DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I do not own. All titles taken from "No One Else" from Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812.
A/N: I can already feel this fic spinning away from me. I haven't yet figured out if it will cover less plot than I thought, simply be longer, or both. How could it be both? Let's find out.
Also, we're playing fast and loose with canon from here on out. I promise I'm doing research on stuff I don't know from the books/have forgotten from the show but things will both slip through the cracks and be thrown out for my own purposes.
In that moment, Sansa really did think about what the consequences would be for attacking her brother in front of everyone. Arya could definitely pull them apart. She'd never done more than use a dagger before and the closest thing she had was a fork.
Someone from Bran's side of the table, she thought it might be Bronn, started applauding, loudly, and she watched as Bran, then Arya, then Davos and Brienne, and then the hall itself followed suit, and she blindly reached for Tyrion's hand to anchor her. At least now it was out there. She certainly hadn't had any idea on how to best announce it, but she'd figured saying something to her council and letting the rumors filter out from there would be enough. Then her family and advisors would know, and while she trusted Talya, she did not doubt that the fact that Tyrion had spent his night in her room and not his chambers had already circulated through the servants. But there was no chance of anonymity now.
She risked a glance at the table Lord Glover frequented. He noticed her stare almost immediately, and raised his cup to her before taking a drink. What was he toasting? Congratulations? Well played? Both?
It was a little bit of both, she supposed. After all, if he hadn't started laying into her about succession, she didn't know if she would have had the courage to do all she did last night, but last night… By the Gods, she'd never shared such an intimate moment before. If she thought the kiss in the crypts was something, she had been unprepared for the feeling of waking up in someone else's arms, his heartbeat anchoring her to the world and her legs tangled in his. He had been so warm, like her own personal fireplace, and he still smelled a little of dirt and pine from the road. Perhaps she should have offered him her bath that morning.
As the applause died down and everyone returned to their meals, Tyrion's thumb ran a few circles over the back of her hand before he pulled it away to reach for his cup, and she returned to her food. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Bronn stand from his chair and walk towards hr, but instead of coming up to her, he stopped at Podrick, standing stoically behind Bran with one a hand on the hilt of his sword, and dropped a gold dragon into Podrick's other, outstretched hand.
At that, she rolled her eyes, and resolved to spend more time befriending women now that the war was over and soldiers didn't have to be her only companions.
Supper started off silently. Brienne and Alran, who were both stationed at the door, could be heard mumbling to each other, though Sansa doubted they were actually mumbling. The table that sat around was square, but she and Bran had been seated opposite each other as if they were gathered around a rectangular one with a place of honor. Arya was to her left, and Tyrion to her right. She could feel Bran staring at her as she served herself and she sort of wanted to kick him under the table, even though he likely wouldn't even notice if she had.
"So, are you Tyrion Stark now?" Arya finally said, which broke Bran's gaze from her.
"I'm sorry?" Tyrion said.
"Doesn't the one with the lower house take the other's name? And since the Starks are both the Northern and Southern monarchs, I think it stands to reason you should take hers."
"Well, neither of us took each other's before," he said with a glance to Sansa. "I thought we would do the same. Will Lord Baratheon take your name?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" Arya asked with a completely straight face. Sansa saw Bran roll his eyes, though he didn't add anything. Her sister continued to insist that she was only temporarily going to Storm's End at Sansa's insistence, as if Sansa hadn't seen her light up whenever Maester Wolkan gave her a letter from Gendry. She knew from Arya that he maintained close contact with Davos; she would have to figure out what the man had slipped to Tyrion on it all, since she doubted she would get much of real substance from Bran, even if he knew all the details.
"Their children will take the Stark name, Arya," Bran said with such certainty that she wondered if he had seen their children in one of his visions. The thought made her shiver, and she wasn't the only one disturbed, considering the look Arya and Tyrion shared.
No one seemed to have much more to say on that subject. She wasn't entirely sure what else to talk about. They'd all been apart for so long, and when they'd been reunited they all had goals. They had never really gotten the chance to be siblings as adults, or what passed for them. They couldn't exactly chase each other through the keep or scale walls or shoot arrows, not that Sansa had ever done some of those things with Arya and Bran, always so wild. There was no dynamic to fit Tyrion into. She was starting to wonder if this meal had been a good idea.
"What's the most embarrassing story you can tell me about my wife from when you were children?"
"Tyrion!" Sansa shrieked as Arya burst into laughter. Even Bran cracked a smile.
"What about in the crypts, when you punched Jon?" he said to Arya, who grinned impishly and launched into the tale of how Jon had decorated himself up like a ghost and scared her (And Bran, she made sure to note to her husband). Tyrion told a somewhat similar tale of something he and Jaime had done to Cersei, but the pain in his eyes as he told it was raw, and she took his hand under the table and squeezed it, hoping he would get comfort from it.
