin startled and returned his gaze to his son-in-law, carefully observing the man's slackened jaw and wide eyes. He supposed that Sansa would be the kind of woman to warrant such a reaction. He smirked and conceded, "Possibly, I haven't met all his children, though."

It would be easy to turn, but he refrained. Had she grown into her own? There was something decidedly thrilling about denying himself the pleasure. He was so very curious, and the anticipation was almost sweet.

"Sansa is the older one. You know her, don't you, Tywin? I believe you helped her with some history projects of hers, haven't you?" Robert was still staring. He tried not to drool in front of his father-in-law with some success. Tywin wasn't fooled, however – the king was known for his wandering eye. Whether or not he had wandering hands as well, that was between Robert and Cersei.

"Yes, Ms. Stark was interested in several obscure legends pertaining to Casterly Rock at one point during her course work." Tywin's tone was nonchalant. While he wouldn't mention his connection to the young woman freely, he also did not deny it when it came up. Sansa, he knew, dropped his name in her conversations quite frequently and naturally. Their correspondence was hardly a secret – it was the extent and familiarity of it that would leave people probably baffled.

"Yeah, yeah, just graduated a year early with honors, Ned told me. He forgot to mention that she wasn't so little anymore, though!"

He was aware of those two facts as well. Being on friendly terms with her, he knew exactly how long the trail of broken hearts Sansa had left behind in the Vale was. Tywin hid his smile behind his glass and hummed before saying, "She is an extraordinary young woman."

"Oh, yes! I'm sure that the popularity of the Targaryen National Gallery has skyrocketed since she's started working there. But it's not the art men come to ogle, I bet!"

Had she scored a job with the most prestigious gallery in the whole of Westeros? Tywin's eyebrow rose. That was a remarkable achievement… which she hadn't told him about. However, Sansa's emails usually arrived at the end of each month, so there were a few days to go, and he was sure she had been going to share her news then.

Still, knowing that she had been in the same city as him for some time without being aware of it made him tense slightly. Tywin tried to ignore the new wave of irritation at the fact. Not only because he had been left in the dark about such an important event in her life, but mostly because King's Landing was the capital, the largest city on the continent. Its criminality rates were a nightmare (he planned to have the head of the City Watch replaced soon).

Robert was still staring somewhere behind Tywin. For gods' sake, it was becoming ridiculous. He clenched his jaw and slowly turned, searching the crowd for a familiar redhead. He didn't have to look for too long, and to his utter surprise, Tywin felt all air leave his body.

Just a few paces away from the king and his Lord Hand stood a vision in a vivid, provocative, taunting Lannister red dress that clung to her like a second skin. The dress accentuated her curves and with her perfect make-up and simple hairstyle, she had no equal in the present company – Tywin's daughter included. What draw his eye the most, however, was the quiet confidence she had been lacking as a teenager. At twenty-two, Sansa knew that the whole world was hers for the taking.

She was magnificent, breathtaking. He had always known she would be, but to have it confirmed… Tywin would have congratulated himself on being right, but he was too stunned for it. It was like being hit by a freight train at full speed and the whole world tilted on its axis. Also, he wasn't the only one who was left speechless at her appearance – as the swarm of young men all vying for the attention of the little wolf could attest to.

That was not what he had been expecting. An uncomfortable feeling grew in the pit of his stomach as he watched her smile and lightly chat with one of the young fools. Those green boys were slobbering all over her without appreciating both the loveliness of her form and the beauty of her mind, heart, and soul.

As if she could feel him staring, Sansa paused in her conversation and raised her head, looking around herself. The moment she located Tywin, a bright smile lit up her face and when their eyes locked, his heart gave a painful little lurch at the familiar spark he saw in there. She held his gaze for a second and then gracefully inclined her head, mouthing, "Later?"

Tywin nodded briskly and bowed a little, feeling smug when several of those young fools followed Sansa's gaze and cringed as soon as they recognized him.

