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Chapter Text

The snows fall down, yes, the snows fall down, relentlessly and mercilessly here in the North, the summer snows were bad enough, but now that the proper winter snows had fallen Tyrion felt less happy with the North than he had ever been. Forever, the Southron lord, who loved the beaches near Casterly Rock, he hated every second the bitter cold spent breaking through his furs, seeping into his bones and chilling his blood.

The beer in the North wasn’t even improved by the chilly weather either. He mused, wondering if that was the reason why he dried out after coming here, whether it was the second dance of the dragons or just the terrible beverage the Northerners called alcohol, that were truly responsible for him giving up drinking. He knew that his wife was certainly the reason he gave up whoring, that much he was certain of.

Sometimes he wondered just how much he was fit to truly be the Lord of Winterfell, whether he was an imposter infringing on the home and role of the late great Ned Stark, a man who left shoes the size of a mountain to fill. Sansa would often tell him of how he was winning over the entire North, and how lords and smallfolk alike preferred to petition him than her purely due to his experience and useful advice.

Also, because you are more approachable and likeable, someone who is just yet fair. She would add bitterly, he mused.

Yet despite all of that he still felt like an outsider, unwelcome in these great and ancient halls once belonging to the Lord and Lady of Winterfell before him. Both were regarded as paragons of virtue and honour, an image which their daughter, the new lady of Winterfell and Queen of the North certainly emulated so perfectly, that if he didn’t see her afterwards in a more domestic setting, he truly believed he would treat his wife the same as everyone else in the North.

Nonetheless, he went about his duties content that he was helping people rebuild after the great war. He broke his fast with many different Lord’s and Vassals all of whom he begrudgingly agreed to meet over a series of days. Each meeting was fraught with a conspiracy to rope him and Sansa into the petty power plays, each lord was undertaking, in their desire to carve out their own future as well as their own family’s future in the brand-new North. Each trying to grasp land that doesn’t belong to them, trying to lay claim to the many empty castles, which Sansa and him hadn’t decided what to do with. Some trying to pretend they weren’t trying to grasp power by recommending specific household knights that were loyal to them for empty lands, holdfasts, even castles. Anything to claim more power in the North for themselves, in the hopes they could one day twist the Lord and Lady of Winterfell into marrying their eldest daughter, to one of those Lord’s sons. He knew that the vultures were circling, hence why Sansa was so eager for the new child to be a boy, whilst all he cared about was her surviving the pregnancy.

“…that’s why I believe, my brother Beren should become the new lord of Hornwood, Lord Tyrion, after all we possess a claim from my mother’s line”. Brandon Tallhart concluded, matter of factly.

“We’ve been over this lord Brandon, you will become lord of Torrhen’s square, and Lady Eddara marries Gawen Glover. Whilst, Wylla Manderly marries the newly legitimised Larence Hornwood who becomes the new lord of Hornwood”. Tyrion sighed out, tired of this topic coming up again and again.

“You’d place that, that, bastard in control of that castle and it’s lands, over the existing nobility” he hissed incredulously.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I have been saying for months my lord”, Tyrion replied cooly, “from memory, did the North not do the same with Jon Snow, another bastard, if anything they raised him as king of the North, so what’s so different about Lord Larence” he asked impatience colouring his tone.

Lord Tallhart looked annoyed and then sighed, accepting Tyrion’s argument.

“Now if there is any other matter then please say so or otherwise, I believe we are done here”. Tyrion’s tone carried a finality to it.

“I couldn’t agree more my lord, we have nothing more to discuss for now, it was a pleasure breaking my fast with you”. He huffed, obviously dismayed he couldn’t get his flimsy claim to Hornwood.

“Have a good day my lord” he added quickly trying to get out of the solar.

“Have a lovely day lord Tallhart”, Tyrion replied diplomatically. He watched Lord Tallhart leave his solar before calling for a servant to get him a nice warm tea. Until then he busied himself with his work.

There was a knock on the door around that time, a servant walked in.

“My Lord, Lady Lannister…” she stopped.

Tyrion raised his eyebrow “Whom?” he queried giving her a chance to fix her mistake.

She coughed clearing her throat “Lady Sansa requests that you retire from work early today. She says that she hopes to spend a nice evening together in your chambers”.

“Very well you may tell her I will be there” Tyrion nodded in the servants direction, “Oh and also please remind everyone not to use the term Lady Lannister in the future, my good sister, Brienne is Lady Lannister, not Lady Sansa” he paused, “see to it that such a mistake never happens again would you”. He added sternly.

