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s a n s a:
They’ve been even more careful ever since Cersei had summoned them to her terrace, and Sansa misses Jaime more than ever. She misses their conversations, the quiet planning under furs in the warmth of Winterfell that they had created themselves. She misses the closeness . King’s Landing and Cersei’s game is just as exhausting, as dangerous as it had been before, and Sansa knows she ought to be grateful. She’s not alone this time, no matter how the loneliness seems to creep up on her. She knows she has no better ally in all of this than her husband, has no greater champion than her little sister who’s very quickly become one of her fiercest protectors.
But she can’t share all of her fears and worries with Arya. Not yet. It’s too soon, too early, and she’s not quite sure Arya will believe her. Not that she hasn’t begun to notice more, outside of the affection Jaime holds for Sansa, and vice versa. Eventually they’ll have to give her something, and explain everything they can, to keep her safe. Already Sansa isn’t sure that her sister truly believes her when she reiterates that some battles are not won with steel on the battlefield.
No, she’s not alone. But Sansa certainly feels lonely in her thoughts, and that’s when she decides to take her sister and find some part of the South that she had once enjoyed. The courtyard is nearly deserted, with only a few people rushing about as they’re summoned. The sun is warm, far warmer than Sansa ever remembers it being, and there’s no sign of winter in sight.
Arya practices, tries to goad her into it, but Sansa merely shakes her head and takes her seat on the bench, legs crossed at the ankles.
The fabric in her hands is smoothed before she starts working diligently. If she must wear dresses of the Southron style—not unlike the one she’s currently wearing, a gift from the Queen—she will wear them in the Stark colors. Sansa only looks up occasionally to watch her sister or answer a particularly well-aimed jape with one of her own before she returns back to her work, careful to not make any mistakes.
She should be worried about the heat of the sun, but being outside and breathing fresh air makes the Red Keep feel less stifling. It also comes with the added benefit of being able to watch who’s coming and going—and Sansa makes a mental note that Petyr Baelish has finally arrived, and she’s seen him pass through more than once in the time it’s taken her to finish half of a line of neat stitches.
The footfalls that approach belong to her husband. Sansa doesn’t need to look up to know that. Ever since their marriage, and maybe a little before if she’s to be truly honest, she’s been able to recognize when he is near. What she doesn’t expect is the person she hears walking next to him and Sansa has to blink back tears.
Tyrion.
Perhaps one of her only friends in King’s Landing, and certainly one of the only people who had tried to do something, anything, within his means to stop some of Joffrey’s abuse. The man who had been just as forced into a marriage as she was, but who had been determined to continue to show her kindness.
The man who had even gone as far as to forgive her timing when she had ultimately fled the city.
Like so many others, herself included, his loyalty and surprising naïveté had been disastrous, and had, she would hazard, directly led to her own death. But even so, she cannot hold his desire to believe in the best of people against him. He was there when she died, and she had seen the agony in his realization of just how she had landed in Cersei’s clutches. This time, Tyrion will not be put in a position where his faith is given to the wrong people. This time, Tyrion will not have to choose between his brother and his Queen. This time he will have a family at his side.
In her excitement she forgets to warn her sister, to remind her to remember her manners, because Sansa stands the moment they approach, eyes brighter than ever even if she manages to keep her smile at a more appropriate glow. “Ser Jaime. Lord Tyrion.” Her good-brother is given a small curtsey, whether he believes himself deserving of one or not. “Would you care to join us?”
j a i m e:
“—speaking with father about expanding the trade deal with the North. I even made the suggestion, though I was quite thoroughly rebuffed, of funding a canal. It’s a Braavosi invention, a man-made river. Imagine! He thought I’d gone madder than dear Lysa Arryn, of course, but they’re really quite fascinating—”
Jaime bites his lip to keep his smile from growing too wide. Tyrion’s taken to the challenge of maneuvering their father where he wants him with keen interest, and a surprising amount of success. He supposes it’s all in the delivery. The first time he had watched his little brother in action, he had been horrified as Tyrion asked for exactly the opposite of what they had discussed.
Think of it, father! An alliance with the Tyrells, all the lumber we could want for our fleet, the potential for a greater alliance—
And we’d have to rob every mine in the Westerlands for it, boy. You’re an imp, don’t add imbecile on top of it. We’ll get our lumber for a fraction of the cost the Tyrells would charge from the North, and they’ll be far more grateful for it.
Indeed, father. As you say.
It had been masterful, to say the least.
“—connecting the Sunset and the Narrow Seas! In one stroke—or probably several millions of strokes, honestly, I can hardly fathom the labor involved—we’d reorganize the whole of Westeros’ economy, all ruled over by Lannisters and Starks. What a union, the best and worst of us, not in that order, of course...and speak of the devil! Or rather, something a fair bit nicer than a devil, I’d say. Lady Sansa, what a pleasure it is to formally make your acquaintance at last!”
His eyes fly to his wife, the glint of happiness easy for him to spot. Tyrion has spied it as well, if his expression is anything to go off of. He looks positively stricken. “Lady Sansa, I’m impressed,” he says wryly, eyes twinkling. “You’ve managed the impossible. You’ve rendered my brother speechless.”
Tyrion sputters, and manages a valiant recovery. “You came close, anyway. It’s rare to be confronted with proof of the Gods, my lady. I merely needed a moment to collect myself in the wake of my sudden newfound faith.” Jaime rolls his eyes, coughs a bit. Honestly, with the look on Sansa’s face, he thinks he might have cause to worry.
