When they'd reclaimed the stronghold of Winterfell from the Boltons, Tommen had made one simple change to the inheritance rights of the seven kingdoms; claims go to the eldest heir, regardless of gender. Sansa would take back her home. She awoke in her bed, beside her husband, and smiled. It had been years since he'd been granted leave of his duties as hand.

Jaime had moved into the position willingly with one caveat, that his wife fill his space as Lord Commander of the King's Guard which Tommen was more than happy to oblige. Once she'd brought Arya and the young man she'd been traveling with back to King's Landing, Brienne had demonstrated herself to be more than capable. They'd immediately struck up a bond at their shared exhaustion with Jaime. Truthfully, he wished she'd been around when he was a boy. Tommen was sure that there would have been much to learn from her.

Loras Tyrell had been called up to act as Master of War. There had been some concern voiced at a Tyrell on the small council, but he quickly dismissed their whining. There was an air of nepotism at play, of course, but in reality, he had heard countless stories of the knight's bravery and of his frontline service at Renly Baratheon's side. Given the circumstances, he felt that someone who had been an active participant in the most recent war in their history was of much higher value than someone who hadn't seen battle since before he was born.

When Jon had brought his brothers South, some years earlier, he'd brought with him Samwell Tarly, whom he'd released from the vows of the Night's Watch, allowing him to become a Maester. After a short while at the citadel, he was proven to be more capable than most men three times his age, he was offered the position of Archmaester.
Upon his return, and at his sister's behest, Bran had been chosen as Master of Laws, which startled Jaime, but they'd had a long talk about a great many things. Their conversation had led to Jaime sobbing and begging Bran's forgiveness. The younger man simply gave a joyless laugh. He reminded him that everything happened for a reason, and he was part of a greater plan, now.

When his first instinct for Master of Ships, Arya, had rightfully laughed in his face, the king had to reevaluate what he was looking for in the commander of the royal fleet. In the interest of a good-faith position, Tommen had named Yara Greyjoy Master of Ships, hoping that having her nearby and in a position of power might sate any further rebellion, or at least keep her close enough that it wouldn't come as a surprise.

When he'd reached Essos, Lord Varys had meant to advise the Targaryen girl but had been largely uninspired. He'd seen some dark impulses rear their heads in the name of justice. He had made haste to return to King's Landing when he heard that things had calmed. Tommen had welcomed him willingly, glad to have an experienced advisor once again.

The last position to be filled was that of Master of Coin. Tommen had struggled with the idea for some time. He knew that he needed the position to be someone who was good with numbers, cautious but not a spendthrift, charismatic enough to win over those from whom they sought aid. Above all else, though, he knew the crown thrived with a Master of Coin who was trusted. Littlefinger had never been that and, truthfully, while Tyrion had been handling the duties, everything had leveled out. He thought, perhaps, to ask for Mace Tyrell, but Margaery insisted that, despite her father's amiable nature, he was not particularly the type of man who should be in charge of large amounts of coin. She had also reminded him that this was a man whose mother had killed the previous king and that there were still some who believed him a party to it as well. Everyone knew that Loras was a skilled warrior, but his father wasn't known for his frugality. Eventually, on a trip to visit his sister in Dorne, he'd extended the offer to Ellia Sand. The girl was the least vicious of the Sand Snakes, preferring more intellectual pursuits. She and Loras had become fast friends and sought each other's advice frequently.

Once the positions had all been filled, Tyrion and Sansa packed up their son and their lives and headed North. Sansa and Tyrion adjusted quickly to life as the Lord and Lady of Winterfell. The people were considerably quicker to accept him than either of them had expected, having adjusted to a Kingdom at peace and seeing firsthand how happy he made Eddard Stark's eldest daughter. With Rickon and Arya at hand, the whole transition was fairly easy. Even when Arya eventually left for Storm's End with the man she called her "traveling companion," she floated between both for quite some time and harmony had been restored.

Morning dawned on a deeply frigid morning in Winterfell, some five years later. Sansa rolled onto her side and kissed her husband awake. "Good morning," he yawned, turning to face her. "Remind me again what is on the agenda for today."

"Absolutely nothing," she smiled. "For the first time since Robb's birth, we have absolutely nothing to do. The storm was too heavy and we are, indeed, snowed in." She moved in closer to her husband and wrapped the furs tighter around them.

Robb was nearly six months old now, born as Winter began to threaten it's parting blows. Eirlys, his big sister, was nearly upon her third nameday and every bit as stormborn, but with the added bit of being undoubtedly Stark. There was no denying that all three, even Tytos, were as much of the north as their mother. Even Tyrion was finding things much more agreeable than any of the time he'd spent in the North previously.

