Author's Notes: As some of you probably know, I don't normally write tragedies. I've always been more of an angst-with-a-happy-ending kind of girl. But this was a story that I felt needed to be told. I wanted to see what would happen if Tyrion found himself in the exact same situation that Tywin was in when his beloved Joanna died.
This story was written for Day 2 of Tyrion Lannister Appreciation Week 2021. The prompt for Day 2 was: "Never forget what you are, the rest of the world will not."/Casterly Rock/Trials. I decided to go with the "Trials" theme since this particular story has been swimming around in my head for ages and I've been looking for an excuse to write it. There will be seven chapters in total, and I'm hoping to post at least one chapter a week.
Although Sansa dies in the first chapter, I marked this as a Sanrion story because it is Tyrion's love for her that drives all of his actions in this fic. Tyrion's grief is all-consuming, and it clouds his judgment in ways he never imagined possible.
Chapter One
The screams ripped through the walls of Winterfell with the force of a thousand arrows hitting stone, reverberating through Tyrion's chest and making him feel impossibly ill. His fingers tensed around the cup in his hand, curling so tightly that the glass almost shattered. "I should go to her," he said, the words hollow in his throat as he stared blankly at Jaime, not seeing a thing before him.
"The birthing chamber is no place for a man. Maester Wolkan will come for you when it's time."
Another scream tore through the halls, and Tyrion's stomach dropped.
"I can't wait until then." With trembling fingers, he put his glass on the table between them and forced himself from his chair. His legs felt like jelly beneath him, but he soldiered on, stumbling toward the door that separated the solar from the master bedchamber where Sansa lay in their marital bed, struggling to give birth to their firstborn child.
Tyrion and Sansa had only remarried a year earlier. After the Night King had been defeated, Jon and Daenerys had taken the Iron Throne together and Bran had gone north of the Wall, leaving Winterfell to Sansa. She had asked Tyrion to stay with her then, as her chief advisor, and he'd very quickly become something more. Tyrion had never loved anyone the way he loved Sansa, and she loved him with the same fierceness. If he lost her— Tyrion didn't want to think about what would happen if he lost her. His life was so perfect now, so happy and beautiful and fulfilling, and it was all Sansa's doing. Without her, he was nothing.
As Tyrion reached the door, a heavy hand settled on his shoulder, stopping him.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Jaime asked. "You might not be prepared for what you find."
Tyrion stared at the door, gulping down the bile in his throat. "I have to know. I have to see her. I have to be there for her, especially if—" Tyrion couldn't finish the thought. He didn't even want to imagine living in a world without Sansa Stark in it. He had to believe that everything was going to be all right. He had to believe that she was going to make it out of this alive.
Without another word, Tyrion pushed open the door, his senses instantly assailed with the scent of blood and an ear-piercing scream. His eyes flashed to the bed in the center of the room, to the ashen look on Sansa's face, her body covered in sweat as she panted out her agony, writhing on the bed beneath the care of a flurry of maesters and midwives.
"You shouldn't be here," an old septa scolded as he stumbled forward into the room. "My lord, this is no place for you."
But Tyrion barely heard her. He navigated his way toward the bed with shaky steps, determined to be by Sansa's side no matter what happened. When he finally reached her, her eyes were closed and she was barely conscious. At the bottom of the bed, a midwife struggled to get the baby free, copious amounts of blood covering her hands.
Tyrion flushed cold, all the blood draining from his face as he reached for Sansa's hand. Her skin was clammy, her fingers so limp and lifeless that, if Tyrion hadn't known any better, he would have thought she was dead.
"Sansa," he called softly. "Sansa, can you hear me?"
Sansa's eyes fluttered open, her head turning on the pillow. In a hoarse whisper, she answered, "The pain, Tyrion. The pain."
"I know, dearest, I know." He caressed her hand lovingly, trying to do anything he could to ease her suffering. "But it's all going to be all right. The baby will be here soon, and then the pain will be gone."
"I . . . I'm not going to make it," she said, her voice breaking on a sob. "I'm not going to . . ."
"Shh," Tyrion tried his best to comfort her. "Don't say that. It's going to be all right. I promise. Once this is over, you'll make a quick recovery and this will all be just a bad memory."
Sansa suddenly clutched Tyrion's hand, gripping so tightly that he thought she might break the bones. With the last of her strength, she howled like a she-wolf about to draw its last breath, and Tyrion's heart nearly stopped. He squeezed her hand with all his might, silently willing her to live.
"You can do this, Sansa. Hold on just a little longer. Just a little bit longer."
Sansa's eyes flooded with tears. "I . . . I can't, Tyrion. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"No, no, don't be sorry," he said, relaxing his grip and rubbing the back of her hand with his fingers. "You haven't done anything wrong. You're so strong, Sansa. Strong and brave and beautiful."
"I'm not. I'm not strong. I'm scared, Tyrion. Scared of dying. Scared of losing the baby."
"You're not going to die, and you're not going to lose the baby."
Sansa's grip on his hand grew even tighter, and her eyes widened as a fresh wave of pain tore through her body. "Promise me, Tyrion."
"Promise you what?"
"That you'll take care of him for me. Him or her. Take care of the baby, please."
But Tyrion just shook his head. "Sansa, you're not going anywhere. There's nothing for me to promise. You'll be fine, and we can take care of the baby together."
