Sansa stared in awe at the tiny baby nursing at her breast. She still couldn't believe it. She and Tyrion had a baby, a little boy they'd named Eddard Jaymes Lannister. Ned. He definitely looked like a Lannister, with his hair already shining gold like his father's, and his eyes a perfect green. Tyrion said he looked like Jaime, for which he was grateful. Sansa thought privately that little Ned looked like his father but she knew that no matter how well he hid it, his appearance was a sore spot for him. He'd be hurt and disappointed if she said anything, thinking she was mocking him. She'd realized long ago that he and his brother shared the same shape eyes, and nose. Even their ears. But like most people, Tyrion couldn't see past his deformity to realize how much alike he and Jaime looked. So she didn't mention it.
She glanced up at her husband as she adjusted her gown and lifted the baby to her shoulder, patting his back softly. "Is he done?" Tyrion smiled, putting down his book.
She nodded, yawning and grinning as the baby emitted a loud burp. "Here, I'll take him," Tyrion said, coming to the side of the bed. "Get some sleep."
Sansa gratefully passed the baby to him, yawning again as she slid down beneath the thick blankets. "I'll just sleep for a little while," she said as she closed her eyes.
"Of course," Tyrion murmured, smiling. Before he and Ned reached the door, she could hear her soft snores.
He settled on the sofa in his solar, the baby sleeping beside him as he sipped from his cup of wine, his gaze once again on the book before him. There had to be something here about…
"Excuse me, my lord." Tyrion looked up to the servant standing in the doorway. "Lord Varys is here to see you."
Tyrion nodded, his eyes dropping to the book again. "Send him in."
Varys swept into the room, gasping in delight when he realized the baby was there. "Oh! He's such a handsome boy," he smiled broadly. "He looks like Ser Jaime."
"Yes, he does, thank the gods," Tyion grinned. "Have a seat, my friend," he gestured Varys to a chair beside the sofa. "Wine?"
"No thank you, my lord. I just wanted to let you know that I've heard Lady Arya is almost back to Kings Landing."
"Well, I know Sansa will be pleased to hear that," Tyrion smiled. They'd heard nothing from her for months, since she'd written that she'd delivered the King's message to The Wall, and of the death of Queen Danerys in a battle with the White Walkers. She planned to escort Shireen Baratheon to Winterfell after the untimely death of her mother of some kind of respiratory illness, and after that she planned to try to find Lord Stannis to inform him of his wife's death and tell him where his daughter was, then return to King's Landing.
"It will be interesting to hear of where she's been," Vary said casually.
"Yes it will," Tyrion agreed. "And I'm sure the King will want to speak to her at length about the North and what she saw there. Speaking of the North, have you heard any more about Lord Stannis?"
Varys smiled coyly. "That was my next topic, my lord. It seems that after disbanding his army he headed to Winterfell to retrieve Lady Shireen. Unfortunately, it seems he died there. Some type of stomach ailment. His men are escorting young Lady Baratheon to her mother's family."
"It still seems strange to me that he suddenly released his army and gave up his quest for the throne," Tyrion said with a small frown. He couldn't help but be relieved that the man was dead, mysterious though it may be.
Varys nodded. "He never truly wanted to be King," he shrugged. "He simply felt that it was his right."
Tyrion nodded slowly. "Speaking of the King," he said carefully. "I've been going through some of Jon Arryn and Ned Stark's papers and books, trying to get everything organized."
"You've done quite the job," Varys said, impressed as he looking around the neat solar. Bookshelves lined two of the walls, filled with more books and stacks of papers than he'd ever seen outside of a formal library. A ladder on wheels leaned against one of the shelves, waiting for its owner to mount it and pull away a thick tome.
"Thank you, it's taken Pod and I months to get it all sorted and organized. But in the sorting I realized something."
"Oh?"
"It seems that Jon Snow, Queen Danerys, and our King were all born the same year. The year of Robert's Rebellion."
Vary's gaze turned stoney, although his smile was polite. "Oh?"
"Yes," Tyrion said firmly. "And yet, both the Stark boy and the dearly departed Queen are just past three and twenty. While our King is barely turned ten and nine."
"I'm sure Lord Connington lied to everyone about the King's age, including the King himself," Varys tittered. "A safety measure, surely."
