Sansa and Tyrion
Tyrion had been bracing himself for seeing his former wife again the whole journey to Winterfell. His last memory of her was seeing her duck beneath the table at Joffrey's wedding feast to retrieve the fallen cup saving him from having to go on his hands and knees to fetch it like a dog. He remembered warning look on her beautiful, terribly young face. Her sky blue eyes turned icy from years of weeping held his gaze. That long look taught him a Citadel's master class on how to survive seemingly never ending humiliation, "Do not be careless. Be Proud, but only in your heart. Give him nothing to hold against you. Endure." But then when Joffrey had died, she'd fled.
He'd never believed for a second she'd killed Joffrey. Varys had speculated that Littlefinger had spirited her off for his own ends. Well, that did make sense. Lord Baelish was a very strange man. Varys had also told Tyrion that there were tales that Sansa's path a very difficult one. That between Joffrey's wedding and becoming the Mistress of Laws for the North and the Stark in Winterfell horrible misfortunes had befallen her. Tyrion asked if the tales were true and how bad the stories were. Varys said they if the stories were untrue it was only because the truth was too disgusting to be diverting gossip. Always so cheerful, Varys.
So when the door of the wheelhouse he'd been huddling for warmth with people he'd come to dislike rather intensely in was hacked open, and a fur clad figure dug its way inside, Tyrion was not expecting the brute who entered to be his delicate little child bride. "Tyrion!" She'd cried, with a big smile, pulling her snow crusted scarf away from her reddened cheeks, "Lord Varys! Lady Olenna, Lady Sand," she paused, slightly breathless, seeing the Sand Snakes glaring up at her with little expression, "these must be Prince Oberyn's daughters." She crawled into the wheelhouse, closing the broken door to shield them against the elements, "I am Princess Sansa Stark of Winterfell. My people are here to assist you. We have sleighs with us that will be able to bring your company the rest of the way to our keep tonight. We'll have you in warm beds very quickly..."
"Will we be able to retrieve our things?" asked Tyne Sand, "Princess?" she remembered her manners.
Sansa prettily cocked her head, "This is a deadly blizzard, Lady Sand. These people are risking their lives to save yours not to save your luggage. If you can dig it out yourself and haul it to the sleigh in the next five minutes, and it doesn't displace a human being, then proceed. If not we'll come back to retrieve it after the storm breaks. We are only three miles from the keep. And the storm should break in a few days." As Sansa moved to quietly greet Lady Olenna, Tyrion got a better look at his former bride. Her snow drenched braid, unkempt braid was a far cry from her perfectly coiffed hair of King's Landing and she seemed to have lost the coltishness of adolescence and to have acquired a more womanly affect. Her figure was well hidden underneath the cloak and man's woolen tunic and leather trousers she'd worn for the rescue. One thing he could tell. She was taller. And more beautiful.
"Come on, red wolf, move your arse. We've loaded up the Sea Monster, the Dragon bitch and some old fucker claims he's the little bear's cousin. That fucker looks like he's her great grandfather, but in any case, they are all loaded up. I can still hear their bitchin', but they are loaded up. It's just this lot to go." A huge man with shaggy red beard stuck his head into the wheelhouse. "Who goes first?"
Sansa took Lady Ellaria by the hand, "Take your daughters and stick close to Tormund, he'll lead you to the sleigh."
"We have to carry them. They're not dressed for it." Tormund interrupted, "The boots." He pointed to their feet. Only the Sea Monster and the old fucker was wearing proper boots." Sure enough, the whole company all seemed to be wearing boots that might be fit for an afternoon of shopping in King's Landing not for sub zero snow bank running in a Northern blizzard.
"I am going to kill Wyman Manderly for letting the caravan leave White Harbor like this. Wheelhouses? Standard horses?" Sansa muttered, "Didn't Theon or Queen Yara make recommendations for what gear you'd need?" Sansa asked Tyrion through narrowed eyes.
"We aren't going to be in the North long enough to need all new clothing." Tyrion said, smoothly.
"It doesn't take but a few minutes in this weather to lose toes." Sansa frowned. "Fine. This is the Lady Olenna of house Tyrell, please escort her first then, Tormund. Anyone who can carry and has proper boots, carries. Send them to me immediately." As the Queen of Thornes was lifted into the strong arms of the Free Man, Lady Brienne came to pause in front of him and he sighed dramatically.
