Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire / Game of Thrones
Pairing/Characters: Jaime/Sansa, Tyrion, Daenerys
Rating: Very light R
Word Count: 3270
Summary: Tyrion suspects a facet of their relationship that simply doesn't exist, but that doesn't mean it never will. He sees to it.
Spoilers: As I never read the series I can not say for certain, so we'll use a blanket disclaimer of spoilers for anything before and after ADWD and leave it at that.
Author's Notes: Written for a prompt by lit_chick08 over asoiafkinkmeme, although it's not exactly kinky. It should also be noted that, as mentioned above, I never read the books. I am basing this on what I have gleaned from the TV series, fandom, and spoilers I have read for the books. Because of this, it is likely AU in some aspects, which you'll have to forgive. Any glaring errors I would not mind having pointed out if it is done so nicely.
“This is not forever, Lady Sansa,” Ser Jaime reminds her when he sees her tense as they ride ever closer to King’s Landing. “The Queen has requested your presence beside your lord husband before your return to Winterfell, but I shall take you home.”
His words are a promise she holds close to her heart as they continue on, her horse gently guided subtly closer to his. Sansa takes this opportunity to glance up at him and notices that he isn’t nearly as self-assured as he’d like her to believe.
They both have memories of this place that they’d rather not relive.
They both won’t get their wish.
The Queen beside him doesn’t seem to notice the understated closeness between his wife and his brother, but Tyrion tunes into this early on. Queen Daenerys seems to have an instant fondness for the girl but an instant dislike of his brother—not that he can blame her. She beckons Sansa to her, effectively dismissing the two Lannisters.
Tyrion watches closely as his wife turns her head back to them when the Queen guides her away from the Iron Throne. He also pretends not to notice the way Jaime takes a small step towards her retreating form as if to follow.
“Come, brother,” he says into the silence. “We have much to discuss.”
His brother falls into step with him easily and they walk the halls in silence for a moment before Tyrion speaks again.
“Is she happy?” he asks, looking up at his brother. Jaime doesn’t answer right away so Tyrion continues, “I had wondered if being away from here had helped her heal. Last I saw her she was miserable and a damn sight near broken.”
“Kings Landing does not hold fond memories,” Jaime answers evasively.
“You know what I am asking,” Tyrion says, his voice even but more forceful than before. “And I have every right to enquire about the mental state of my wife.”
A little reminder of his role in the girl’s life gets the desired result, and Tyrion watches from the corner of his eye as his brother flinches slightly. “It is slow going,” Jaime finally admits. “She has suffered much at the hands of many. Now, all she wishes is to go home.”
Sansa’s chambers are two halls away from his, Tyrion tells him. It is the farthest they’ve been apart during the night since he found her at the Vale. While Jaime tells himself that it should not matter, that he has no claim upon the girl, the distance is damn near maddening. He has grown used to protecting her and he should keep closer an eye on her here than ever before. Kings Landing is not a safe place for the both of them anymore.
After a sufficient amount of time has passed, Jaime leaves his sleeping quarters in favor of patrolling near hers. It is not so much that he thinks her in danger, more that ensuring her safety affords him his own comfort.
It doesn’t take long before her door opens and her head is hesitantly peeking out. Jaime sighs deeply before making his way toward her. “When someone is pacing outside your door, it is more likely they are about to harm you than help you, Lady Sansa,” he chastises the girl—or rather, her head, as she has not moved herself or the door.
She smiles lightly at him as she steps out into the hallway. “I knew it was you,” she says.
He doesn’t ask how for he has a feeling her answer would be remarkably similar to how he knew she’d still be awake when he left his chambers. Instead, he takes notice of her state of undress and transfers his cloak to her. “If you are foolish enough to leave your quarters in the middle of the night, it would be prudent to do so fully clothed.”
Her head tilts to the side as he fastens the cloak around her and her fists grab hold of both sides before pulling them close to her as well. Her smile never wavering she says once more, “I knew it was you.”
While it is true that during their journey they didn’t adhere to all the niceties and considerations of each other that they probably should have especially on his part as she is very young—and taken—the fact is they are not alone with each other any longer and there may be people watching their interactions now. When he points this out, she doesn’t seem very perturbed.
She leads him down the hallway where there is a small bench, just wide enough to sit side by side. “The Queen seems to like me. She says we have a lot in common. She understood my wish to return home and has named me Queen in the North and informed me that I am to leave for Winterfell in two days time if I wish it. Nothing that can be seen in two days will sway her decision to send me home or my decision to go.”
“Your husband has told me of the Queen’s edict,” he says deliberately hinting to the impropriety of their apparent closeness all the while holding back his fear.
If the Queen were to know of their closeness, she would not permit him to accompany her. His brother as much as told him so earlier this evening, which prompts him to add, “As it is, your husband is under the impression that our relationship had become carnal during our journey.”
She is surely a horrible wife for even admitting it to herself, but Sansa rarely remembers she is married. When she is forced to remember this, she takes into consideration the events surrounding their parting ways and the amount of time she has been separated from her husband and considers herself justified in forgetting.
