#and eyrie at the time didn’t have enough of a spine to insist he wasn’t

[impossible-rat-babies]

the whole. eyrie and thancred trying to figure out how to take care of each other is like trying to stick a square peg in a round hole

[madamebaggio]

Notes: I AM SO ABSOLUTELY SORRY!

I don't have any good excuse for this. My life has been absolutely insane, I took way too many new projects (drama classes, a book to write, classes to give...) and I don't like how much it all got into the way of writing.

I would like to thank you all for the support, and the patience.

This chapter is not perfect, and you guys deserved nothing less, but I do hope you enjoy it and that after October I can be a somewhat decent poster again... I've just finished this so it's not beta-read, so I have no idea what you might find there. But let me know if there's any mistake that it's too cringy.

***

Chapter 8

Sansa couldn’t sleep. She was dead tired, she hadn’t rested that night, but she still couldn’t make herself lay down and just close her eyes.

What was she thinking, coming here like this?

When would she learn not to trust anyone who was just a bit kind to her?

Why had she thought this was a better idea? Because they’d told her Vortigern planned on killing her? Because she dreamed of a woman in her tub? Because a raven brought her here?

How many times would she act like a stupid little girl? First Cersei and Joffrey, then Vortigern… What guarantee did she have that Arthur was better?

When would she be able to live her life without fear again? She longed for the days of her childhood when she felt protected and safe all the time. Maybe she was vain and shallow, but she was loved and cared for. She could hardly remember the last time she’d felt this way. 

A knock on her door made her sit straighter. “Come in.” She called.

The door opened and Bill and Bedivere walked in. They were the last people she was expecting. “My lords.” She got up. “How can I help?”

“Lady Sansa.” Bedivere nodded at her. “We have a question for you. Do you have any family left in Westeros?”

Sansa was confused. “Family?”

“Yes. Someone you might wish to see again.” Bill pressed.

His resemblance to Lord Baelish was disturbing, if she were to be honest. She’d once thought that Baelish was a friend of the family, but Shae had told her the man had bad intentions towards her. She’d also heard around the Red Keep that he wasn’t an honest man.

“You want to send me back, don’t you?”

Bedivere cleared his throat. “Not right now.” He hurried to say. “But if you have someone that might receive you. We can send someone to see if they are…”

“Still alive?” She offered.

“Yes, my lady.”

Sansa took a deep breath and tried to remember. Who could she possibly go to for protection?

“I have an aunt.” She said at last. “Lysa Arryn. She lives in the Valle, at the Eyrie. She might receive me.”

Bill nodded, satisfied by her answer. “We’ll send someone to look for her.”

“No one else, Lady Sansa?” Bedivere pressed, a frown on his face.

Father was dead. Mother was dead. Robb, Bran, Rickon, likely Arya. Jon had no reason to want to see her.

“No, there’s no one else.”

XxX

Vortigern needed to find the girl. A big part of his plan depended on her.

At this point, just finishing the tower wouldn’t be enough. Why should he settle for less power when he had something much bigger within his reach?

Sansa Stark had been a great find. Her bloodline was impeccable, the magic left in her blood much more than he’d dared to hope for.

He’d sacrifice her, because it meant saving Katia. He’d killed his wife many years before and he didn’t want to do the same to his daughter, the only piece of Elsa left. He’d sacrifice Sansa so he’d never have to choose someone he loved again.

A part of him felt sorry for the girl, but it was a minuscule part. He’d taken her from a bad place and gave her a comfortable life. She wouldn’t have lasted another year in King’s Landing.

She owed him for her freedom and comfort.

He didn’t think she’d run away on her own; she wasn’t the type. She’d learned to keep her head down and blend in to avoid suffering. Vortigern didn’t assume she was stupid like many did; he’d seen the spark of intelligence in her eyes. However, Sansa Stark lacked a spine, she wouldn’t leave the castle alone.

Someone had gotten her out. Vortigern would find out who it was, and he’d break every bone in this person’s body.

XxX

“What are you doing here?”

Arthur arched a brow in Kay’s direction, amused by her posture -hands on her hips and a glare on her pretty face. “I feel that, whatever I say, won’t be the right answer.”

Kay scoffed. “You have at least a little bit of common sense. Go talk to your princess.”

Arthur was startled for a second. “She isn’t mine, Kay.” He spoke, but he wasn’t sure who was he trying to explain that for.

Kay clearly didn’t care about what he had to say. “You stole her, so she’s yours.” She pointed out. “She’s scared and lonely, Arthur. She’s more mature than I’d thought she’d be, but she’s still just a girl far from home.”

Arthur ran his hand through his hair. “I know.”

“Do you really?” Kay insisted.

“What do you want me to do, Kay?” He demanded, frustrated at himself. “I’m not a lord, I can’t give her pretty words or whatever princesses like.”

