Title: A Most Suitable Marriage

Author: PrettyPoppy

Summary: After the Night King has been defeated and Jon and Daenerys have claimed the Iron Throne, Sansa Stark takes her rightful place as the Lady of Winterfell. Sansa knows that she must marry again someday for the good of the North, but after all that she has suffered, she is certain that she will never marry for love. Instead, she decides on a much more practical match, offering her hand in marriage to the only man outside of her own family who has never betrayed her, Tyrion Lannister.

Author's Notes: This is an angsty Sanrion romance. It is based solely on the TV show and takes place after a hypothetical Season 8.

The war was over. The Night King had been defeated. Jon would sit on the Iron Throne with Daenerys as his queen. All was right with the world. Except it wasn't.

Tyrion Lannister sat at the desk in his borrowed room at Winterfell with a sense of unease that he just couldn't name. Daenerys had asked him to return to King's Landing as Hand of the Queen, while Ser Davos would be Hand of the King. But the prospect left Tyrion cold. Now that the war had been won and his queen had found her king, he felt there was little place for him by her side anymore. He might be the Queen's Hand by title, but he knew Daenerys would always turn to Jon for counsel first, and his voice and his opinions would become more and more insignificant as time went on. As it should be, of course. For the first time in ages, Westeros had a king and queen who loved each other and intended to rule as one. They would make a formidable pair, and Tyrion feared there was no place for him between them.

Tyrion idly drummed his fingers on the surface of the desk as he stared out the window at the snow falling softly to the ground. Even though the Night King had been defeated, winter had still not left the land. The maesters of Oldtown had changed their forecast, now predicting a short, mild winter, as if the fate of the White Walkers had been connected to the approaching cold all along. It was a pleasant thought, considering how badly the land had already been ravaged. A short winter would mean a chance to rebuild that much sooner and life could go back to normal – hopefully, better than normal – when spring finally came.

Of course, life would never truly go back to normal for Tyrion. The Great War had claimed both his brother and his sister as casualties, and his world was a very different place now. Jon had given him Casterly Rock and named him Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, a title he had coveted all his life, but it was a bitter victory. As pleased as Tyrion was to have the title and the land that went with it, he would have much preferred that Jaime had lived and been granted those honors instead. Tyrion had loved Jaime unconditionally, and he hated the idea of living in a world without him in it.

Suddenly, there was a rap at the door, and Tyrion was finally roused from his musings. He hopped off the chair and walked across the room expecting to find Podrick or Bronn on the other side of the door. Although Podrick was no longer his squire, the lad still doted on him whenever he got the chance. Tyrion would be sorry to leave the boy behind when he finally returned to King's Landing, but Pod's allegiance was to Brienne of Tarth now, so at Winterfell he would have to stay.

Tyrion pulled the door open and was surprised to find a maidservant staring back at him. He recognized her as one of Sansa's attendants.

"My lord, Lady Stark would like a word with you."

"With me?" He was surprised by the invitation. He and Sansa had barely spoken since he'd been back at Winterfell. They had exchanged pleasantries and asked after each other's welfare, but beyond that, it had been difficult to know what to say. "Did she say what it was about?"

"No, my lord, just that I should bring you to her. You will need your cloak."

Tyrion turned back into the room and donned the heavy cape he had acquired during his time in the North. He didn't mind the chilly air, nor the snow, but he certainly wasn't accustomed to facing them without the proper attire.

When he was adequately dressed, he returned to the maidservant. "Please, lead the way," he said as he stepped out into the corridor, pulling the heavy door closed behind him.

He couldn't imagine what the Lady of Winterfell wanted with him. He was set to leave in a fortnight, when Jon and Daenerys and their entire entourage headed south. Perhaps his former wife just wanted a moment alone with him to reminisce about the brief time they had shared together before the world had nearly been destroyed, but he doubted it. He was certain that whatever it was had much more political implications. After all, he was still Hand of the Queen. Perhaps Lady Stark wanted him to petition the queen on her behalf. Whatever it was, he would bet his best cask of Dornish wine that there would be no mention of their former status as husband and wife.

