Winterfell stood proud and imposing with its sturdy towers and thick walls. The reconstruction of all the destroyed and damaged sections of the castle was quite advanced, to the point that it was difficult to believe that barely a few months before a battle against lethal dead creatures had taken place there, and that the world had been very close to its end. The peace of the place in the middle of the pristine snow suggested cozy afternoons spent by the fire, though Tyrion knew that the peaceful exterior was just the facade of a busy everyday life for the many inhabitants of the castle.

That was the third time Tyrion set foof in Winterfell. The first time, so many years ago, he hadn't been too keen on meeting the Starks. His interests had followed other paths, like visiting the brothel in Wintertown, and the Wall, more than socializing with a bunch of proud Northerners who looked at the Lannisters with badly veiled contempt, not without reason, of course, Tyrion knew too well. And to that contributed the bad blood between the Lannisters and the Starks, which came from very long ago.

By that time, his uselessness in the scheme of things didn't offer him many incentives, apart from reading, drinking, whoring and quenching a bit his penchant for adventure, when the occasion presented itself.

And he'd jumped at the unique chance of traveling North with Robert's retinue, both for the sake of bothering his loving father and sister, which was enough motivation in itself, and for the sake of discovery, seeing other places, meeting new people (especially whores, but also decent conversationalists if possible) as well as learning new things. His hunger for knowledge never abated and he hoped that such a trait would persist within him until the day of his death. At least that hadn't changed, together with his fondness for finding good conversational partners and his need for being useful.

Sansa had been occupying his mind restlessly for the last weeks. He hadn't foreseen, when he'd arrived at Winterfell with Daenerys's entourage and forces, that Sansa would impact him so much. It wasn't that he had expected to find the same naïve and scared girl he'd been married to, far from that. He'd heard the stories about her tortures at the hands of Roose Bolton's bastard, Ramsay, a sadist who wasn't any better than Joffrey had been, but who in addition was much more astute. Tyrion had shuddered at the mere idea of the poor girl at the mercy of such a monster. As if she hadn't already suffered hell in King's Landing. Littlefinger had deserved ten painful deaths for being the architect of that new ordeal which had nearly destroyed Sansa. But, far from falling apart, she'd raised from the ruins stronger than ever and had taken the reins of her life, becoming the Lady of Winterfell and the Queen in the North.

Tyrion would always marvel at her strength. There she remained tall and proud, after all her enemies had died, just like Tyrion had predicted years earlier.

His admiration for her had grown exponentially, and now he wasn't sure that the longing inside him, a longing he'd believed had quieted forever, didn't imply something more. And that made him nervous. For all the good that loving a woman had did him in the past, he'd better pull out his own heart and throw it to the hounds, if he could go on living without it.

But the naked truth was that the beautiful queen stirred dormant feelings in him and he was terrified, because he couldn't control them, not more than the other times he'd fallen for a woman. Tysha. Shae. Daenerys.

He sighed deeply, resigning himself to his fate. The gates of the castle were getting closer and there was no turning back.


He crossed the doors to the main hall, which brought so many memories, good and bad. He recalled a feast right before everything went to shit in Westeros, when Robert was still alive; he also recalled Jaime asking for a position in the army against the dead, with Daenerys shooting daggers at him and Brienne vouching for him when no one else, apart from Tyrion himself, would have moved a single finger for a Lannister, and the Kingslayer no less. And at last, the celebration after the Night King had been defeated, in which he'd had such a funny time with Jaime, Brienne and Pod. Well, he'd offended Brienne with his impertinent guess about her virginity, but at least she'd finally did something about it when she slept with Jaime soon after.

When he'd ridden out of King's Landing a bit more than three weeks earlier, Brienne was barely in speaking terms with Jaime, but Tyrion couldn't blame her for that. Jaime had behaved like an asshole, even if he didn't have memories of it.

Tyrion would have quite enjoyed witnessing his brother groveling to Brienne, but Bran had sent him North, so he'd missed such a monumental occurrence.

Sansa was sitting on the sturdy and austere chair made of weirwood wood behind the long table. She wore her usual dark winter clothes, in contrast with her vivid red hair, styled in the Northern fashion. Her face was as beautiful as ever, and her Tully blue eyes, so alike her mother's, appraised him with caution, though not coldly. He was secretly glad to confirm that the subtle bond between them was still there, and that distance didn't seem to have cut that indefinable tether of mutual respect.

"My queen," he said, bowing. "It's so good to see you again."

"My lord," she replied with a warm smile. "I'm happy to see you safe and sound. I hope that the journey wasn't too hard."