"What a woman! To be twenty years younger, eh! Or, you know, not be married in my case, of course," Robert heaved a sigh, a little wistfully, and glanced at him. The king was silent for a moment before a knowing grin stretched his lips into a broad smile.

"Well, well! I'd never thought to see the day!"

"What day, Your Grace?" Tywin turned to glare at his son-in-law. Robert had never been meant to be a king. He had been fourth in line after his Targaryen cousins and without the tragic fire that had killed the entire ruling family, the talented athlete would have spent his life throwing a hammer around, not ascended the throne. He was unsophisticated, brash, and loud, but the people – and unfortunately Cersei – loved him.

Seeing Robert's honest, shit-eating grin, Tywin could understand why – to some extent – and braced himself for no doubt a joking remark.

"When a pretty girl catches your eye!" boomed out the king, wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and slapped him on the shoulder, laughing. Uproariously. "And that promise of later? Oh, gods! Good for you!"

Slap. Slap. Slap.

"Robert-" Tywin clenched his jaw and took a step away, dodging another slap from the king with a small tight smile and placing his empty glass on a tray of a passing waiter. Robert had his mind in the gutter, naturally.

"Not that I object, it was high time you stopped mourning! But gods! Ned's little girl? I want to see the poor man's reaction when he realizes what's been going on! Right under his nose! Helpful advice? History projects? You sneaky old bastard!'"

"Nothing is nor has been going on, Your Grace." Tywin's expression grew stony, and his tone was cold as he straightened to his full height. He did not appreciate the insinuation. "Ms. Stark and I are-"

"Good evening, Your Grace, Lord Lannister."

Robert smirked at him – a quick, knowing, infuriating grin – and focused on the owner of the voice. Spreading his arms wide, he exclaimed happily, "Sansa! I'm still your Uncle Robert! Now, come here and let me look at you, darling girl!"

Tywin whirled around just as the king passed him with surprising grace and quickness to engulf Sansa into his embrace. He took care to place two loud smacking kisses on her cheeks.

"Beautiful!" He looked her up and down with a wink, hands slipping down her bare arms to grasp her palms which he squeezed. "I hope you're turning your father's hair grey!"

"Of course!" Sansa laughed prettily and extricated herself from the king's hold. Her eyes then landed on Tywin and her grin melted into something softer, gentler – something just for him. "My lord Lannister, hello."

And just like that, the feeling that had been building in him the last several minutes evaporated, whether it was confusion, ire, or concern. Robert's suggestive chortle, the music, chatter, and dancing couples – everything faded into the background, and the world consisted only of a pair of bright blue eyes. Tywin smiled back at her, just a curl at the corner of his lips, and moved toward.

A momentary expression of mischief flickered over her face but then she was leaving the king's side and floating toward him. His intention was to greet her, kissing her hand perhaps, but Tywin should have known better.

Just as she had done with Robert, Sansa tilted her face up, her palms resting against his chest and shoulder. Allowing her to get away with her cheekiness, Tywin slipped one of his hands on her waist and the other took hold of her elbow.

"Hello, little wolf," he breathed softly into Sansa's ear as he placed a fleeting kiss on her cheek. Her hair still smelled of thyme and lemongrass, and her perfume for the night was fruity and pleasingly light. A faint blush spread over her face, and she grinned, their eyes meeting only briefly before she offered him her other cheek. Tywin swallowed and then leaned down once more, lingering for a breath or two longer and straightening slowly as his hand fell. His touch elicited a trail of goosebumps on her skin, and he smirked inwardly, notching up a victory.

"Oh, I think my wife is waving me over," said Robert loudly. "Excuse me, you two. We'll catch up later, Sansa… Don't do anything I wouldn't do, Tywin!"

The king then rushed away, leaving them alone – or as alone as they could be in a throne room full of celebrating people.

"I hope I haven't interrupted anything important," Sansa said, watching Robert disappear in the crowd. "You looked like you were considering regicide, my lord."