Tyrion was silent when they returned to her- well, their- chambers. She decided to change behind the screen with Talya's assistance. If she found the request strange, she gave no indication of it, for which Sansa found herself eternally grateful. Any of the courage she'd raised last night, when she intended to bed Tyrion if he left her no other option, had vanished.
Once she was changed, she and Talya emerged, and Tyrion asked the maid if she would be able to draw a bath for him in his previous chambers. Talya started to nod when Sansa found herself saying, "Don't be ridiculous, Tyrion; you can bathe in your own chambers."
"I didn't want to disturb," he said, turning his attention from Talya, behind Sansa, to her. She couldn't quite read his expression the way she could most people's. His brow was furrowed, though, so he was probably confused. She didn't blame him for that.
"It's nothing I haven't seen before," she managed to say with a light, even tone, before she turned to Talya and added, "Draw his bath in here; I'll be in my solar."
She made her way over to her desk in the other room before Tyrion or Talya could say a word. Maester Wolkan had left her a bundle of correspondence that had arrived while she had been in meetings trying to work out trade deals as the need for Southern grain became more and more imperative in the North, with a similar need for Northern furs in the Six Kingdoms. She poured herself some wine and took a seat.
Four of the five letters were from Northern houses. House Karstark wanted betrothal advice. House Umber needed more lumber, which she found herself repeating like it was one of Old Nan's nursery rhymes. House Cerwyn wanted to know when Jonelle's service would be up so they could betroth her, which she set aside with a sigh, making a note to talk to her Hand about it tomorrow. Up at Bear Island, Alysanne Mormont was simply continuing the correspondence she and Sansa had struck up while Tyrion was traveling the Kingsroad.
After reclaiming the Iron Islands, Yara Greyjoy had discovered the second oldest Mormont daughter had been held in captivity for several years; no had even bothered to try and ransom her. No one knew what had happened to the middle two, Sansa was fairly sure their names were Lyra and Jorelle, but she didn't know for certain, but Alysanne had taken her family's seat upon her return. Their correspondence had started when Alysanne asked for her two children to be legitimized, and had evolved into a discussion of being a woman in power. She set that one aside, too, planning to respond to it tomorrow, while House Karstark and House Umber's she would write tonight and give to the maester first thing in the morning.
She was already smiling from Alysanne's letter, but it grew even bigger when she realized the last letter was from Castle Black, and therefore Jon. In her haste to break the seal, she knocked over her wine. While the letters remained unaffected, she could not say the same for her shift, which now had a large purple stain against the thigh.
It was not until she reached the door into her bedchamber that she remembered Tyrion was behind the door. Alone. Bathing. She'd looked up every time Talya had entered and exited the room, and she hadn't brought the tub out yet. She debated returning to Jon's letter, but she was soaked, and this way, Talya could take her dress to launder when she returned.
"Tyrion?" she called, knocking on the door. "I spilled wine on my shift; do you mind if I change?"
"No, I don't mind," he called back. She took a deep breath, then opened the door.
The bath had been placed in its usual spot by the dressing screen, and he sat in it the same way she did, so that he couldn't see his reflection in the mirror, and thus he had his back to her. He sat straight up, the muscles in his back tense. She wasn't sure he'd ever seen his back before, which was a strange realization to have about a person. It had a few freckles up by the shoulders, likely earned as a child on the beaches near Casterly Rock, but nothing else, unlike hers.
With a blush beginning to form on her cheeks, she walked purposefully over to the armoire and pulled out another shift. She didn't entirely know where to change, but decided that even with the bath so close, the screen would be the best way for them to stay distant, so she walked back behind it and quickly exchanged shifts, turning her back to the screen and her face to the stone wall.
She stepped back out from behind the screen and hung the wet shift over it. He no longer stared straight ahead, and was trying to rub something along his back, but he couldn't quite reach. Without a word, she took a seat behind the tub and grabbed his hand, slowly moving the cloth out from his grip. Up close, there was grime from the road she hadn't noticed, and she wet the cloth again before slowly wiping it down his back.
The morning of their wedding in King's Landing, Margaery had pulled her for an early walk in the gardens. She'd taken it upon herself to brief Sansa on the wedding night, and Margaery's description was much more interesting sounding than Septa Mordane's had been, though no less terrifying. One thing she'd made sure to explain to Sansa was that sex wasn't intimacy. They'd been whispering for the most part, so as not to be overheard, and she still remembered the steel of Margaery's voice and the grip on her arms as she explained that sex was a weapon, and intimacy, while lovely, could be weakness. It was the only time Sansa had felt she truly understood the relationship between Margaery and Cersei. Cersei had clearly seen much of herself in Margaery, and she had loathed it as much as she'd been jealous of it.