“Of course, my lord”, the servant replied grateful for his forgiveness.

Tyrion then laid back in his chair after the servant left thinking about what Sansa Stark wanted with him tonight. The truth was that he didn’t even care to do anything physical with her, not because he didn’t desire her, no that would be a bold-faced lie, because he did, but simply because he much preferred spending time with her even if it was in silence. Those were often the best moments for both of them, they could feel the love the other had oozing out into the room. It made them both feel safe… wanted… loved… something they both hoped to feel all their lives, something that kept them grounded. Tyrion knew that it certainly kept him grounded, made him light-headed yet confident that he could disarm one-hundred knights in one fell swoop.

Nonetheless he worked at triple his original pace, knowing that he didn’t want to waste even a second that he could be spending by his beautiful wife’s side, and because he didn’t want to see her wrath, especially when she was pregnant, he shuddered. He even skipped lunch, hoping to ensure that anything that needed to be ready for tomorrow morning was, just in case he was too tired, or too cold was more accurate, to get up. Once that was finished, he stared out the window, thinking of just how lucky he was, and how best to ensure tonight would be perfect for himself and his lady wife.

Chapter Text

High in the halls of Winterfell, lady Sansa sat in her solar trying her very best not to let her anger from consuming her, otherwise she would find great difficulty explaining to her bannermen why lady Wynafryd Manderly was killed even with the protection of guest right in her very own castle. Honestly, as far as Sansa was concerned, she didn’t care about the fact that that house Manderly was upset about the fact that she was planning on naming Artos Flint of the mountains the new lord of Flint’s finger. She didn’t care about the fact that Ryon Forrester being named the new lord of Barrowton was an insult to those houses that had existed in south for this long. As far as she was concerned, she was rewarding those who were loyal to her family after the Boltons became the new wardens of the north.

“Lady Manderly, sorry to have to stop you there”, she began, “however, much as you may believe that your house deserves to claim Hornwood, the fact remains that Larence Hornwood has a stronger claim especially after he was legitimised by Queen Daenerys Targaryen herself, and me. Hence, this matter is shut, and there will be no more said. Be grateful that I am still allowing your children to keep the Manderly name after their birth. Such a consideration wasn’t afforded to house Stark in our most vulnerable moments” frustration with Wynafryd Manderly’s scheming causing her to snap.

“I am sorry to learn that my houses future is dependent on letting this bastard rule an entire region of land with multiple castles”. Lady Wynafryd hissed.

“Of course it doesn’t Lady Manderly, however the fact remains that if you truly want to have a Manderly claim to Hornwood, then I can support a marriage between your sister Wylla and Larence Hornwood, after all we all know how badly your house has suffered since the Red Wedding. Nonetheless, it would mean that the Manderly name doesn’t get prioritised in this case, due to house Hornwood also seeing it’s name at risk of extinction”. Sansa added.

“Very well, lady Sansa, house Manderly will accept these terms that have been laid out by you” lady Wynafryd acquiesced.

“Excellent, I do believe that concludes today’s meeting lady Manderly. I do wish you the very best for the rest of your day.” Sansa added politely, continuing to embody the perfect epitome of grace and politeness, even though internally she felt like jumping with joy at the outcome of this meeting so early in the day. If she wasn’t mistaken Tyrion would still be breaking his fast with Lord Brandon Tallhart at that point of the day. Thus, she decided to talk a quick walk, even though the Maester had warned her against moving too much during the pregnancy.

As she traipsed along the ramparts of Winterfell, she started feeling the pang of loss inside her heart. Tyrion and her had been so distant these past few weeks, dealing with countless squabbles amongst those whom she had previously considered to be honourable lords and ladies of the North, only to discover that they would swoop in like vultures to advance their own interests and then proceed to throw tantrums like children when they don’t get their way. This distance was something that she didn’t like one bit at all, it gnawed at her, like as though it was eating into her very being… for the first time since Sansa had returned back to the North, she felt the chill of winter start to sink in, something she hadn’t thought possible.

I don’t understand how you Northerners do it. How can you survive let alone thrive in these freezing winters. Her husband would complain, every time she would tell him that one simply gets used to it and that Northerners are made of sterner stuff… he would never accept it. No of course he wouldn’t, why would that brilliant brain of his just take that as an answer. Why wouldn’t it question the statement, trying to probe for a jest, lie hidden techniques, anything that could make such a statement sound less like an insult and more like advice.