"The king was making inappropriate remarks," replied Tywin, who had been glaring at the broad shoulders of the retreating king. While he had not been contemplating Robert's murder, he must have looked beyond irritated if the little wolf had come to the rescue. She knew him too well, it seemed. It was so refreshing to find himself in the company of someone who was on the same wavelength.

"Was he? The kingly duties haven't changed Uncle Robert one bit, he's still the same as I remember from before." Sansa's laugh tinkered like bells once more and she glanced at Tywin with mirth dancing in her eyes. "You are, too. Well, almost. Love the beard, my lord."

"I am glad I pass the muster, my lady." Smirking, Tywin gave a mock bow, turning his attention to the lovely young woman at his side. The night was finally looking up. "As for His Grace, he had first your father and now me to run the kingdoms for him."

"Not an easy task." Her eyes flicked around the throne room and then she quickly darted her hand toward his face, her fingertips lightly threading through his beard.

A shock ran through his body and Tywin froze for a split of a second at the feeling of pleasure that accompanied her gesture.

"It's really soft," she observed, pleasantly surprised. "And it suits you."

"Sansa," he exhaled, caught her hand, and lowered it. What was she doing? Tywin was at a loss on how to address the issue. Was there even one? He wasn't sure anymore. The way she looked at him, the way she touched him and allowed him to touch her. Nothing was confusing about it. She was a woman signaling her interest and he was much more susceptible to it than he would have expected or wanted.

It was unsettling, the way he reacted to her. Like a schoolboy.

"Am I crossing a line?" Her smile was lighthearted and soothing at the same time as she slipped her hand from his, turning her body sideways and watching the dancing couples. Her tone was less playful and more apologetic as she continued, "I'm sorry if I made you uneasy, Lord Lannister, I know you are not a fan of such displays of familiarity. It's just… We've become friends, and that's the way I usually treat them."

What? He huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. That hadn't felt friendly at all. Did she let other friends of hers linger as they kissed her cheeks? Or was she running her hand through their beards frequently? Standing so close to them that they could feel the heat of her body? His gaze flicked over her head and roved around the dejected faces of young men who had kept Sansa company just moments ago. Were those boys Sansa's friends?

With the forceful reminder of her age, Tywin's previous irritation slammed back into him, his headache returning with vengeance. Was she taking him for a fool?

"My lord?" she questioned, shocked when he let out a low growl. But Tywin offered her a slight nod of his head in farewell, turned on his heel, and marched away with his jaw clenched shut and hands clasped behind his back tightly.

He wasn't a green boy to be played in such a fashion. Lannister red dresses and soft touches were not going to cut it. Smart conversations might have built a certain kind of regard between them, and her attractiveness was undeniable, but Tywin had been the victim of too many ensnaring attempts to be completely blind to what Ms. Stark was trying to do – either to him or to one of her young admirers.

Lions were not cats, and they certainly weren't mice for young she-wolves who wanted to test their claws in the games of hearts.

Tywin swiftly dodged the king and his children who would be able to spot his mood from miles away as well as all the Starks in attendance. The Lord Hand didn't lack company – there was a never-ending stream of people who wished to speak to him, and he suffered them stoically, often retreating into his thoughts.

He felt old and foolish as he brooded about the fickleness of women's affection. He was also especially stubbornly ignoring any flash of red in the periphery, refusing to look in that direction. Tywin did not need to see Ms. Stark and her flock of 'friends.' It was ridiculous, of course, to feel slighted that Sansa had tried to use him for her own purposes. Well, if she wished to catch herself a young idiot, who was Tywin to stop her? She certainly wasn't going to catch him with her cheap tricks.

His temples were throbbing persistently, which was her fault as well, and the third glass of whisky was hardly going to make things better, was it? By the gods, what was the woman doing to him? He was thinking about switching back to water when a sweet familiar voice reached him.