"Promise me, Tyrion. Please."
Tears were streaming down her cheeks now, and Tyrion knew that she needed to hear the words.
"I . . . I promise," he said, his voice trembling. "But nothing is going to happen to you, Sansa. You'll be all right. I know it."
Sansa squeezed her eyes shut as she screamed again in raw agony. When the pain finally subsided, she went slack against the mattress, opening her eyes and staring up at Tyrion as if she couldn't quite see him. "I love you," she said in a voice that already sounded far away. "I love you, Tyrion Lannister." And before Sansa could draw another breath, her body shuddered and her eyes drifted closed, and in an instant, she was gone.
For a moment, Tyrion just stared at her in horrified shock, his brain refusing to believe what he was seeing. Then, somewhere in the distance, a baby cried, and he was spurred from his stupor, a great sob racking his body.
"Sansa? Sansa?" Tyrion squeezed her hand again, his eyes brimming with tears as he tried to rouse her from an eternal sleep. But it was no use. The gods had already taken her, and she would never come back to him.
Tyrion collapsed against Sansa's lifeless form, his head buried against her neck as he cried out his sorrow. He clung to her in sheer desperation, wishing he could go wherever she had gone.
"Oh, Sansa, Sansa, don't leave me. Please, don't leave me. Please, don't . . ." Tyrion was too distraught to even form the words. He continued to weep uncontrollably, his anguished cries mingling with the unmistakable wails of a newborn child calling for its mother.
In his grief, Tyrion didn't spare a single thought for the babe. Despite the promise he had made to Sansa, he didn't have the slightest care for the motherless child he had helped bring into the world. All he cared about was his own loss. All he cared about was Sansa.
As Tyrion stood there, sobbing out his heart, time seemed to stand still. Hushed voices floated on the air around him, muffled and indistinct, but he was barely conscious of them. Eventually, the sounds died away and the room fell silent. Tyrion kept his eyes closed, his head buried against Sansa's neck, trying to hold on to the moment for as long as he could. He knew he couldn't stay with her forever. Sooner or later, someone would come for her. Someone would come and take her away, and he would never be allowed to hold her again.
As if his worst nightmare was about to be realized, Tyrion suddenly felt a firm hand on his shoulder, pulling him away from the bed. He clutched Sansa even tighter, refusing to let her go.
"Let me be!" he commanded, climbing onto the mattress and wrapping his limbs around her body.
"Tyrion, you have to come away," Jaime said in a soft, solemn voice that Tyrion would have found soothing at any other time.
"I'm not leaving her. Not now, not ever."
Tyrion raised his head to look upon Sansa's face, enthralled by how peaceful and serene she looked now that her pain was gone. Her skin was a flawless alabaster, her red hair an ethereal halo around her head. She looked like the Maiden herself, beautiful, perfect, and aloof.
Tyrion leaned forward and placed a kiss against Sansa's lips, horrified by how cold she felt. Death had long since claimed her, and all that was left was a lovely shell.
"Come away, Tyrion," Jaime reiterated. "There's nothing you can do for her now, and your son needs you."
Tyrion's gut twisted. He had no use for the child who had ended Sansa's life. He didn't even want to see it, much less give it comfort.
Tyrion shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay here all night, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."
"And then what? Will you spend the rest of your life in bed with a corpse?"
"She's not a corpse," Tyrion snapped, disgusted by the very suggestion. "She is my wife, and she has just been taken from this world, and I don't have much time left with her. Tomorrow, they will come for her. I know they will. They will take her to the crypts, and they will bury her beside her mother and father. But tonight, tonight I want to hold her just a little while longer. Please," he said plaintively as fresh tears stung his eyes. "Please, Jaime, just let me have a little more time with her. Just a few hours. Just let me hold her a little while longer before I have to say goodbye forever."
Jaime gripped Tyrion's shoulder again, this time in a show of solidarity. "I shall keep Maester Wolkan away till morning."
"Thank you."
Jaime finally let go of Tyrion's shoulder. "Brienne and I shall take care of the babe until you are well enough to see him. He has already been moved to the Guest House to give you some peace, and a wet nurse has been called in to care for him."
Tyrion nodded, not the least bit concerned for the child's welfare.
"Is there anything else you need from me?" Jaime asked, a cautious note to his voice.
"No, nothing," Tyrion replied, his eyes still fixed on Sansa's face. "Just . . . just say a prayer for her, please. I may not believe in the gods and all that nonsense, but Sansa did, and I want to make sure that she is taken care of, that her soul can rest in peace."
"Of course. I shall pray to all the gods, both old and new, for the sanctity of her soul."
"That's all I ask."
Tyrion listened as Jaime turned around and walked to the door, quietly closing it behind him as he slipped from the room.
Once Tyrion was alone, he loosened his hold on Sansa, lifting one hand to her cheek and cradling it with his palm. "Oh, Sansa," he said in a whisper of a voice. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for all of it. If you hadn't married me, if you'd married someone else, born someone else's child, maybe you would have been spared this miserable fate. I love you so damn much, and I don't know how I'm going to go on without you. I'm so sorry, my love. I'm . . . I'm so sorry."
Suddenly, the tears came again, flooding from Tyrion's heart. He wanted to scream, to swear, to rage against the world and all the gods in it, but he couldn't seem to do anything but weep.