Tyrion followed the serving girl out into the brisk, evening air. They traveled along the covered bridge that ran between the Great Keep and the armory. The yard below was quiet, the blanket of snow covering the earth, pristine and untouched. Even though the sky was heavy with storm clouds, the moon was full, and it cast a radiant glow on the gleaming snow below. Standing by one of the large open windows, overlooking the eerie quiet, was Sansa. The hood of her cloak lay about her shoulders, and her fiery red hair stood in stark contrast to the white sky beyond. She was positively stunning.

The last time Tyrion had seen her in King's Landing, she had looked particularly beautiful, dressed as she had been for a royal wedding. But now, there was something even more glorious about her. Time and circumstance had matured her. She was no longer an unsure little girl. She was a woman full grown, the Lady of Winterfell, and there was no denying just how well that title suited her.

Sansa turned toward them as they approached. She nodded her thanks to her handmaiden, who quietly retreated, leaving them alone.

"Thank you for coming, my lord. I realize the hour is late, and I'm certain there are better things you could be doing."

"I can't think of a one."

"Will you join me?" she asked as she turned back toward the courtyard and stared out into the night.

"Of course." Tyrion approached the wooden wall that overlooked the yard. He was surprised to find that directly in front of the window, just beside Sansa, was a small wooden stool. No doubt, it had been brought there for his use, which gave Tyrion a moment's pause. Sansa had gone to some lengths to prepare for this meeting. It had to be something of great importance.

Tyrion ascended the two small steps, bringing him to a comparable height with the woman beside him. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of gratitude. He wanted to believe that Sansa had provided for his comfort because he meant something to her, but he knew she had done it because she was the Lady of Winterfell and it was her duty to see to the comfort of all her guests. Even so, he was grateful that she had been so thoughtful.

Tyrion turned and looked out into the yard. "It's a beautiful night," he said. "I can't say that I will miss northern winters, but there is something enchanting about the quiet and calm of a snowy evening that we are sorely lacking in the south. And that I will miss."

"So then, you will be returning to King's Landing?"

Tyrion laughed. "Where else would I go? I haven't got any family left, now that Cersei and Jaime are gone. And who else would want me?"

"What about Casterly Rock?" she asked, finally turning her eyes toward him. "Hasn't Jon given you the castle and made you Lord Paramount of the Westerlands?"

Tyrion looked at her, once again struck by her sudden maturity. He knew she had suffered a great deal, and he regretted that he had been unable to stop any of it. It had forged her, the way fire forges Valyrian steel, and it had made her a very different woman than the one he had once known. He wondered if there was still any softness beneath her reserved exterior. He hoped that there was.

"He has. Yes," Tyrion replied. "But what awaits me there? An empty relic? A monument to my family's immorality? No, thank you. Until Jon and Daenerys have settled in, and I am certain that there has been a smooth transition of power, I shall remain in King's Landing."

"And how would you feel about remaining in the North?"

"As lovely as your winters are, Lady Stark, I can't imagine having a single reason to stay."

"Not even a fortuitous marriage?"

Tyrion was struck dumb for a moment, but only for a moment. He laughed again, nearly choking on the sound. "Fortuitous for whom? Certainly not the poor creature who is burdened with me for a husband. You've lived that fate yourself. Surely you would not inflict such torture on another unfortunate girl."

Something softened in Sansa's features, and he could have sworn that a smile tugged at her lips, but perhaps that was just a trick of the moonlight. "I don't think I would consider being married to the Lord of Casterly Rock torture. There are many young ladies who would be proud to hold that title."

"Proud of the title, yes, but not the husband that goes along with it."

"I don't know," she said, looking away again, "any woman would be proud to have a husband who was clever and kind. Those are rare qualities, even in the North."

"Even in a dwarf."

"You concern yourself too much with outward appearances."