“I know you are not that stupid.” Kay told him dryly. “She’s probably had it with pretty words and people lying to her. She doesn’t need empty promises, Arthur. That girl is scared out of her wits, but she thinks she has to hide it. She needs security.”

“I don’t think she likes me very much.” He mumbled.

Kay snorted. “When has that ever stopped you from doing whatever the hell you wanted?”

XxX

Sansa felt as if she should’ve been offended by Bedivere and Bill’s eagerness to get rid of her, but she understood it. Did it hurt her? Yes, a little, but she wasn’t surprised by it. Not enough to take offense.

They had no use for her and her mere presence was a risk for them. As long as she was there, Vortigern could get her back and use her against them all. She should be thankful they weren’t considering killing her as a more practical solution.

She wondered -not for the first time -how this was her life. She was dead tired of thinking it wasn’t fair; it wasn’t, but it changed nothing. Life was unfair and she had to deal with it.

However… When would she have some peace? Just a little, she wouldn’t be greedy, she promised. She didn’t want to be a queen, she hardly wanted to be a lady. She’d take whatever as long as she could rest.

“There you are, princess.” 

Sansa rolled her eyes and tried to ignore him. Obviously it didn’t work and he just plopped himself down next to her. “Did you rest?”

Sansa looked at him and wondered whether he knew about her conversation with his men.

“Yes.” She replied smoothly.

“Liar.” He grinned. “You look dead on your feet.”

She didn’t think he knew about it. “So charming.”  

He chuckled. “That’s me, Prince Charming himself.”

She firmly ignored him, hoping he’d go away. Sansa wanted to dislike him, because he was a slap to her face; the blond prince she’d once dreamed about. He was full of life and confidence, and something told her he was -at least for now -genuinely good. She couldn’t handle him right now.

She was afraid of becoming that stupid little girl once again.

Therefore, she pulled her shawl more firmly around herself and kept her eyes on the cave’s opening, hoping he’d go away.

But at this point she already knew better, Arthur wasn’t easily ignored, because he wouldn’t allow it.

“You know what I think, princess?”

Sansa rolled her eyes again. She seemed to that an awful lot around him. “I know you’ll tell me anyway.” She said dryly.

“That’s the spirit.” He ignored her sarcasm completely. “I think you are scared.”

Sansa’s look was deadpan. “You are truly brilliant.” She wasn’t even pretending to be interested at this point.

“But you are not scared for the reasons you think you should be.” Arthur completed, once again ignoring her tone.

“What? Did you hear what you just said? Because this was the most ridiculous sentence I’ve ever heard, and that’s saying something.”

Arthur grabbed her left hand. “You should be scared.” He insisted. “You are in another land, in the middle of a war you didn’t ask for. There’s a mad king who wants to sacrifice you, and this other one who won’t stop annoying you.” He gave her a small smile. “This is all scary.”

“Yes, it is.” Sansa agreed.

“But that’s not what you’re afraid of.” Arthur spoke.

Sansa tried to pull her hand away, but he held on. “You’re afraid of hoping.” He said softly. “And it’s fair. What has hope brought you so far?”

All the fight went out of her. “Pain.” She whispered into the air.

“Pain.” He echoed back, his thumb making circles on the back of her hand. “I won’t say I know what you’ve been through, or that I understand it. I also know you have no reason to trust me and that you probably think I’m an idiot…”

“Think?” She threw at him weakly.

“...but you are safe with us, Sansa Stark.” He told her firmly. “I’ll do everything in my power to keep you away from him.”

Sansa looked into his eyes. For some reason she believed a part of his speech. She trusted he’d do whatever he could to keep her safe. However, Sansa hoped it never became a choice between her and the kingdom, because then she wouldn’t even be able to begrudge him for forsaking her.,

***

Notes: Let me know your feelings.

I think we all deserve a kiss next chapter.

What do you think?

Also, in case you don’t remember this work (or if it’s your first time seeing it), you can find it all here.

[girlygameofthrones]

Learning to Read

Pairing: Tywin x (daughter) Reader, Tyrion x (sister) reader

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Warnings: None…but it’s my first and it’s a little long… Eh, Tywin may be a little OOC.  

Summary: You are the youngest Lannister daughter and are struggling with your reading, so you get help from your brother, Tyrion.  Reader is six years old.  Mostly fluff.

Word Count: 3,582

s����`%

Tywin

Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, and previous Hand of the King sat in his study, pouring over documents and filling in signatures.  He hadn’t gotten any sleep the past few days, mainly because the fools of the Eyrie didn’t know how to strike a proper bargain.  Lord Tywin had never liked the Lady Arryn but while her husband, the true Lord of the Eyrie was away, he was forced to make political agreements and meet her terms.

There was a knock on the door, and he looked up, frowning.  Everyone knew not to disturb him when he worked on his documents.  It was either something important or a rather stupid servant.  He called for them to open the door.