“Ah yes, my brother, Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard. I heard a rumor, however, that you two are already acquainted, courtesy of our dear, dear sister, her grace the Queen.”
Jaime bites his lip, nods his head in (hopefully demure) greeting, then promptly has the wind knocked out of him.
“Jaime! We haven’t had practice in a sennight! You promised your duties wouldn’t get in the way!”
“I said I’d try not to let my duties—” But of course, with fresh meat to terrorize, Arya Stark has no interest in a mere kingslayer.
“You’re the Imp! Jaime says you’re the smartest man in all of Westeros! I said that Old Nan is the smartest man in all of Westeros, but she’s a woman, even though I think it should still count. Are you really that smart? Can you teach me war strategy?”
Tyrion turns to look at him, brow raised.
“Ah, brother, meet Arya Stark of Winterfell, not a lady, despite how her lady mother might disagree,” he says smiling, eyes flicking to Sansa. He can’t help but feel like this is their family coming together again. He’d known that given the chance, Arya would love his brother the same way he did, and he already knew how Sansa felt. But after so long, so many years alone, it’s overwhelming to see it happen in truth, and of course his first urge would be to laugh. They’re ridiculous, the lot of them. Even he with his child bride. Tyrion will never let that go when he learns.
s a n s a:
The trade deal. Jaime had told her little of it in the Godswood back home in Winterfell, and she should ask questions, or pay a little bit more attention to the details. But in the moment Sansa finds that it can wait. He looks well, Tyrion Lannister. Lighter than she ever remembers him being in King’s Landing, a bit brighter by his brother’s side. Another one of Jaime’s changes she can only presume, and Sansa sneaks a look towards her husband with a knowing smile. She remembers the mockery Joffrey had put him through too, remembers what had happened with the stool at their wedding, and feels a hot flash of shame at her own defiance of purposefully refusing to lower herself down so he could reach with the cloak.
Whatever her husband has done for his brother, she’s glad of it, and she can only imagine how valuable Tyrion’s cleverness and taking for politics have been for Jaime. Love him as she does, he wasn’t tutored the same way as she or Tyrion had been. There had been no utter necessity for him to learn how to play the game to survive.
Though, he too has gotten quite good at it it seems.
A bit far nicer than a devil. Sansa wants to laugh, she wants to laugh until she cries, but there are still eyes amongst them and she’ll have no explanation for when she’s inevitably asked what’s wrong. Hadn’t he murmured something similar to her in the crypts at Winterfell, about the bastard devil-like dead amongst them, before he bravely stood with her to fight—to protect the others who had been locked down there with him while her ancestors came back to life?
“The pleasure is all mine, my Lord.” And she means it, determined to make up for the cruelties she had tossed his way despite his kindness, simply because he was a Lannister.
Sansa almost rolls her eyes, but instead flashes Jaime a smile— his smile—as she tries her best to come off as innocent. “I’m flattered Ser Jaime, but if your accounting of your brother is true, I’m positive he will grace us with some of his wit before we can so much as blink.”
Only this time she’s left momentarily stunned, and she laughs warmly. “I believe that is blasphemy, my Lord.” And incredibly kind. Her cheeks feel warm from the compliment, but Sansa tries to ignore that fact—
Up until her husband deliberately coughs, and she has to hide her snort of laughter with a cough of her own.
Silly man. As if she was capable of gifting her heart to someone else when it was still firmly in his hands.
“We are,” she confirms. There’s no use in denying it, especially when Cersei is already well aware. “We met back in Winterfell—”
Her sister makes herself known in a way that only Arya Stark seems capable of. She knows her sister is beginning to see Jaime like another older brother, but also someone she can go to when she doesn’t feel quite comfortable going to their father. They’ve seemed to recover from Arya’s suspicions, who still wants to be a part of everything but in a different manner from the relationship Sansa has with her husband.
It’s almost enough to make her miss the nickname she calls Tyrion, and Sansa’s mouth falls open with an exasperated “ Arya. ”
Tyrion doesn’t appear offended, and she supposes that since there was no real malice...It’s not the worst that he’s experienced in King’s Landing. But still. She’s just barely gotten rid of Kingslayer.
Sansa longs to reach out, to brush her fingers against Jaime’s, but it’s too dangerous. Instead she takes subtle steps towards him, and makes it look as if she’s simply moving so the sun is no longer in her eyes. “I fear you won’t be able to get away without another lesson much longer. Correcting the way I hold a dagger can only be entertaining for so long.”
j a i m e:
It’s not just awe on his brother’s face now, but Jaime could swear he spies a blush on his brother’s cheeks. He hadn’t thought his brother capable, quite honestly. Tyrion’s legendary reputation as a whoremonger isn’t quite so legendary in this timeline, but Tyrion will never be one to shy away from pleasure. Only in this lifetime, to the despair of whores everywhere, his love of books seems to have taken precedence. Thank the Gods.
“A more worthy reason to blaspheme has never been found, my lady,” his brother carries on. Oh honestly, he might join Arya in her gagging if this continues much longer.
Luckily for them all, Arya makes for the perfect distraction. Tyrion is quite used to being called an imp, though he’ll have to talk to her about that later, but he’s fairly certain few enough people have actually publicly acknowledged Tyrion’s intelligence and wit. She’s got no idea, but Arya probably just won herself a lifelong champion, should she ever need one.
Tyrion scoffs, feigns at displeasure. “I’m the smartest person— counting both men and women, mind—in Westeros and Essos. I’ve yet to take a proper survey of Sothoryos, but it shall be forthcoming shortly, you have my word,” he promises, with complete sincerity, only his eyes betraying him. “And yes, I do think I can teach you war strategy, it’s a particular favorite subject of mine. In fact, I only became so adept because I was taught at our very own Ser Jaime’s knee. It was the only subject he excelled at, but don’t remind him, he gets prickly about it.”
