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She had asked to play a game, his second wife twice over, during dinner. He raised his eyebrows, but complied. He did always comply. Tyrion knew better than to refuse Sansa.
He had to search an old cabinet in the study of Casterly Rock for the game, one him and Jamie used to play. Sansa sat in a chair near the fire as the waves of the ocean crashed against the rocks outside. As he pulled out the board game, the other games stacked precariously above it wobbling. He winced at the loud crash as it toppled.
“I got it!” he said holding the box up triumphantly, ignoring the pile of the fallen board pieces behind him.
His wife’s eyebrow were raised, but he could see a smile beginning to appear, but she covered it with the letter from Arya she was reading. He lived for those smiles. He knew this wasn’t exactly what she had wanted, but the queen had insisted after all the wars were over. They were Daenerys’ safety net. An alliance of Starks and Lannisters and an alliance from Starks and Lannisters. He had asked her if she wanted to go back to Winterfell after the great wars had ended. She had shaken her head saying, ‘Everything there is dead’. He had wisely not mentioned that Bran was still there. Bran’s face may have existed, but for Sansa her brother, her little sweet brother, was truly gone, and something else was inhabiting his body.
Tyrion wasn’t about to refuse the Queen either on their marriage, as she had taken a strong liking to burning people who disagreed. More than he particularly cared for, but that was Varys and Jamie’s problem now, both choosing to reside at King’s Landing. She had been Jon’s problem before that, but he had left several years earlier to go brood at the wall.
“Arya is teaching her boys how to fight. Apparently she has gotten them a special teacher.”
Tyrion felt a stab of jealousy, but pushed it down.
“Arya slayed the NightKing there is no better teacher,” he responded wryly. Sansa smiled a bit. She always cheered up when getting a raven from her sister and her nephews.
Sansa stood up and filled his cup of wine, and hers as well, moving the large stack of ravens she had been reading onto the desk in the corner. She never drank like he did, but she did enjoy drinking, especially around him and only him. He didn’t know if it was because she could let her guard down around him (as much as Sansa would) or because the drink made him more tolerable. He didn’t wish to know.
“It is a strategy game, I’d figure you’d enjoy it.” Sansa nodded demurely. She was still a bit detached from him, never truly making him her husband, but over the past five years of their cohabitation at the Rock she had warmed up to him, letting him sleep in her bed, even kissing him on the mouth several times. Tyrion knew it would never be love for her, but he would take what little resembled it. He also figured she was lonely with Jon at the wall, Bran at Winterfell, Arya at Dragonstone, everyone else at King’s Landing or buried beneath a burned Winterfell.
As he set up the game he described it to her, a game of kingdoms, where one player tried to rule over all the others. It was a bit on the nose for him, but Tywin had insisted him and Jamie play it as children. Tyrion ever looking for approval he would never receive, had complied. He’d gotten very good at it. Really good. Even Jamie couldn’t have bested him after a while.
He picked up his red armies, carefully crafted little wooden painted soldiers, and placed her blue armies on her side of the table, the board of a map of kingdoms spread between them.
“Ladies first” he said, tossing her the dice.
_
They had been playing for several hours, but he knew he had her. Her jokes had lessened as her armies had. He almost wished he had lost on purpose, as he loved her humor. Less than six months after they had married (for the second time) he had made her laugh. He immediately thought of Jorah, and felt a pit in his stomach. He always hated thinking of Jorah.
The board game was covered in red, save for a small island. Only six sad little blue armies were there. He calculated two more rolls and she’s be done.
“Wife, it is getting late, and knowing when to give up is part of the game,” He said. He was tired, and his wine had run out a long time ago. She nodded, and she took her little armies in her hand holding them and looking at them sadly. She carefully put them away one by one, pressing them into the box, like he used to do with rocks in the sand.
“Jamie used to throw my men out of the window and into the ocean after I’d lose.” He said pointing to the window in the back of the room that opened to the ocean. “Father would get so angry, so I learned how to win.”
She nodded. She’d experienced the Battle of the Bastards. They hadn’t sent any of Bolton’s remaining men home, they had just added them to the pile of bodies to burn. Daenerys unfortunately had the same tactic.
A strange look had come over her face as she looked back at the blue soldiers and their painted little faces.
_
While getting in bed, she turned to him, “When did I lose the game?” He thought for a second before replying “You were honestly never set up to win”. She smiled a cynical smile and kissed him briefly on the lips.
“I really enjoyed that game Tyrion,” She said softly.
“Really? You’d play again?” He was so happy. She’d been very stressed the past couple of months. There’d been an influx of ravens, each making her look wearier. He reached out and ran his hands through her hair. When she was in a good mood, he could touch her, but only for a little while. Like a starving man he fed on scraps.
She nodded, “But I’ll beat you next time,” giving him a playful slap, and dislodging his fingers.
He laughed.
_
He was woken up in the middle of the night to some hushed whispers several days later.
“My lady, I swore to protect you,” he heard Brienne say.
“And you will,” was Sansa’s urgent reply, “but you must keep Pod with him.”
“My lady what’s going on?”
“No more questions, please hurry.”
He heard the door close softly. Was she leaving him? His stomach dropped. He really hoped not, but he’d understand though. The queen had been pressuring them for an heir as she did not have her own. Tyrion had no idea what was taking Jamie so long. Jon had run to the wall after their dragon child had been born, not breathing, claiming that the monsters they had killed still existed. Jon, who had fought the dead, dragons, and countless armies could not face Daenerys' grief, and she had turned to Jamie.