The servant that stood before him was young and broad-chested.  He’d probably make a good soldier in a few years, but Tywin never took the time to learn his servants’ names.  This boy was no different.  He swallowed, and Tywin raised an eyebrow.

“My lord,” the servant began.  Then he stopped talking.

“Yes?” Tywin said, looking straight at him.  “You came into my study during a critical time, clearly you have something to tell me.”

Tywin could see the boy swallow away the lump in his throat.  His fingers drummed the desk, and he glanced at the tower of documents at the table.  

“My lord, it’s about your daughter,” the boy said, and Tywin’s attention was automatically caught. The boy couldn’t tell this though, for Tywin kept his same stoic expression.  “The Septas have been looking for her, but she seems to have disappeared.  They say she’s not doing well in her lessons and that she’s struggling with her reading.”

Tywin’s face hardened, remembering a similar experience with his eldest son, Jaime.  

“Very well, you are dismissed,” Lord Tywin said to the boy.

He nodded and fled the room. Tywin looked over at the documents. Y/N, his daughter, would have to wait until he finished the bulk of these.  He had a pretty good idea where she was hiding.  The girl had never been too good at keeping secrets.

As Tywin worked, he mused on his daughter.  He thought that his late wife was finished giving birth when she gave birth to Tyrion, but Y/N had come more than a decade later, a pleasant surprise for all of them. Tywin hadn’t expected to be a father again, and he worried for his wife, that her body couldn’t handle it, but she had given birth to a healthy daughter.  His wife had named her Y/N, though Tywin had wanted to name her after an ancestor.  Lady Joanna had insisted on Y/N though, so they went with that.

Tywin finished up his paperwork and left his office, ignoring the bowing servants and “milord”s as he walked through the stronghold.  He left the castle and went through the gardens.  Since he had told Y/N that her mother had loved the gardens, they had become her favorite place.  Sure enough, he saw her seated on a bench below one of the larger trees.

He cleared his throat loudly, and she turned to look at him with those striking emerald eyes –Joanna’s eyes.  His daughter was only six and as gentle as a hummingbird.  Her long golden hair splashed down her back.  Of all his children, she looked the most like her mother.

It was as if the child realized the danger she was in with her father’s arrival.  She jumped to her feet, smoothed her dress and curtsied before him.

“Good afternoon, father,” she said with all the bearing of a lady at court.  She knew her courtesies well.

“Why aren’t you in your lesson, Y/N?” he asked, cutting to the point.  It was true he was probably softer with her than his other children, but that was only because she hadn’t caused him nearly as much grief.  When a child misbehaved though, it was a father’s duty to correct that child.

“I don’t like the septa,” Y/N said.  “She’s boring.”

“I don’t care if you like the septa.  You’re learning to read.  Children outside these walls don’t get that opportunity.  Someday you will thank me for everything I’ve done for you,” he said. “Let go of your pride and do your lesson.  The house that puts the family’s name before its own selfish whims –“

“Will be the house that history remembers,” she finished for him.  She glared up at him.  “I just don’t like reading.  I’m not good at it, and I can’t do it.  No matter how hard I try, I don’t understand the letters.”

“You are not working hard enough,” he said.

“I spent two hours looking at the same page, and when the septa asked me to read aloud, I couldn’t do it,” she argued.  The girl definitely had spunk.  A Lannister needed that to get along in the world, but she needed to learn there were better times than others for it.  “All I do is stare at the page.  I know the letters.  I see the septa write them, and I can go through the alphabet.  The septa says my penmanship is wonderful, but when I have to read a word, the letters move around on the page and I can’t make any sense of them!”  

Tywin nodded, and she was quiet.  He had dealt with this before.

“Your brother Jaime was the same way,” he said.  “The maesters told me that he also mixed up the letters on the page.  Yes…I wondered if this would happen again.”

“And how did Jaime learn to read?” Y/N asked.  

A determined look flashed across Tywin’s face.

“I sat him down with the maester four hours each day,” he said.  “Which is exactly what I’ll do with you.”

“Father!” Y/N cried.

“Silence!” He cut her off. “Remember your courtesies, young lady. You will thank me for this.  A Lannister needs to know how to read! Jaime was angry with me too, but now he can read!”

“But four hours!” The girl looked close to tears, and for a rare moment, Tywin did feel something tear at his heart, but he was determined.

“A lady doesn’t say ‘but’,” he said.  It was something that Joanna used to say to Cersei when she argued with her.  “Go back to your lesson now.  I shall speak with your septa about the changes in your scholarly pursuits.”

Y/N’s pink lips quivered for a moment, and then she curtsied before her father and ran off.  Tywin watched her go, slightly amused, but slightly angry at her behavior.  Cersei had been much more rebellious, so he at least should have been grateful that he didn’t have to deal with that.  He didn’t particularly like upsetting his daughter, though.  She was the last thing of Joanna he had, and he was determined to give her the best life he could.