Jaime sighs, runs a hand through his hair. Honestly, it was enough to have to deal with one of them.
“You see? Prickly already.”
Then his wife has to go and open her mouth, and if he wasn’t a hair's breadth away from throttling her, he would’ve laughed outright at Tyrion’s expression. His brother chokes, and swivels to him, mind in the gutter as always, though Sansa has done him no favors with her phrasing.
“You’ve been correcting the way she holds a dagger, brother? And finding it entertaining?” His whispers, scandalized. He knows Tyrion doesn’t honestly believe what he’s implying, or he’d be outraged on top of scandalized—little does he know—but still, the effect is amusing, if also exasperating.
“Yes, brother, I am teaching both ladies Stark—”
“I am not a lady!”
“—self-defense. Lady Arya prefers a sword, while Lady Sansa favors daggers.” He turns to raise an eyebrow at his mischievous minx of a wife. This is hardly fair play, he’s being bombarded on all sides.
But this time when Tyrion catches his eye, Jaime can see that his swift humor has sharpened into something altogether too discerning for Jaime’s liking. Tyrion knows that Jaime has shown little enough interest in the women of court in his many years of service to the crown, and has never shown any interest in any woman other than their sister, and even that hadn’t lasted beyond her marriage. These training sessions are an abrupt break of character for him, and one that he knows Tyrion is already turning in circles in his mind. They’ve already made enough mistakes in front of Arya that an eleven year old is onto them. His brother will be a much harder man to convince.
“I must say,” Tyrion remarks, intrigued, “you ladies make quite the first impression. If only all ladies of the realm could be as interesting as the two of you, perhaps Jaime might’ve saved himself for marriage after all.” Tyrion sighs, pats his brother on the arm. “Ah well, there’s always Renly.”
Oh, seven hells. These three will be the death of him.
S a n s a:
This is the sort of banter she’s missed. With Jaime there’s been brief moments of whispers of love, each ending with an interruption that reverts them back to secret looks in crowded rooms. With Tyrion it’s a battle of the wits, and while there are things that are already noticeably different about him, there’s so much that’s familiar too.
“Isn’t that what every man uses to justify blasphemy, my lord? A worthy cause?” Her eyes dance with the excitement, the thrill, of being able to spar without being in any immediate danger.
Though it’s easy to forget herself, to forget that she’s supposed to be a young girl of ten and three, who shouldn’t have such cynical thoughts of men.
Sansa has to hope that that’s the end of it, especially with Arya who deserves some attention too now that she’s found a friend in Tyrion. She’s been careful, after her sister’s confession, to make sure that she has her chance too. That she’s not left out. It’s so very different from the relationship they had once had at this age, where she couldn’t ever imagine a time where Arya would willingly want to be near her while she had been sewing neatly. Quietly.
So she smiles as she watches the two, wonders what a friendship between them could create—the havoc they could wreak. Sansa doubts anyone would be able to stand in their way should they pair up toward a common goal.
In a way, she supposes they know that’s already true. The North, the Dragon Queen’s forces, and Jaime Lannister himself had done the impossible. Arya Stark had done the impossible when she had driven the dagger so perfectly and had killed the Night King.
They’ve already survived most of it. The worst of it, she supposes. They can, and will do it again, and this time everything will be right .
Though a part of her would love to know what else her husband gets prickly about. Sansa bites down on the inside of her cheek as she turns to look at Jaime, one eyebrow elegantly arched.
It takes her a moment to recollect what she’s said, and another moment to see why Tyrion reacts the way he does. Her shoulders shake with repressed laughter, and while she ought to be mortified , unknowingly the three of them have fallen into a similar pattern of their previous lives...Even if Tyrion has not a clue. How many well pointed japes had her good-brother tossed her way to try and get Jaime riled up? How many quips had she quickly shot back at the clever man just to try and get a taste of respite?
“I imagine so, Lord Tyrion,” Sansa says gravely . “Perhaps I need a smaller dagger, and then it would be much more manageable.”
She knows exactly what she’s doing, and she can’t look at her husband if she’s to maintain a straight face.
“If we’re being honest, I don’t particularly have a preference,” she interjects. And it’s the truth. Because while Sansa understands the necessity of it, and understanding how a dagger works this time and how to use it could have helped more down in the Crypt, she can’t say she’s fond of it.
There’s too much leveled in Tyrion’s words about marriage, and Sansa doesn’t trust herself to comment. Not when she wants to point out that he is already very much married, and it’ll only be a matter of time before that’s officially rectified. To say so certainly won’t help matters much, though.
But when he mentions Renly Baratheon, another dead king who had rumors surrounding him which she had been too young to understand, the same Renly Baratheon that had been murdered by his own brother, she speaks without thinking.
“I once heard that Lord Renly has been stabbed multiple times, but escapes death. Is that true, Lord Tyrion?”
j a i m e:
If he weren’t so delighted to see them together again, Jaime imagines he’d be rather cross that he’s finally managed to find his wife, and his brother is hogging all her attention so effectively. Even in their past life, it had been this way, so he doesn’t know why he’s surprised. He knows he’s not an imbecile, not how his sister and father consider him to be so, but still, he’s no match for either his wife or his brother, and together, well… He simply never stood a chance.
