Tyrion and Sansa leaned on a balustrade, looking down from the postern gate to the meadow behind Winterfell. Jon and Daenerys had gone for a walk, and her dragons had circled above them. Tyrion had been telling Sansa about the creatures: the name and personality of each; and the only time he'd gotten close, when he had freed two from captivity. He also confessed how he'd longed to own a dragon as a boy.

"And are they as you'd dreamed?" Sansa asked.

"They are, in every way, more. But now I understand that I could never own a dragon. That's why they shrank and died out, I think. The Targaryens inbred to contain their power, and kept their dragons captive to contain their power. They forgot to serve their people, and to respect the dragons who brought them to power in the first place."

The dragons swooped down to the ground and landed, creating lovely sprays of snow. Daenerys beamed as she greeted her dragons, leaning into the large, comforting body of each—gazing into their serpentine eyes. Sansa gasped when the green one whipped its head toward Jon. She grasped Tyrion's arm so hard that her knuckles turned white. Tyrion murmured, "Some maesters believe dragons to be smarter than humans," but then held his breath until Jon raised his hands and Rheagal eyed him, then nuzzled the man. The bravest folks of Winterfell and Winter Town had come to see the creatures at a respectful distance. They cried out in surprise at the interaction between a dragon and their king.

Sansa noticed some of girls of Wintertown were arm-in-arm with local boys. Far too many of the locals had been lost in the war or in the subsequent sieges and Ramsey's depravity, but those who survived were recovering. It seemed like almost every day, there was a wedding in the Godswood or her mother's little Sept. Sansa sighed. "Do you ever wish you were common-born?"

Tyrion cleared raised an eyebrow. "It's a rough lot for commoners of my stature."

"I hadn't thought…" she stammered. "Sorry, it's just that…sometimes, a common girl and a common boy…."

"Ah, yes. No worry about titles or deep pockets. Just a small dowry and…"

"Love. Sometimes, they can marry for love. Or sometimes I wish I were stupid, like I was before I was to marry Joffrey. Jon would just tell me who I was to marry, and I would do my duty, and my only worry would be whether he were handsome. But no. Now I must think of power and my people."

"The lack of freedom is why the gentry must be compensated with lemon cakes and pretty dresses."

Sansa laughed. "I wish it made sense to marry you; you were a good husband."

"But I have no wealth, no lands …"

"And your place is with the Queen."

"And yours is in the North," Tyrion said with a sigh. "We will find you a husband: perhaps someone kindly and very rich, but very old. And then, when you are a rich and powerful widow, I'll be your last husband. First and last provides a nice symmetry, doesn't it?"

Sansa laughed and nodded. "It does!"

Sansa was surprised how sad she felt later that day as she and Jon sent Queen Daenerys and her retinue on their way south to explore and conquer Westeros. When Tyrion had been by her side, it was as though Sansa been able to release a weight she hadn't known she carried. Now that he was leaving, the weight again settled over her. She placed her hand into her pocket as was surprised to find a slip of paper there. She opened it and read, "S, If you have need of my help or just wish to exchange words, send a raven. Watch after your monarch and I'll look after mine. We will find a way through all of this. After all, there are dragons in Westeros, and you called me good-looking. Truly anything is possible. –T."

She laughed, drawing the sharp, cold eyes of Petyr Baelish. All during the visit of Daenerys and Tyrion, he'd been obsequious to the guests, but Sansa had recognized the calculating look in his eyes. Daenerys was the greatest possible threat to Petyr's vision of himself on the throne. Moreover, Sansa had felt his cold disapproval of the time she spent with Tyrion. He had pulled her aside to say as much in hissed tones. She had assured him that she was just ingratiating herself to "the imp" to gain his favor, information and access to the Queen. He wanted to believe her, Sansa thought, but her lies were revealed by each spontaneous, genuine laugh that Tyrion had managed to coax from her since his arrival. She would have to destroy the note before Petyr could read it. She would have to come up with a cover story for the questions sure to follow.

Winter was upon them. Ahead were wars and nights dark and full of terrors. All the same, Sansa took comfort in the Tyrion's words and the knowledge that she could write him, too. The visitors were receding into the distance, but she saw Tyrion look back and wave. She waved back to her first—and perhaps last—husband.

The End

Author's note: continued in my Arya/Gendry story The Girl on the Bridge. Thanks for reading and to everyone who followed, favorited or commented! I really appreciate the feedback!