"Perhaps I should mention to our King that he needs to adjust his age accordingly," Tyrion smiled gently. "Before others realize the same thing that I have."
"Oh yes, you should, my lord," Varys said firmly. "He wouldn't know, and since Lord Connington's disappearance, there's no one to tell him but you."
Tyrion nodded. "I'll make sure to do so at our next meeting. Interesting as well that the innkeeper who traded his son for a cask of wine hasn't been shouting all over King's Landing that he's the reason he King is alive."
"That's because he died, many years ago." Varys' ever present feather fan waved gently before his face.
"Oh? And you're sure? Or do walls have ears?"
"Certain, my lord." Varys voice, usually so light and sweet, was hard and cold. "Absolutely certain."
Listening to him, Tyrion was certain of the man's cause of death. But he only nodded. "Good."
"I've also heard from our friend in Pentos," Varys smiled now. "It seems our guests have decided to travel a bit. They're on their way to Bravos now."
"Really? Well, a little travel may be good for them. I hope all else is well?"
"Oh yes, all appears to be fine."
"Have you any word from Meereen?"
Varys nodded, his face sorrowful. "Nothing good. If what I'm hearing is correct, Ser Barriston and the head of Queen Danerys army have both been killed by order of the King. He's ruling with a very loose hand, especially when it comes to reinstating slavery, which everyone knows he's not opposed to. Hopefully, Lady Margeary will return any day now, and can give us more firsthand information."
"The weather's been mild, so hopefully they'll have an easy crossing," Tyrion said, glancing out of the tall window. Although it was still bitterly cold the sun shone brightly, and there was less and less snow on the ground every day. Winter was easing, thankfully. It had been almost three years. "I know she'll be pleased to return home to Highgarden, and to see her parents at Whitegrove." He'd convinced the King to give the smaller estate to the Tyrell's, as they'd proven themselves loyal. Besides, only one of Margeary's brother's had lived, the lame one. He'd find a nice, quiet wife and settle down, Tyrion was sure. He was happy to facilitate such, if needed. The thought of Shireen Baratheon whispered through his mind. Hmmmm. That might not be a bad idea. They were both disfigured…..and getting the girl away from her mother's family wouldn't be a bad idea. He couldn't believe that the remnants of House Florent wouldn't try to use the girl as a pawn to gain political power, claiming her to be the rightful heir to the throne after her father's death. He pushed the thought to the side as Varys rose.
"Well, should I hear anything else, I will inform you," he smiled. "I'll leave you and your son to enjoy your afternoon."
"Thank you, my friend," Tyrion grinned again at the mention of his son.
"Oh, by the way," Varys stopped before he reached the door, his eyes sparkling with laughter as he looked back at Tyrion. "You've a new name in the city, my lord."
"Really? What new insult have the people hurled at me this week?" Tyrion almost didn't want to hear it. As the only living Lannister he often bore the brunt of the people's hatred of Cercei, although many men remembered how he'd fought with them at the Battle of the Blackwater. His obvious affection for Sansa had softened some people's perceptions as well. But still…
"Apparently, you're now known as The Bloody Hand," Varys giggled. "Word has come back of the battles in the Iron Islands, and how no one named Greyjoy was left alive by your order. And I'm told it isn't considered an insult. They say it as a compliment. You've put down the last of the war, my lord. It's truly over now. The people are celebrating."
Tyrion smiled widely. "Well now, that's a pleasant surprise."
"Indeed it is," Varys agreed, turning to leave. Almost immediately, Alinor rushed in, curtseying quickly.
"Excuse me, my lord, but the King is here. He insisted on seeing my lady. I told him that she was sleeping, but he went into the room, alone. He told me to leave, and his guards are at the door."
Before she'd finished speaking, Tyrion had slid off of the couch. "Stay with the baby," he ordered, hurrying from the room.
"Yes, my lord," Alinor said, dropping down onto the sofa and smiling softly as she lifted the tiny white wrapped bundle into her arms. "I knew he wouldn't give up easily," she sighed to the sleeping baby.