“And what, pray tell Lady Sansa, do you know of blasphemy?” Tyrion asks, rakishly. Honestly, just because he knows Sansa is not actually a thirteen year old girl does not mean Tyrion should treat her thusly. No reason to give Ned Stark another reason to hate the Lannister name. He does hope at some point to actually be on speaking terms with his goodfather.
Arya’s already coerced a promise from Tyrion to meet her in the library of the Hand, over the moon at extending her lessons in the arts of war. He hadn’t even thought of it, but Tyrion does make an excellent tutor for her in that subject. He’s already been thinking of some other names they could safely ask to assist in her lessons in the future. Strategy will only serve her well.
Sansa distracts him from his planning by opening her mouth, and even he blushes at what comes out. Tyrion, however, looks like a cat who has just gotten the cream.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you there, my lady. I have no experience with small daggers—” He cuts off when Jaime’s hand smacks his back and Jaime shrugs, unapologetic.
“There was a bug,” he drawls. There is no need to be discussing Tyrion’s experience with large daggers with his wife.
“You’ve actually taken quite well to the daggers,” Jaime points out sincerely, loathe though he is to return to the subject of daggers. He knows she’ll never be fond of them. As long as her distaste doesn’t turn into disuse, he doesn’t care. And besides, daggers are much more preferable a subject that the pitfall-laden field that is marriage.
“You know me, Tyrion,” he says lazily, though he catches Sansa’s eye. “I’m wedded to my one true love.”
“Ah yes, the sword. Or is it King Robert’s backside? You spend so much time with both, it’s hard to tell.”
He rolls his eyes, letting the conversation move on. That comment was for Sansa, and Sansa alone. They haven’t really had time to discuss their lives apart, but he needs her to know nothing has changed for him, not when it comes to this.
He has no intention of touching the Renly comment. As far as he’s concerned, Renly can stick his small dagger wherever he chooses. If all goes well, there will be no War of the Five Kings this go round, and Renly will cease to—
This time he’s the one to choke, and Tyrion can barely hold back his laughter. He glares at his wife, because really , and Arya takes the momentary lull in conversation to fill it with her newfound fascination.
“Stabbed multiple times? Seven Hells, he must be as tough as the White Bull! I’m surprised Sansa hasn’t heard any songs about him if he’s that good!”
“Well, technically, if he’s gotten stabbed multiple times, he’s really not doing well, is he? Unless, of course, he’s looking to get—”
“Alright, alright,” Jaime finally says, for once fed up with discussing men and their swords, though he has to suppress a wan grin at his ridiculous family . “Arya, you have the tourney swords on you? Brilliant, let’s practice here.”
S a n s a:
What does she know about blasphemy? More than her good-brother realizes. Sansa has to bite back her laugh, and instead manages a pretty smile. “Nothing, my lord. I did say all men , after all.” And it’s fun in the sense that just for a moment, Sansa feels like they’re not trapped in King’s Landing to play a game with such heavy stakes. It’s not enough to make her forget where she is—she’s not sure such a thing exists—but for a brief moment it doesn’t feel as if she has to constantly be on high alert. That she doesn’t have to watch every word she says whilst among family.
But that’s precisely why she must. Tyrion isn’t aware of their connections, be it their own annulled marriage or her currently in good standing marriage to his brother.
And she isn’t alone, here in the Courtyard. Arya has stuck close to her side ever since the nightmare, and only stayed from that horrid breakfast due to the lack of an invitation. Not that Sansa would have let her come. She would have feigned anything, begged the Queen’s forgiveness if it meant keeping Arya from witnessing... that.
Her sister realizes something has happened though, and Sansa is glad for the company, and the reminder that Arya is safe.
Small daggers. She knows exactly what she’s said, and why she’s said it. There’s a quip somewhere at the tip of her tongue which begs to be released. But the smacking noise of her husband’s hand causes her to look towards her sister in an effort not to laugh. She shouldn’t tease him too harshly, but it seems a fitting release after the stress of that particular breakfast.
Sharing that there is only one particular dagger she is interested in will only make things decidedly worse. So Sansa smiles with a small, “thank you Ser Jaime,” and offers nothing more. Perhaps it’s best for all if they retire the conversation of small daggers.
Or daggers is any size.
I’m wedded to my one true love.
Her husband’s words pull her away from her thoughts and Sansa’s eyes immediately flicker towards him. There’s no denying the faint blush that warms her cheeks. There hadn't been much time for courtship in their last life. Not that she had needed anything of the kind back then. It was enough that he was him, and that he loved her. It was enough that they had each other, and had been able to even find a shred of happiness despite, or maybe in spite of everything they had suffered.
It’s terribly romantic, and for the first time in a long time she does feel like that little girl. Her emotions, her love for this man overwhelms her and for a brief moment Sansa is sure that she should sit down.
He must know she feels the same. He must . She lifts a finger to press it to her lips when she’s sure no one but him is looking.
Perhaps it should be disconcerting how quickly he goes from being romantic to glaring at her, but Sansa merely arches one eyebrow in silent defiance. She’s still here, she’s still her in this young body, and she’ll remind him of it any chance she gets.
“You’re right Arya, I don’t think I’ve heard any songs…” she trails off innocently, happy to at least protect her sister’s innocence. Besides, she’s made her point and truly, she ought not to poke fun at a dead man even if he isn’t quite dead and may survive just yet if the War of Five Kings doesn’t come.