"The world concerns itself too much with outward appearances. And unfortunately, it's the only world we've got, so we must be concerned with them as well." Tyrion leaned his arms on the window, relaxing just a bit. Now that he knew what Sansa wanted, he felt slightly more in control of the situation. She was Lady of Winterfell, he was Lord of Casterly Rock. For the first time, they were on even footing, both literally and figuratively, and he risked no danger in refusing her impending request. "I suppose," he continued, "that you wish to offer me the hand of one of the daughters of the North. If you are wise – and I know you are – you would make certain that it was a Stark. After all, that's the best way to unite the North and the Westerlands. It would create an impenetrable alliance that would ensure peace for decades to come."

"It would be a powerful match."

"I agree. But if that is what you intend to offer, I must humbly decline."

Sansa turned to look at him then, and Tyrion pulled away from the wall, standing to his full height, what little of it there was.

"Do you understand what it is I'm offering you?"

"I think I understand better than most. I've played the game of thrones far longer than most," he said with a wry smile. "But I don't want to play the game much longer. I have a duty to my king and queen to fulfill. Once that is done, I shall retire from public life and happily drink myself to death."

"This is no time for jokes, Tyrion."

It was the first time she had said his name since he'd come to Winterfell, and it stilled the beating of his heart for a single moment. When he recovered, he said, "It's no joke. I would rather leave alliances and arranged marriages to other men, better men, than myself. Besides, I don't think your sister would ever agree to marry me. She seems more suited to knighthood than wifehood."

"She is. Which is why I would never even think of trying to arrange a marriage for her. If I did, she'd disappear from Winterfell a second time, and I'm certain I'd never see her again."

"Then who does that leave?" Tyrion asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

"I offer you myself, my lord."

"Sansa." The word was little more than a whisper on his lips. He shook his head. "You've been through two disastrous marriages. You've done your duty. The next time you marry, you should marry for love. There's no one to stop you. No king to demand that you do otherwise. You deserve to be happy. And I know I could never make you happy."

"Love is not a luxury I can afford."

"Of course, it is. You're young – so very young – you have plenty of time before you must make this choice. From all accounts, your mother and father were very much in love. Don't you want that for yourself?"

Her eyes took on a somber cast at the mention of her parents, but it didn't shake her resolution in the least. "My mother married the most loyal, devoted, and trustworthy man she ever knew. That is what I want for myself, Tyrion. And that is why I have chosen you."

The cold night air caught in Tyrion's lungs as he stared unblinkingly at the beautiful woman before him. She had been through so much, she deserved so much better, she just didn't seem to know it. He knew that, compared to Ramsay Bolton, he looked like a prince, but it was an unfair comparison. Yes, he was loyal, devoted, and trustworthy, but there was so much more a woman needed from a husband. Much more. If only Sansa could understand that.

"My lady—"

"Sansa," she corrected, dropping all pretense of formality.

"Sansa," he conceded reluctantly. "While I am touched that you think so highly of me, you must know that a marriage between us could never be a happy one. At least not for you. You are young and beautiful. You are no longer a traitor's daughter, yet I am still every bit the demon monkey. Surely, you know that you can do much better."

"Ramsay Bolton was a handsome man. Would you like to know what that handsome man did to me?'

"At the moment, I would rather not," Tyrion replied, shifting uncomfortably on his stool.

"I have learned not to trust handsome men, nor clever men—"

"Does this mean you take back your earlier compliment?" He laughed, trying to alleviate some of the tension.

"You are clever, yes, but that isn't your most desirable quality. It isn't what makes you who you are."

"And I always thought it was my only desirable quality."

"You are a good man, Tyrion Lannister. Besides Jon, you are the only good man I know. I want a husband I can trust, and if the past few years have taught me anything, it's that there aren't many trustworthy people in this world. Knowing that I can trust you, knowing that you are now and always will be good to your word, is what I need to be happy. It is all I need."

In that moment, Tyrion realized for the first time just how fragile Sansa Stark really was. Although she put up a good front, beneath her cool, refined exterior was a frightened girl who had been betrayed one too many times. She meant what she had said. She had been so battered by the Ramsay Boltons and Littlefingers of the world that she had learned never to trust anyone ever again. The only people she could trust were those who had already proven themselves to her. He was honored that she counted him among them. He had meant what he'd said on their wedding day; he would never hurt her.

"Sansa, I . . ."

