He notices her leave the banquet hall right away, and though he could say it was the movement that caught his eye, it would be a lie.

Tyrion has been watching her all evening, stealing glances over the brim of his goblet.

There is a lot of sorrow going around, to be expected after the heavy casualties of the Long Night as it is now being called. But there is happiness too. Relief. Joy.

A collective breath has been released.

Tonight is a night of celebration and remembrance. Some are celebrating more than others, and some remembering what others don't wish to.

Sansa is one who remembers.

He's not sure what drives him to his feet, though he's sure it's the same force that keeps pulling him back to her.

Tyrion knows he should keep his distance, let her process the last few days in peace, but there is so much sorrow on her face he can't bear to let her suffer alone.

She leads him to the Godswood, as he suspected she would.

Sansa pauses several yards from the weirwood tree and drops to her knees. Her shoulders begin to shake with silent sobs, and Tyrion can't handle her pain.

He approaches, letting his footfalls land louder than normal, alerting her to his presence so he doesn't startle her.

Hesitantly, Tyrion places a hand on her shoulder and gives her a reassuring squeeze.

Sansa looks up at him, her tearstained face glistening in the moonlight.

"He died right here," she tells him softly.

"Who?"

"Theon."

Tyrion remembers the boy, both before and after Theon had encountered Ramsey Bolton.

"You two were close," he says, more a statement than a question.

"He was my brother," she tells him softly, "and my savior."

He has so many questions, but he holds back, letting her set the pace.

"This place once held so much solace for me," she says, nodding toward the tree. "Now it holds so much horror. I was wed to Ramsey there, beneath those branches. It was one of the worst days of my life."

"I heard tales that he was not a kind man."

Tyrion sits down in the snow beside her, letting his hands rest in his lap as he waits for her to continue.

She laughs harshly.

"No, he was not a kind man," she replies. "He raped me. Over, and over again. He liked to change it up, never letting me get adjusted to his routine, never wanting me lose my terror of him."

Biting the inside of his cheek, Tyrion draws blood. His fists white with anger as he clenches them closed. He wishes he could have helped rid the world of scum that hurt her.

"Every night. He would come to me every night with a new nightmare ready to be imagined. The days, though, those were mine. I was locked in my room, but they couldn't stop my mind from flying free."

Sansa looks back over to Tyrion, a sad smile just barely pulling at the edge of her lips.

"I thought of you, you know." she says.

"Me?"

"During the days, my mind often wandered to you. I had heard through Littlefinger about your escape from King's Landing. I would wonder where you were, what you were doing, who you were with… if you were safe."

"Sansa—"

She wipes an errant tear and continues, cutting him off.

"I spent a lot of time wondering what might have happened if I hadn't left. If I'd stayed with you. I should have. I can see that now. I should have stayed with you. You were always so kind to me."

"I left King's Landing in a very, very small crate. I'm not sure we both would have fit," he says, his discomfort leading him to humor as always.

"You're clever, you would have figured it out."

Tyrion drops his gaze, unable to look at her or their haunted surroundings.

"I'm sorry for everything you went through."

"Theon was the one who helped me escape. Ramsey's psychotic whore was getting ready to put an arrow in me and he threw her off the balcony into the stone courtyard. Then we fled."

Tyrion swallows back the lump in his throat.

"I'm glad he was able to help you… seeing as I utterly failed in my duties as a husband."

He hadn't been there for her. It doesn't matter that she fled. It matters that he wasn't there.

Still staring at his lap, he sees her hand as she reaches over to take his.

Her skin is warm and soft, and their fingers intertwine as if they were always meant to.

"You helped me too," she says softly. "As I said, I thought about you a lot. It gave me an escape, if only a figurative one. But it saved me all the same."

With his free hand, Tyrion reaches into his cloak and pulls out a small skin of wine.

"To Theon Greyjoy… of House Stark," he says, raising the skin to the sky before taking a sip.

He passes it to Sansa.

"To Theon," she echoes softly, and takes a deep drink.

They sit in silence for a long time, passing the wine back and forth, hands still intertwined.

Her eyes are fixed ahead, staring off into the darkness of the Godswood, but Tyrion can't help but study her profile.

"You're an amazing woman, Sansa Stark," he says, unthinkingly.

She turns to look at him, her eyes pinning him in place as she tries to gauge his words for any meaning left unspoken.

"I don't think I've met anyone else with such a skill for survival."

"I think you've developed quite the knack for it as well," she replies with a smirk.

"We've come a long way from the demon monkey and the traitor's daughter."

This actually earns him a laugh, and he feels his chest fill with pride.

"We've come a long way, and yet I also feel we've come full circle. Against all odds we have survived, and found each other once again," she muses.

"I'd say perhaps we should have stayed married, but I can't say that earned the response I'd hoped for last time."

Tyrion tries to sound flippant, but his words come out more hurt than he'd intended.

"Your loyalties—" Sansa begins, but Tyrion cuts her off.

"Are to you," he tells her. "Since the day I wrapped you in my cloak, my loyalty has been to you."

"But… your queen. You're her hand."

He shakes his head, and pulls back his cloak to reveal the empty space his hand pin once marked.

"I resigned. After I convinced her the North deserves its independence."

Eyes wide, Sansa shakes her head in disbelief.

"What? I—I don't understand."

"She's announcing it right now."

Tyrion squeezes her hand, and gives her a warm smile.

"I would like to ask the new Queen in the North a favor, if I might?"

Sansa's mouth pops open into the most adorable little 'o'.

"I ask only that you allow me to stay in Winterfell," he says. "I won't ask to be an advisor, and I would never presume you were being serious when you said the only thing that stood in the way of our marriage was Daenerys. I only wish to stay."

Slowly, her face transforms before his eyes. If she was beautiful in her sorrow, Sansa is beyond breathtaking in her happiness.

Her eyes glisten once more, but this time it's with tears of joy.

Tyrion thinks his heart will burst just looking at her, and so it is a huge surprise that he doesn't fall over dead when she leans in and gives him a gentle kiss.

"Sansa—"

"I would be honored if you'd stay," she tells him, raising a hand to cup his cheek.

She closes the distance between them once more, this time giving him a longer, searing kiss.

"As my Queen commands."

Author's Note: Guys, I'm just having SO MANY emotions after Sunday's absolutely beautiful Sanrion scene. Can you believe our couple is canon?!