Arya looks beyond thrilled at Jaime’s acquiescence to more practice and Sansa moves to retake her seat. “Would you care to join me, Lord Tyrion? I’m afraid I can’t keep up with them.”
t y r i o n:
There is much Tyrion doesn’t understand about his brother. For example, the current state of affairs between his siblings. He’d still been a child when Cersei married, and had only just begun to understand the nature of their relationship, and hazily at best. What he had known, was that Jaime’s typical strategy for defending him from Cersei’s cruelty was to distract her, freeing Tyrion from her attention, but also leaving him lonely and more often than not wounded, whether those wounds were tangible or not. He had always known that with Jaime, he came second to Cersei, and always would. He had first thought it was because they were twins, close in a way he could never compare to. Then he learned he was absolutely right, more right than he had ever wanted to be.
He had understood this all by the age of ten, but he hadn’t quite managed to reconcile himself with that knowledge. He had longed for his brother’s companionship, his affection, for Jaime to see the monster that was their sister, and rip her out of his heart, root and stem.
And then Jaime had.
Everything had changed. Cersei had seemed to have gone mad over night, and Jaime lost all hint of personality, unless it was the two brothers alone. Tyrion had had to beg their father to let him remain in King’s Landing, making all sorts of promises in order to keep an eye on him. He despised the city, his sister, and what both had made of his brother, and yet, when it was just the two of them, Jaime started to come back alive, just a little bit, just enough to give Tyrion hope. He’d started tutoring Tyrion where he could, lessons in military history and strategy, books upon books of lineages and the histories of the great families. Then he’d started asking Tyrion questions, asking for his advice. Then they had become partners of a sort. Jaime always professed that he had no mind for politics, yet the questions he posed to Tyrion were astute, even if he didn’t have the answers figured out. The two of them had actually reshaped the politics of the realm with their trade deal between the Westerlands and the North, and the canal will only build on that.
To this day, Tyrion doesn’t know what exactly served as the catalyst. The easy answer is Cersei’s marriage to Robert, but it doesn’t quite add up. Her betrothal, short though it was, hadn’t managed to come between her and Jaime, nor had his vows as a kingsguard. So why would her marriage make a difference, especially knowing how cruel Robert was to their sister and remains to this day? Seeing his loved ones in pain has ever been a weak spot of their brother’s, one Cersei ruthlessly took advantage of, and one Tyrion tried to never exploit, by virtue of never letting the world see his pain. Typically, Jaime isn’t any sort of bleeding heart, unless his family is concerned.
Which leads him to wonder about the Lady Sansa.
Jaime has been holding out on him. This is far more than “riding next to, or talking together.” His eyes are twinkling. Tyrion hadn’t been aware that eyes could twinkle. He had thought it some flight of fancy from the more romantic of maesters. But apparently it’s true. Eyes can twinkle. More importantly, his brother’s eyes can twinkle, and they do so when he looks at one Sansa Stark.
And not only that, but Jaime had asked him to personally alert Ned Stark, Ned Stark, of the dangers their sister poses to his daughter. Lannister business, no matter how unpleasant, is to always remain strictly Lannister business. It’s the first of their father’s cardinal rules, superseded only by, the imp must never inherit. Not to mention, Tyrion can think of at least three other options to resolve the matter that don’t involve Ned Stark at all, chiefly among them, stop correcting her grip on daggers, small or large.
Avoidance has for years been Jaime’s go-to tactic any time Cersei targets someone close to him. Even Tyrion has felt it, and yet in this case it didn’t even occur to him. Why is that?
And then there is the look that they exchanged just now when Jaime had made that comment about his one true love. What was that? He had dismissed it out of turn with some quip or other about Robert, until he had seen the flush bloom on Sansa’s cheeks, and the way her eyes had burned at his brother.
All these eyes doing things they’re not supposed to. Honestly, he wasn’t aware little girls’ eyes could burn. Surely that’s included somewhere in puberty. And he’s fairly certain she has only just begun that process, if even at all.
It is most curious.
But his musings on the state of her development into a woman aside, the girl is delightful. Truly. He hasn’t had this much fun since the time Jaime had encouraged him to suss out which whores best had Baelish’s ear, and who were their most frequent customers. And that had been a good time.
“I can’t think of a more delightful prospect, my lady. You and your sister are truly a most welcome diversion. I’m afraid I find this city a horrible end to a lovely journey. Your bastard brother makes for a great travel companion. Have you been to see him yet?” He asks as he watches their siblings face off.
Arya Stark is intriguing to him, as well. She reminds him of himself, in a way, though he had a fair bit more caution with whom he aired his curiosity to. Curiosity killed the cat was not simply an idiom growing up in the House of Lannister. Especially when half his family wouldn’t blink to see him splayed at the bottom of one of Casterly Rock’s many cliffs.
“Is all your family so diverting? I think I have only ever seen Jaime smile like this in the presence of you or one of your siblings. It’s most curious. He is not known to be a jovial man.” At least, not anymore.
S a n s a:
And just like that the game shifts. Tyrion Lannister may not have been clever enough to figure out that his sister had been lying. He may have missed the fact that she never intended on sending anyone or anything North (including her twin brother) but that by no means makes the man stupid. Tyrion Lannister is no fool, and now that Jaime and Arya aren’t here to distract him when she makes a comment that reveals just a little too much, she needs to be more careful. She would have never been as open to Tyrion under different circumstances, and the man is no more aware that they are in fact family than anyone else is. No, their safety must come before any amusement, but it still doesn’t stop how excited she is to see him.
The work she had been so diligently focused on is delicately folded and moved to the other side of the bench so there is room for them both. She’s missed him, her goodbrother, teasing japes and all. It will do Jaime good to have him around too, she thinks. Cersei is already grating on him more than either of them anticipated. Perhaps it’s the unknown, or rather the fact that they both are now walking on a very thin rope with a very small margin for error.
