Work Text:
TYRION:
[bursting into Jon's office]
You can't let her run for President!
JON:
[flatly, one arm wrapped around Sansa's waist, who's currently perched in his lap and blushing rather prettily]
Don't you knock.
SANSA:
[getting up from Jon's lap, with a polite smile, while she buttons up her shirt, and smooths down her pencil skirt]
Hello Tyrion.
TYRION:
[flushed, uncomfortable]
....Senator Stark. What a... surprise.
SANSA:
I'm sure it is. Sit, sit.
JON:
[to Sansa, irritated]
This is my office, and I'm-
SANSA:
[aside, to Jon]
Oh hush, Jon, you're not busy.
[raising her voice, and clapping her hands together]
Tyrion! Who are we talking about?
TYRION:
[bemused, but taking a seat in front of Jon's desk, while Sansa perches on the table's edge]
His aunt.
SANSA:
Dany?
TYRION:
Yes.
SANSA:
[incredulous]
She's running for... President.
TYRION:
Yes.
SANSA:
[frowning, confused]
And this is a... problem?
TYRION:
[vehemently]
Yes!
SANSA:
Why?
TYRION:
She'll win!
JON:
[rolling his eyes]
You can't be serious.
TYRION:
[sharply, glaring at both of them]
She's got the right name, the money to blow on a lengthy campaign, a fantastic public image on both sides of the aisle, and she looks great kissing babies. Yes. I'm serious. She will win.
JON:
[still frowning, still confused]
Shouldn't you be... happier? Weren't you her publicist for half a decade? She owes that fantastic image to you, if I recall correctly.
TYRION:
[dryly]
Sure, I was. Yeah. Until I found out about her views on fascism.
SANSA:
[amused, to Jon, murmuring softly]
I think he wants you to ask, darling.
JON:
[muttering]
This sort of drama is why I left King's Landing, for fuck's sake. Fine. Fine.
[to Tyrion, scathingly sotto voce]
What are her views on fascism, Tyrion?
TYRION:
[even more dryly]
She doesn't like Mussolini.
JON:
No one likes Mussolini. Mussolini was awful.
TYRION:
[drier than the fucking Sahara]
She doesn't like Mussolini because she thinks Europe's second worst dictator since the fucking Renaissance was too soft.
JON:
[taken aback]
Ah.
TYRION:
Yeah.
JON:
She's running for President?
TYRION:
You see the problem.
SANSA:
[sharing a worried glance with Jon]
We're beginning to. What do you want Jon to do, though?
TYRION:
[hopping out of his seat and gesturing wildly]
Talk to her! She's his family, she might-
JON:
[snorting]
You're joking, right?
TYRION:
I'm desperate!
JON:
Looks that way. I'm not sure what I can do for you.
TYRION:
[sighs explosively, and settles back in his seat]
If we can't stop her from running, we can at least stop her from winning.
JON:
I'm listening.
TYRION:
We need to give her a competitor. A real competitor. Even if it isn't someone who can win, we need someone who can cut into her margin, who can question her. Who can bring out the real Daenerys. We'll need someone well-known, well-loved. Popular. The right face, the right name, the right bank account.
SANSA:
[grinning cheekily]
Someone who looks nice kissing babies?
TYRION:
[smiling, a little exhausted, as he slumps back into the chair]
That always helps.
JON:
[low, angrily]
I'm not doing it. I did my time, I paid my dues, I'm not running, you can't make me-
TYRION:
[dismissive, impatient]
Don't be absurd. I don't want you to run. The liberals would scream about misogyny from now till Judgement Day, and the conservatives still want you dead for letting girls into the Watch. You'd be a shit candidate, Snow, no offense.
JON:
Charming as always, Lannister. So, what? Who do you want to pit against the fucking Khaleesi?
TYRION:
[grins, quick and fierce, and turns to Sansa]
President Stark... It's got a nice ring to it, don't you think?