Being a father as well as a lord could be difficult at times.

Reader

At the end of your lesson, you were fuming at the septa.  Your head pounded and your eyes were sore from constantly staring at the page. You offered a short and stiff curtsy and then left as soon as the lesson ended.  You never wanted to see your septa ever again.  In fact, you would run away from the Rock and make your father miss you so much that he would find you.  That would really show him.

You loved your father like none other, but he could be stiff at times.  He was the proud lord lion of Casterly Rock, you reminded yourself.  He was held to different standards than the small folk.  Jaime supposedly had the same problem with words that you had, but Jaime got to run around and play with a sword, and then he got to be a knight.  Why did it matter if you could or couldn’t read?  Your father would wed you to a handsome lord when you were older, and you’d raise the babies while your lord husband signed important papers.

In your room, you tried to forget all about your lesson by combing through one of your dolls’ hair. The door opened and your father entered; the brush you used on the doll stopped halfway through its silk hair.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

“The septa told me that you needed to study outside of your lessons,” he said firmly.  “Where are your books?”

“I just got out of my lesson!  I need a break!” You cried.

“Your mind is sharpest right after a lesson,” he said.  “Do you want to learn to read or not?”

“I don’t want to learn!” You snapped.

You had crossed a line, and you knew it.  Your father’s eyes narrowed dangerously.  

“You will read those books, Y/N, and I won’t ask you again,” he said in a low voice.

You shrunk back, fighting back the tears that threatened to escape your eyes.  You hated disappointing your father; he was your hero, but he just didn’t understand how hard it was for you to read!  You watched as he left the room.  You didn’t move for a moment, and when he was gone, you threw your doll against the wall.

You picked up the book and tried to read it, determined to show your father, but the more you looked at it, the worse your headache got and you found you just couldn’t do it.

You woke up with your face on the book.  You panicked slightly, aware that that was not proper for a lady.  By the sky outside your window, you knew it wasn’t time for supper yet.  You sighed with relief.  Then you picked up the book.  You didn’t want to visit the septa, but maybe if you just studied for many hours at once, she could get it all done and over with.  Hugging the book, you stomped past your broken doll and out the room.

Every step taken was tortuous.  You really, really did not want to see the septa.  What did that old lady know anyways?  Why couldn’t your father give you a fun teacher?  Maesters were always more fun than septas.

“Sister,” a deep voice suddenly rang in your ears.  “Does father know that you are wandering the Rock by yourself?”

Your heart stopped.  You turned and saw your older brother, Tyrion, standing there.  Even though he grinned at you, you felt a shiver pass up your spine.  She had always been more than a little frightened of him.

Tyrion wasn’t like Jaime or Cersei.  He was only slightly taller than you, but whereas you were six, he was a man.  His hair was as blonde as yours and his eyes as green, but his forehead was too big, and his arms and legs were too short. He wasn’t handsome in the least, and Cersei had told you that Tyrion had killed your mother.  Jaime had insisted it wasn’t true, but Cersei said that Tyrion had forced mother to care for him when he had a contagious illness, and she had died for it.  You hadn’t even been a year old, and because of that you didn’t have a mother.

“He’s a monster, Y/N, and monsters don’t show remorse,” Cersei had said to you.

You stared at your brother, fingers clutching the book.  You wanted to run, but you knew you needed to be brave.  He wasn’t really a monster.  He was frightening, but he was still your big brother.  Jaime got along with Tyrion after all.

“I’m going to the septa,” you said shortly.  “I’m learning to read.”

“Are you mixing up the letters on the page?” Tyrion asked in a dry tone.

“Um…” How did he know that was your problem?  “Yes…”

“Just like Jaime, or so I hear,” he said.  “Don’t go to the septa.  She’ll bore you to tears with her lessons.  It looks like she already has.”

“I have to learn to read so father will be happy,” you snapped, embarrassed.  

“Yes, we must keep father happy,” Tyrion said.

“I need to go,” you said.

When you turned away, Tyrion suddenly touched your arm.  You froze, remembering what Cersei had told you.  Tyrion looked kind of funny, but could he really be a monster?  What if you died because he touched you?  Maybe that’s why your mother had died!

“B-brother,” you stammered, voice squeaking.

“I’ll teach you to read,” he said.  “I’ve read a lot, and I’ve even stumbled on some of the histories of Casterly Rock that recorded other children with the same problems you were having.”

“Father wants me to study with the septa,” you replied weakly.

“Father wants you to learn how to read,” he said.  “Do you want to please father?”

You nodded meekly, and he smiled.

“Then follow me,” he said.

Your heart sank, and you imagined for a moment a maiden following a dragon into its lair.  Tyrion was no dragon; he was too small, but you couldn’t help but be scared regardless.  You frowned. Lannisters didn’t get scared.  You would learn how to read no matter what.