“Sansa,” he whispered softly, “Come back to bed, we don’t have to have an heir, Jamie will give her one, or Arya’s wild boys can rule for all I care, and we can-”
“Tyrion,” She said, her voice shaking, “Jamie is dead. The Queen burned him.”
Tyrion sat straight up.
“No. No.. he slayed Cersei, and he is her favorite,” Tyrion said, almost raising his voice in anger. Were they arguing? Yes, because why would his wife lie to him about this?
“Tyrion, Jamie is dead.” She said her voice harsh. She started pacing around the room, hastily packing a trunk. His trunk.
“What happened?” Tyrion asked. He’d only felt this way when he stood on the cliff of Casterly Rock, and the ocean would roar at him.
“Things have changed, Tyrion.” Sansa said running around the room, at a frantic pace. The countless ravens, the weariness, it was making sense.
“Jamie didn’t want to father her children.”
Stupid stupid Jamie. Another mad woman he thought he could tame. Her patience must have run out. He really never hated Jon as much as he did in that moment. Safe, stupid, Jon, sulking at the Wall. The honorable Ned Stark had only raised brave daughters and selfish sons.
Tyrion can tell Sansa is panicking. Which was odd because she never panicked. She stopped when she saw little movement from him.
“Tyrion, get out of bed! I need your help.”
He nodded, “Where are we going?”
“To Braavos”. She snapped the trunk closed and looked over at him.
“I am very sorry about Jamie.” She said, her eyes welling up. She walked over to the bed, where he was sitting. She kissed his forehead, lingering a bit.
She was about to say something when there was a knock on the door. She quickly went to it, “It’s us” he heard Brienne say.
“Time to go,” was Sansa’s reply.
_
The four of them, Podrick, Brienne, Tyrion, and Sansa hurried down the hill in the dark, quickly going to the small dock by the castle. Tyrion had often wondered why Sansa had agreed so readily to being stationed at Casterly Rock. He never realized that it offered a quicker escape than Winterfell or any other inland castle. She must’ve known this would happen, the Queen’s madness. Jamie how could you not see it? Tyrion thought. Or maybe he did, and it’s why he refused to have her children. First Jon, and their dead child, and then Jamie refusing. Grief did strange things to people. All the things they had done and sacrificed, the prophecies spoken and believed, and here they were right back with a mad tyrant.
The boat was very tiny and Tyrion wondered how they were all going to fit.
Sansa placed the trunk, one trunk, on the deck. Only his.
“Where is …?” She looked so sad. As sad as the day as he found her after her mother and brother had been killed years, lifetimes ago, earlier. He didn’t think that she was capable of being that sad anymore. What more could she possibly grieve? Her expression, the one trunk, and the tiny boat was starting to form a horrible thought. He could sense Podrick realizing the same.
“Tyrion, only you and Pod are going.” He stood there shocked.
“Let me stay, please, we can get back in her good graces,” He begged.
“Tyrion, know when to give up.” He thought of her little blue armies. How she had held all six of them so carefully in her hand.
She knew the Queen’s rage was not going to be contained. He would be next, just another in a line of long traitors that became Drogon’s afternoon treat. He felt sick wondering what happened to his brother’s body.
“Come with me.” He pleaded.
She shook her head. “If I leave, she will kill Jon and Arya, her husband, and her two children.”
He knew Sansa enough to know that wasn’t an option.
He thought of the bastard Baratheon, of Arya, and their two beautiful boys. He’d always been so jealous of their children, and of Gendry. The one who could touch his Stark wife for as long and as much as he liked, and have children with her.
“She will kill you when she finds out you helped me.” He was growing desperate. His version of a fairytale; them drinking together, sharing meals, and talking about books was rapidly disappearing. Any future children with their reddish hair playing in the sand fading as well.
“She will not find out. I will say that you are a traitor along with your brother, so when you found out he was dead, you ran away from your Stark wife to go live a life of whoring on another continent,” she said with venom in her voice. He stood there shocked, shaking his head. She was already so practiced in saying traitor and making it sound believable. His family had ironically seen to that.
She continued, “You got tired of waiting for an heir, of a sexless marriage, and you left. However the Starks remain loyal to the crown,” she said her voice breaking. Cersei had taught her to lie, and there was always some truths in it.
Her face, only lit by the moon, was steadfast.
“Why didn’t we… have our own? Is it because I’m a dwarf and it could be passed on?” He asked suddenly so quiet, but traced with anger and regret.
He face was breaking, and he swore he saw regret.
“Gods no,” She said tears starting to stream down her face, “You of all people must understand, the more family the more liabilities.”
She had six to worry about. And now it would be five. She had to protect her little island.
He’d never been so proud and so devastated. His beautiful, loyal wife, always ensuring the survival of her her pack. He was a lion, he was not made to run with wolves.
He stepped on the boat, completely numb. He watched as she hurriedly walked away into the darkness with Brienne, and the felt the boat rock moving forward, away from his home as Podrick paddled.
The darkness of the night seemed to swallow her.
_
Several days later he found a little blue soldier next to some wine in his trunk. He looked out at the ocean as he popped the cork of the bottle, took a long swig. He leaned back, arching his arm and threw the little soldier off the side of the boat. He thought of Jamie, traditions, and all he had lost.