She intends to win. Her father will leave King’s Landing with his head. Arya will be able to go home, to continue training and will hopefully never know of the dangers that had been lurking around her at every turn. One day, Sansa will have to share the source of her nightmares, especially as they continue. But for now Arya is safe, shielded, and Sansa has to bite down hard on her lower lip to not burst out in laughter at the sheer gusto she uses to attack her husband with the tourney swords.
This is what it should have been. What it should be. And with the sun shining, and her sister, husband and goodbrother surrounding her it’s almost hard to remember that Cersei Lannister is here, and that she’s made it most certainly clear that she is willing to come after her if only to hurt Jaime.
It may be to her benefit. If the Queen is seen harassing a thirteen year old girl, who is not quite yet branded as a traitor’s daughter, over the notion (or perhaps more than merely a notion) of her twin brother’s interest she may lose what control or power she currently has. Robert Baratheon is still king, and Cersei still has secrets that will damage the line of succession beyond repair.
And Jaime. It’s quite difficult to tear her eyes away from him as he moves. It’s not the same as when he had been seriously training up north. Not when his opponent is her eleven year old sister, but Sansa can’t deny that her husband cuts a handsome figure, and is one to be admired.
She will protect him too. Just as fiercely as he defends everyone he cares for, even if it means putting himself at risk.
Just as he had stepped in at breakfast.
No, it’ll be better to face Cersei on her own. No matter how much he may hate it, and fight her on it.
“I’m glad you could join us..” Sansa trails off in confusion. Tyrion wasn’t meant to be traveling with her bastard brother. Jon is supposed to be safe, up North in Winterfell with Robb. He’s meant to be anywhere but King’s Landing where spies will turn up every stone in an effort to find the truth, or something that can be used against you at any given moment.
He’s the rightful heir to the damned Iron Throne, and he’ll be hiding in plain sight right in front of it. “Jon is here, my lord?” She asks instead, steeling the emotions hiding in Tully blue eyes as she fights the urge to catch Jaime’s gaze.
Damn it Jon. Starks aren’t meant to come South.
And he is a Stark. His Targaryen half hasn’t changed that.
“No I haven’t,” she adds almost absentmindedly, her mind whirling to figure out why , what’s happened, to send Jon south when there had never been a need in the first place.
Had ensuring that everyone know that Sansa considers him to be as much of a brother to her (if not more) than Robb, Bran and Rickon put him at risk?
These are not thoughts to be having in front of Tyrion Lannister, and she pushes them aside for now.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Lord Tyrion,” Sansa smiles turning back from the sparring twosome to look at him. “I’ve never known Ser Jaime to be anything but jovial .” A lie, but she hopes one day Tyrion will forgive her. Or at the very least understand the necessity. Besides, all marriages must have their moments of privacy. “He’s been very gallant.”
That sounds a bit more like the young Sansa of old.
“He speaks very highly of you. I’m glad to put a face to the name, my lord.”
t y r i o n:
For a moment, he thinks he’s lost her attention, and he can’t help the slight disappointment. He shouldn’t be too hard on her though, she’s only a girl after all, and his brother does cut a striking figure whenever someone puts a sword in his hand. Even if his opponent is a ragamuffin girl chopping away at his knees.
But then he looks at her, and realizes she’s not even looking at his brother, but chewing on her lip, gazing off into the distance. No, this delightful girl is thinking. Oh, how lovely it is to have confirmation that humans besides him are still capable!
“He is, my lady. I would’ve thought your lady Mother would’ve sent word.” He wasn’t sure how much he should say. Jon Snow was fairly tight lipped about the whole thing, but from what Tyrion could gather, Catelyn Stark had not so politely insisted he leave. Where else was the boy to go? His father and sisters are here, and so is the mentor who grew so fond of him. It hadn’t seemed so odd a choice to Tyrion, but Lady Sansa’s reaction gives him pause. Why wouldn’t she want her brother with her?
“That seems to displease you, my lady. Are you not close?” He can understand that at least. He’d have a much more pronounced aversion if being informed of a surprise visit by his sister.
But then her smile is back, at the mention of Jaime of course, and Tyrion watches carefully, though he hides his interest by plucking up her embroidery and inspecting it. “Fine work, Lady Sansa,” he muses, contemplatively.
“My brother Jaime is known to be… well, I wouldn’t quite say dour, but rather devoted to his duty. Of all the kingsguard, perhaps only Ser Barristan can match him in single-minded devotion to his vows. I’m not sure I’ve even seen him talk to a lady in… in years, come to think of it…” There had been galas and feasts and balls, and it wasn’t unheard of for a maiden to seek a dance with one of the most famed knights of the realm. And yet, Jaime somehow ended up guarding the children on those nights, or the King himself, eyes forward, surveying the crowd for any potential threats.
Tyrion knows that Jaime has no love for his king, but he’d be very surprised if anyone else is privy to that knowledge. Even Robert himself has trouble complaining about Jaime’s service and the man complains about everything.
And Sansa had never seen him as anything but jovial. How very, very curious.
“Might I ask when these lessons began? He seems to enjoy them greatly. If they are responsible for his recent lightness of heart, I think I must owe you and your sister a very large debt.”
S a n s a:
Briefly Sansa wonders if her lady mother would feel any guilt at her treatment of Jon Snow if she knew the truth—once she did. There’s only so many things that could have driven her brother from their home, and with how Jaime had set things up to try and avoid Jon going to the wall—well, Sansa isn’t entirely sure she needs to guess what’s happened.
