One Flesh, One Heart, One Soul

Sansa stood on the balcony of the Winterfell courtyard. At her side, Bronze Yohn Royce stood council. She was still engaged in the restoration of Winterfell, especially the courtyard and the surrounding walls. Strong men from the Winter Town came to work on the stonework. She wondered if this was what her Lady Mother felt like, surveying the castle from this vantage point. Mother and father used to stand here and watch her brothers sparring in the courtyard. When Sansa was a girl she wanted nothing more to be as far away from this castle as she could get. Her head had been filled with stupid dreams of knights and chivalry. Visions of gallant heroes danced through her daydreams. She thought that she would marry a tall, strong, and handsome prince with golden hair. She would be the Lady of a great castle, and her children would be little lords and ladies. When she was betrothed to Joffrey, she thought her dreams had come true. She was an innocent fool.

As Sansa listened to Royce drone on about stonemasons, and quarries, and wall reinforcements, her thoughts were constantly flitting from place to place like butterflies in a field of flowers. She nodded in agreement though she scarcely heard the last thing that he said.

"Lord Royce," she began, "you must permit me to retire to my chambers. I feel...unwell."

"Of course, my lady," Lord Royce bowed. He grunted some orders to his men. Sansa scarcely heard him. She walked purposefully back to her bedchamber. One of her ladies maids accompanied her.

"Mora," Sansa turned towards her handmaid, "once I am settled, please send for Lord Tyrion. I wish to speak with him before he departs for Dragonstone."

"Yes m'lady," the young woman set out to find Lord Tyrion.

Sansa sat on a richly upholstered chair in front of her writing desk. She could hear the hurried steps of her guests as they walked through the halls. It was a comfort to have such a flurry of activity in the castle. Sansa smoothed her skirts. She began to remove the smooth kidskin gloves that she wore. She flexed her fingers, and ran her hand along the length of the table absentmindedly, as she glanced towards the doorway.

Tyrion approached her door, and stood in the doorway, "My Lady."

"Last time we spoke, you mentioned that you had not slept well," Sansa began, "has the dreamwine been any comfort?"

"Yes, my lady. We leave for Dragonstone in the very near future, and I fear I may need all of my strength." A slight smile formed at the corners of his mouth, as he walked towards her.

"How is your queen?" Sansa shifted slightly in her chair. Your divided loyalties would become a problem, her own words echoed in her head.

Tyrion moved closer to her, pushing the heavy ironwood door behind him against the castle wall.

"Our queen," Tyrion corrected "She 's your queen too. Our queen is eager to take our party south. You may soon enough have your castle to yourself again." Tyrion now stood to face her, with a slight smile.

Sansa looked into his face. His eyes were smiling. She studied him, and took in the curve of his smile. Although she was seated, he stood at eye level with her. As he moved closer to her, she felt a curious sensation. Her skin seemed to tingle with warmth. It was almost like she could feel his skin touch hers, though they were standing apart. For a moment her mind drifted back to the strange dreams she had been having. Her face felt flush. She studied him now, and her eyes caught the way that the sun seemed to bring out the streaks of white blonde in his honey colored curls.

"And you are devoted to your queen?" Sansa began, "She is...fortunate."

"I suppose one could say that I am fortunate as well. Have you given any thought to what you might do, once the war is won?"

"Yes. Some. I'm being counselled constantly about marriage."

"Marriage is...a prospect," he smiled.

"You would be an eligible match, if it were not for your... divided alliances." The words left her lips and seemed to hang in the air. She wasn't sure why she said it.

Tyrion reached out and took her hand. She felt her pulse quickening. He looked at her hands in his, brought them both to his mouth and lightly kissed them. Sansa was aware of the featherlight caress of his thumbs against her wrists as he lifted her hands to his lips. His lips felt warm and wet against the back of her wrist. She felt like pulling him closer. But she did not.

Her stomach felt tight. She felt warm, as if she wanted to take off the fur cloak that she was wearing. It felt like she was being weighed down by it. She searched his eyes.

"You needn't go with her. There will always be a place for you here." If you want it. But would he want it? The last few words she confined to her thoughts.

He moved closer to her. She imagined running her hands through his honey colored curls, and kissing him on the mouth, but a lady would never do such a thing. She looked into the distance behind him.

"Why must you go off to die? Are you so sure of your Queen?"

Tyrion closed the distance between them. He cupped her face in his hands. "Our queen," he said running his thumbs along the sides of her cheeks. He smelled of leather, and ale, and she felt like she was sinking into the chair beneath her. His face hovered close to hers, and she thought he might kiss her.

"Sansa. I can't abandon our queen, You might try to show a bit more restraint with her." She saw something like fear behind his eyes.

"Your dragon queen doesn't like the North. She thought to herself, "Am I in danger?" Yes, Sansa thought, he is afraid of her. Why? Should I be?

"You don't want to provoke her." His eyes seemed to be pleading with her. "I swore to protect you once."

"Yes, I remember our wedding ceremony. One flesh, one heart, one soul."

The softness in his eyes felt like a caress.

"Yes, my lady. Always."