Suddenly, she felt the wind pick up and the snowflakes fall much quicker than before. Snowstorm, she thought, gods was Tyrion going to be in a grumpy mood tonight. Which whilst resulted in him acting grumpy, Sansa personally thought made him look completely and utterly adorable. She always had to stop herself from giving into her feelings and just cuddling him, instead she had to focus on other things like how to help him overcome his mood and trying to help him solve whatever issue he was facing. He always valued her input, something that would warm her insides and lower regions each time. After all, it was refreshing to have someone who appreciated her intellect and not just after her tutelage under Littlefinger, but from before it as well. Then there was his luscious, fluffy, silvery-blonde locks that she wanted nothing more to do run her fingers in all day long and his eyes… oh his eyes, one black and the other green, yet both so equally enthralling that she gets ensnared every time she looks at them. There, was just something about being around Tyrion that did wonders for her, she felt safe, wanted and surprisingly attracted to his blatant admiration for her, and his looks. Especially when those looks were the opposite of what she dreamed of as a girl.

She should do something that will give them the opportunity to be together, even if it was just an evening and this snowstorm would be the perfect catalyst for her and Tyrion to spend more time together. The snowstorm provided the perfect excuse for them to spend an intimate evening together in their room, even if it is just reading their own books, whilst sitting next to the fireplace, she knew that it would be enough for both of them to feel sated for the night. Perhaps even provide them with a full night’s sleep. Perhaps that is what she should do in order to deal with the ache that was growing in her chest, she mused.

As she was about to turn the corner she bumped into a serving girl for the household. She accepted the girls apologies, and made to ask her about putting her plan into action.

“Remember don’t tell him what the evening will entail, I am relying on you to keep it a secret lest it ruins his day and then by extension mine.” Sansa warned sternly.

“Of course my lady, I will have the servants make the preparations immediately, before passing the message onto lord Tyrion”. The servant stated.

“Good” was her only reply. “I will be awaiting that surprise for my husband eagerly, thank you so much again for accepting my last-minute idea.

“It isn’t of any matter my lady; your wish will be delivered to lord Lannister immediately” the servant bowed before shuffling away.

Hopefully Tonight would ensure that both her and Tyrion would be receiving a wonderful evening to themselves, aided by the weather. Sansa quickly thanked the old gods for their interference before heading to lie down, feeling hope, warmth and love blossom inside her chest, for the first time in a long time.

Chapter Text

In the heart of Winterfell, a gentle snowfall blanketed the castle and its surroundings, creating a serene and tranquil atmosphere. The cold winds howled outside, but within the great keep, a warm and inviting fire crackled in the hearth, casting a golden glow over the cozy chamber. The scent of burning wood and the faint aroma of mulled wine filled the air, creating an ambiance of comfort and security.

Tyrion Lannister, once the outcast of his powerful family, now found solace and happiness in the most unexpected of places. He sat by the fire, his legs stretched out before him, a book resting on his lap. His eyes, however, were not focused on the pages but on the woman who sat across from him, her presence a beacon of warmth and light in his life.

Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell, was a vision of elegance and grace. Her auburn hair cascaded down her shoulders in soft waves, and her eyes sparkled with a contentment that had been hard-won. She was engrossed in her embroidery, her nimble fingers weaving intricate patterns into the fabric. The firelight danced across her features, highlighting her beauty and the strength that lay beneath.

Their marriage had been an arrangement born of necessity and political manoeuvring, but it had blossomed into something far more profound. They had found in each other a partner, a confidant, and a lover—a bond that transcended the trials and tribulations they had both endured.

Tyrion watched Sansa with a mixture of admiration and affection. He marvelled at how far she had come, from the naive girl who dreamed of knights and chivalry to the resilient woman who had faced the harsh realities of the world and emerged stronger. He felt a swell of pride and love for her, grateful for the life they had built together for themselves and their eldest, Joanna.

Sansa glanced up from her embroidery and caught Tyrion's gaze. A soft smile played on her lips as she set her work aside and moved to sit beside him. He reached out and took her hand, his thumb gently caressing her knuckles.

"You're not reading your book," she teased, her voice a melodic whisper.

Tyrion chuckled, his eyes never leaving hers. "I find the view far more captivating," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity.

Sansa blushed slightly, her cheeks taking on a rosy hue. "You always know just what to say, my lord," she said, her tone playful.

