The Strength of Her // SansaxSandor (On Hiatus)

Chapter 13

13. Leaving

By the time Tyrion found Sansa sometime the day after her outburst, she had every line and curve and sharp edge of the Dragonstone map memorized. She had it unrolled before her, taking up much of the dark wood table placed within the library, and had done little else since Jon's announcement. She never planned on seeing the rock for herself but figured she knew it almost as good as she knew Winterfell at this point. But no matter how much she knew it, it didn't lift the feeling of dread she had about her people venturing there. Her eyes and mind were hurting and when she realized that the Lannister was standing before her, studying her as she studied the map, she gladly welcomed something new for her eyes to focus on.

"Tyrion Lannister."

"Sansa Stark." Tyrion gave her a tight mouthed smile that could barely be seen under the thick layer of beard. It didn't reach his eyes. "I see the name Lannister didn't find you well."

Sansa mustered a smile to humor him. "Take no offense. Neither did Bolton."

Tyrion's face soured despite Sansa's clear lack of emotion on the subject. He moved himself over to take a seat next to her as he spoke, "Littlefinger has done a lot over the years, much to impact your family, in particular, I might add, so when I heard that the man somehow managed to marry you off to Roose Bolton's bastard, I was surprised to realize he was still breathing."

He wasn't the only one, but Sansa knew there was no need to voice that. Littlefinger himself probably thought that same thing for many reasons as he takes breath each morning. "I could have said no. I did say no. But..."

Tyrion nodded. He also didn't need to be told that Littlefinger was good at saying what he needed to get what he wanted.

"One good thing did come out of the Bolton marriage though," Sansa stated.

Tyrion gave her a disbelieving expression.

"It won you best husband."

Something between a snort and laugh and gasping cry escaped the man's lips as he shook his head, glancing at Sansa with eyes almost ashamed to have found her statement amusing. "That's not comforting!" He shook his head. "Gods... Look at the two of us. Dare I say we're the two unluckiest souls around?"

Sansa shrugged. She agreed many might think them so. Perhaps she thought the same thing at one time or another, back when she had nothing but time to wallow in her own self-pity. Tyrion too might have done the same, behind his mask of sarcasm and cleverness, cursing his height and family and place in life. "I'm finally back home with my family. You're hand to a queen. I might consider us luckier than most."

Tyrion nodded. "We would have made such a mix-matched team."

With a sad smile, Sansa nodded, remembering her first short-lived marriage. She had been so worried about it when she was younger. Now, she wondered if staying in it might have saved her in the long run. "You really would have made a good husband. In another world, do you think we could have been happy?"

"Without a doubt." Tyrion grinned.

The two shared a common silence for a moment, a realization passing between them unspoken—they would have been happy together in the end. If only there hadn't been Joffrey or Cersei or White Walkers or murder or war or an Iron Throne. If only. Still, there was something satisfying about the notion, to know that there might have been a better ending for them in some different version of the universe.

Soon, Tyrion's somber smile started to dissipate slowly. It was time to get to the point of his visit. "You don't approve of her, do you?" There was no need to specify further.