Author's Note: This is a short fic, just two chapters. As promised, here is the same scene from Sansa's point of view. And Sansa, of course, sees things a bit differently from Tyrion.

Chapter Two: Sansa

Sansa stands on the covered bridge overlooking the yard, Yohn Royce by her side, only half listening to his words as he discusses preparations for the coming battle. She watches the yard below, watches as the dragonglass is loaded into carts headed for the foundry. She wonders if there is going to be enough. Enough dragonglass, enough food, enough time.

Sansa feels as if she is the only one who wonders about such things. Jon is clearly besotted with the Dragon Queen. He has relinquished his crown for her, and now, it is Daenerys Targaryen who has dominion over Winterfell. It is Daenerys Targaryen whose dragons fly above the keep, screeching and squawking and threatening with every dive and every swoop. No one seems concerned about how they will be fed or where the food will come from. And Daenerys Targaryen has brought more than just two dragons. She has brought a Dothraki horde and thousands of Unsullied, and it is Sansa's responsibility to figure out how to provide for them all. Her own people may starve, but she is the only one who seems to care.

In truth, Sansa feels as if she is being invaded from all directions, the north, the south, across the Narrow Sea. The White Walkers are barreling down from the Wall, Cersei Lannister is marching her army to Winterfell's gates, and the Targaryen Queen sits in the Great Hall, holding court. Yes, Sansa feels attacked on all sides, and she is beginning to question if she is the only reasonable person left in all the Seven Kingdoms.

Sansa doesn't hear the footsteps approach. She is too lost in her own thoughts, her own anger, her own disappointments, to notice much of anything.

Then, she hears a voice, a familiar voice. "My lord, my lady," he says, and Sansa's heart sinks as she turns to look at Tyrion Lannister.

She doesn't want to be alone with him, not now, not yet. She doesn't want to hear him explain to her why she should embrace his queen or why she should accept the fact that the Lannister army is marching toward Winterfell on his behalf. She's had enough disappointment for one day, and she is certain that she can't stand any more.

But she is the lady of Winterfell, and she cannot avoid Tyrion forever. Better to get the worst of it over with now than to prolong her agony.

Sansa glances at Lord Royce, dismissing him with a nod. Reluctantly, he retreats. She knows he would rather stay, but she is the Lady of Winterfell, and he must defer to her on the matter.

He walks away, and Tyrion finally approaches. He is different than she remembers him, much different. Time has changed him considerably. He is older, yes, but it's more than that. There's a serious cast to his eyes, a somberness to his entire manner, that is incongruous with the man she once knew. They are both different, she realizes. Both changed irrevocably. And she fears, neither one for the better.

In her memories, Tyrion has always been a kind soul, but still an ugly, misshapen dwarf. Looking at him now, it's hard to remember why she ever thought of him that way. He has matured into a reasonably good-looking man, and she thinks, perhaps, her memories were influenced more by fear than by anything else. Or maybe it's just that her idea of beauty has changed. She has learned to look for beauty in unexpected places, and she begins to think that Tyrion is not without his charms.

Sansa looks away, afraid that if she stares for too long, he will sense her thoughts. She gazes out over the yard again and sighs, fearing she is not ready for it, but knowing this encounter must take place.

She feels Tyrion move closer. She has waited years for this moment, but in her mind, it was always so different. Over the years, she had begun to appreciate Tyrion's wisdom and insight in the face of her own foolish stupidity. But now, he is in league with Daenerys Targaryen and Cersei Lannister, and Sansa is beginning to question if he really is all that clever after all.

"The Lady of Winterfell," he says, and she reluctantly turns her head to look down at him. "Has a nice ring to it."

"So does Hand of the Queen," she answers, and she means it. It is hard to believe how far they've both come. They are no longer the disgraced daughter and the demon monkey. They are both so much more now, though whether Tyrion deserves her admiration, she's still not sure. She turns away from him and can't help but add, "Depending on the queen, I suppose."

Were he anyone else, Sansa would have refrained from expressing her disdain for Daenerys Targaryen, but he is not just anyone else. He is Tyrion Lannister. He was once her husband and, even now, no stranger. He knows her, and she knows him, and she feels no fear in making her displeasure known. They have always been honest with each other, at least, she thinks they have, and she has no desire to start being false with him now.

Tyrion doesn't comment on Sansa's opinion of his queen, and she is glad. She is in no mood to be coaxed into adoring the Targaryen woman the way Jon does. Sansa is wary of the Dragon Queen, and rightfully so. She will not let anyone, not even Tyrion Lannister, sway her on that count.