"Alas, my love, you do me wrong

To cast me off discourteously…"

Tywin shook his head, closed his eyes but eventually gave in, turning to search for her. There she was, standing in her provocative dress on the small podium in front of the string quartet and piano, singing. She didn't look in his direction, but the lyrics wove around him a tight net and pulled him under her spell. A distant part of his mind that wasn't utterly mesmerized remembered that it was a common myth that the song referred to one of his Lannister ancestors who was a lover to one of the Targaryen kings of old.

Riveted, Tywin listened even as his heart was beating painfully in his chest and oxygen was in short supply. It was only after Sansa's poignant voice faded away after reassuring the audience that only the Greeneyes was her joy and delight, that Tywin managed to gasp in a lungful of air.

Her gaze finally found him and held him captive for an impossibly long second. The expression in her glistening eyes was pure and the simple truth behind it shattered him. Swallowing hard, he watched as she bowed, receiving thunderous applause and Robert's loud praises and thanks for indulging him. Then she was gone, slipping through the crowds toward the exit.

Moving in a daze, Tywin was unaware that he decided to follow her. The lyrics kept replaying in his head even as he finished the drink and pushed his way to the same set of doors. His steps were quickening with every echo of the phrase, "Greenseyes, now farewell, adieu."

By the tame Tywin burst into the warm summer night, he was breathing heavily, looking around the darkened grounds with an inexplicable pain in his chest. It had sounded and felt like a final goodbye. As if Sansa had been letting him go. A cold fist wrapped its fingers around his heart, squeezing. Was she? Now, when she had already burrowed herself so deeply under his skin?

In his heart?

He stopped abruptly, loosening his bow tie and stuffing it in his pocket, running his hand through his hair. Tywin had believed that Sansa had gotten over her crush on him. Had he been wrong? It wouldn't be the first time when he had been blinded by his own pride, convinced that only he knew the best. Had the young woman truly loved him throughout the years with the same dogged perseverance so typical for her family?

He had to force himself to just breathe for several long moments, pushing the images of how empty his life would be without the little wolf's insistent presence. How much better it could get, however, if Sansa Stark would become a permanent fixture in it? With his eyes searching for that flash of red, for the sound of high heels on a paved pathway, he decisively moved forward again.

He wouldn't let her steal away like a thief in the night. They were not done.


Sansa breathed out through her mouth, tilting her head back and gripping the edge of the battlements with both her hands. The air smelled of salt and her ears were filled with the crashing of waves. A gentle ocean breeze caressed her flushed skin, and she closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of momentary freedom.

Out here, she didn't have to be Miss Sansa Stark, the daughter of the previous Hand of the King, the recent graduate from the Eyrie University, and the newest addition to the staff at the Targaryen National Gallery. That girl was perfect and proper, and she wouldn't be stupid enough to fall for a man three decades her senior.

Out here, she could be just Sansa who was exactly that stupid, maybe have a good cry and a little fit of temper before assuming her calm façade once more.

What had she been thinking? That dress had been for him. She wanted to see how her dear Lord Lannister would react to her clad in his house color and for the briefest of moments, she had thought…

She let out a small chuckle.

Sansa had wanted to test his reactions, his openness to pursuing perhaps something more than the tentative friendship they had formed over the years. The Lord Hand was attracted to her, it had been apparent, but he wasn't a green boy ruled by his hormones and it was clear that he didn't wish to have anything to do with her.

Oh, it hurt. If only she could turn into a little bird and fly away from all of this, spread her wings, and forget this disastrous night… But she couldn't, so Sansa had done the next good thing. She had let him go and this time it was for real.

It had to be. She was sick of it, sick of chasing that dream… Of chasing after him. Her Stark stubbornness hadn't served her well in this case, there was no way she could win more of his affection – no matter how many emails they exchanged, no matter how mature she had become. Sansa was a silly young thing compared to him, to the man who ruled a whole continent. He must still see her as the same child who had blubbered all over him ten years ago, or that teenager who had been naïve enough to think that all men were like him, like honorable knights from old songs and stories. It was no wonder that he wasn't interested in her at all. Sansa had been so foolish.

