I wrote this story right after the first episode of season 8 aired so it doesn't take into account the rest of the season. I'm French so English isn't my mother tongue, I'm sorry for the mistakes I may have made.

I hope you will enjoy it!

Fire and ashes

oOo

Fire and ashes. This is all that's left of Winterfell.

Sansa's heart is bleeding. Her home, now a field of ruins.

A dragon howls in the distance as she fells to her knees in the ashes of the Godswood.

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When the snows fall and the white wind blows, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.

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Arya is dead. Bran is dead. Jon is dead. The Night King took the pack away with him when he died. She's the only one left, the last she-wolf.

She gently touches the burned trunk of the heart tree. She's covered with ashes, now. Will she ever be able to get rid of them?

A shadow appears and kneels beside her.

"We're the only ones left," Tyrion whispers.

Jaime is dead. The lions are gone. No roar will ever be heard again.

"We're alone," she sighs.

Words taste like embers in her mouth. The dragon has stopped howling.

"Will you marry me again?" Tyrion asks.

The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.

"Yes."

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"The war isn't over. Daenerys wants to take the Throne. She will soon march on King's Landing."

Tyrion's words are like a prophecy.

"Rhaegal is dead," she responds. "Jon is dead."

Jon. The White Wolf. His name is so bitter, now.

"Do you really think it will stop her?"

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"I will take what is mine! With fire and blood, I will take it! "

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She will miss the snow, the coldness of snowflakes, the freezing wind biting her skin, the quiet peace of the Godswood.

It's all gone, now. Winterfell is nothing but ashes.

Her tears are ice crystals.

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"Jon, a raven came from the Citadel. A white raven. Winter is here."

"Well... Father always promised, didn't he?"

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Fire and ashes.

This is all Sansa is able to see when they arrive in King's Landing. Where is winter? Oh, she misses winter. The silence of Winterfell. The darkness.

Fire is burning the streets, consuming any trace of life with its mortal kiss. The shadow of a dragon is clumsily flying above them, touched by crossbow bolts.

Sansa feels dizzy. Tyrion catches her before she falls.

"She's burning the city to the ground," she says with horror in her voice.

Before them, the Red Keep is on fire.

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"I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains."

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Fire and ashes.

No, fire and blood, Sansa corrects as she trips over a half-burnt body.

Fire and blood everywhere.

Fire and Blood. Fire and Blood. Fire and Blood.

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"Burn them all!"

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Cersei wasn't the Mad Queen, after all.

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The fire goes out. Drogon eventually landed somewhere, dying. King's Landing is like Winterfell, now. A heap of ashes.

Sansa looks at Tyrion. Is his heart bleeding like hers bled for Winterfell?

The last Lannister soldiers guarding what is left of the Red Keep freeze when they see Tyrion. Sansa knows they've been ordered to kill him, yet they fall to their knees in the blood and the ashes.

"My lord. "

A lion will always be better than a dragon.

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"When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die."

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The Throne Room is unrecognizable but the Throne is still there. Its swords are like blades in Sansa's heart.

"Where is Cersei?"

Did she burn too? Sansa had always thought she would die on the Throne, her crown on her head. A lioness until the bitter end.

"Let's find out."

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"You'll have three children. Gold will be their crowns, gold their shrouds."

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"You're dying."

Cersei is lying on what's left of her bed. Her white skin is covered with burns, the sheets are covered with blood. Her golden hair is tangled. Sansa is surprised to think she misses her long hair, her lioness mane.

She cannot look away from the body of a baby in Cersei's arms.

"I am. Enjoying what you see, little dove?"

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"Queen you shall be, until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear."

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"I'm glad it's you."

"What?"

"I knew another Queen would come and replace me. I thought it would be Margaery. Then this silver-haired whore who's burned my kingdom to the ground."

Fire and Blood.

Every word, every breath is painful. She will suffer for hours before dying.

"But you will be this Queen."

"I'm not a Queen."

"You will be. All those ashes will be yours."

She takes her crown with her burned fingers and gives it to Sansa.

"It's yours. You are my heir, little dove."

"I'm not. I'm Sansa Stark. I'm Wardeness of the North. I am no Queen."

Winter is coming.

"Not anymore. You're Sansa Lannister."

For the first time, she looks at Tyrion who's been standing back.

"The last Lannisters. I've made you, little dove. I've chosen my fate. You'll be Queen after me. They'll call you the Golden She-Wolf."

Hear me roar.

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"Permit me to share some womanly wisdom with you on this very special more people you love, the weaker you are. You'll do things for them you know you shouldn't do, you'll act the fool to make them happy, to keep them safe. Love no one but your children, on that front a mother has no choice."

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"There's something I need to ask you."

Tyrion touches the stillborn baby's blond hair with fingertips.

"Was there ever a moment when you didn't want to see me dead?"

Cersei closes her eyes. Her parents are dead. Jaime is dead. Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen are dead. Her baby is dead.

They're the only ones left. The last Lannisters. What looks like a smile twists her face.

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"A Lannister always pays his debts."

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"Stay with me until the end," she whispers.

She brushes Tyrion's hand as a tear rolls down her cheek.

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"Please."

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"And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you."

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Sansa goes back to the Throne Room. Ashes are flying in the air. How many souls is she breathing?

She realizes that walking on ashes and walking on snow sound just the same.

Tyrion by her side, she stands before the Iron Throne. The Lannister soldiers watch them in silence.

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"Sansa Lannister! Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Realm, the Golden She-Wolf!"

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Daenerys is standing before her, covered with blood and ashes. Her silver hair has burned. Her last soldiers surround her.

Sansa stays on the Throne. Tyrion stands beside her without saying a word.

"Sansa Stark," Daenerys says. "The Throne is mine. I'm the rightful heir of the Seven Kingdoms. Bend the knee, or die."

Oh, she wishes she were still Sansa Stark, looking at Arya and Jon fight in Winterfell's courtyard, watching Bran climb and Rickon try to follow him, riding with Robb, listening to her mother's stories, seeing pride in her father's gaze, getting lost in Lady's golden eyes.

It was all a thing of the past, just like winter and snow. She couldn't be Sansa Stark anymore. She was Sansa Lannister now.

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"A lion doesn't concern himself with the opinions of a sheep."

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"My home burned," Sansa responds. "King's Landing burned. You burned everything. I shouldn't be surprised, Fire and Blood are your words. I won't let you burn what little there is left of it."

Embers flash in her purple eyes.

"I'm the rightful heir of-"

"Jon was the rightful heir," Sansa snaps. "And I claim his throne."

"Tyrion?" Daenerys says.

They can hear betrayal in her voice.

"I agree with my wife."

There are regrets in his.

"Westeros doesn't need more fire and ashes."

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Fire. Blood. Ashes. The ruins of Winterfell, the screams of her family.

The body of a baby in the arms of Cersei's body.

And the Throne, still standing. Sansa can see the blood covering its swords.

"What do we have left?" she whispers to herself.

Tyrion looks up at her.

"A kingdom to rebuild."

She lets him wrap his arms around her as he starts crying too.

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Family, Duty, Honor.