It is, perhaps, fortunate for her that her husband is in agreement on this fact. “If it had been an option, I would have had the marriage dissolved long ago,” he tells her the next morning during the private breakfast she asked him to in her quarters. “With the circumstances being what they are now, we do not have that luxury. This marriage protects the both of us and in time will likely also protect my brother as well.”
“How does our marriage protect Ser Jaime?” Sansa tries for innocence here, she truly does, but she fears Tyrion can see the fear in her eyes at his statement and her question doesn’t cover that fear well enough.
“Neither of us asked for this marriage, as you well remember,” her husband starts before taking a moment to eat a little of his breakfast. She, realizing that he will eventually continue, does the same. “As I wish you no ill will, I will not presume to deny you happiness in whatever form it may come in. Even if that is my brother.”
Sansa sets her goblet down slowly, her eyes trained carefully on her husband. “Your brother and I have spent a fair amount of time together as of late, but our relationship has never been improper, and I resent the accusation, My Lord.”
Tyrion Lannister gives her a very knowing grin. “I may not be able to claim to know you all that well, my dear wife; but make no mistake, I know my brother. What he shows to you is not all that he feels for you. I am not angry, and I am not about to stop it. If you should wish it and he should pluck up the nerve to allow himself some measure of happiness, than all the power to the both of you.
“I wish you well, Sansa. I wish for you to have some level of the things you wished for yourself before my family dashed that part of you from the forefront of your mind.” Sansa’s husband pauses in his diatribe and as she looks upon him, she trusts that he is telling her the truth. “To answer your question, the Queen does not favor my brother in the same way she favors you. She allows his presence because of her liking for the both of us. If the Queen were to suspect that he is more than he appears to you, it is likely she would have him removed from the equation. She is not too fond of the Kingslayer having noble children.”
Tyrion travels north to Winterfell when Jaime sends him word that the rebuilding of Winterfell has finally been completed. The completed renovation is the excuse; the reason is his wife’s happiness. They do not correspond often, but what little they do has given him no indication as to her wellbeing.
I am happy to be home, she writes. The rebuilding is taking longer than expected, but I am told it should be finished within the next twelve moons. When he asks her in his letter how his brother fairs, her answer is short, evasive, and completely off-point. Ser Jaime has stayed in Winterfell to oversee the construction. After the first few moons she wrote, I have named him Lord Commander here at Winterfell, but she has written little else since. He knows she is aware of his intended meaning in the question, but no prodding in each letter he sends has elicited an answer.
Not even a day into his arrival, he learns he made a mistake back in King’s Landing. The closeness between his brother and his wife has not abated in the least, but neither has it increased.
Seated at dinner that first night he looks pointedly at his wife. “You never informed your Lord Commander of our last conversation; have you, Sansa?” he asks the girl seated next to him.
Not looking at him, expression unchanged, Sansa shakes her head. “He was not ready to hear it.” Unbeknownst to her, seated on her husband’s other side is the Lord Commander in question, and he hears every word.
Tyrion nods. She very well may be right about that. While Jaime obviously cared for the girl last they all saw each other, Tyrion could see that King’s Landing brought back powerful memories of another woman his brother had loved. Sansa must have picked up on that back then and acted accordingly. “Do you believe he is ready to hear it now?” he asks, well aware of his brother’s rapt attention to the conversation.
Sansa hesitates, and Tyrion watches as she fights the urge to glance past him to his brother. She then nods once.
“Then I should speak with him tomorrow,” Tyrion says.
The grateful look she gives him makes him realize that maybe her doubts hadn’t been solely on behalf of Jaime’s reciprocation of her feelings but also on Tyrion’s word being true. Tyrion has never been graced with one of his wife’s genuine, hopeful smiles before and in that moment, he is almost jealous of his brother for having his wife’s affections.
“Have you finally deigned to speak with me about the conversation I overheard at your welcome feast?” Jaime asks his brother at midday when Tyrion pulls him aside. He has had far too long to stir on what he had heard and as yet has no idea what to make of it.
“Last we met, my wife informed me that my insinuations to you of your relationship with her were false. I was not wrong, however, in that she feels very deeply for you, just as you do for her; more so than is appropriate, really, for your brother’s wife.”
Jaime tries to look embarrassed or guilty or regretful, but he can’t find it within him to feel any of them. He will admit that he has felt conflict at wanting his brother’s wife so desperately, but lately he’s been feeling as if Sansa’s always belonged to him more than she has ever belonged to her husband. She has spent more time with him than Tyrion, he is certain he knows her better than her husband does. He knows she would say she belongs to no one, were she in his mind right now.
“Are you asking me to step down as Lord Commander here and leave with you?” Jaime asks slowly, reigning in his anger. After voicing the fear Tyrion’s words have brought up, he remembers what Sansa said at the feast. “Is Sansa asking it of me?”
Tyrion actually laughs at this. “Of course not. Sansa and I are perfectly content with your current position. In fact, I am to tell you that, as long as no one finds out about it, I do not have any objections to what may occur between the two of you in the future.”