Aegon poked and pushed at the fire until it burned cheerfully again, then gently set down the poker and dropped silently into the chair that he moved to beside Sansa's bed. His Queen was somewhere in the Keep, her waist thickening with their first child. She was so sweet and beautiful. Even in her grief at the news of her father's death, she'd remained kind and gracious. Everyone loved Queen Jorra, including her King. She was everything he would want in a Queen. His eyes drifted to Sansa's face.
Perhaps not everything.
In her sleep, Sansa moved restlessly, turning to her side, facing him. Her full breasts threatened to spill from the top of the pale blue gown she wore and Aegon's eyes settled there, thinking of how much he missed sparring with Sansa, both with swords and with words. She was one of the most intelligent women he knew and he'd hoped…he tore his eyes away. It didn't make sense to hope for what would never be. She was married – happily – to Tyrion, who was not only his most trusted advisor, but a friend. And he was married to a woman who was gentle and kind, and soothed his spirit every time he was with her. He'd come to love her, truly he did. Was it wrong for him to still wish for more? For a woman he could talk to, and laugh with, and trust to handle things of a more delicate nature? Tyrion regularly assigned Sansa tasks to complete on their behalf, he knew. She was well respected in the city, this Lady of the Keep. Everyone trusted her and loved her, including him. But her husband ensured that they spent no time together.
His eyes lifted as the door opened. "Your Majesty," Tyrion said, surprise on his face, closing the door softly behind him. "I didn't expect to find you here." Tyrion's eyes drifted to his sleeping wife, noticing even from the door the swell of her full breasts above her gown, and his brow rose. "Is there something I can do for you?" he asked quietly, coming towards him.
Damned Alinor, she must have run straight to Tyrion. Aegon forced a smile and rose. "No, I just wanted a moment alone to think," he said, keeping his own voice quiet as well, so as not to wake Sansa. "I'd hoped to talk to Sansa, but…." He gestured.
Tyrion nodded. "Yes, she's still recovering from the birth, and tires easily." He stepped back, gesturing towards the door. "I'm glad to find you, actually. Varys just brought me a report, and we need to discuss a few things."
Argon nodded. "Alright, but it will have to be later, we're due to meet with Lord Jast soon." He opened the bedroom door.
"I'll meet you there," Tyrion smiled. "I just need to get something." The King nodded and Tyrion closed the door, turning to see Sansa pushing up onto her elbows. "I'm so sorry love, I was trying not to wake you."
"You didn't," she assured him. "I've been awake for a few minutes but I didn't want to open my eyes. Why was he here?" she asked.
"Because he's in love with you," Tyrion sighed, climbing up to sit beside her on the bed.
Sansa looked at him in dismay. "I would have thought he'd be over it by now, it's been well over a year."
"I'd hoped," Tyrion said wryly. "But no. This is something we're going to have to learn to live with, apparently."
"No, it's something he's going to have to learn to live with," Sansa said firmly, wrapping her arms around her husband and pulling him close to her. "We're happy, and we're going to stay that way."
"Yes we are," Tyrion grinned, leaning up to kiss her softly. "How much longer did the midwife say?" he whispered against her lips.
Sansa laughed. "We've weeks and weeks yet, Tyrie! Ned is barely a week old!"
Tyrion sighed. "You're right, of course," he said, forcing himself away from her lips. "Varys told me that Arya is almost back to the city. She should be here any day now."
Sansa was visibly relieved. "Oh good," she said. "I've been so worried. I wish she would stay here."
Tyrion smiled. "I know love, but Arya is headstrong, to say the least. She will do as she wants. And in the interest of at least keeping in touch with her, we should probably let her."
"Tyrie, she needs a husband," Sansa said firmly. "Someone older, who can settle her down." She'd been thinking about it. "One of the Northern lords, I think, so she'd be closer to home."
"That's the last thing she needs," Tyrion laughed. "First, you wouldn't be able to convince her to even show up for the ceremony, and she definitely wouldn't say the words. And she'd make that man's life a living hell. No, love. One day, when she's ready. One day, she'll meet a man who's a match for her, and who will settle her down. And we'll wed her to him, as quickly as possible. Anything before that would be as effective as beating your head against a wall."
She didn't want to think that he was right. "I just can't be comfortable with her roaming about Westeros all alone. For all that she pretends, she's a girl. And soon she'll be a woman. I need to spend some time with her." The thought was depressing. She and her sister had nothing in common, and the thought of trying to talk to her about her first flowering and sex and moon tea made her stomach churn. I've worn armor and marched in battle. I've turned the tide of a war. I can manage Arya. I hope.