She swallows tightly and tries to think instead of how excited Arya will be. The only thing that’s hard to ignore is that Jon is observant . There’s no way she’ll be able to slide things off as bad dreams, as little inconveniences, if he thinks to keep an eye out on her as well.
She loves her brother, that hasn’t changed. And she loves how much he loves his family. But this? If he gets too involved, it could place the very target on his back that their father had tried to avoid.
“I’m sure she has,” she says off-handedly, not bothering to spin words into a pretty little song. Her mind is too busy trying to come up with ways to convince Jon to leave, maybe to even take Arya with him back home. Her father will want to eventually, as he had before and they’ll leave too. When the timing is right. Jaime will look out for him too, and that will be less suspicious. No one will think anything of a mentor looking out for his former squire.
She has to remind herself that Jon has survived this once already, with Jaime by his side. There’s no reason why he shouldn’t a second time.
Are you not close ?
It’s hard to fight back the defensive walls that start to rise at the question. It’s Tyrion , and she knows that even if it’s not the very same man she once knew, there’s no barb in the question. Perhaps it’s just her guilt, trying to overcompensate for how she once had treated Jon. “He’s my brother, my lord.” Is the simplest answer. “I have missed him dearly.”
She just would much prefer their reunion to be outside of King’s Landing. But with Tyrion’s cleverness she can’t even begin to broach that particular topic without him narrowing in on it with keen focus.
“Thank you, Lord Tyrion.”
He’s up to something, and the corners of her lips quirk at the thought.
Tyrion moves the conversation smoothly back to his brother, and the lack of interest in any women. Her husband, her loyal, honorable husband, didn’t even think to turn his eye to another woman in the past twenty years to avoid any suspicion. Her heart swells at the thought, and Sansa longs to be just a little older. “I don’t know that helping two young ladies learn how to protect themselves falls outside of a knight’s duties.”
Now she’s smiling, and she turns back towards her good-brother to give him her complete attention.
“Doesn’t protecting the innocent fall expressly under such duties?”
Though she doesn’t know if they’ll have to have a philosophical debate of whether or not teaching the innocent how to protect themselves counts.
“Back in Winterfell, my lord. My sister, Lady Arya...” Her eyes flicker back towards her sister’s petite frame, before she looks back at Tyrion. “She’s always been fascinated with sword fighting. I believe if anyone owes a debt, it’s me, my lord.”
t y r i o n:
Something about Jon Snow has Sansa… spooked? He’s not sure why he thinks that, her expression hardly gives anything away, but her preoccupation does. Does it? She’s a child, for fuck’s sake. He’s reading way too much into this girl, but he’s suddenly so interested. She’s rapidly becoming a mystery of great proportions, and he doesn’t love anything so well as a good mystery—except perhaps dragons but those are a mystery unto themselves, are they not?
He nods, sensing perhaps it’d be best not to linger on the subject. “Well, I know he was very eager to see you both again. And Jaime, of course, the boy had stars in his eyes every time he mentioned my brother. Jaime seems to have a way with you Starks,” Tyrion muses.
“I should think so, and heavens knows that Jaime has ever dreamed of being a true knight…” How to phrase this? It’s not that he doesn’t believe Jaime to be a true knight, he’s the most honorable man Tyrion knows, Ned Stark notwisthstanding, no matter what names people call him. It’s just that… typically most knights have a more hands off approach to protecting the innocent. They patrol for bandits, and defend from the Ironborn, and fight in their tourneys. But few actually go to great lengths to intercede for an innocent in trouble, and Tyrion has known more than a few who actually are the cause of that trouble. He’s not about to tell a child that though. No doubt Sansa Stark is dreaming of the songs that will be written about her and her golden knight. Those dreams will be ripped away soon enough, but Tyrion won’t be the one to do it.
Added to that, Jaime is an odd case in this situation. It’s not that Tyrion thinks he wouldn’t do all the things knights do in their songs, it’s just that Jaime… stopped. He stopped most of everything it was that made him Jaime. He stopped japing at all the idiot lords and ladies falling over themselves to get into Robert’s good favor. He stopped his dalliance with Cersei, stopped everything with Cersei. He had stopped fighting in tourneys, stopped drinking… all he did was his duty. He hadn’t taken squires, or tutored young highborn daughters to wield weapons. Not until the Starks.
“...it’s just that most knights take a more straightforward approach to that defense. They prefer to be the ones doing the defending, you see. Women holding weapons frightens many men,” he says leaning in with a wink and a smile.
Oho, isn’t this interesting. Jaime started training them in Winterfell. When Tyrion could never seem to locate his brother off-duty, and when he had started smiling again. That leads Tyrion to another, more frightful thought.
Just how much training had they done? And how much of the time that Tyrion could not find his brother was dedicated to...other things?
I’m wedded to my one true love.
Oh no, he’s not going there. For one, no septon would ever perform the vows, knowing who his brother is. For another, when would they have even gotten the time to sneak away after Winterfell? They weren’t there nearly long enough for some torrid affair to take place, and once they were traveling, they would’ve both been hard-pressed to sneak away without being seen. Not to mention, Sansa doesn’t seem like the type to launch herself into a torrid affair with a man more than twice her age. Has she even flowered yet?
There was Cersei’s breakfast, though. Clearly she suspects something, too. What is going on?
He watches his brother dance around the younger Stark, calling out advice and correcting her stance. He laughs as she lands a hit on his arm and crows in triumph, then Jaime lands her on her arse. Tyrion doesn’t doubt that he will get to the bottom of this eventually. For now though, whatever this mystery brings, Jaime seems happy .
