DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I do not own. All titles taken from "No One Else" from Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812.

A/N: This is the direct sequel to "it's like some kind of clarity", so you might want to read that first, but it shouldn't be a requirement. It exists in the same universe as that and "drink with me, my love".

The horns blew loudly, and Tyrion watched as the gate slowly raised and the occupants of Winterfell came into view. He noted with some surprise that they were mostly men, making Sansa and the two women at her side stand out. One was Arya Stark, which he had not been expecting, though Bran certainly seemed to be if his smirk was anything to go by. The other had to be Jonelle Cerwyn, Sansa's new Hand. She stood almost as tall as her queen, though far less imposing. He decided that if Sansa trusted her, then he must, too, or this journey's main points would be moot.

The introductions were short and to the point, especially since most of both entourages knew each other. Sansa held out her hand when they greeted each other, so he tenderly pressed a kiss to it and watched her face carefully. She looked much more guarded than she had when they'd left, but his kiss brought a hesitant smile to her face that sent his heartbeat skyrocketing.

They arrived late enough in the day that they were escorted straight to the main hall for supper. He was seated next to Sansa at the high table, Arya to his left. He politely asked Arya about her travels while Sansa was occupied with introductions. Apparently, the Shadowlands of Essos were west of Westeros. The young wolf had also explored the Red Waste, Qarth, and even ventured up to the aptly named Unknown Lands before deciding she wanted, needed, to be with her pack, and so she came home. Sansa was quite mad at her for not writing, but she'd gotten over it, supposedly. He privately thought Arya was perhaps being a little cavalier about that fact, but then again, she hadn't been receiving letters from Sansa in which she practically fell at his knees thanking him for writing her because he was the only one who would.

Sansa herself was oddly silent at dinner, when not greeting those who approached the head table to speak with her. He thought about trying to draw some conversation out of her, but he wasn't sure what to say. The fact that they were still married was racing through his brain and made him clam up in a very uncharacteristic way. It was one thing to write letters to his estranged wife, to try and soothe her anxieties and let her soothe his own, but it would be another to ask her, point-blank, what they were, what this all meant, and how to proceed with their marriage.

Divided loyalties. Duty is the death of love. He was repenting for treason by serving the Realm, serving an all-knowing, all-seeing king who just so happened to be his brother-in-law. She was striking out on her own, finally allowing the world to see her as he always had: Brave, intelligent, strong, funny.

And not just any treason, either, but engineering the death of his Queen, of a woman he claimed to love, the same way he killed Shae. Hells, he might as well have killed Tysha too. He had too much blood on his hands for someone as wonderful as Sansa to be trapped with him.

"She wants to talk to you, you know," Arya said quietly. Sansa appeared to be taking her leave, but she was doing so slowly, making her rounds at the lower tables. She moved gracefully from person to person, speaking with them and clearly listening closely. He turned to Arya with a frown.

"What makes you say that?"

"She told me she's been writing to you. Good. She didn't tell me she was going to be alone when I left."

"She wouldn't have wanted you to stay on her account. And aren't you going to Storm's End anyway?"

"Because she's making me," Arya said, rolling her eyes. He quite doubted that was true, and took a sip of wine to hide his smile from her. "She doesn't want me unhappy, or alone. Not that I'm alone here, but a pack is more than just the family you're born into. And I want to live a real life. I can only do that with him. She knows I'll visit, but it's unfair to her, I think." He set his goblet down carefully, trying to avoid her expression. "She wants to talk to you. She needs to talk to you."

"Why?"

"Lord Glover's being a dipshit about succession, and pressuring the other lords to think the same way. They're trying to marry her off and get a child on her. She's doing well, expressing enough interest to prove she's taking things seriously without expressing enough to make them think she's seriously going to accept their suit."

His heart was pounding in double time again. What did that have to do with him ?

"Go to her," someone said, and he and Arya both turned to look at Bran. He stared straight ahead, his eyes unfocused. Sansa had finally taken her exit, one of Lady Mormont's former soldiers following her out of the room. "She needs you."

"Is that a command, your grace?" Tyrion said with a snort.