Instead of talking about Daenerys, Tyrion changes the subject. "Last time we spoke was at Joffrey's wedding," he says. "Miserable affair."

Sansa can't fight the smile that pulls at her lips, and she doesn't even try. She knows it was a miserable affair for Tyrion, but the day Joffrey died was one of the best days of her life, at least, it had felt that way at the time. It had meant freedom from the Red Keep, from King's Landing, from Joffrey and Cersei. It had meant everything to Sansa then, and she refuses to pretend otherwise now.

She looks down at Tyrion, realizing that she has never said she was sorry for abandoning him that day. He suffered a great deal after she left, and she is certain it still haunts him.

"Apologies for leaving like that," she says as she turns away and puts some distance between them. The words sound disingenuous, and Sansa is sorry because she does mean them. She is just too frustrated for anything she says to sound kind or sincere.

Tyrion turns to face her and replies, "Yes. It was a bit hard to explain why my wife fled moments after the king's murder." His tone is harsh, nearly as harsh as hers, and there is accusation in his words.

Sansa doesn't argue. He has a right to feel angry, just as she has a right to feel disillusioned by everyone she's ever believed in, including him.

She acknowledges his words with a slight nod and quickly thinks of something to say. "We both survived," she offers as some form of consolation.

He nods in return, then looks at her thoughtfully, and for a moment, she is anxious about what he might say. He surprises her with something akin to praise. "Many underestimated you. Most of them are dead now."

Sansa doesn't know what to think or how she feels. Does she feel justified? A sense of pride? She's not sure. But she knows she can't stand there staring back at him much longer. The conversation is starting to get too personal, and she's beginning to feel uncomfortable. Tyrion knows her far too well for her own good. If he looks at her for too long, he'll unlock all her secrets, find all her weaknesses, and that is the last thing she wants.

Sansa breaks his gaze and approaches the window again, staring out over the yard. From the periphery of her vision, she sees Tyrion turn toward her.

"I'm sure you weren't thrilled to hear the Lannister army's marching north," he says. "You have every right to be fearful of my sister. No one fears her more than I do, but I promise, you'll be safe—"

Sansa can't let him finish. She has always believed Tyrion Lannister to be the cleverest man in all the Seven Kingdoms, and she doesn't understand how he can speak such utter nonsense now. "Cersei told you her army was coming north?" Sansa says, cutting him off. She finally turns to look at him again, "To fight for you?"

"She did," he replies as if he sees nothing wrong with the idea.

Sansa glances away for an instant, overwhelmed by Tyrion's earnestness. When she looks at him again, she doesn't even attempt to hide her incredulity. "And you believed her?"

His expression is serious as he replies, "She has something to live for now. I believe she wants to survive."

It is too much for Sansa to take. Everyone she cares about, everyone she believes in, has turned out to be less than she imagined. Jon is no longer a king. He is nothing but a lovesick, green boy who has relinquished his crown for a pretty face and a pair of dragons. And Tyrion Lannister, who she has always believed to be cunning and wise, is suddenly proving himself to be so much less than she expected. She can see that his choices are based on emotion, just as Jon's are, and she is more disappointed than she can admit.

She turns toward Tyrion, facing him with her whole body this time. She has admired him for so long, and now, he is letting her down, just like everyone else.

Sansa shakes her head. Her voice soft, her disappointment apparent in every word, she says, "I used to think you were the cleverest man alive."

And she did. Truly, she did. But now, she just feels like a fool.

There is hurt in Tyrion's eyes. He doesn't try to hide his emotions any more than she does. And it is suddenly too much for Sansa to bear. She doesn't know what more to say to him, and she fears if she doesn't leave soon, she'll say something she'll regret.

Sansa walks away without another word, leaving Tyrion standing behind her. She wanted so much more from their reunion. She wanted an ally, a friend, someone whose counsel and wisdom she can count on as they prepare to fight the darkness. But everyone is disappointing her. It isn't just Tyrion. She wishes that he had returned without his dragon queen, without Cersei's army on his heels. If he had, their reunion might have been different and her admiration for him might have remained intact.

Sansa heads toward the Great Keep. There is much work to be done, and she doesn't have time to waste thinking about Tyrion Lannister. But she thinks about him all the same. She fears that her faith in him is lost forever, and yet, she hopes that she is wrong.