She turned away from him then, pulling her heavy black cloak tighter around her shoulders. "I know that I am not the girl you left in King's Landing," she said softly. "I am no longer innocent. I have been used in ways that I do not even possess the words to describe. If that is why you are reluctant—"

"No, Sansa. Never."

She cast him an uncertain glance. Her blue eyes were glassy as if she was fighting back unshed tears.

Tyrion wanted to reach out to her, but she was beyond arms' length, and he wasn't sure how she'd respond to the contact. Instead, he tried to comfort her with words. "What that monster did to you wasn't your fault."

"I'm the one who agreed to marry him," she said with a bitter smile before looking away again.

"That still doesn't make it your fault. A husband should comfort and care for his wife, not abuse her. If he doesn't, that shame is his and his alone. You are blameless, Sansa. His sins are not your sins. Don't ever forget that."

Sansa inhaled a steadying breath and squared her shoulders. When she turned to look at Tyrion again, the pain was gone from her eyes. "You have done far too good a job of proving your point, Tyrion Lannister."

"Meaning?"

"How many other men would have stood here and told me that it was my fault? That by marrying me they were doing me a favor? Taking a damaged bride, when they deserve better? But not you. You are kind and caring and gentle. You are the husband I need. I ask that you agree to my request. If not, I may have no choice but to ask Jon to intervene on my behalf."

Tyrion was dumbfounded. "You would have Jon force me to marry you by royal decree?"

"I'd rather not. But I could if need be."

"This means that much to you?"

"It does."

Tyrion tried to think of a reason to say no. The truth was, Sansa Stark was everything he had ever wanted in a wife. She was beautiful, clever, kind, and compassionate. There was nothing about her that he found wanting. And yet, it wasn't his own happiness that concerned him, but hers. How would she feel spending the rest of her life with him for a husband? How would she feel about sharing his bed? A cold shiver coursed down Tyrion's spine at the thought, and he pulled his cloak tighter around him.

The truth was, beyond fear for Sansa's happiness, he couldn't think of a single reason to say no. She was determined to have him as her husband. Again. And if it was truly what she wanted, he simply couldn't bring himself to deny her. Not after everything she had been through.

"Well?" Sansa prompted, waiting for him to speak again.

"I will accept your offer."

Her face lit up with a triumphant smile. It was the first time Tyrion had seen her smile in more time than he could remember. But he held up a hand to temper it before she claimed victory too quickly.

"On one condition."

"And that is?" she asked, sobering slightly.

"You are Lady of Winterfell, and I am Lord of Casterly Rock. Both of those positions are highly political. As much as we believe ourselves free to make such a match on our own, the truth is, the power lies with the king and queen. If Jon will permit you to wed and Daenerys will excuse me from my post, I will be your husband. But only if they both sanction the match."

"You need not give up being the Queen's Hand. My father was Hand of the King while still married to my mother."

Tyrion wanted to point out how well that had worked out for him, but he bit his tongue. Now was not the time for sarcasm. "I will not be an absentee husband. Unless, of course, that is what you wish."

"No." She shook her head. "I want someone to rule the North by my side. But I will not stand in the way of your duty."

"Then the decision will lie with the king and the queen. If they grant our requests, we will be wed. You have my word."

Sansa nodded, and her whole demeanor changed. She seemed calmer, more resigned, as if she had won the first battle in the war and she was ready to fall back for just a short while to prepare for the second wave. "I will speak with Jon first thing in the morning."

"And I shall speak with our queen as well. Now," Tyrion said, gazing up at the moon one last time, "it is getting late. If that is all for this evening, I will bid you good night."

"Good night, Tyrion."

"Good night, Sansa." He bowed his head in a gentlemanly fashion, then descended the stairs to stand on the ground once again. He looked up at the woman who had just asked him to be her husband. He suddenly felt very small and inadequate. He silently hoped that either Jon or Daenerys would deny their request. Otherwise, he would have to make good on his promise, and he still wasn't convinced that this marriage was a good idea. It had failed once. It could fail again. Only this time, there would be no escape. He just hoped that Sansa knew what she was getting herself into.