"It is if that's what it takes for you to do it," Bran replied. Arya grinned widely at that. "Lady Hand, please show the Lord Hand to the Queen's chambers," he added to the woman at his side. Jonelle sat up straight in surprise.

"Pardon, your grace?"

"Lady Cerwyn, do as the King of the Six Kingdom instructs," Arya said. Jonelle nodded, then stood and made her way off the dais. After a shove from Arya, he stood up and followed her.

They arrived at her chambers before his brain had caught up to what he was doing. Jonelle walked straight into the solar but stopped at the door that lead to her bed chamber. She knocked on the door and Sansa's muffled voice called back.

"Lord Tyrion for you, your grace."

A lady's maid opened the door, curtseying to the two of them before brushing past them. Jonelle stared at him, holding her hand out as if gesturing into the room. He did so slowly, and then the door to the solar shut loudly.

He'd never been in Sansa's bed chamber before. He stepped in reverently. Candles were lit in strategic places. The bed stretched out towards the door, with a vanity table on the left next to the door. Close to the door on the right was a small table with a chair on either side, with a pitcher of something on it and some sort of history tome whose title he could not fully make out, but he saw something about the First Men on the spine. A screen stood in the back corner, and through the candlelight he could see Sansa's shadow behind it. His mind, already slow, completely stalled for a moment before she stepped out from behind it in a night dress and a dressing gown. That seemed to shock him back to the present.

"I hope you don't mind," she said demurely, but it was too demure. She was playing at something. Was Arya in on this? Was Sansa… seducing him?

"Your grace, why am I here?" he asked, watching her every move. She frowned, but her eyes danced with what he thought might be mischief.

"What do you mean? Bran brought you here-"

"Don't do that. Why am I in your bedchamber. After dinner. While you're in your dressing gown."

Sansa took a seat at her dressing table and brushed out her hair. He sat on the edge of her bed, daring her to chastise him for such a move. She did not, which only confirmed his suspicions. He fiddled with the hem of his doublet. Two could play at this game, then.

"Does this have to do with Lord Glover, your grace?"

"What do you know about Lord Glover?"

He looked up at her, now, admired her neck and her hair, then smiled, thinking of what the young wolf had said to him at dinner.

"According to Lady Arya, he's being a dipshit about succession. I see time on a ship has sharpened her language." Sansa smirked at him in the mirror as she set down her brush and began to braid her hair. "Have I been misinformed?"

"No."

"So what is this? A seduction attempt?"

"Would that be unwelcome?"

"Your grace-"

"We are well past such formalities, Tyrion, and you know it," she said, and this time she spun around to face him, pinching the tip of her braid between her fingers.

"I agree."

Sansa had received her tutelage under men who knew better than to show their hand first. He had no doubt that she had little intention of doing anything else, but by letting him into her chamber, she'd tipped him her cards. The least she could do was finish it.

"Lord Glover is of the opinion that a queen's only duty is to provide heirs. As I am unmarried, I have yet to succeed," she said, reaching blindly for a ribbon to tie off the braid.

"So you are what? Looking for a way out?"

He laughed when she didn't answer, instead focusing on her hair. It sounded wrong and harsh to his own ears. Oh, if only she knew the irony of all this. She already had a way out with him and she didn't even seem to suspect it. Instead, she was looking for him to... what, get a child on her? Her Northern lords would surely love that, a dwarf Lannister-bred bastard taking over their throne.

"Sansa, you can't be serious."

"Yes, I can."

"The best you'll accomplish is having a dwarf bastard whom the entire realm does not trust. What if you died in childbed like my mother? Why not just name Lady Arya your successor and let that be the end of it?"

"I have, but she is to be the Lady of Storm's End, meaning the North would very likely revert back into the Six Kingdoms."

"Why am I here?" he asked, leaning towards her as if invading her personal space would change her mind. She didn't even seem to notice.

"Because I trust you! I trust you to be a good father, and a good partner. A good husband."

She turned her attention to her lap as the breath left his lungs. It couldn't be this easy. He couldn't just say to her, "Well, how convenient…" and then fall into bed with her with no repercussions. She was the one who, just months ago, didn't think they would work because he was loyal to Daenerys, even though, at the time, the woman was Sansa's queen just as much as his. Now they were in separate realms; he had a debt to pay and she had a kingdom to run. It was one thing to dream of it, like he had when he wrote his last, unsent letter to her, but he couldn't let her actually do this.

