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“My lady?”
She knew it would not be long before her former husband sought her out. The prospect had filled her with a mixture of emotions she could not pinpoint. There was the overwhelming guilt she felt for the way she treated her first, and kindest husband. Yet, a part of her was experiencing intense relief; longing for the familiarity of his company.
“Husband,” she says simply, turning slightly to offer a smirk. She takes in his rugged appearance, a nice change from the clean-shaven fashion of the South. Sansa takes note of how his gaze lowers under her cool assessment of him, her pride swelling.
“But that was a lifetime ago, was it not?” he jests. In truth, Tyrion occasionally found himself longing for those quiet moments with his reluctant wife in King’s Landing. If he managed to make her smile even a little bit he would consider himself victorious. Sansa was mostly cold towards him during their farce of a marriage, though one could hardly blame her.
“So it would seem,” she replies, eyes suddenly far away. She, too, found herself inundated with memories of her first marriage. There were many times she wondered how her life might have taken a different path had she been a proper wife to Tyrion Lannister.
“Leadership suits you, my lady,” he offers. “I always knew you were a force to be reckoned with.”
“Yet that clever brain of yours took Cersei at her word,” she counters with one eyebrow raised. Sansa had been patiently waiting for a chance to challenge him. It was all too easy to succumb to the temptation of entering a battle of wits with the smartest man in all of Westeros.
“I believe she has something to fight for now,” he says after a moment’s pause. His hesitation is all Sansa needs to confirm her theory.
“That’s horse shit and you know it, my lord,” she says simply before walking away, leaving him with his mouth agape.
Only Sansa Stark could make vulgarity so endearing.
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He vows to himself that he will not seek her out for a while. Tyrion still has much to say to the Lady of Winterfell and he cannot hold his tongue forever. It would be a nice change to speak with someone so levelheaded for once.
The next time he runs into her is purely coincidence; he does not expect to run into the Lady Stark in the early morning hours on the battlements. The stars are still in the sky, her gloved hands are clasped tightly in front of her and she has that faraway look in her eyes again. She wears a heavy fur over her nightclothes and her hair hangs in a loose braid down her back. It is evident that she does not hear him approach when she starts violently at his greeting. She whips around to face him and it takes a moment for her to focus.
“My lord,” she says, bowing her head in acknowledgment.
“I apologize for the interruption, my lady,” he replies. “I did not think anyone else would be here. Do you often wake up this early?” He knows he’s pushing his luck, but he finds that he cannot help himself.
Sansa turns back to look out over the courtyard. “I never went to sleep,” she tells him, though she says it so quietly he isn’t sure she spoke at all. “Being the lady of Winterfell is a full time job.” As soon as she utters it she knows he won’t accept this excuse.
He tilts his head, taking a moment to assess her. He’s almost positive she had been crying at some time during the night if her puffy eyes are any indication.
“I’ve had my fair share of nightmares this past year, too,” he says after letting some time pass. She looks as though she is going to contradict him but he beats her to the chase. “There is no use hiding from me, Lady Sansa. We were married once, you know.”
She says nothing, only nods. After some time she looks back to him with a funny look in her eyes. Maybe she has some fondness for him, he hopes.
“I’ve never properly thanked you.” Her words are sincere and they take him by surprise. Before he can cut in she continues. “You were the only person who had ever shown me true kindness back then. I can see that now.”
He smiles at her. He does not say that her confession has touched him so deeply for fear of pushing her away.
He offers her his hand. “Will you allow me to escort you to your chambers, my lady?”
“Sansa,” she says, causing his eyes to widen in shock. “You may call me Sansa.” It’s such a perfect mirror of their wedding night that he laughs aloud. Sansa finds herself laughing with him and finally reaches out to take his hand.
Their giggling arouses a few servants as he walks her to her chambers, but neither of them notices. Before she shuts the door she looks at Tyrion and says something that surprises them both.
“Join me for supper tomorrow evening.”
“As you wish, Sansa.”