The couple spent the better part of their morning uninterrupted, lazing about their chambers quietly reading and sewing in front of the roaring fire. It was in moments like that, ones which reminded them of the earliest days of their marriage, that they both felt most at home. That was the thing, Tyrion thought.

"Maaaaama! Lys bit me," came Tytos' sweet, tiny voice, shrieking into the common space. Eirlys followed behind on all fours, snarling and howling, baring all of her tiny teeth. The little boy climbed into his mother's lap and stuck out his arm, complete with a small circle of wetness that could only be from the mouth of a toddler. "Make her stop!"

Sansa groaned, adjusting her angle to face her daughter. "Why did you bite your brother?"

"'M a direwolf," she growled, snapping her teeth together demonstratively and stopping in front of her father.

"A direwolf, are you?" Tyrion asked, pulling his daughter onto the chaise beside him. "Whatever happened to my pet lion cub?" He tugged on the little girl's mane of strawberry blonde curls.

Eirlys curled up next to her Tyrion and began to whimper until she was petted. He looked at his imaginative little girl in awe, though well aware that she was shaping up to be quite the handful- if not a little strange. "I saw one of the statues of a puppy in the great hall and Septa Tanwen said it was a direwolf like Mama." Tyrion was unable to fault that reasoning. If their daughter was to be anything like Sansa, he would encourage it wholeheartedly.

From where he clung to Sansa, Tytos objected. He whipped around to stare at his sister in disgust. "Mama's a lion, Lys. Not a wolf." He rolled his eyes and sighed, granting his parents a glimpse of the wild teenager he was bound to become in no time at all. "Lannisters are lions."

The boy was shaping up to be every bit as bright as his father, and Sansa admired that about him greatly. "But what about Aunt Arya, Uncle Bran, and Uncle Rickon? What are they?" she prompted.

"Wolves," he said proudly. He was learning all the sigils of the houses and he was very good at it, quick to tell everyone what their banners were. "But Aunt Arya won't be a wolf for long. Papa said she's going to be a Stag." He turned to face his mother, confidentially. "Apparently, Uncle Gen is secretly a Baratheon. Did you know that, mama?"

Feigning shock, she played along. "No, but I'm glad you told me, Ty." She wrapped her brilliant boy tighter in her arms. "But if your aunt and uncles are wolves, doesn't that mean that before your papa, I was a wolf, too?"

Scrunching his nose in confusion, he shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Why not," Tyrion asked with genuine interest. His children's minds, he found, opened his to concepts he'd never even entertained before. Even if they weren't particularly profound, which they often were, they were at the very least amusing.

Tytos scooted from his mother's lap and adjusted himself to face his father. "Because we're a family and we're lions just like Uncle Jaime and Aunt Brienne and Cousin Joanna are lions."

Unable to shy away from a moment to teach his son, Sansa watched as Tyrion chose his words carefully. "So, what if, one day, Eirlys meets a man and loves him very much. Let's say he's from House Arryn."

Sticking his arms out to his side like wings, he interrupted "A falcon!"

"That's right," Tyrion said, tickling the boy's exposed ribs. "That would make her a falcon by marriage. Does that mean she was no longer a lion, like us?"

The thought stalled Tytos. "I s'pose not," he said.

"So why can't I still be a wolf and a lion?" Sansa prompted, grateful that her children were living in a world, at least for the time being, where they were free to explore their heritage without such terrifying implications as had existed prior. She remembered the way her stomach had roiled at the thought of being a Lannister all those years before. Now, Lannister meant Tyrion. Lannister meant Jaime. Lannister meant her little ones. Lannister meant cunning, and pride, and ferocity. It didn't seem so bad as all that. Stark still meant her mother and father. Stark still meant Robb. Stark still meant Arya, Bran, and Rickon. Stark still meant loyalty, and honesty, and a protective streak. Each part of Sansa, as she sat now, couldn't exist independently of the other. Her son shrugged, unable to come up with the why. "I am still as much a Stark as I was the day I met your papa," she said, looking up at her husband and realizing just how much more Lannister her first words to him were, a product of her resourcefulness learned at the hands of her in-laws, and how particularly Stark-like his were to her, open and true, "but people change, Tytos. When you're a family, you all start to act alike. So maybe I'm more lion than I was when I was a girl, but your papa's got some wolf in him, too."

"Papa's a wolf, too?!" Eirlys gasped, shooting straight to her feet and bouncing excitedly.

Sansa stood and swept the little girl to the floor. "No feet on the furniture, miss," she corrected, patting her lightly on the bottom. Tyrion, however, followed behind, playfully taking up the demeanor his daughter had entered with. Before long, the four of them were all crawling on the floor like wolves- Winter wolves in lion's fur.