When Arya finally walked into the room a few days later, Sansa grew even less certain. Arya had changed in the almost year she'd been gone, and although could easily identify some of the changes – her height, and the soft swell of breasts and hips that she tried to hide beneath loose clothing – there was something else, as well. A confidence that hadn't been there before. And as usual, she refused to allow Sansa, Tyrion, or even the King to tell her what to do. "I've managed this far just fine," she said stubbornly. "Now do you want to sit here and fight, or do you want to hear about how brave Dany was?"
Sansa sighed, her eyes watering a bit at the thought of her friend. She'd missed Dany, and had been heartbroken when Arya had written that she'd died. She shook her head. "No, I don't, actually. It will only make me cry. But….where is Messendei? And her guards?"
Arya shrugged. "Guards are all dead, except one," she said. "He and Messendei left. Going home, I suppose."
"I hope not," Sansa sighed. "Tyrie has said that things are very bad in Meereen since word got back to them that Dany died. Have you seen the dragons?"
Arya nodded. "They're still up near the wall. For some reason, they all love Jon." She shuddered lightly. "Ugly beasts, I hate those things."
Tyrion smothered his smile as he came into the room, hearing the last of Arya's conversation. "Ugly? Interesting. I found them quite beautiful. And I would think the dragons would want to return to warmer climates," he said. "How are you, little sister?"
"Fine and you, big brother?" she asked mockingly.
Tyrion only smiled. "Well, thank you. Have you seen your nephew?"
Arya nodded, smiling in spite of herself. "He looks like Ser Jamie."
"Yes, he does, thank the gods. Hello love," he smiled to Sansa with obvious affection. She leaned to kiss him. "I haven't seen you in hours." He took her hand.
Sansa grinned. "You're such a busy and important man," she teased. "I wouldn't want to bother you."
"Oh please, bother me all you want," he grinned. But he looked to Arya. "I know the King wants to speak with you about all you've seen on your travels. He has a few moments now, if you don't mind?"
Arya sighed, then rose. "Fine."
"I'll see you later, love." He kissed Sansa again as Arya made a face behind his back.
The King was on the sofa in his sitting room, staring into the fire when Arya and Tyrion arrived. "Ah, Lady Arya," he smiled. "Welcome home. How was your trip?" He gestured for her to sit beside him as Tyrion climbed into the chair beside the sofa.
Arya shrugged. "Cold and hungry," she said flatly, dropping unceremoniously onto the sofa. "People are starving. You need to be sending the food farther north."
He nodded solemnly. "Yes, I have several ships that are trying to get into White Harbor, but the bay is completely iced over, as I'm sure you know. We're doing the best we can."
"It's not good enough. People are dying."
"I'm well aware," he sighed. "Speaking of dying, what happened to Stannis Baratheon?"
Arya shrugged. "I dunno, I wasn't there. Some sort of stomach problem."
He waited. "And that's all?"
"I wasn't there."
"Did your mother say anything about him?" Tyrion asked.
Arya shook her head. "I haven't seen her since I left Shireen at Winterfell." She sighed. "But I heard a lot of talk that some of the northern lords poisoned him. Lord Manderly is certain that Lord Karstark had something to do with it."
The King nodded slowly. "And what of his lady wife?"
"Some sort of respiratory illness," Arya said. "She was dead when we came back from the ranging."
"And the girl?"
Arya shrugged. "A mouse. Terrified of her own shadow. Ugly, and knows it. All she wants is to disappear into a hole and never be seen again."
"So no interest in her father's crown?" Tyrion asked.
Arya shook her head. "I don't think the thought's even occurred to her," she said honestly. "She's not the type."
"What did you think of Stannis?" the King asked curiously.
"Joyless. Stoic. Responsible." Arya shrugged. "Dutiful. That maybe the best description of him. He didn't want to be King, he just felt it was his duty. He was the type for whom duty was the ultimate honor. It was his duty to marry and father a child. It was his duty to serve as Lord of Dragonstone with honor and integrity even though he hated the place, and felt King Robert insulted him by the giving of it. And it was his duty, as King Robert's heir, to assume the throne and serve the Seven Kingdom's to the best of his ability."