On the way to Tyrion’s chambers, he actually talked to you.

“Father rarely lets you see me,” he said.  “I remember when you were born.  I’ve never seen father smile like that before.  I suppose after me, you were everything he could have asked for.  You were a beautiful babe, and it looks to me like you’ve grown to be a beautiful girl.  You have mother’s features.”

How could he talk so easily of mother?  Didn’t he feel guilty?

“Thank you,” you whispered. “Father keeps me in lessons most the time.”

“And apart from the reading, how are those going?  Do you understand the laws of the land and the science?  I hated learning about the agriculture personally,” he said.

Before you could think, you said:  “I do too. I hate that part.”  You suddenly shut your mouth.  Had you just agreed with your brother?

“Ah, here we go,” Tyrion said.  “My room. We shouldn’t be in here too long, but I’ll teach you more than the septas will.”

“With magic?” You asked.

Tyrion snorted.

“What do you think I am? An imp with magical powers!  Is that what Cersei told you?” he asked. Cersei had never said that, but you couldn’t help but imagine it.  “No, if I knew magic, I’d make myself as tall as Jaime.  No, we’re going to learn the old fashioned way.”

“I won’t learn to read by supper?” You asked faintly.

“I’m afraid not,” he said. “You’ll have to come back each day, but I promise you I will make it much more painless than the septa’s ramblings.  You’ll be reading in no time.”

And then he pulled out a seat for you at his desk and took the book from you.  He laid it on the table, and a devilish smirk appeared on his face.

“Let’s begin,” he said, and you sat down, feeling your hands and feet shake.

XXXXX

You had been visiting Tyrion in secret for a week.  You were never told to stay away from your brother, but father also made a point of keeping you as far away from him as possible.  With Tyrion as your teacher, you were able to see improvements you never thought possible.  Even the septa praised you when you actually read two sentences aloud and only had to pause a few times.  Tyrion didn’t use magic, but he may as well have.

What really confused you though was that you were actually starting to like your brother.  What would Cersei say?  Perhaps Jaime would be happy for you.  Tyrion was kind to you and very patient when you made mistakes.  He was constantly egging you on, but in a way that showed he really cared.

“You know this word,” he said as you hovered over the same word for over a minute.  “You can do it…”

“D…R…G… No, that’s not right.”  The letters were moving again.  “D…R…A….Dragon!”

Tyrion applauded you, and you blushed.  You then read the sentence aloud:

“Aegon I Targaryen rode on the dragon Balerion in the War of Conquest!” Your voice went up a notch at the end, and again Tyrion applauded you.

“Wonderful!” He said. “Wonderful!  Can you read the next sentence?”

“Aegon’s sister-wife…V…Vis…Visenya mounted Vhagar as her steed.”  You glanced up at Tyrion, praying you’d gotten the sentence right, and by his smile, you knew you had.  “I did it!  I’m learning to read, Tyrion!  You’re the best!”

You kept improving, and you actually sought out books to try and read.  Most of them you couldn’t, but you could understand a lot more than you could before.  Four days later, you were in yet another lesson with Tyrion.  He no longer frightened you, and Cersei’s words seem to fade.

You had finally reached the part in your heavy book that spoke of House Lannister.

“Lord Tytos Lannister was the eldest of four.  He was named heir in 236 AC of Casterly Rock…” your eyes skimmed the page.  Then you gasped.  “Jason Lannister!”

“Hmm?” Tyrion asked.

“Jason Lannister was Tytos’s younger brother.  Tytos was our grandfather!  Jason was our other grandfather!  He was mother’s father!” You cried.  “Mother and father were cousins?”

“I thought you knew that,” Tyrion said.  “Besides, cousins are one thing, but the Targaryens married their brothers and sisters for centuries.”

“It’s like how Cersei wants to marry Jaime,” you said.

“Y-Y/N …” Tyrion winced. “I don’t know how you know that, but you mustn’t say a word to father.”

You stared at the page and your finger found Lady Joanna’s name.

“What was mother like?” You whispered.

Tyrion froze and didn’t answer immediately.  Then he swallowed, and he smiled in a way that made him as handsome as Jaime.  

“She was beautiful,” Tyrion said.  “She was my best friend, my champion.  She was always encouraging me to be better, and when I cried, she held me.”  He looked out the window, and you watched him intently.  “When I learned that dragons had gone extinct, I was a mess.  I cried myself to sleep…but when I woke up, mother was holding me in her arms and telling me everything would be alright.  She had a beautiful voice too…”

“Cersei said mother died while taking care of you,” you whispered.

Tyrion looked down at his hands.

“That’s true,” he breathed. “I was probably old enough to not need my mommy, but I begged the maesters to let me see her, and she came right away and cared for me.  She stayed by my side all night…and then…it was all so sudden…she was gone.”