This news meets Jaime with disbelief. “You have no objections to me fucking your wife, is that what you’re telling me?”
Tyrion’s glare is part chastisement, part amusement even as he nods in answer to the crudely put question. “I wouldn’t put it quite like that to her, if I were you. She has grown up a lot in recent years, but there is still a part of her that shies away from such language, or rather, the lack of sentiment behind it.”
That much is true of Sansa. For all her talk of renouncing romantic stories and pretty songs, she often flusters at the crude language she overhears around her. Tyrion’s words are likely more than accurate. It’s not the words so much as the meaning.
Well, surely Jaime can make fucking seem romantic if he tries hard enough.
Nights later, there is a light knock at her door. In bed, Sansa moves her bed sheets in order to answer it, but the person on the other side of the door is impatient.
“All subjects should wait for their Queen to allow them entry, not just presume it, my dear Lord Commander,” she instructs with a barely concealed smile. The rebuke would likely have more of an impact if she weren’t sitting indecently dressed in her bed.
Jaime laughs as he draws ever closer and more of him is illuminated by the candles next to her bed. Sansa’s breath quickens and her heart beats faster. Were he anybody else—were she anybody else—this should be frightening; but with Jaime it is not. That in and of itself says more to her than anything he will tell her himself this night. This reason alone is why she moves from the middle of the bed to the side opposite that which he advances to in silent invitation.
He accepts her offer without hesitation and when he lies beside her, when they both face each other, she asks her question. “Why now?”
There is so much more to her words than what she actually spoke. It is a question not only of timing but of surety and acceptance of not only his own but of her feelings as well. She is asking if what she feels is reciprocated.
“This has been building since I found you,” he whispers. “I knew it before your husband gave me leave, but he spoke not only of what he knows of my regard for you but also of yours for me—that is why now.” He kisses her then for the first time, softly but with so much emotion she nearly faints. Responding in kind, she uses her actions to speak the words she has been reluctant to say. His arms wrap around her slowly, gently, as if not to scare her, and when finally he pulls away he has somehow managed to position himself over her. Sansa stares up into his eyes and sees mischief there. “Also, I figured it only polite to wait until your husband was safely away from here,” Jaime continues teasingly.
She smiles fondly at the mention of her husband. “He is a good man,” she tells her soon-to-be lover seriously. “He wants me to be happy. You make me happy.”
He takes her words as permission and his good hand reaches between them to move her shift up. She looks into his eyes and sees the same desire in them that had been present startlingly often on their travels both to King’s Landing and to Winterfell. Her hands work with is to remove both his and her clothing and finally they are skin to skin.
She is atop him at the moment and his eyes are trained on her breasts, framed by her now untamed red hair. “You are so fucking beautiful,” he breathes as he swiftly switches their positions.
There is so much more that needs to be said between them, but at this moment she does not care to speak them. She allows this first night to be spontaneous.
This spontaneity costs them and by the next moon, she and her husband are corresponding regularly.
The next time Tyrion sees the Queen in the North, she is giving birth. His young wife’s predicament was not a surprise to him. He had, after all, told her this was a likely outcome long ago, back in King’s Landing. What surprised him was that he’d been back in King’s Landing hardly a week before receiving a raven informing him of her plight.
The timing was rather a blessing, of course; no one would suspect the child’s paternity to be anything but his as he had left her not long before her first signs of pregnancy began to show.
Tyrion stands at the front of the bed next to his wife’s Lord Commander who is present in her chambers as well—at his request. She had thanked him profusely at this and Jaime’s eyes, so often guarded, were also thankful when Tyrion declared that he should stand beside his brother.
The simple joy on his wife’s face when the baby was placed into her arms after hours of painful delivery convinced him he did right by her. And the way his brother looked down at the two of them, mother and son, instilled this fact deep within him.
The babe is then handed from Sansa to him and he looks closely at his wife when he says, “The boy needs a name, Sansa.”
Her eyes dart just briefly to Jaime before fixating on the child in her husband’s arms. “Eddard,” she whispers. Her eyes gloss over with tears of the past as she speaks again. “This began with my father and it shall end with my son.”
The boy—Eddard—is then passed to its true father. As Jaime bends down to cradle his son, Tyrion whispers softly, “The boy may never call you father, but never doubt that he is yours, brother.”
Sansa stands beside him, her hand entwined in his as they look down at the sleeping babe. “This is our forever, Jaime,” she whispers with a smile.
It is not a home in any traditional sense, but the two of them never had a chance for normal anyway, and Jaime realizes this suits him just fine. The boy, Eddard Lannister, will be his nephew—like his other sons were so called—but he will always be regarded as the child’s father by both it’s mother and likely Eddard himself, given time.
He realizes belatedly that she speaks a promise. She vows, in that once sentence, to never send him away, to never deny him his son in any way she is able, to stay with him.
He holds to her words, squeezing her hand in acceptance of her words and a promise of his own to her.