He nodded again. "Tell me about these White Walkers."
Tyrion felt a strong thrum of dread when a flash of real fear swept across Arya's face. "We got rid of a lot of them," she said, finally. "But I told Jon and I'll tell you, they're not done. They'll be back. The dragons were our best weapons against them, and they stayed at the wall. I don't know if they'll respond to Jon's commands the way they did Dany's, but they attack those things on sight, so hopefully." She shrugged again.
"And the lovely Queen?" the King asked softly.
"Dead."
"You're certain?"
Arya nodded. "I saw her body. She's dead, and her head was separated from her body, just like all of the other dead, to ensure they didn't rise again. Trust me. She's dead."
"So the White Walkers are real," the King mused thoughtfully.
"Real and dangerous," Arya said firmly. "Jon needs more help up at The Wall. We didn't destroy them, they'll be back. We just pushed them back a little. And they need food, he's got to keep his men fed if they're going to win."
Both men nodded. "What about White Harbor?" Tyrion asked. "Hear anything interesting there?"
Her grin was sudden, and transformed her face from a teenaged boy into a stunning young woman. "Heard a lot about The Bloody Hand."
The King laughed as Tyrion grunted, but a smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Yes, I've heard a bit about that as well."
"The people love you," she said seriously. "They adore you because you've finally ended this bloody war. And with Lord Stannis dead, too? They're thrilled. Now we just need this blasted winter to end."
Tyrion sighed. "If history holds true, winter won't end until the White Walkers are defeated. The last time it took an entire generation. People died by the thousands, food was non existant."
"Well, we pushed them back, but I don't know for how long." And she hoped with everything within her that the King didn't ask her to go back to The Wall.
"That would align with history as well," the King said. "The cold is lifting some, perhaps because you pushed them back." He smiled. "I'm grateful for all of your assistance, Lady Arya."
She shrugged. "It was in my best interest to help."
"It still is," Tyrion said with a smile.
"I've another favor to ask, if you're willing, Lady Justice," the King began.
Arya groaned. "In the north?"
"No," the King smiled. "In Dorne, actually, it's warm there. I need to send a message to my uncle, and I don't want to send it by conventional means."
Relieved, Arya nodded. "As long as it's not somewhere buried in snow. Wait," she frowned, realizing what he'd called her. "Lady Justice?"
"Yes, if you'd like," Tyrion said. "The King's Justice position is open, Ser Ilyn has disappeared. It would ensure you a salary and your own quarters here in the Keep, along with a small staff. And we'd of course cover all of your expenses."
Arya smiled consideringly. As King's Justice, she'd be able to come and go as she pleased, and she wouldn't have to worry about how she'd pay for anything. "Would I have to take the white?"
"I would prefer you didn't," the King said firmly. "Your greatest advantage is that you are a highborn lady, headstrong and inclined to do as you please, to the obvious chagrin of your sister and brother by marriage. No one will suspect you of being anything more."
"Take some time and think about it," Tyrion said before she could speak. "I know that you value your freedom, and with this position you'll be free to come and go until the King calls you. You'll be tied here."
"I'm tied here anyway," she said on a sigh. "You and Sansa are here." For all she groused and complained, she was pleased to know that her sister was alive and well. And her nephew was a handsome little fellow. "And next year, when he's ready, I'll go get Rickon and bring him here, too."
"I might want you to take him to Winterfell first, if it's alright with you, Your Majesty," Tyrion said. "So he can spend some time with your mother." The report from Lord Manderly bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Catlyn Stark was many things, but devoted mother had always been high on the list.
"She's not there," Arya shrugged. "She left after Lord Stannis' guards took Shireen to her grandparents. She left me a note that said Winterfell isn't her home anymore. She's not sure where is, but she's going to Riverrun with Uncle Edmure and maybe stay there awhile." Arya was certain she wouldn't see her again. Tyrion only nodded sadly.
When the tedious meeting was finally over Arya went back to see Sansa, to ask if she wanted to go with her into the city. She was certain the answer was no, but thought she'd ask anyway. Sansa was sitting at her desk, going through a stack of letters, the baby sleeping in a basket beside her. "Arya," she smiled. "I didn't expect to see you again today."
