Author's Note: I actually wrote this chapter first due to a chronic case of writer's block, so this is the first author's note I've written for this story. I hope you enjoy reading it and understand it for what it is: it's a story about finding happiness in the family you're given rather than the family you're born with, which could have been the case with the Lannisters had GRRM decided it would be so. It's a new theme to me, usually my stories end with more angst and are less fairytale endings, but just for Tyrion and Sansa, I needed to give them this ending and the new family they both deserve. I won't bore you all to death at this juncture with my sad family history, but this particular theme is important to me and a struggle for me to write but I'm hoping it will become a theme I approach more often in my writing so any feedback whether negative or positive - as long as it's constructive - would be much appreciated. I will however dedicate this chapter to my godparents and their son and his wife, who are the family I chose when I needed another one.

DAENERYSTARGARY3N

"You cannot build a better world on your own"

5 months later…

"There, there, sweetling, there's no reason to fuss, none at all."

"If you would have told me a year ago that I'd be standing here while you held a baby and spoke like a wet nurse I would not have believed you for all the whores in Lannisport!" Bronn teased goodnaturedly.

Tyrion looked up from the adorable visage of his darling daughter and glared at his right-hand man for almost a minute before growling, "Mind your own business, sellsword. And don't think I'm fool enough or ignorant enough not to see your behaviour around my daughter. I found one of your rings in her cradle last week and I know she didn't prise it off your finger."

"What can I say? Little Mistress Lannister giggled at me and that was that. Fell in love, I did, hook, line and sinker."

"She has that effect on people." The proud father said warmly, returning his mismatched eyes to his daughter's angelic face.

"That she does," Bronn agreed, "but seeing as you're probably going to do nothing but play and coddle your babe all day, I'm going to go find the lad and spar with him for a time."

Tyrion could not tear his eyes away from the precious bundle in his arms just to dismiss his shadow. So, with a wave of his hand, Bronn was gone and Lord Lannister sat in his bedchamber with only Mistress Lannister, and the still indisposed and comatose Lady Lannister for company.

Lady Sansa Lannister had not roused since giving birth to her daughter and Tyrion had fought tooth and nail to keep his wife resting in their quarters of the Red Keep while the Septas, his father, Cersei and Bronn, who merely did not like the idea of his friend always being so cruelly reminded of his wife's tragic state, had petitioned to have her sent away. That was something Tyrion would not consider, not even in his darkest moment when his demons told him his lady wife would never open her eyes again. He would keep her close so she would know her daughter's gurgles and his voice even as she strayed further away from him. He knew that one day, one day soon, Sansa would wake up and when that joyous day occurred, he and their daughter would be there to greet her and welcome her home to her family.

"Well, my love," Tyrion sighed, looking at his daughter but taking his wife's still hand, "she's growing. She seems to grow another inch every time I put her down, so much so that I cannot bear to have her out of my arms for fear that she'll change again and you'll have missed another part of her infancy. She's so beautiful, my darling, she's so much like you it hurts. She has your eyes, your nose, your hair. I swear on the Seven she is as beautiful as her mother and I'm so glad you're her mother. I thank my lucky stars that you are here with me, love, even though you're not awake yet. You are my good fortune and have given me such a gift in our daughter. I do need you to wake up, Sansa, to come back to me, to us. I haven't even named the child. She's been nameless for five months and we can't have her grow up as Mistress Lannister. So, come back and we'll have her naming ceremony."

Tyrion finished his daily plea to his wife to regain consciousness. It was late in the day and since he would not permit anyone other than himself to take care of Sansa's child while she could not, he had woken with her on many occasions during the night and liked to put her down earlier and get the most out of the hours when she slept most soundly - just before dusk - to sleep too. So, gracefully moving with the child to her beautifully carved Lannister-red bassinet featuring a bespoke silver and black lion. For, as the young mistress who slept in the wooden bed was the perfect blend of Lannister and Stark blood, it seemed appropriate that the furniture reflect its occupant.

The first thing she became aware of was the stiffness. Not pain, not soreness, just a sensation of tension pervading through her body, which felt more like a corpse in the moment she regained consciousness. Her entire form felt as though it was being weighed down by all the Valyrian steel in Westeros. She could not comprehend why she suddenly felt like Old Nan on a winter's morning with a stiff back, rigid muscles and an inability to recall what the day was.

"Tyrion..." Sansa moaned as she attempted to sit up in the bed she recognised as the one she shared with her spouse.

When she turned to the left side of their huge bed where he usually slept to find empty space all around her. It was truly unheard of for her to wake after her husband, therefore the solitude in bed unnerved her and immediately she knew she shouldn't be searching for her lord husband but her newborn whom she must have to feed by now if she had fallen asleep presently after her child, who would need to be named quickly as well, was born.