"Sansa," he said, unsure of what else to say that could adequately explain all the thoughts swirling around his brain.

"You don't… you don't need to decide, right now," she said, standing like she was going to leave her own chambers out of embarrassment.

"You're offering me, after everything I've done, to be the King in the North? Is that what this is?"

She sat back down, watching him with a more guarded expression than he'd seen on her in a while. He bit back a sigh at the sight. Such gazes were much better suited to their past.

"Lord of Winterfell, actually. My council agrees that anyone being the king would raise questions over who's in charge." He couldn't help but laugh at that, and she did, too, just a little snort that made him laugh harder.

"I don't think I can accept this, your grace," he finally said, well aware that he was using her tactic of hiding behind courtesies, but he didn't know what else to do.

"Why?"

"Because, for one, even if you trust me, I cannot see a room of Northerners ever trusting me or any of my offspring. Secondly, I am much too old and deformed for you. Thirdly, I am in your brother's service for at least the next ten years. You could do much better than me in those ten years," he said, ticking each reason out on his fingers. Sansa scoffed at him and held her own hand in front of his face, three fingers out.

"Firstly, you proved yourself in the Battle for the Dawn, and in service to Bran. Secondly, that is not true. Thirdly, that does not matter to me," she said, raising her now closed fist to her neck. She reached the other hand up like she wanted to run it through her hair, but instead she rubbed them both against the sides of her neck, taking a few steps as she did so.

"I don't- I'm not asking you to fall in love with me, Tyrion. You can have whores and mistresses, in King's Landing, please, but you can have them and I won't care. I want a friend, someone I can talk to, who can help me without making me feel like an idiot, and whom I can trust with my body and my children. I am so tired of letting other people make those decisions for me. It is my turn, and I choose you, if you'll have me."

She started pacing, then, avoiding looking him in the eye, and wrung her hands in front of her. He bit back another sigh at the sight. When she put it like that, he didn't know how he could refuse her. But she'd shown her hand; he might as well return the favor.

"If we do this," he said, and he couldn't push off the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth as she turned to stare at him, "I have killed, and I have betrayed people, and I am trying to be better but I don't know how well I am doing."

"So we have another few things in common, then," she said, simply. With a bravery he certainly didn't possess, she took a seat next to him on the bed, staring at him hopefully. "Is that a yes, husband?"

"Yes, wife. And you are still my wife. Bran told me shortly before we arrived." Trying to match her courage, he let his pinkie brush against hers, too scared to take it of his own volition. She looked down once they made contact, and took his hand in hers, threading their fingers together. Her hand was clammy, which made him realize just how nervous she had been during this whole scene. She certainly had the most to lose, he supposed. She'd won his heart long ago, though.

"Do you think he knew?"

"What doesn't your brother know? It's bloody annoying serving him. I have nothing to do."

"And that's why it's a punishment, I suppose," she said.

"I suppose," he replied, suddenly yawning as the day caught up to him. With her free hand, Sansa reached up to cup his face.

"Sleep, husband. I had the liberty of having your things brought to the room next door, so you won't have far to go tomorrow morning."

"Do you have plans for me tonight, your grace?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows just to hear her laugh, which she did even as her hand that held his tightened a little.

"I thought I might have to in order to get you to stay."

"No, you don't. I will still observe my watch, Sansa, and there will be no whores or mistresses, here or in King's Landing. I would not do that to you. It is your body, and it has been abused, and your choices taken away too many times. If you'd like, I will share your bed to sleep, but nothing more."

"I would like that," she said, and he did not know how moved first, but suddenly his lips were on hers and the hand that held his cheek tangled in his hair and it all lasted much longer than he expected, until he could no longer breathe and pulled away panting. Sansa's own breath was heavy, and her eyes dark with desire. It sent a thrill to him that went straight to his cock, seeing the effect a kiss from him was able to have on her.

"I shall return."