Arya stared down at the impossibly tiny baby. "I need to go into the city, I need new boots and a few other things. I wanted to see if you'd come with me."
Sansa's smile widened in surprise. "I'd love to, but," she gestured to the baby.
Arya nodded. "I didn't think you would. I just wanted to ask." She wandered from the baby's side to drop onto the sofa, her legs sprawled in front of her.
Sansa studied her. "How was your meeting with the King?"
"Fine."
The silence was heavy and awkward. "Is something bothering you?" Sansa asked hesitantly.
Arya pushed to her feet, moving to stand in front of the bookshelf, her fingers running lightly over the spines. "It's Gendry," she said finally.
Sansa frowned. "The knight Mother sent with you to The Wall?"
Arya nodded.
"Oh. Did he come here with you, as well?"
Arya nodded.
"Oh." Sansa waited, but Arya didn't speak, or even move. "Is there something wrong with him?" she asked tentatively.
"No. Yes. No." Arya huffed in frustration, moving to drop on the sofa again. "He looks at me like I'm a girl," she mumbled, frowning at her feet.
Sansa bit back her smile. "Arya, you are a girl."
Arya glared at her as Sansa smiled. "I know that it would be much easier for you to roam about the countryside if you were a boy, but you're not. And soon your body will betray you. I'm sure you'd love to never develop breasts and have your first flowering, but they're going to happen and at your age, they'll happen soon."
"I know," Arya grumbled. "I just…." She jumped up again, pacing the room restlessly. "You're such a girl," she spat. "All you've ever wanted was to be a lady. Well, I don't. Haven't you ever just wanted to make your own choices?" she asked earnestly. "To make your own decisions, and live your life the way you want, without worrying about what other people expect you to do?"
Sansa could only stare for a long moment. "Actually, I know that feeling all too well," she said on a soft sigh. "So what is it that you want to do?"
"I don't know,"Arya said stubbornly. "But I want to figure it out myself."
Sansa nodded. "Alright."
Arya's head jerked up in surprise. "That's it?" she asked suspiciously.
Sansa smiled wryly. "When I first came back to King's Landing with King Aegon's army, he wanted to set my marriage to Tyrion aside and make me his queen. Lord Manderly wanted me to have the King set my marriage aside and then go to White Harbor, and let him be my guardian so that he could find me a proper and suitable husband. Ser Harry wanted me to have the King set my marriage aside so that I could marry him, and we'd rule the North and the East together. Everyone wanted me to be a good girl and do as I was told, and let them make all of the decisions for me. Even Tyrion assumed that I'd want our marriage set aside so that I could become queen. But he was also the only one who actually asked me what I wanted, and then listened when I answered. I know that I won't always make the right choices," she said. "I don't always know what to do and sometimes I'm scared witless. But Tyrion will let me try. He'll let me make my own choices, and be there to catch me if it all goes wrong. The least I can do is be the same for you. So go on, do what you want. Just keep in touch and know that if it all goes wrong, Tyrie and I will catch you." She hoped it was the right thing to say. She wanted Arya to know that for all they didn't agree, she actually did understand.
Arya stood stunned, staring mutely, then walked determinedly towards Sansa. Dropping to her knees, she pulled her sister into a tight hug. "Thank you," she whispered fiercely.
Sansa returned the hug equally tight. "I love you, and I want you to be happy," she said, fighting tears. "But I've learned that happiness is something you have to find for yourself. No one else can do it for you. So go find your happiness."
"You did," Arya said, pulling away to study her sister's face. "You've found your happiness."
Sansa smiled, and nodded. "I have. Now it's your turn. Perhaps Gendry will be your happiness."
Arya blushed brightly even as she scoffed and rose to her feet. "Puh. No." She strode determinedly to the door, stopping just before she stepped out to look at her sister. "I love you, too." And she was gone, leaving Sansa smiling and feeling as though she'd won a victory.
And we have come to the end. Thank you to those of you who've stuck with me. Please keep an eye out, I'm working on a short story of Jamie, Brienne, and Myrcella's time after they left Westeros, and also a story of what Arya actually did in the almost year she was gone. I'm also working on a Star Trek:The Next Generation fanfic, so that's coming too.