Because as she did this, she heard Cersei's voice in her head repeating Margaery's words, in the same tone the woman had used during the Battle of Blackwater, when she'd told Sansa that what was between her legs was her greatest weapon.
"Why," Tyrion began, but his voice came out scratchy, so he cleared his throat, "Why did you say that earlier, to your maid? That it was nothing you hadn't seen before?"
"I'm not a maiden, milord," she said, and she hated that even now she slipped into these pleasantries and platitudes.
"Are you hoping to spread rumors that I've bedded you, for Lord Glover to hear?"
"No," though, she realized, that would be an added bonus.
"Then why?"
"Because this is your home, and you deserve to be comfortable here."
He turned at that, and cupped her face. She kissed him slowly, softly, and hoped that he would realize she meant those words, that she wanted him to be comfortable and safe and happy and hers, that she wanted the intimacy that had been denied to her for so long, no matter how weak it made her.
Her council waited a few days to approach her about it, until after a bulk of the negotiations were over and they were meeting alone for the first time since the arrival of the Southern contingent. Jonelle was nothing but supportive of the development, which was just about what she expected considering the knowing smirks Jonelle had started shooting her way whenever she received a raven from Tyrion. Alran Tallhart, the captain of her Queensguard, and Maester Wolkan very explicitly had no reaction. Lord Alaric Magnar, her Master of Coin, seemed to have little interest in the whole affair, feigned or otherwise. Lord Wyman Manderly, her Master of Ships, and Lord Robbett Glover, her Master of Laws since, unfortunately, he had the keenest mind for remembering rules and precedents in the whole North, however, were not quite as schooled.
"I am simply concerned about the type of precedent we will be setting for the future," Lord Glover argued, leaning back in his chair like nothing mattered. Sansa resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She hated that this was the price she had to pay to keep the Glovers firmly under her thumb.
"Are you saying no one in the North should be married to those from the Six Kingdoms or even Essos, Lord Glover? Within just a few generations, the Northern houses would be so intermarried everyone would be your cousin. We're already at risk of it with some of the larger houses here. We all know what such marriage can lead to, the children it breeds. Some of you lived it twice! I think that would be the more dangerous precedent," Jonelle said, and Sansa smiled. This was exactly why this woman had been chosen as her Hand.
"Where will he reside? What will his citizenship status and title be here? Will your children ever live in the Six Kingdoms; will you? Does he hold claim over Casterly Rock and, if so, what will that mean for your children?" Lord Glover pressed, and Sansa held up a hand to stop his tirade before it could evolve any further.
"To be quite frank, milord, I do not know the answers to all of your questions. I think they are questions that we have to answer for all of our citizens, not just my husband, and especially because what Lady Cerwyn has stated is true. Our country is practically an infant, and we have to learn how to walk and talk the same as they do. I believe this should take higher precedence than the status of my husband's citizenship and the inheritance of my yet to be conceived children."
Lord Magnar, who had maintained a stoic expression during the whole exchange, made a face like he sucked on a sour lemon the second she said the word 'conceived.'
"Lord Manderly, do you have something you would like to add to this discussion? I've noticed you seem quite interested in the agricultural report Lord Magnar has prepared for us; perhaps you would rather speak on that?"
"Your grace, do you trust him? After all he and his family have done to you and to yours?"
"Yes," she said without hesitation. He finally looked up from the papers in front of him to her and held her gaze for a long moment.
"Alright."
"So the Council will recognize our marriage and we will declare Tyrion Lannister as the Lord of Winterfell and the Prince Consort in the North?" she asked. The latter was a title she'd found in an old history tome dating back to before the Targaryen conquest, when Kings and Queens had ruled the North.
"Yes," Lord Glover said, with a tilt of his head that everyone copied.
"Will he join us on the council, your grace?" Maester Wolkan asked. Sansa hesitated before shaking her head.
"He will join the yearly council of all the landholders as the Lord of Winterfell. And he shall help me judge petitions and carry out justice in the same role. Other than that, I will not give him further powers and authority without your consent." They all nodded again, and this time she did, too. "Excellent. Lord Magnar, walk us through this report, if you please."
"They are all good questions," Tyrion said as they sat at the table in what was slowly becoming truly their chambers. His trunk had been moved in their third night together. Some of the history tomes she'd already read had started stacking their way onto the small table by the window in her solar as Tyrion began to learn more about his new… home? Country? She didn't know. He'd brought her a cyvasse set for her name day, which now rested on the table. They were supposedly playing a game, but really just talking about their day. It was for the best; she was still rubbish at it, despite all of Tyrion's gentle instruction.
She'd made the decision for them to eat their evening meal alone. Tomorrow would be the last day before the delegation set off for King's Landing. The two of them hadn't discussed it. She had no idea if Tyrion was planning on staying or going, what Bran had asked him to do. Other than his announcement or blessing or whatever that had been in the main hall, Bran hadn't spoken to her directly about her marriage, and she didn't quite know what that meant.