When he did come back a few minutes later, she'd blown out all but one of the candles and turned down the bed. She stood on the right hand side of it, so he went over to the left and noticed a small stool there, the one she'd had built for him when he stayed at Winterfell last time. He looked up at her and watched her blush as she hastily climbed into the bed. He followed suit, pulling himself up and onto the pillows. Sansa blew out the candle and, in the dark, slowly reached for him, resting her head on his chest. He wrapped an arm around her with equal trepidation, his fingers settling on her back and rubbing lightly at the tension he felt there.

"Good night, Tyrion."

Mustering up that courage from before, he pressed a kiss to her hairline before murmuring the same to her.

It was the most peaceful sleep he'd had in weeks.

He woke after her, but her side of the bed was still warm and a fire roared in the hearth. She sat at her dressing table again, brushing out her hair. The handmaid from last night drew a bath in the corner. Once he made his way down from the bed, he crossed to the dressing table and pressed a kiss to Sansa's free hand, his stomach fluttering as she smiled tiredly at him.

"Good morning," he said, dropping her hand. "And good morning to you," he added, calling towards the handmaid.

"Talya, milord," she answered, throwing in a small curtsey before returning to her task.

"Good morning, Talya." He turned back to Sansa and asked the question neither of them had dared to the night before, "So when do we announce? And what do we announce?"

"Let's wait until the end of the visit, so that my people get the time to see you and know you, but more importantly see us. It is not a secret that we were married, once."

"And your siblings? We should tell them first, shouldn't we?"

"Well, we can assume that Bran either knows already or has an inkling. Arya does, too, I think, if what you reported to me yesterday is any indication. We can tell them tonight, take our supper together, in private. It would not be out of the question for us to do so. And I'll make sure Brienne is posted at the door, in case Arya feels the need to draw her sword."

He swallowed, thinking of how the woman who killed the Night King was now his goodsister and his goodbrother could know whatever he liked about anyone; he already planned to do everything in his power to never hurt his wife, but now he had a much greater incentive to do so.

"Alright," he said. Sansa turned to Talya.

"Will you see to it that all is done with that?"

"Yes, your grace. Will you be breaking your fast in your chambers or in the hall?"

"We'll both go down to the hall, thank you. And another chair is being brought to my solar for our discussions today?"

"Yes, Corrad will bring it once you leave for the main hall."

"Excellent. Is that ready?"

"Yes, your grace."

"Thank you, Talya. You are dismissed." Talya curtseyed again then did so. Sansa waited until they heard the larger bang indicating the main door to her chambers had been shut before standing, placing her dressing gown over her screen. Tyrion took this as his cue to leave, calling to her that he would see her at breakfast.

He was practically done with his meal by the time she arrived, but he did not move from his seat even once he had finished and she'd barely even taken more than a few grapes. At least he was unlikely to get questions about whether or not he'd spent the night in her chambers. The fact that she had bathed and he had not was already a good distraction, and he couldn't help but wonder if she'd done it more for that purpose than hygiene.

They seemed to be early risers regardless, though, since only about half the hall was full when Sansa sat down, and only Brienne and Davos had joined them at the table. As she ate and the four chatted benignly, the other tables started to fill. Arya came in chatting animatedly with Jonelle. Bronn stumbled in fighting back a yawn. Bran was rolled in by Podrick just as everyone seemed to be gaining their footing on another new day. Once he had taken his spot next to Sansa on her opposite side, the woman in question stood, and the hall immediately quieted, which was a rather impressive feat.

"There will be no petitions today, as I will be in meetings with the delegation from the Six Kingdoms. I believe some of the Kingsguard have agreed to do some training out in the yard, if anyone is interested. If there are any pressing concerns, do not hesitate to speak to Maester Wolkan or the steward, Evin Whitehill." She nodded her head before sitting back down, but before any noise could resume, Bran spoke in a much more resounding voice than Tyrion had ever heard from him.

"We would all do well to wish my sister, Queen Sansa, and my Hand, Lord Tyrion Lannister, congratulations. The two have decided to resume their marriage, and we all wish you both well."

In the back of the hall, a piece of cutlery clattered to the stone floor.

A/N: Leave reviews/favorite/follow or come talk with me on Tumblr yetanotheremptypage because hearing from you guys helps motivate me to write. I hope you are all staying safe, healthy, and sane during these times. 3