Tyrion leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Only the truth, my lady," he murmured.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the crackling of the fire and the soft patter of snow against the windowpanes the only sounds. The world outside seemed distant and unimportant, as if nothing existed beyond the warmth of their chamber and the love they shared.

Sansa rested her head on Tyrion's shoulder, her fingers entwined with his. "Do you ever think about how different our lives might have been if we hadn't found each other?" she asked softly.

Tyrion raised his eyebrows “found each other, I do believe you meant to say forced together my dear”. Smirking at the last bit.

Sansa swatted him playfully. “You know exactly what I meant you impossible man”, lifting her head to look into his green mismatched eyes, shaking her head exasperatedly.

Tyrion considered her question, his mind drifting back to the tumultuous events that had led them to this point. "I think about it often," he admitted. "But I believe that everything we've been through has shaped us into who we are today and… I wouldn't trade this life, this marriage, our lovely Joanna that I share with you for anything."

Sansa smiled, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Neither would I," she whispered. “Especially Joanna, after all we both know that’s the main reason I keep you around”, Sansa playfully teased.

“Oh I am well aware of that reason, I also believe there was another one… oh what was it again, oh that’s right, I make you scream so loudly in passion whilst we’re in bed I believe was the other reason, you told me” Tyrion replied smiling impishly shrugging his eyebrows.

“You vile, perverted, imp!” Sansa gasped, “we shall see what you have to say about that when I don’t let you into our bed tonight” Sansa threatened, savouring the horror on Tyrion’s face.

“You wouldn’t dare” he challenged, eyes narrowing.

“Oh yes I would” Sansa responded haughtily, flicking her head away.

“Oh, is that so, well in that case you’ve left me no choice dear wife…” Tyrion responded before pouncing on her “but to tickle you!!!” he declared rather too happily and would get an earful about it tomorrow from Sansa, but for now would relish in his wife’s laughs.

“Tyrion stop it now or no sex for a month” Sansa threatened.

Tyrion withdrew almost immediately, and his face constricted in horror and sadness and Sansa felt bad for what she just said, because she knew that she would falter after the first five days.

“I didn’t mean it like that Tyrion; I just think you forgot that I am carrying your child” she reminded him apologetically.

“Oh right, I forgot about the child” he responded sheepishly.

Sansa couldn’t have imagined him looking anymore adorable than he did in that moment and she grew annoyed that he could still look like that and break her resolve so easily yet she pushed that annoyance aside for another emotion. “Though the maester did say that you could cuddle me”. She added coyly.

Immediately, but gently, Tyrion wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer. He could feel the steady beat of her heart against his chest, a rhythm that matched his own. In that moment, he knew that he had found his home—not in the grand halls of Casterly Rock or the opulence of King's Landing, but in the arms of the woman he loved.

As the snow continued to fall outside, cocooning Winterfell in a blanket of white, Tyrion and Sansa found solace and joy in each other's company. They talked of their dreams and hopes for the future, of the additional children they might one day have, and of the legacy they would leave behind. Their conversation flowed effortlessly, a testament to the deep connection they shared.

The hours passed unnoticed, and as the fire began to dwindle, Tyrion rose to add more logs to the hearth. Sansa watched him, her heart swelling with love and gratitude. She knew that their journey had been far from easy, but she also knew that they had weathered the storms together and emerged stronger for it.

As Tyrion returned to her side, Sansa reached up and cupped his face in her hands. "I love you, Tyrion," she said, her voice filled with emotion.

Tyrion's eyes softened, and he leaned in to capture her lips in a tender kiss. "And I love you, Sansa," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

They held each other tightly, their bodies pressed close, as if seeking to merge into one. The world outside might be cold and unforgiving, but within the walls of Winterfell, they had found a sanctuary—a place where love and warmth reigned supreme.

As the night deepened and the snow continued to fall, Tyrion and Sansa retired to their chambers, their hearts filled with contentment and love. They lay entwined beneath the furs, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the night. The future was uncertain, but they faced it together, hand in hand, their bond unbreakable.

In the days that followed, the snow would melt, and the world would continue to turn. But for Tyrion and Sansa, that snowy day in Winterfell would forever be a cherished memory—a testament to the love they shared and the life they had built together.

And so, in the heart of Winterfell, amidst the snow and the cold, Tyrion Lannister and Sansa Stark found their happiness—a love story that transcended the trials and tribulations of their past, and a bond that would endure for all time.