The old woman took the measure of the situation, "Tell me everything, young man," She said, as she was carried out into the snow. Brienne made an angry face and in her turn picked up Lord Varys like he was made of balsa wood. And on it went.
When it was just the two of them, Sansa turned to Tyrion, "I can carry you or we can wait for someone else. Not to make it sound too good, but I can carry you under my cloak and strap you in with my bracers. You might get a cheap thrill." She said as she began to unbuckle her cloak. There was something in her movements that made him suddenly feel saddened.
"Are you all right, Sansa?" Tyrion asked, seriously.
"No," she responded, blankly, "I thought I things were going to be all right, but I know they won't be, not now. It's my own fault as usual. But it isn't your concern, Tyrion," here she smiled kindly, "And I am glad to see you. You and Theon, at least." She leaned down and wrapped her arms around him, "Now you have to hold on." He felt her re-buckle her leather straps around them both, "If I drop you, I don't want you to feel bad because it doesn't necessarily mean you are fat. But... you know..." She whispered, tartly, wrapping the scarves around her face, before pulling her hood up.
"Shut up," he chuckled.
"See, all this time in Essos and now you can't take a joke," Sansa yelled to be heard over the wind as they heaved out of the wheelhouse into the storm.
"The weather's lovely here!" Tyrion yelled into her neck. He groped around for something soft to hold onto. Sansa had offered him a cheap thrill after all.
Just as he thought he gotten ahold of bit of tit at last, he was released onto the floor of the sleigh as Sansa yelled into his ear, "I know it doesn't make up for our wedding night..." She pulled the scarf down and smiled.
"It's only the first night of the trip, you never know, my lady" he yelled at her. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Daenerys wrapped in furs with an oddly hurt expression on her face.
They'd arrived the night before and this morning he was bracing himself to see Sansa again. He'd received an invitation to break his fast with her in her solar. But it hadn't been a saucy invitation. It had been the Mistress of Laws of the King in the North requesting an audience with the Hand of the Dragon Queen. Sweet Sansa wanted to talk business.
Sansa rose when he walked in the room and gave him a warm smile, "Good morning, Lord Tyrion, you remember Lady Brienne of Tarth? She's my sworn sword." The incredibly tall woman, bowed from her shoulders in greeting.
"Good morning, Princess Sansa and Lady Brienne." Tyrion greeted them inching toward the fire, the wind still howled like... a fucking wolf around them for want of a better simile.
"I shall attend to that matter at once, Your Grace." Sansa moved toward Brienne to finish the conversation. It gave Tyrion a chance to finally gage how she'd grown up. She was definitely taller, only a few inches shorter than the giantess of the Tarth. Judging from where the waist of her simple, form-fitting, grey wool, gown sat, her legs were still extremely longer than they needed to be. Her figure was slim, her neck distractingly bitable... Also she had beautiful and amply sized breasts that made him wonder what the little bit of nothing he'd grabbed ahold of the night before had been, because it sure as hell wasn't tit.
"Thank you, Lady Brienne, it is much appreciated." The lady knight withdrew. Sansa saw her former husband gazing at her breasts, "Would you like to eat while you look or just..." she waved her hand in front of her chest.
"I am just marveling at how beautiful you've become." Tyrion lied.
Sansa indicated he should take the seat opposite her, "Thank you, Tyrion. But don't fret that I caught you staring. It's nice to be able to tease someone about it," she smiled, "Usually I just have to wait until they are finished staring or until Jon or Tormund puts a stop to it."
"Tormund... is he a wildling? With the..." Tyrion asked making a hand gesture for a wild beard.
"The correct term is free folk," Sansa leaned over and filled Tyrion's cup, waited as he took a drink, "But that one? I call him Bear Fucker." He spit out his ale.
"Sansa! Who the hell are you? And where is the girl who didn't know the word was shit not shift?" He laughed.
"Her vocabulary has improved. And she's become more practical." She said pouring herself a cup of ale, "I left everything useless behind. Now I barely give a fuck about anything that isn't my family or the North. If it isn't going to help me get my family and the North through the Long Night, then I say I really don't have the time of day for it or two fucks to say about it."
Tyrion sensed there was a point Sansa was trying to make.