Searching her capacious quarters for signs of other human life, she spotted many things out of place. Impossibly out of place. There were signs that a small child had played around the rooms for some time. There were signs that her husband who was dozing in his chair, which she knew he loathed to sleep in since it always led to pains in his neck, had been overly taxed for more than overnight. The rooms were in a state of

disarray which matched his appearance with his unshaven face and untidy garments. There were signs that she had been asleep for more than a night.

"My daughter."

Sansa knew that the proof of how much time she had been away from the man she loved and the baby she adored would be evident in her daughter, in how big her daughter was. Even the idea that she had missed things, missed moments, missed feelings in her daughter's life broke something primal, visceral and maternal within her heart. So as she crept over to the bassinet that lay in an alcove in front of her bed, Sansa prepared herself for the very probable reality that was going to strike her when she came face-to-face with her babe.

She could not suppress the gasp that rose up within her when her eyes fell on her sweetly slumbering baby. The baby that was not a newborn. The baby that was about four months old by the look of her. The tears came soon after the gasp and they showed no sign of stopping.

It seemed her daughter was well aware of her mother's distress and was beginning to stir. Sansa could see that Tyrion had been everything and everyone to their child during her indisposition and now she was awake, she could let him sleep for a while longer as she cared for her precious one.

"There, there, my dearest," Sansa crooned, picking up the baby, praying silently that she recognised her mother's touch and wouldn't cry, "I'm here now. I'm here and I'm so sorry for being away for so long. Your father has taken such good care of you. Mother will have to ask what your name is when he wakes up but I think you have been running him ragged so we'll let him rest awhile. Your name can wait."

Unbeknownst to the new mother, her husband was rising with the sun feeling the typical neck ache he endures every morning. While Sansa lingered on in her coma he could not bear to sleep beside her. The neck ache was a consequence. His first glance, once he didn't hear his daughter's coos and gurgling that signalled her wakening, was to the bed.

"Sansa! Who has taken my wife? Where is she? Bronn! Bronn, Sansa is missing!" Tyrion roared, the lion within angered by the absence of its direwolf.

"Tyrion, hush! Don't make her cry!" Sansa chastised.

"Sansa!"

The vacant, stunned, enraptured expression that spread over Tyrion's features would have made Sansa fall in love with her husband all over again. She'd never seen anyone so happy to see her, especially not when she was only dressed in a cotton nightgown holding a baby to her breast.

Tyrion ran to his wife and pulled her down to him and kissed her. He had missed her lips, her taste and the feeling of her beautiful body against him. He had dreamt of her profession of love for him each night since she drifted away, her last words to him five months ago. All of the joy, love and desire he would have felt for her and showered upon her had she been sentient hit him in the second their lips connected. He was sure that he would have led her to their bed to rechristen it had their daughter not reminded her parents of her presence with a resounding bawl, which Tyrion recognised as the sign of her hunger.

Sansa giggled, "She's an insistent one for attention."

"She's hungry, my love. Maybe her mother could feed her? She's most likely tired of her father feeding her. It's been a long five months without you."

"Five months? She can't be more than four months old!" Sansa exclaimed.

"She fell sick, love, a month ago. She recovered well but it's made her small for her age. The weight will come back in time. We did think we might lose her for a time but she's her mother's daughter."

"Oh my poor angel," Sansa nearly sobbed, caressing her daughter's cheek as she suckled at her mother's teat, "thank the gods we didn't lose you before I could know you. But that does remind me. What's her name, Tyrion?"

A guilty expression flooded her husband's face and he muttered, "She has no name. I couldn't name her without you, sweetheart. I had to wait for you to come back to me, to come back to us."

Sansa gave her fraught lover a chaste but apologetic kiss. She could not imagine the sorrow, heartache and tension her poor husband had suffered through in her absence for nearly half a year, surviving and waiting for her alone with their daughter.

"We'll have to choose her name. She cannot grow up as Mistress Lannister."

Tyrion grinned and laughed at how similarly they thought. He did agree with his lady wife though. Their daughter needed her name.

"Now that our family is back together, my own Lady Lannister, and I thank my good fortune and good luck for that, you can have the honour of naming our daughter. She is your mirror image, after all, with her red hair and your blue eyes. Thank the Seven she does not resemble her father! That would have been a cruel fate."

"Good fortune! Don't you see, love? Good fortune!" Sansa declared.

"Speak sense, or I'll summon the Septa to examine you for damage to your pretty head!"

"Her name, Tyrion. Her name! She is our good luck. She is the embodiment of our good fortune. That should be her name. If I remember my High Valyrian, the word is rather beautiful."

Both parents recalled the name at the same time in perfect synchronicity, "Tyche."

Once their glee at how well-matched they are subsided, they looked at the sweet child who was coming to the end of her first nursing at her mother's breast. Neither one could fathom how they were so lucky, so lucky to have Tyche Lannister as their daughter.