Chapter Text
Jon’s return from King’s Landing was bittersweet.
Bitter being the key word. Relieved as she was to see her brother home, he’d brought a slew of strangers with him, and not one of them was the one she wanted to see. Worse than that, he’d returned her husband to her.
The one she hadn’t fed to the dogs, that is.
Tyrion glanced up at her over the rim of his wine glass and gave her a hesitant smile as she met his gaze.
She ignored him.
Sansa stared at her reflection in her wine. Were the shadows beneath her eyes truly that dark, or was it only the poor light in the hall? In spite of the dozens that had gathered to welcome Jon home and to see his dragon queen for themselves, the room was only half-lit with flickering tallow tapers on her orders to conserve the candles for the Long Night ahead. It was pragmatic, and Sansa was nothing if not pragmatic these days.
Fortunately for their guests dining in darkness, Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, Queen of…. something or another had hair as silver as moonlight and between that and the huge grin she flashed every time Jon said anything to her, she seemed to light the room all by herself.
Why wouldn’t she smile? She and Jon had chosen each other, after all.
Sansa had never been permitted to choose anything of greater consequence than the color of her gowns.
She clenched the wine glass, resentment building. She was happy for her brother, truly she was, but she wanted that happiness for herself. Gods only knew she earned it.
“Lady Sansa,” Tyrion began. “Perhaps, given the circumstances, you and I might—“
“No.”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You don’t know what I was about to say.”
A tension migraine gathered between her eyes. She set her wine away from her. Too much, perhaps. “You were about to remind me we are still technically married and you were going to suggest we renew that union for the good of the realm.”
He had the decency to look surprised. “That’s a very good guess, but then I suppose you had a remarkable tutor. How long did Littlefinger have you in his grasp?”
“Right up until I killed him.” She looked him squarely in the eyes so he’d know she was serious. “I have not yet seen my twentieth nameday and I have been married three times and widowed once. I have been raped, beaten, and passed around as a pawn between more people than I can remember. I am acting Wardeness of the North and I have no intention of surrendering my position or my person to any man for the good of the realm or anything else.”
He sipped his wine smugly. “Three times…?”
Had she said that aloud? She pulled the olive green cloak closer around her shoulders, feeling suddenly exposed. She set her jaw and lied. “Twice, that is. I was counting the betrothal to Joffrey.”
“Were you now?” Tyrion almost smiled. He was a clever man, had he somehow intuited her deepest secret? He had been there that first time the Hound had given her his cloak. It was in a sept, no less, with no fewer than a hundred witnesses as well as the eyes of the Seven.
The second time he’d left it with a kiss, and there was no one around to see.
Three times.
“Our marriage was never consummated, Lord Tyrion. I have since been married and widowed, as you know. Given the circumstances, I think it best--” She sipped her wine to steady her nerves. “If we both agree to move on with our lives.”
“However short they may be.” He raised his glass to her. “My lady.”
She drained her glass.
Not long after Jon had returned with the news that Cersei had made and immediately broken a promise to aid them in their fight against the armies of the dead, Bran had alerted them that the Others had breached the wall at Eastwatch and were on the march south with an ice dragon. Apart from their bannermen and Daenerys’ armies freezing in their camps outside, they were alone. There were dragons out there somewhere, but somehow that did not fill her with a great deal of confidence. If the Night King had taken one, what would stop him taking the rest?
They would march out to meet the Others in the morning, if the Others did not find them first.
Jon and his new queen were incandescent with joy. It was almost as though they didn’t know there was a good chance they would all die tomorrow.
Still, it was up to Sansa to prepare Winterfell for the Long Night, and to manage their stores carefully in case they didn’t. It was what she’d been born for, running a castle. Her mother had told her so often she knew it as she knew her own name. She was born to be a lady, to manage an estate, to make a good marriage, and to bear strong sons.
Sansa snorted to herself. So much for the good marriage.
She had held up her end of the bargain every step of the way, it was the world that hadn’t come through for her. She had behaved herself and was derided for it. Her kindness had been rewarded with treason. She acted in the best interests of her family and had lost them. She married as she was instructed and she was repaid with the worst kind of abuse. She had done everything asked of her, everything, and what did she get for it?
One more duty to fulfil for the good of the ungrateful.
Seeing the look on her face, Tyrion refilled her wine glass. “I cannot express how sorry I am for what you endured at the hands of the Boltons. I would have saved you, if I could.”