Tyrion was a man, but his lip trembled like a child’s.  He didn’t blink, like he was determined not to let the tears come.  He was always so carefree, sarcastic, and witty.  You had never seen this side of him before.

You reached under the table and held his stubby hand.

“Thank you for telling me about mother,” you whispered.  

XXXXX

You found yourself outside your father’s study.  He would be finished with his paperwork in any moment.  You waited there, going over again and again Tyrion’s cheers in your mind. The door opened, and Tywin stared down at you.  You drew yourself up as tall as could be, but he still towered over you.

“Do you need something, Y/N?” he asked.

You nodded, but didn’t answer.  Without a word, you strode right inside his study.  You heard you father sigh behind you and follow.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked you.  “Have you finished your studies today?”  You reached up and took the first bit of parchment off the stack.  “Careful, Y/N, those are important documents.  They can’t be lost –“

“Lord Randyll Tarly…Lord of House Tarly…To whom it may concern…We are in the process of building a bridge to help ensure our grains come quicker to the capital.”  You looked up from the sentence and hid your smile. Then you continued, and you read the entire letter out loud to your father.

When you finished, Tywin actually laughed, and you felt your cheeks go red.  You loved it when you pleased her father.  You had seen his smile more times than you could count, but you rarely heard a laugh.

“You see, Y/N?  You are a Lannister!  You always had it in you!” He said.  “You’ve got quite the attitude, but I’m proud of you.  Keep up the good work.”  He touched your face but didn’t embrace you.  He was still a lord after all.  “Come now, supper is waiting for us.”

You beamed at him, and they headed to the dining hall together.

After supper, you returned to Tyrion.  You still had much farther to go, and the letters still got jumbled, but you were determined to work hard.  You recounted the story to Tyrion, and he laughed first and then congratulated you.  Then he hugged you.

Once again you found yourself pouring over the book.  You finished reading the paragraph aloud and looked up at Tyrion.  He was absent-mindedly playing with an ink bottle.

“Um…I have a question,” you said.

“Ask away,” Tyrion urged you.

“Well, it’s just about something that Cersei said.  She said that you spent most your time in brothels and that you had…what were the words she used?  …An appetite for whores,” you began.  “Tyrion, what’s a brothel?  And what’s a whore?”

The ink bottle suddenly slipped from his fat fingers and shattered all over the floor.

[hoaryoldbitch]

All My Agony Fades Away (When You Hold Me In Your Embrace)

My entry for day 2 (Bed sharing/cuddling) of Fifteen Days of Valentine.

This has probably been done before, but I based it off one of the first things I ever wrote for Sansa and Jon, right after the season 6 finale, but never published.

The title is from the song All I Need by Within Temptation. That song gives me so many Jonsa feels!

You can also read this fic on AO3.

Rating: Mature

Implied/Referenced Past Abuse

Seeing Jon again had been a flicker of light in the ocean of darkness her life had become. In his arms she'd felt warm and safe and whole again, if only for a couple of moments, but he hadn't held her like that since that first day at Castle Black. Sansa wasn't even sure it would feel the same.

Sansa felt a shiver run down her spine despite the roaring fire and the layers of furs on her bed. It would never be truly cold in here, in the Lady's chambers. It was why Jon had insisted she take them instead of her own old rooms when she'd finally convinced him to take the Lord's chambers.

Her discomfort had little to do with the temperature. She didn't know how much longer she could keep this up. Winterfell is our home. We have to fight for it. It didn't feel like home anymore though. She'd hoped to feel safe again inside these walls. She'd expected her broken pieces to start healing again once they'd taken their home back.

She wondered how long it had been since she'd had a full night's sleep, trying to remember when she'd felt safe for the last time. Perhaps when she'd been in the Eyrie, before Aunt Lysa had seen Petyr kissing her, though uncertainty and painful memories had haunted her dreams even then.

Even in her most desperate moments, she'd found comfort once in a while: Tyrion's kindness; talking to Margaery; building Winterfell out of snow; having Theon with her when they'd escaped. But after Ramsay, a coldness had settled in her bones that she feared she'd never be able to chase away.

Seeing Jon again had been a flicker of light in the ocean of darkness her life had become. In his arms she'd felt warm and safe and whole again, if only for a couple of moments, but he hadn't held her like that since that first day at Castle Black. Sansa wasn't even sure it would feel the same.

Her thoughts drifted back to the day they'd talked up on the battlements. She remembered the way he'd touched her hair and kissed her forehead so gently. Part of her had wanted to throw herself into his arms again, but she'd been afraid to startle him. More importantly she couldn't allow herself to feel so deeply. When she thought of losing herself like that, it felt as if an iron hand was squeezing her throat shut.

It was too close to dawn when she finally fell asleep. She woke from restless dreams only a few hours later. She was used to the nightmares by now. They didn't overwhelm her the way they had in the beginning, but they still wore her out. Tonight there had been something new though. She tried to force the images out of her head. No, she told herself, he would never do that. Jon wouldn't hurt her. He's my brother.