Gods, Tywin had been a motivating factor in all her recent decisions and had even sparked most of her current interests. Sansa had taken his advice not to go to Sunspear, not to study politics. His presence in the capital had been one of the reasons why she had applied for her position in King's Landing, hoping that maybe, just maybe, their monthly emails could turn into monthly coffee dates. Discussing the history of arts and music with him in person would have been wonderful, but she could have utilized her full arsenal of weapons in her attempt to make him notice her.

She felt like she couldn't trust herself – the person she had become – any longer. Tywin Lannister had played such a significant role in who she was that it made her hate him, for a moment. Then Sansa remembered that his advice had always been sound. She disliked hot climates and would have been miserable in Dorne, and she found politics fascinating enough to be interested in an occasional debate, but it was such a cutthroat unforgiving profession that she wouldn't have enjoyed it at all. Arts and history, on the other hand, played into her strengths so much better and she was honestly happy in the Targaryen National Gallery and in this large, sprawling city that never seemed to sleep.

It was disconcerting that Tywin, a man she had met only twice in her entire life, had known her so well to be able to steer her in the best direction. Friendship with the man was good, but hardly what she wanted if this was just a glimpse of how good they could be together.

The sound of footsteps reached her, breaking the train of her thoughts. Couldn't she have any privacy when she fancied a good cry? No, obviously not. Opening her eyes, Sansa gazed at the night sky. The stars were particularly bright as the moon waned, and she felt a sense of determination fill her up.

"Ms. Stark?"

It had to be him, naturally. Somehow, she had known it would be, but she still shivered at the sound of his voice and wrapped her arms around herself. Glancing over her shoulder toward him only briefly, she returned, "Lord Lannister."

He hesitated, possibly because she had sounded decidedly unwelcoming. Sansa didn't care. She didn't wish to see him, not now and probably not for some time – maybe never. She wasn't a bird; she was a wolf, and she was done being the stupid lovesick fool here.

"May I join you?" he asked even as he was already approaching her.

"If you must." Her words made him pause once more and Sansa bit her lower lip, chastising herself for feeling guilty at her harsh tone. She forced herself to continue, "You once told me that anyone who makes me cry isn't worth those tears. Do you remember that night, my lord?"

"It was after the unfortunate incident with Mr. Hardyng." He stopped at her side, gazing first at her profile and then leaning on his elbows against the battlements, looking out at the bay. "If I remember correctly, it happened not far from here."

"Yes, it was over there where the wall rises higher." Sansa took the opportunity to observe him from the corner of her eye. Tywin's hair was mussed up as if he had run his hand through it repeatedly, his bow tie was missing, and the first two buttons of his dress shirt were undone. He looked almost like he had that night when she had met him for the first time. Even the smell of whisky lingered on his breath.

Sansa didn't want to remember that night, so she turned her head to look at him squarely and she spoke with a hint of steel in her voice, "I'm done crying for you and I do not need to hear another apology."

"I'm a proud man." Lord Lannister looked into her eyes for a long moment, working his jaw. "But seeing you upset doesn't bring me joy, I assure you."

Was that supposed to be one? He had been quick to apologize for hurting her before, had been gentle with her when she had been young and distressed. But Sansa had come to realize that Tywin did not admit to his faults easily, so she supposed that this was the best he would offer to another adult. Not that she hoped for anything, anymore. In his emails, he had treated her like his equal – letting her often see what a prickly bastard he could be, showing her glimpses of his belligerence and pigheadedness. His ire had never been turned on her, however, and she admired his quick mind and loved his pointed remarks. His pride was enormous, as was his ego, that was nothing new. He was the Lion of Lannister; they were bred like that.

"Pride goes before a fall," she said tartly. "Will that be all?"