“We’ll call it even then,” he suggests. “One sibling’s happiness for another’s. A good thing, too, because otherwise I’m not quite certain this is a debt that could be repaid, my lady.”
S a n s a:
She has to remind herself that this is not Jon’s first time down South in this life. Jaime has already changed that, and perhaps it will shield any abnormality about her brother’s appearance in King’s Landing. He’s been long accepted as Ned Stark’s bastard son, and he’s been a squire to a well-known knight of the realm. Sansa doubts she will ever be at ease with her family here, especially her father and brother. The men in her family don’t do well here, history and her previous life has demonstrated that clearly.
“I’m sure I will find him soon,” is what Sansa offers. And she will, she plans on it, and she knows Arya will be excited by the news. She has to let go of the worry for now until there is something to truly worry about.
He’s not at the Wall though, and a part of her wonders if no one would have connected the lies with the truth sooner had Jon been closer rather than out of sight and out of mind. It’s an answer only time will tell, and any extended time in the capital isn’t the answer Sansa is looking for.
Her eyes flicker back to the form of her husband, and she can’t help the small smile her lips quirk into. Jaime Lannister, a way with the Starks. Not always, she muses to herself. She doesn’t remember much of his relationship with her parents to note, but she knows what he once did to Bran. How he had been captured by Robb during the War of Five Kings. She doesn’t quite know if Jon would have gone along with the Dragon Queen and her desire to execute Jaime after the Battle of Winterfell, but Jon’s opinion hadn’t mattered overly much in the end. Brienne had spoken on Jaime’s behalf when it counted, and it was enough for Sansa. They had needed all the help they could get.
And Arya had never missed an opportunity to try and scare her new goodbrother, be with words or a look.
“Yes, I suppose he does, my Lord.”
Dreamed. Sansa bites back a scoff solely because she knows that one more misplaced reaction is going to send Tyrion on a race to the finish to figure out what he’s missing. “Is he not a true knight, my Lord? I hadn’t realized.”
Maybe she would have been better off scoffing. Her voice takes on that of the Lady of Winterfell, and Sansa turns to look at her goodbrother with careful consideration. It’s partly silly; she knows that if there ever was another strong defender of Jaime Lannister, he’s sitting right next to her. Tyrion loves his older brother, and their bond seems even stronger in this life than the last. She supposes the lack of murders, deception, and fighting on opposite sides of a war does that. “I believe Ser Jaime to be more honorable than he is willing to let on.”
That’s not a lie either, and had been a topic of conversation for the newlywed couple many nights, whispered amongst the furs.
It’s only with Tyrion’s jape, and wink that Sansa’s defenses start to lower. It’s instinctual, the lack of control is evident, but she had one promised to defend her husband’s honor, against him or anyone else. “They should be frightened, my lord,” Sansa leans forward to whisper almost conspiratorially to him. “I believe my sister will be the greatest warrior of them all.”
The brief silence proves as a small respite, and Sansa chews on the inside of her cheek in an effort not to laugh as her husband is the brief victor over Arya. Her eyebrows merely raise when she catches her husband’s gaze. He would have never been able to pull that off during the Long Night.
Her hand reaches out to rest atop of Tyrion’s before she gives it a light squeeze. “Even it was, Lord Tyrion, I’d deny your being in my debt in the first place.” She is his family too, even if he doesn’t know it, and she will play the game to keep him safe, as much as she can. “They’ve made their own happiness, I merely asked on my sister’s behalf.”
t y r i o n:
He has to bite his lip to keep from grinning at her prickly defense of his brother. Tyrion has always believed Jaime to be a true knight, but as far as he knows, he was always the only one. Even Jaime himself had lost faith in the order of knighthood and what honor could be found there, probably not long after he had donned his white cloak. To see that faith blaring to life in the eyes of a besotted child is as heartwarming as it is troubling. Particularly since that child will not remain so forever.
“ If there is such a thing as a true knight, it would be my brother, I assure you, my Lady. Please don’t misunderstand me. There is no one with more pride and faith in Jaime Lannister than myself. Possibly including Jaime Lannister,” he quips. But it is her astute observation on Jaime’s honor that quiets him. “Yes, Lady Sansa, I think you are correct.”
He’s never been able to isolate just what it was that caused the change in Jaime. He’d watched his brother don arrogance and irreverence right along his white cloak, but somewhere along the line, the facade had solidified into something quieter, more stoic, more grim. He was still arrogant when he wanted to be, but Tyrion had noticed long ago, those situations seemed to only arise when Jaime couldn’t avoid a confrontation. Mostly, he chose silence. It had seemed like Jaime’s dreams had died with Rickard and Brandon Stark, up until a few moons ago.
Now his brother has purpose in his stride, and the clack of wooden blades echoing through the courtyard carries on the sound of his laughter. And this girl and her sister are somehow responsible for it.
“Yes, I suspect we all should be frightened, though whether it’s due to your sister’s admittedly impressive passion for her training, or her budding friendship with my brother, I’m not sure.” It is a terrifying prospect, but perhaps not in the way he makes it seem. He’s prayed to gods he doesn’t believe in for years for Jaime to snap out of this, and they’d always gone unanswered. He’s afraid this is some kind of trick. There must be a catch somewhere. He wonders what role the young woman beside him plays in all this, and he hopes beyond reason no harm comes from this. She’s uncommonly sage for her years, and Tyrion thinks that given the chance, not only might his brother heal, but they both could come out of this with a few dear friends.
“That they have, my Lady, but sometimes it is the asking that matters the most.”