Your half-brother, Littlefinger's voice warned her. She shook her head. It didn't even matter whether Jon loved her. Father had loved her, but he'd died. So had Mother and Robb, but it hadn't been enough to save her. Again and again, Sansa had put her trust in the wrong people and she'd promised herself never to make that mistake again. Still, if she couldn't even trust Jon, did that mean she would never be able to trust anyone again?

Despite his betrayal, Littlefinger had been valuable to her, teaching her the most important lesson. If you know what people want, you can always use it to your own advantage. She had figured that what Jon wanted more than anything was to be a Stark. So she did her best to make him feel like he was. At least, that's what she tried to tell herself.

She couldn't deny how warm and light she'd felt seeing that smile on his face after she'd presented him that direwolf cloak. And she had actually meant it when she'd told him he was a Stark. Now that the Lords had given him that same acknowledgement, she was at a loss though. It annoyed her immensely that she couldn't figure out what Jon wanted.

"I'm sorry, Sansa," he had told her later that same night, "I know you're angry with me, but I didn't ask for this."

She'd tried to tell him she wasn't angry, but he'd seen right through her. Of course she felt some resentment. It had been as if the lords had not even seen her there. They must believe her unfit to rule. They didn't trust her because of what their mutual enemies had done to her. What's done is done. It wasn't as if Jon could have refused the crown.

And she was happy for him, she truly was, but power would have meant safety for her. Once again that power had been taken from her. Once again she was at the mercy of another man. She wanted to believe that Jon was different, that she could trust him and that he truly cared about her. But even if all of that was true, he wouldn't be able to protect her forever. Sansa knew how the world worked. At one point he'd have to marry her off and she'd have to leave Winterfell again.

She sighed. She could stay here in bed all day fretting over things she was unable to change, but that wasn't going to help anyone. She slid from the bed, pulled on a robe and called her maid to draw her a bath.

***

Sansa spent most of her day dealing with the household staff. Some had arrived here with the visiting Northern Lords, but most of them had suffered through the Bolton regime. Some of them had tried to help her or had at least sought to comfort her. The majority of them had been too afraid of Ramsay to attempt any such thing.

Sansa wanted to hate them, but she understood too well what it was like to live in constant fear. She listened to their stories, comforted them and accepted their expressions of support and loyalty. She had inspected the keeps and other buildings with Jon a couple of days ago to establish priorities in the process of restoring Winterfell to its former glory.

Based on this inspection, she'd listed tasks that needed to be performed immediately. She entrusted these lists to the head staff, setting everyone to work.

***

By the time she had finished dealing with them, she felt exhausted and ready for another bath. It was silly and decadent, but she deciced she deserved a little indulgence after all those months of sleeping in a tent. When the bathtub was filled, she sent the servant girls from her rooms, undressed and sank down into the hot water.

Sansa picked up a sponge and furiously started rubbing her skin. After a couple of minutes, she forced herself to stop. No, no, no, you're supposed to be enjoying this! For months she had been so focused on taking back Winterfell that she had hardly lived consciously, practically unaware of her body.

She tried to relax. It still hurt, though even the ugliest wounds had healed by now. The scars would probably never fade completely. Winterfell would be repaired, but could she? She started stroking her arms and legs, moving on to her belly and her breasts. The touch of her fingers felt lovely.

She let one hand slip between her legs, tracing her lower lips with one finger, finding that sweet spot she'd discovered ages ago when she was still a prisoner in the Red Keep. She remembered lying in her bed at night, circling her nub until she found release. Back then she'd hardly realized what she was doing, only intent on losing herself for a couple of moments, freed from all of her worries and fears.

But she had known well enough it was something utterly wicked. She worked her clit until the pressure snapped and she felt a wave of pleasure tremble through her body, a soft moan escaping from her lips. When she was coming down, a couple of tears spilled from her eyes. Would she ever be able to let a man touch her? Jon touches you, a small voice in the back of her head reminded her.

Seven Hells, what is wrong with me? It must be true, she couldn't kill him, she was damaged beyond repair. What kind of woman would think of her brother with her hand still between her thighs?

***

Jon found her standing in front of one of the doors in the family quarters. "Sansa."

"Jon."

He hesitated for a moment. She glanced up at him. "Will you be joining us for supper?"

She sighed. "No, I'd like to eat alone tonight."

A slight frown appeared on his face. "Of course."

When he turned to leave, she called him back. "Jon."

He stopped to look at her and she met his eyes. "I want you to take everything inside this room and burn it."

His mouth fell open. "This is Robb's room."

I know, Jon, I know. "It was Ramsay's room," she answered. He didn't avert his eyes. To her relief there was no pity in them. She wouldn't have been able to stand seeing that he felt sorry for her. Instead she thought she saw pain and anger. She left without waiting for an answer.