"What were your expectations for this evening, Ms. Stark?" His hands fisted and his expression grew drawn. Sansa had always admired them and even now she surpassed the urge to reach out and place her own hand over one of his, maybe loosen the tight, painful grip.

"Meet my friends and family, enjoy myself," she smiled wryly. She couldn't very well admit the truth – he had already guessed it himself; she was sure of it. "What was your plan? Be an irritable ass?"

"I hardly need to put much effort into that," he snorted, catching her eye. "I hoped to trade a few witty comments with a beautiful woman, perhaps steal a dance or two."

"Oh?" A fleeting smile tugged at her lips at that matter-of-fact tone he had used. Damn him. Sansa felt her cheeks heat up both in anger at herself and at the implied compliment. Why was talking with him so easy? She didn't want to relax in his presence, let alone allow him to pull her under again… But she couldn't help herself as she continued to talk to him.

"Well, that plan went out of the window, didn't it?"

"I believe both our evenings could be still salvageable," he said, his voice pitched low, and he offered her his hand palm up. "May I have the honor, my lady?"

The last time they had danced, she had ended up ruining his shirt and he had broken her fragile little heart in the kindest way he'd known. That night hadn't done anything to lessen her crush on him, on the contrary. It had shown Sansa that Lord Tywin Lannister was, indeed, a wonderful man. If one would squint hard.

So no, he might not have the honor! Sansa would turn and leave. Pretend that her heart didn't ache to take his hand. Pretend that her determination wasn't crumbling into dust. She would not let him play with her feelings like that anymore.

"There's no music," she whispered even as her hand slipped into his and she felt his fingers tighten their hold. She lost herself in his voice, in his touch, in his green regretful eyes.

"That didn't stop us the last time, hmm?" As he brought her away from the stone wall, he tugged her closer with lips curved up in a small smirk. Then he started humming a melody that pierced her very soul.

Was he… Was he mocking her with the choice of the song? He wouldn't, would he? Lord Lannister was not the type to hurt people for his amusement. Sansa wanted to step away from him, to pull her hand from his grasp, but Tywin folded his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head. "Indulge me, little wolf. Please?"

The Great Lion, as he was sometimes called, never begged for anything.

She breathed in the smell of spices and sinfully dark chocolate, closing her eyes and melting into him, placing one of her palms on his chest and looping her other arm around his waist.

"Have you, Sansa?" The worlds were breathed into her hair as he traced the line of her spine with his fingertips lightly, the touch featherlike. "Have you loved me for all this time?"

For a moment, Sansa stilled in his embrace, and silence descendent on them. He wasn't breathing, she realized, as he stopped moving as well. She raised her head and looked up at him, searching for any indicator of what he wanted to hear, why he was asking. Didn't he believe she could? That she had?

Tywin's face was shadowed, his expression giving nothing away. It was the look in his eyes that sent her heart careering. Hiding there were the last tentative remains of something that had been brutally crushed; a hope that was jagged and painful, but still there.

Taking her next breath hurt and she held it for a second. Then she took the plunge.

"I didn't fall in love with you immediately," she spoke softly, still gazing into his eyes. "Not at first sight, probably not at second either. It was a process, I think. You were kind to me, and I liked your voice. My father didn't like you and I was curious about the cold Lord Lannister. It did start as a crush, my first but not the only one. When we met the second time, the feeling simply grew the more I got to know the man you are. You can be a real bastard, conceited and bad-tempered, but you're also thoughtful, protective, and funny."

His expression was slowly shifting, the stone mask crumbling, eyes softening. Then he raised his hand and cradled Sansa's cheek in his palm, and she thought he was going to kiss her, but he said instead, "You truly do know me, don't you?"

"It took up a lot of digging, but yes, I think I truly do." Sansa relished in the sound of his chuckle and leaned into his touch with a soft smile. The shadow in his eyes faded away, leaving him lighter, and it prompted her to say, "When you smile, you look younger."