"Is your Dragon Queen going to help me or is she going to stand in my way?" She asked. "If she is going to help me, what does she want in return?"
"This is something Her Grace would like to discuss with King Jon himself." Tyrion said, smoothly.
"How delightful. But His Grace is going to ask me for my recommendation for that I will need to know Queen Daenerys' intentions." Sansa replied equally smoothly.
"She'll need to see him before she knows."
"She'll need to see him? See him how? From across a crowded room? Up close? Clothed or bare-assed naked? Does he have to service her? Will there be an audition?" Sansa asked spitefully.
"Do you want her help or don't you?" Tyrion asked.
"I do not!" Sansa said standing up, slamming her fist on the table, "Not if the price is Jon, his happiness and the freedom of the North! And the fact that there may be no other choice and she would think to use our desperation to force a man to marriage? Don't you think speaks volumes to me about what kind of queen she will be? She should want to fight off the army of the dead, we shouldn't have to beg! That's the whole problem with the North and the seven Kingdoms. We pay your stupid tax and then we get nothing for it. I've looked at the books Tyrion. A quarter of our income went south every year and we got nothing for it. Now a Dragon wants to take our sovereignty again and take our sovereign too! And we'll have to kneel if we want to live!"
"Targaryens intermarry, Sansa," Tyrion got to his feet, "This is her chance to extend her family line."
"She can marry someone else," Sansa's voice was desperate, "I won't let him be forced. If he comes home and falls in love with her then yes! Of course, but I won't let him be forced," she quickly wiped her eyes, "If he comes to the conclusion during the course of the war that he can't live without her, than yes! Of course. I am choosing to assume that we will win the war for the Dawn, Tyrion. That means that Jon will live to see it. That means that who he marries will matter a great deal to him and whether or not he is happy. He's had almost no happiness in his life. Unless he believes that marrying the Dragon Queen will make him happy, than I will not let him be forced!" Sansa pounded the table again, her sky blue eyes darkening to storm clouds.
"Sansa, what has happened to you..."
"Nothing that can be mended!" She hissed, "Now can you convey my sentiments to your mistress or would you like me to do so your stead?"
"The Dragons..." Tyrion started.
"Are currently stranded on the smallest of the Three Sisters. The bulk of your army is bobbing up is with them and the rest of are waiting off the coast of White Harbor. Whether or not they will be of any use to you in the North remains to be seen. You don't have enough money to buy boots for this small party, and you lost half your ships at sea near Lys? Also, the free folk will kill you all without turning a hair if I say you are planning on take the White Wolf against his will. You've put your queen at my mercy." Sansa shook her head, "Because why? Because you think I am still Cersei's little dove?" She sat back down, "Don't look so stricken, as beautiful as your queen is Jon may take one look at her and fall madly in love and my little tantrum will mean nothing." She looked at the fire, "On the bright side, now you know who you are dealing with."
"What happened to you?" Tyrion asked.
"It doesn't matter. I feed that part of my life to pack of hungry dogs." She said calmly, raising her eyes, the tears she had shed at the thought of Jon being unhappy were gone.
Tyrion laughed, remembering her mother wearing a similar face.
"What?" Sansa asked.
"For a moment you looked just like your lady mother. You had that ready to kill look on your face." Tyrion took her hand.
Sansa snatched her and back and looked darkly into her glass, "How well do you know Lord Baelish?" She asked.
"He was a very inventive Master of Coin." It was Tyrion's turn to look darkly.
This made Sansa smile, "Inventive. How apt. He's here with the Knights of the Vale, leading them on behalf of his step-son Lord Arryn. Lord Baelish and Lord Varys in the same keep. So much intrigue for such a simple place like Winterfell."
"We'll have to invent some secrets to keep them happy."
"There are secrets," Sansa mused, "I wonder, do you ever wonder, my lord, who did murder Joffrey?" She raised her eyes quizzically to his.
"I am past caring..."
"Liar." Sansa bit out and repeated, "Don't you wonder who killed Joffrey?"
"What good would it do?" Tyrion asked angrily, "What would knowing change?"
She leaned over, "Interesting question. If you don't care, perhaps it would do no good at all," she broke eye contact and went to ring the servants' bell, "let's have our breakfast and discuss the feast where your queen will begin the process of enthralling my king."
For the rest of the day, Tyrion wondered... What good what it do to know?