She had her supper brought to her mother's solar, but ate little. After that she retreated to her room to sit by the fire and embroider another direwolf on a new dress. She worked until her eyes grew tired from the poor lighting. She put the dress away into a small chest and sat back down in her chair.

Sansa wished there was some other useful task she could set her mind to, but it was too late and too dark for that. She walked into her dressing room to unlace her gown and put on a warm nightrail. She peeled back the covers on her bed and nestled herself under them, waiting for sleep to take her, knowing it wouldn't.

And if it did, it would only be worse, for with it came the nightmares. She tried to push the thoughts out of her head, but it was too late. Her mouth went dry and her heart started beating frantically. Gods, what do I have to do to be able to sleep?

A memory came to her then, of another night when she'd been terrified, years and years ago. She'd tiptoed across the hallway, sneaking through a door and into another bed, whispering that there was a monster under her bed. A skinny arm had wrapped itself around her shoulders and a sleepy voice had answered. "Don't worry. I'll protect you, I promise."

He had repeated those words the night before the battle, when she'd told him she wouldn't go back to Ramsay alive. I won't ever let him touch you again. For a moment she'd been reminded how safe she'd felt as a little girl and something inside her had started to thaw. She'd believed every single word of his promise, but she couldn't allow herself to hope, so she'd retorted bitterly that no one could protect her.

She wished she could still hide from her monsters in Jon's bed right now. And why shouldn't I? She was not a little girl anymore though. Jon might be her brother, but it wouldn't be proper for her to sleep in his bed. But why should she still care whether something was proper? Septa Mordane and her Lady Mother weren't around to stop her anymore, so she rose, wrapped her robe around her body and padded out of her room and across the hallway to the Lord's chambers.

She knocked on the door. It took a couple of minutes before it opened, during which she considered turning back and abandoning this ridiculous idea. Then Jon was standing in the doorway, wearing only his tunic and breeches, his curls hanging loose around his face, illuminated by the light that spilled from his room. Sansa met his confused eyes. "Can I come in?"

He stepped aside to let her in, closing the door behind her. She turned back to him. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No, you didn't," he said slowly, frowning again. "What's wrong?"

She wrung her hands as she stared at her feet. There's a monster in my bed. "I - I can't sleep. Can I stay here tonight?"

Jon didn't answer. She looked up, opening her mouth to take her words back, but he cut her off. "Of course. I - I understand."

He licked his lips, his eyes wandering around the room before he met her gaze again: "I have nightmares too."

Sansa gaped at him. How could he know? He cleared his throat, swinging his arm. "You can take the bed. I'll sleep in a chair."

"No!"

He jerked his chin up as his eyes widened in surprise. "I mean - I don't want you to be uncomfortable. The bed is large enough for the both of us."

He stared at her for a moment, his face blank. Finally he nodded. Feeling a blush creeping up her face, she turned her back to him, taking off her robe and climbing into the bed. She waited until she felt the mattress dip under his weight, turning around to face him. He was lying at the edge of the bed, as far away from her as possible. "Please, come closer?"

He rolled onto his side to look at her. "I promise there are no grumkins under the bed."

She blinked. "You remember that?"

He offered her a quick smile. He seemed lost in thought for a couple of minutes. "You always came to me when you were afraid of monsters under your bed. Why?"

She propped herself up on her elbow. "I couldn't go to Mother and Father. I wanted to be a good girl, not a scared little baby. And Robb snored!"

They both chuckled. "And most of the time he'd just grunt and turn his back to me. I tried Theon once, but he laughed at me."

Jon's upper lip twitched when she mentioned that name. Sansa shrugged. "I knew you wouldn't do that. And you never refused me."

He searched her eyes for a moment. "Sansa, can I ask you a question?"

She nodded. "What do you want?"

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Now that we're back home, what do you want to do?"

Why was he asking her that? "I don't know. I just want to stay here."

Sadness filled his eyes. "That's it? The Sansa I used to know had so many dreams..."

She offered him a rueful smile. "That's true..."

But life is not a song, Jon. "I know I can't stay here forever."

"Why not?"

"Because..."

He shook his head. "No, it's settled. You're staying here with me, forever."

She blinked at him. He rolled onto his back, turning his face away from her, and muttered: "Try to get some sleep now, Sansa."

She shuffled closer, putting her head in the crook of his shoulder and placing one hand on his chest. "Could you - hold me?"

"If you want me to?"

He wrapped his arm around her, hesitantly curling his warm hand around her upper arm. She took a deep breath, letting it out again in a sigh. "You smell like home."

She only realized she'd said that out loud when Jon made a vague noise in the back of his throat. Heat flushed her cheeks again, but for the first time in months, perhaps even years, she felt safe and comfortable.

"Thank you," she murmured, closing her eyes and drifting off into a peaceful sleep.