A/N: I was utterly blown away by the responses to this ficlet, and let myself write more. Please let me know what you think. R&R!
Tyrion found her in the Godswoods. He did not mean to pry, but when he had been told that she had left the castle, even though they were nursing their wounded and burning their dead (and the other dead), he had felt dread creep up on him. Therefore, as the puppy he hated being, he had gone to look for her.
He was not seen and was able to come very close to the old trees where Winterfell people worshipped the old Gods. Lady Sansa was there, alongside her brother, or the shell of who had once been her sibling.
"He died valiantly," the boy, raven, whatever you wanted to call him, said.
"Is that supposed to ease my ache?"
"I do not know."
Tyrion could see from the way she was wringing her hands in the furcoat that she was far from satisfied with this answer.
"I want my brother back," she finally said. "Maybe he would have been sympathetic instead of treating me like one of his countless worshippers."
"I'm no God," the young man answered.
"You're not my brother either, not when I need you to be."
"I'm going away now," he said, and his eyes turned white, looking all seeing yet completely blind.
She sighed and let out a soft cry.
He expected her to weep, to say something, anything, even if she thought she was speaking to herself. He would have had plenty to say, then again, he couldn't help talking, would have talked to a dead tree branch if need be.
Knowing full well she would not take kindly to his spying on her, he made sure to walk on some dry leaves, to let her know he was there. She jumped and turned to face him but kept whatever weapon he knew had to be in her furcuffs hidden.
He uncharacteristically chose to not say a word. He was infringing on her space, on her private time, at a personal moment. She did not need some snide comment or awkward conversation starter.
She was so tall, yet it did not make him feel less of anything. When Cersei would use her height to tower over him, she did so with purpose, as if to let him know who was an abomination and who was not. With Sansa, there was nothing of the sort. She was tall because her father and mother had been so. It was just part of who she was, and was not meant to be a weapon or anything of the sort.
"I hate it when he does that," she said, breaking the ominous silence.
"What, My Lady?" he asked.
"Just… disappear. Go away, as he says. Retreat into his all-knowing eye, not caring about the shell form he leaves behind since he has complete freedom when he's wherever he goes or warg whoever he wants."
"I would have loved being able to do it," he answered truthfully. "Spare me a moment, don't assume the worst... Can you picture Cersei trying to chastise me into whatever she would have set her mind to, me being able to make a point, and then just, woosh, vanished into myself where she could not retaliate?"
Almost begrudgingly, he saw the corner of her lips form the slightest of smile.
"I would have been worried for your body then, my Lord," she answered, coming to sit on a trunk nearby. "I'm quite certain slipping back into yourself would have meant discovering you had been cut or harmed, or…."
"Amputated of that dick she thinks she has more right to than I do." He finished for her, and even though he saw that she would have phrased things differently, in her lady like fashion, she seemed to be on the same wavelength as he, when it came to what his sister craved and hated.
"I wish she had been born a man," she said. "No demon could have come out of her entrails."
"Marcella was no demon…."
"No, I guess you're right about that. Tommen wasn't too bad either. Others though…."
He tried not to think about the babe his sister was carrying. What sort of evil would she unleash onto the world? He couldn't help but think of a new Night King.
"We should have stayed married," Tyrion found himself saying for the second time in a short time.
"I'm sorry, Lord Tyrion, this is not the place for bantering and talking about things that will never happen. I'm mourning my friend."
There was more to his point, much more. He was not throwing those words around in hope of making her smile, but he let her chastise him, and instead, listen to what she was saying.
"Tell me about him then," he offered, coming to stand near the trunk.
"Theon Greyjoy died there. Right there," she said, pointing at a specific spot on the ground, as if it should be highlighted or shining. "I should know, I came and got his body."
"You were close?" He asked, trying to fight this weird feeling he had never experienced as far as women were concerned, jealousy.
"I guess so. I know so. He… He was there when Ramsay was. He knew what happened to me. I knew what happened to him."
He remembered how happy she had seemed to see the boy when he had shown up at Winterfell.
"Misery doth love company, and he was my only friend. Few people have ever known what it was like to be Ramsay's pet, to be his victim, his doll, his to massacre, burn, pillage, rampage, and more. Theon knew. He became Reek because of that man, and I never got to tell him how proud I was that he got to find himself again."
"I'm not well versed in the Old Gods, but I would like to believe, if it would not offend Them or you, that they would let him hear those words, wherever he is."
"The Old Gods are everything the Sevens are not. Do not ask me where I stand, to make a pledge, to swear my faith with one or the other, but ever since I've been back to Winterfell, and ever since I became its Lady again, I find myself pondering, begrudgingly. I think about the Gods my father trusted with his soul, and the good it did him, and those my mother worshipped, with similar results."
"Gods are smiteful creatures…"
"What if they're not? I do not mean to insult you or your faith, if you have any, but what if, when it came down to it, people were to blame, and Gods were just a nifty excuse for what they did?"
"I believe you very eloquently made the point I have been trying to tell people for ages."
"It was not the Seven, or the Old Gods, or even the God of Light that prompted Ramsay to be the despicable being he was."
To his surprise, she spat on the ground, as if she could not bear the feeling of this name in her mouth one second longer.