She nodded. He was a good man, but it had taken knowing an evil one for her to understand that. “My thanks, Lord Tyrion.”
“I cannot say I envy the young Lord Bolton his end. Torn apart by wild dogs...”
“They weren’t wild. They were mine. Or they are now, at any rate.”
He didn’t so much as blink. “You always had a way with dogs. Is there anyone else you’re planning to feed to one?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, unsure of what he was getting at. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you?” He regarded her carefully, his expression giving nothing away. “I can see you have learned a great deal. Or perhaps it is only now you are showing it. I hope you have learned enough to treasure loyalty, no matter what form it might take.”
She lowered her voice. “If I meet anyone loyal, I will be certain to do just that.”
“Dogs,” he said, as though it was the most obvious thing he could think of. “You can always trust your dogs. They’ll follow you anywhere. They recognize you after years apart. They love you even if you kick them. A lady ought to have a dog to watch over her through the Long Night.”
She held his gaze, waiting for him to make his point. He’d all but said he knew of her feelings for Sandor Clegane, but to what end? “Are you suggesting yourself for the position, my lord?”
“Oh no,” he scoffed. “I rather fear it might already be taken.”
“Speak plainly, Lord Tyrion.”
“I mean no harm,” he apologized. “I only mean to say that if my suspicions are correct—and they usually are—you could do worse. You have my blessing, such as it is.”
Sansa recoiled as if she had been slapped. Had her husband just given her permission to love another man? Torn between resentment and gratitude, she had no idea what to say. “If he comes back.”
Tyrion shrugged. “Dogs always do.”
The din of the conversation in the hall shifted suddenly as another group of people entered. She recognized Davos Seaworth at the front, followed closely behind by Tormund Giantsbane, the wildling with the mad red hair. There were a dozen others she didn’t recognize, but Jon seemed to. As he and Daenerys rose to greet them, Arya blurted something and vaulted over the table, flinging herself full tilt at some young man and knocking him to the floor on his arse. The group was badly shaken and clearly freezing. Only the gods knew what they had seen. She stood to greet them and that’s when she saw him.
Bringing up the rear, he shuffled into the hall with heavy feet, as though marching to his own execution. He was limping, she realized, but it was clear he had no desire to enter the hall. He stayed back some distance, avoiding her gaze, but he was so much taller than the rest of them he couldn’t be missed.
He was alive.
She had been told as much, but hearing and seeing were two very different things. Her long-suffering heart urged her to embrace him, to touch him there and then just to satisfy herself he was real.
“Ah. There’s one now,” Tyrion said into his wine.
Sansa ignored him and rushed to the kitchens, issuing orders for clean beds and hot water for the contingent from Eastwatch. Sandor must have met up with them on the road. On impulse, she instructed the servants to put him in the room next to hers with a hot bath and a screen in front of the hearth. She wouldn’t have him freezing to death for his fear of fire.
After she had made arrangements for the comfort of their guests, she returned to the hall only to find him gone. Disappointed and wondering if she had imagined him, she nevertheless smiled through the introductions to all the new faces. The man Arya had knocked over was a chatty one, and the two of them teased each other a mile a minute, oblivious to everything going on around them. Sansa was relieved to see Arya had at least one friend.
One of them should.
She returned to the kitchen with a heavy heart. Years apart, and he hadn’t even come to see her.
Sansa almost tripped over two maids huddled in the doorway. They were arguing in hushed whispers over a tray of food.
“Cook needs me here, you go.”
“You go! If I go alone, he’ll kill me or ravish me, I know it!”
“I don’t want to die either, you daft cow.”
“Get one of the stable boys to go with. For protection.”
“You think a stable boy could protect anyone from that?”
Sansa cleared her throat. “What is the meaning of this?”
The girls almost dropped the food as they noticed her presence. “My lady! Forgive me, it’s only Seren won’t go--”
“ I won’t go? You go--”
“Quiet, both of you.” Sansa commanded. “Won’t go where? One of you speak. You.”
The girl twisted her free hand in her apron. “It’s the Hound,” she whispered. “We’ve heard stories, my lady, and--”
“For fuck’s sake,” she muttered under her breath. Sansa seized the tray and the wine from the maids with a heavy sigh. “I’ll take it.”
“My lady, you can’t! He’ll ravish you!”
Sansa spun on her heel and headed for the stairs. “We can only hope.”