"Luckily, the weather has remained quite mild. It's evident that the worst of this winter died with the Night King. Spring is on its way," he informed.

She nodded. "You're right. Even here the air and the light are changing. Hope is returning to the world."

"You're doing a great work here, Your Grace. The North looks much more recovered than when I left months ago," Tyrion complimented sincerely.

"I hear that you're also doing a great work in the south," she complimented in return. "But no more formalities between us, please. Call me by my name. You used to do that when we were married." The spark of humor in her eyes was refreshing and alluring.

"Only if you do the same and call me Tyrion," he teased back.

"It's just fair." She stood up and circled the table to join him. "Come with me. Let's go to a more comfortable place to talk. There will be wine and some snacks there if you're hungry. Dinner won't take long to be served anyway." She started to lead the way out of the main hall.

"Thank you, Sansa. I haven't drunk wine since I left King's Landing, just ale, and as for the food, it hasn't been precisely heavenly, but well, I'm not complaining. I admit I have a penchant for the discomforts of the road. It must be the adventurous blood in me."

She chuckled, and he liked that sound. He'd heard it so rarely. "I've never been much of an adventurer myself, and my past experiences far from home have taught me how valuable my home is to me." She did a pause, and their steps on the stone ground were the only sound. "I've kept regular correspondence with my brother and with Brienne. I assume you haven't received word from Ser Jaime during your travels, have you?"

Tyrion shook his head. "No, unfortunately. It's very difficult for a crow to locate an errant party. I take it the king or Ser Brienne have included some notes about him in their messages?," he asked, and he couldn't suppress the eagerness from his voice.

They reached Sansa's quarters and he stepped aside to let her enter first. "Yes. His lost memories haven't come back, but his strength has been restored almost fully and he's joined the Kingsguard." She hesitated about the next bit of information. "Ser Brienne is pregnant, and she conveyed the news to Ser Jaime. She hasn't told me much about the topic, only that she hasn't forgiven him, but he has a right to take part in his baby's life and she won't deny him that." Once they were both in her study, she pointed at a chair in front of the fireplace for him to sit on and she took the other one next to it. "I have to admit that when he fled from here without even saying goodbye, and Brienne was so upset, I felt a great rage and had a mind to send a hunting party to bring him back and throw him in a cell for traitor. I believed that he'd taken sides with Cersei and was returning to resume his relationship with her and aid her in the war. But Brienne persuaded me to let him be. Later, Bran revealed to me his true purpose. If it weren't for my brother's skills to look in the past, I would find very hard not to see Ser Jaime's actions as a betrayal. And I understand perfectly Brienne's reluctance to forgive him. He left without telling her his true intentions, without giving her a single clue, only with words of rejection. That nearly destroyed her. That's not something I myself would forgive easily, for the sake of my friend."

Someone knocked and two servants brought the wine, two goblets and a plate with snacks, placing everything on the desk, curtsying and hurrying away again.

Tyrion leapt from his chair to do the honors gallantly, served the wine and offered her the plate so she could pick a piece of bread or cheese if she fancied it. She accepted the wine, thanking him, but refused the snack. Tyrion grabbed some cheese and a slice of bread, and sat down again. "It's perfectly understandable. Jaime is a complete idiot sometimes. But he loves Brienne. I saw how he looked at her when he woke up, and he made his feelings soundly clear. He's loved very few people in his life, and I can assure you Brienne is one of them. And that he'd stopped loving Cersei, that way at least. And he's determined to win Brienne back." He took a bite from the cheese and the bread.

Sansa sighed with a half smile. "Well, it's not going to be easy. She's very hurt, and there's the matter of her self-issues too. She'd given up on earning a man's love. Then he showed that he was interested in her, only to leave her in the end. It's been a hard blow."

Tyrion sipped his drink. "Let's hope that love prevails over all the obstacles. Those two would do well to find happiness together, for our own sanity. I don't know how much of Jaime's brooding mood or insufferable restlessness I might take," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "Then again, this journey has presented itself like an excellent chance for my sanity."

She chuckled again. "Such a romantic you are."

He snorted. "Aren't you?," he couldn't help asking. Even if he was joking, he was genuinely curious.

It was her turn to snort. "I used to be, in other lifetime. For all the good it did me." She also took a sip from her goblet.

"Then let's make a toast," he proposed, raising his goblet. "To lost innocence. It was nice while it lasted."

Sansa clinked her cup to his. "To lost innocence, then."

"To lost innocence," he echoed, and drank, not tearing his eyes from hers.