"Do you still have Casterly Rock?" she asked. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and studied the board. It was his turn, after all.
"I retain the title, but I have forfeited it in all but name while serving my penance. We named one of my cousins the lord regent when we called our men to swear fealty to the new king. I don't know if I'll take it back. I don't know if I want to. I don't have many happy memories there."
"So you want to continue to serve my brother."
It was not a question. Tyrion looked up from the board to her, and nodded once.
"Yes. My sister, my nephew, my queen… They have all wreaked havoc on the South. I feel I must right their wrongs, as well as my own." He picked up his goblet and took a long drag of wine, but she could almost hear what she was thinking. He blamed himself, for Daenerys, for Cersei, for Joffrey, for Myrcella and Tommen. For Jaime, perhaps, most of all. She thought she understood. She blamed herself for a lot of things, too.
"Is that a problem, Sansa?" he added, and she blinked. She shook her head, reaching around the cyvasse board to take his hand.
"We won't let it be," she said, even as the part of her that had learned too much from Petyr chanted duty is the death of love. She told him that she didn't need love from him, though she couldn't deny that she wanted it. Her younger self would never have thought of it.
"What else was there? My title?" he asked, finally playing, and she groaned, making him laugh. He'd taken one of her elephants.
"Lord of Winterfell and Prince Consort in the North."
"Prince Consort?"
"Yes, apparently making you a king means you have more power than me. It's an old title, from before the Targaryean conquest."
"I like it." He smiled at her, and she smiled back, feeling a warmth run through her at the sight.
"I'm glad. Your titles mean you'll be expected to retain citizenship in both countries. I don't see why we shouldn't allow it." She looked down at the board, more to hide her face than study it, then back up at him. "I won't live in King's Landing again."
"I wouldn't ask you to," he said, and she knew without a doubt that he meant it.
"I'm not ruling out that I wouldn't visit, I suppose, what with Bran there, but the North is my home. Winterfell is my home."
"I'll split my time as best as I can. I want to be your partner, if that's what you want, too." She nodded, and he pressed a kiss to her hand. "When does Arya leave?"
"With everyone else, two days from now. One of the Kingsguard will escort her on foot to Storm's End once you reach the capital, since Shipbreaker Bay isn't always the kindest stopping point, and you're all sailing to Blackwater Bay anyways. She complained about it, but I'll feel better knowing she's not alone."
"I'm not going to leave tomorrow," he said, and she snapped her eyes directly to his in shock. "I want to get to know you and your- our- people better. Arya is going to marry Gendry, right?"
"I'm fairly confident, though she won't say as much. I asked Maester Wolkan if he'd read any of their letters, and he acted all offended but he winked and said that he had high hopes for their future."
"And that'll likely be in a few moons, then. I thought I could travel down with you, attend the wedding, and then return to King's Landing from there."
She nodded, unsure what else to say, so she made her move in cyvasse. They played for hours, until she yawned everytime she tried to say something and he practically pushed her into the bed. She realized when her head hit the pillow they didn't drop each other's hands the whole rest of the game.
A/N: An explanation of my House Mormont headcanon is featured in my drabble "Here We Stand," and I couldn't resist including it here.
If anyone has questions about Tyrion's title, I thought I'd share my rationale like I did over on AO3: Prince Albert was titled as Prince Consort, meanwhile Prince Philip is just styled as "Prince of the United Kingdom." The king always ranks supreme in monarchical (I think that's a word lol) structures, so the husband of a queen-by-right can never become a king because it displaces her, but this doesn't apply the other way for reasons I'm not entirely sure of, but my money's on patriarchy. Since the Seven Kingdoms used full titles like Queen Mother, Queen Regent, etc, I figured he would properly have the same. He would probably be addressed as Prince Tyrion, though, even if he's introduced as Tyrion, the Prince Consort.
From my understanding of the inheritance laws of Westeros, with the exception of Dorne, they follow male-preference primogeniture, so that while it goes to second oldest son before the first daughter, it can still go to the daughter's side of the family- the Mormonts, for example, since Jeor joined the Night's Watch and his son Jorah fled for Essos. On top of that, Westeros doesn't use a proper peerage system; everyone is simply lord or lady, so the titles are equivalent regardless, and most lords and ladies are only in charge of their own lands unless appointed to a larger role. Also, I imagine "Lady of Winterfell" as a courtesy title that shows off Sansa's status but has few true responsibilities, so I see no issue with Tyrion taking it. He can pick up the slack for her in Winterfell's territory while she's busy with the rest of the North.
Finally, thank you to everyone who reviews, favorites, and follows! They all make me so happy; you have no idea.