10A/N: Yet another fic inspired by those S8E3 Sansa/Tyrion scenes in the crypt. Not really a story, just a one-shot I've been imagining. Let's ignore S8E4, shall we? haha
Sansa Stark floated through Winterfell; her days spent tending to the injured, making sure repairs were proceeding quickly, and after the funeral pyres, desperately trying to maintain control of herself at court. As if having to suffer through Jon's deference to Daenerys and the Dragon Queen's desire to send Northerners south wasn't bad enough, she had another problem. Every time she felt his eyes on her, her heart raced and it was all she could do to maintain that icy veneer she thought she had perfected.
Today, Jon and Daenerys went to see to the dragons and there were no items on her agenda for the next couple of hours. She went to the Godswood to be alone. It was late afternoon and the sky already beginning to darken. Sansa could still see the signs of what had occurred here, and the thought of Theon dying alone pained her deeply. It would probably never leave her. She decided to try to use that pain to fortify her heart. So much was still at stake and thoughts of Tyrion Lannister threatened to sideline her focus on an independent North. Her mind wandered to an idea she had toyed with before Tyrion returned to Winterfell.
Before the battle with the dead, after Jon had been invited to Dragonstone, Sansa prepared Winterfell for winter and the coming onslaught, kept the other northern houses in line, contemplated how Jon would convince the Targaryen to give them the dragonglass and persuade her to help fight against the dead, and forged a new understanding with her younger sister Arya. Having finally dealt with Littlefinger's betrayal, she could turn her mind to other matters. In spite of all that had happened to her, she had found herself thinking about life and the future. Jon had told Sansa he would never ask her to marry to solidify an alliance for House Stark. While she appreciated his words, she knew they were foolish. The lords had accepted Jon as their king but trueborn heirs would strengthen their hold on Winterfell and the North. Arya wasn't likely to marry and Bran wasn't a possibility either. In order to help Jon keep Winterfell, she had to produce heirs. Submitting to another man was abhorrent to Sansa but if they could find someone respectable enough, she might be able to suffer through it. These thoughts filled her with anger and she longed for more control. In these moments she idly thought perhaps she could find someone kind to share her bed for a little while, something on her terms and not as the property of a husband; to share and not submit; to replace these nightmares of Ramsay with new memories of what was possible between two people. Waiting for a suitable marriage partner would take too long; they might all die before the winter was over. The Night King was coming.
Having entertained the possibility, she couldn't put it out of her mind and wondered who to choose. A low-born man was out of the question. Even if he would be able to keep it a secret, how could she be sure he wasn't acquiescing out of some form of duty or fear of reprisal? She would never want to exert her power and station over another in that way. Then again, the odds of finding a nearby nobleman who would agree to a dalliance, keep it secret, and never press for marriage, were extraordinarily small. Not to mention someone who would respect her above all and be able to stop if she changed her mind at any point, even at the moment of union… The possibility of being violated again prevented her from seriously pursuing her idea. But then Jon came back with Daenerys, her army, and him.
Tyrion Lannister had always been kind to her, had respected her when no one else had. Even on the side of a queen she couldn't yield to, Sansa held Tyrion in high esteem. He had been her husband after all. But it was more than that. Or it had become more than that. Of all the people who had used her after her father's death, he was the only one who tried to mitigate her circumstances. The only one not to ask for anything in return. She saw the man, a man she could trust to show her the ways of physical love and respect her boundaries. But she was too afraid and it wasn't the act itself that scared her.
In the crypt during the battle, when her hope was at its lowest, Tyrion had tried to distract her by broaching their marriage. He had intended it as a joke but she didn't want to respond with banter. Sansa owed him honesty. With her words, she tried to convey her respect and appreciation for him. Her response let him know that she, too, had wondered about remarrying him. But lest he take her sentiment too far, she warned him. She had to. Because thoughts of marriage with Tyrion had been mingling with less savory thoughts of using him in some way to gain advantage over Daenerys. Divided loyalties can be exploited.
It was these thoughts that had prevented her from reaching for him in a kiss when all seemed lost. She wanted to, more than anything, but she was also afraid of what she was capable of, of those lessons in deceit she had learned in King's Landing and under Littlefinger's tutelage. If Tyrion had reached for her, she would have given in, of course she would have. But he only brought her gloved hand to his lips. She felt her desire ignite in that moment, something she never thought she could feel for another. Then the moment passed.
Or so she thought.
His eyes in the crypt. His lips. They haunted her. She wanted them so badly. Sansa also recognized a similar longing in his face whenever she caught him staring at her. There was something between them now. Sansa stood silently in the Godswood playing out the moves in her mind. Her heart told her to be brave but the darkness within her dangled the possibilities of how to ensure the North's freedom. Could she hurt him like that? And could she put herself at risk? She'd already felt what his kiss on her hand did to her. Exploited loyalties go both ways, after all. He was clever and still the Dragon Queen's hand.
She heard his approach without turning around. Her pulse quickened but she maintained a steady breath, her gaze fixed ahead.
"If there's anything I've learned as the Queen's hand, it's that not everything can be anticipated, Sansa. You can overthink until the sun sets and then you'll have missed your chance to decide and events will unfold anyway, affecting you instead of you affecting them."
Sansa didn't answer. His use of subtext and caution was infuriating. Despite her misgivings she decided to throw away whatever advantage she may have had by being blunt about their situation.
"I don't want to hurt you, Tyrion."
Sansa heard his gasp and then his light chuckle. She let minutes go by as she let him absorb what she was trying to say.
"My lady, while I do appreciate your warning, it is very much unnecessary. I am quite aware of what you're capable of. Your warmth… and ruthlessness."
At this, Sansa turned slightly towards him and watched him move to stand beside her. She smiled lightly then again looked forward.
"It would be easier if you could just swear loyalty to her, Sansa."
"I know," answered Sansa. She added sadly, "I'm sorry."
"Me too. I wish… well, I think we both know what I wish." Tyrion reached for her hand and she let him hold it. Enjoying this moment together, the companionship of someone who understood her, Sansa squeezed his hand tightly. It would be easier to yield. So much easier to trust that Daenerys would be a good queen, that Jon would keep the North safe, that the dangers and responsibilities of the world were out of her hands. Then another thought came to her. Cersei could still gain the upper hand and take him away from her forever. Sansa gripped his hand even more tightly. Her breathing became harder to control.
"Will you hold me tonight, Tyrion?" she whispered. She turned to him.
"Sansa?" he replied, confused. She felt like laughing at the look on his face. There was fear and barely contained hunger. Bending over she placed her hands on his face and lightly pressed her lips on his.
"Tonight. My rooms," Sansa said more firmly. One night and then I'll do what needs to be done.
Tyrion nodded, breathless. Sansa smiled and straightened herself, then walked away, leaving him to his thoughts, his turn to ponder the ramifications and vulnerabilities she might expose in him. Sansa promised herself she would warn him one more time, to make it clear that whatever happened between them will not compromise her loyalty to the North. Saying it out loud will make it true, Sansa tried to convince herself. She blushed at what other truths Tyrion might make her reveal out loud tonight. She looked forward to it.