"Thank you for your bravery, little wolf," Tywin murmured and leaned closer, his lips brushing over her forehead. "I have a confession of my own to make."

"Oh? I'm all ears." Sansa tilted her face up, quite put out at the fact that it wasn't her lips he had kissed. Not that the embrace wasn't nice, she loved that Tywin wasn't one of those impatient young boys who would try to stick their tongue inside her mouth as soon as possible. It was just… She had waited for a proper kiss for so long.

"Whatever is left of my kindness and goodwill," with a small smirk, Tywin placed a kiss over her left cheek, "only comes to the surface in your presence," he brushed his lips over her right cheek, eyes twinkling, "and it is you who is my heart of gold," his breath ghosted over her slightly open mouth, lingering maddeningly, "beating outside of my chest."

Trust a politician to keep talking even though words were no longer necessary. Sansa wasn't sure if he was going to say anything else, nor did she care. Her patience ran its course and letting out a soft growl, she placed her hand at the nape of his neck and pressed her mouth to his.

Tywin smiled briefly before he kissed her back, quickly taking control of the situation and hungrily devouring her lips as she would expect from a proper lion. His fingers tangled in her hair, as he kept her head in place with one hand and pulled her closer with the other while Sansa linked her arms behind his neck.

When Tywin broke the kiss, a sigh in protest escaped her but she blinked her eyes open, nonetheless. Sansa had to make sure that she wasn't having an exceptionally vivid dream – but she doubted that she could have dreamt the lazy expression of smugness on his face.

"Would you like to return to the throne room or stay here a little longer?" he asked, running his knuckles over her jaw. His eyes were still soft, but he was grinning wickedly.

"We haven't finished our dance yet, my lord."

"The king has noticed that there is something between us and the longer we are out here, the lewder remarks he's going to make once we rejoin the festivities… In front of your father especially, I'd guess." The roguish smirk the Lord Hand was sporting now made him look whole decades younger and she realized that she was privy to yet another of the lion's secrets. He so enjoyed riling people.

"Who are we to deprive Uncle Robert of his fun?" Sansa asked and placed her cheek over his chest, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around him tightly. Tywin's heart was beating as fast as hers, the sound like music to her ears.

Chuckling, Tywin held her closer for a little while as they danced under the starry skies.


His wife painted landscapes occasionally. His favorite one was of a sunset over Casterly Rock which he had on display in his office in the Hand's Tower until he finished his fourth and last term as the Lord Hand. Sansa also debated politics with him when the mood struck them, but only rarely. She preferred to devout most of her time of the gallery to their twins and him, of course, because Tywin was notoriously bad at sharing his wife's attention with anyone who wasn't seven and a Lannister cub.

The Starks included… Though the pack of wolves that sometimes descended onto the lion's den had its uses. They made for wonderful babysitters if nothing else.


AN:

Wow, someone's got his paws stepped on, huh? Also, it was Sansa's turn to sing *winks* I can imagine her carefully plotting her nefarious plans concerning the Lord Hand, humming happily as she bakes/cooks/paints, and the poor lion has no idea that he is being hunted by a dangerous predator. Thinks he's the generous one there, just humoring the girl *grins* Yeah, Ty, certainly. Poor man still has no idea what hit him *chuckles*

Anyway, thank you for reading, and let me know if you enjoyed the story in these troubled times. Stay safe, be kind, and don't forget I love you all,

Your Mage💕

Wow, someone's got his paws stepped on, huh? Also, it was Sansa's turn to sing *winks* I can imagine her carefully plotting her nefarious plans concerning the Lord Hand, humming happily as she bakes/cooks/paints, and the poor lion has no idea that he is being hunted by a dangerous predator. Thinks he's the generous one there, just humoring the girl *grins* Yeah, Ty, certainly. Poor man still has no idea what hit him *chuckles*

Anyway, thank you for reading, and let me know if you enjoyed the story in these troubled times. Stay safe, be kind, and don't forget I love you all,

Your Mage💕