"See?" She asked. "The Seven would have had me whipped for this. The Old Gods will soak in my spit and if they are willing, they will alleviate some of my pain. It does not make them superior. It's about perhaps what I am allowing them to do for me, if that makes any sense?" She asked, and he felt himself drowning in her green eyes, so honest, and clear.
There was no foul play here, she was not trying to trap him into saying something that would get him beheaded by priests and more. She was in her own head, airing out thoughts that were plaguing her, and he just welcomed it, along with the selfish yet very true blessing he felt to be the receptacle of her inner ponderings.
"Theon… He was torn. He believed in his family creed, but he was raised here and saw my father's devotion to the Gods."
"What is dead can never die," Tyrion said under his breath.
"Exactly. Except it fills me with anger, and pain, and doubt," she exclaimed, as she struggled with the emotions overcoming her. "He was dead, for that was how he was brought into this world, but at times it felt like he was a dead man walking. I think he died several times at Ramsay's hands, the way I've felt myself slip sometimes, and it makes me wonder, am I a dead woman walking too?"
"You're very much alive, My Lady, please believe me when I say that. I can see the life on your cheeks, and the way they have pinkened because of the cold. I can see the way you shiver slightly when a frosty wind comes our way. I can see the tears in your eyes as you mention your dead friend. At times I feel like I catch a glimpse of the hatred you had for the man who took my place by your side, but at other times, it's not there."
"I try not to hate him, not for the Gods, not for any higher purpose one can think about. I don't want him to keep on living through my hatred. He's dead. Let him stay this way, even if it means that I need to control my anger, to pretend that I've made peace with what happened to me. I think that's why Theon was so important. We both made it out alive, we both outlived our tormentor. Except now I am alone, telling myself all those dignified things, those shining principles, yet struggling not to just keep on spitting on the ground whenever I say his name. I wish I could will him out of existence, out of memory."
He said nothing, but very carefully, and very gently, put a hand on top of her muffed hands.
She was alive, and he could not bear the thought of her having second thoughts about it. What she went through made her stronger, and though he hated that she had to suffer time and time again, the princess he had met upon coming to Winterfell all those years ago had now shed her skin and revealed a magnificent queen.
He felt her stiffen, and realized that their conversation had been one-sided, as she had confessed her fears, and her aches, while he had listened.
"Have you ever wondered how a philanderer like me never ended up having children?"
"Men do want their sons," she said, wiping her eyes quickly.
"I don't. I want daughters, with their mother's hair, her laugh, and perhaps a few reminders of my own mother in them. Let them big men have their sons. I would not spit on one, of course, as every child deserves to be cherished, but if it was up to me, I would die surrounded by my wife, our daughters, a flock of wonderful doves, caring for their beloved papa, praying to redeem his sins with their tears."
How strange it felt not to mention anything about someone sucking his cock, yet it was the truth.
"How come you never had children then? I remember you doing quite a lot of leg work when it came to creating this flock of doves," she said, with a smile that was not meant to shame him, yet did.
He had saddled her with his lover as her handmaiden in order to keep tabs on her. He had fucked another woman in their bed. He had shagged other women after they had said their wows.
"I asked myself the same question, when I was younger," he started again, trying to lighten up the mood while telling his secret, one he knew she would keep. "My cousins, all those Lannisters bastards, whether of good birth or not, they had bastards of their own in each town, each brothel, and they complained endlessly about the financial burden those kids were. However, I did my fair share of leg work, as you put it (she blushed and he wanted to smile), and never had anybody come to me with a babe. I wondered if I was unable to have children."
"And then one girl came…."
"No. No girl came forward with the fruit of my entrails. I remember this party I was at once…"
Orgy was the right word to describe the party, but they both knew how to read between the lines.
"It was then I understood. Whores would have my coin, but not my offsprings. As soon as they were done with their parts, they'd run to take so many potions you'd thought I could have given them greyscale."
The look in her eyes was so sad, yet he did not feel pitied. This was his story, his sad tale of woe. Compared to what she had endured, it was a trifle.
"To this day, I still don't know if I can father a child."
"After all the things he did to me, I dreaded carrying Ramsay's child," Sansa said softly. "I wondered if I could love it, if it was doomed, if I would become another Cersei. Then I was not pregnant, and the worry should have been lifted, but it was not. I do wonder if I am capable of bringing a child into this world. But in the end it's all good I guess, I suppose I was always meant to be a crone."
"You were not. You'll have children and love them."
"You'll have your flock of doves, and the wife that will give them to you."
He wanted to make a joke, something about them trying to get started on business, to settle both their worries, but he held his tongue, aware that it was the unease he felt that wanted him to ruin the moment. It was not a disagreeable moment, far from it, it was deep, and meaningful, and he was not sure he knew how to deal with that. However, if she would let him, he could learn.
"What should I tell Yara, when she comes to claim her brother's corpse?" Sansa said, as her stare locked on the spot on the ground again.
"That he should be buried in the crypt, as he was one of us," Bran said, making them tear apart from one another. "That's what he would have wanted."
"If you say so, three eyed-raven," Sansa answered. "You're freezing!" she exclaimed as she watched her younger brother. "Let's get you back inside."
"I dreamt of doves," Bran said, as his sister started pushing the heavy contraption back to the castle.
Tyrion stayed behind for a moment, asking the old Gods and the new ones to grant him a chance at this future he had not known he wanted.