... "I don't understand," Arya said irritably some weeks later, after she was summoned to King's Landing by a letter that left her speechless. "With all the trouble you went to in order to obtain that annulment, you just went and married him again?"

"Well," Sansa said cautiously, "when we met again, I suppose I... I realized that perhaps, I should not have been in such a hurry to annul the marriage after all."

"And why so soon?" demanded Arya. "Why wouldn't you wait at least until Rickon and I made our way here?"

Sansa squirmed guiltily as she tried her hardest not to blush. The truth of it was, after she and Tyrion walked out of the sept together, they both felt more than slightly awkward. Sansa suggested a quiet talk over supper in her quarters, to discuss what they might be planning to do next. And as fond as they both were of planning, one thing led to another, and when morning came Tyrion was abed with her.

"I swear I did not plan this," he said, grinning sheepishly.

No more than she did. She knew Tyrion, she thought, better than ever before; she trusted him, she appreciated him, she felt gratitude and affection towards him. But nothing warned her that this man, this man from whose touch she once flinched away, possessed the skill of setting her on fire. He traced her skin with his fingertips, he caressed and rubbed and kissed and once he sensed he was giving her pleasure, it went to his head like wine. With wonder and delight Sansa realized that she relishes his touch, his scent, his warmth, the sweet words that were whispered in the dark. Free of fear, of bitterness, of grief and mistrust, she leaped over the border she never thought she could cross with him. And then it was the breaking of dawn, and Tyrion looked at her, worry etched in his face, as if he feared the light of day would break the delightful spell. And she smiled and kissed him and told him she loved him, and her heart was born anew.

Their sense of decency and propriety led them to prefer a quick, quiet ceremony during which they renewed their marriage vows, and Sansa moved into the Tower of the Hand.

"Sansa," her sister said in sudden, uncharacteristic concern, "you didn't do this - well - only because you felt you had no choice... did you?"

Sansa frowned. "What do you mean?"

"All your suitors were such a disappointment. There was no one you could accept, even if you liked any of them, and I know you didn't. You were never truly fit to become a septa, either. Now you are the lady of Casterly Rock, and your husband is the King's Hand, but I wonder if you... if you only accepted him because you felt you could do no better."

"Yes," Sansa said, blushing, "I did feel I could do no better. Not because I'm such a great lady now, though. Because..." she struggled with words. "Because no one could be better for me than Tyrion." The look of bewilderment on her sister's face made her smile in amusement. "You will understand in time."

"So now you are settled here again for a good long while," Arya shook her head. "I thought you hated King's Landing."

"I did. But I believe the city began to redeem itself in my eyes," said Sansa. "At any rate, now that we are married Tyrion got leave to take me to visit Casterly Rock. He has scarcely seen the place since becoming its lord. We shall be gone in a fortnight."

In several weeks, when the salty wind of Lannisport harbor mussed Sansa's hair, she felt almost as giddy as a girl. She turned her face up, closed her eyes, and allowed her cheeks to be kissed by a gentle breeze. She no longer kept her face covered. The poultice Maester Edwyn had concocted for her was working miracles, but even so, Sansa would probably never have the smooth unblemished skin of her girlhood again. She stopped worrying about it, however. She now had her husband, a man who would always find her beautiful, a man whom she now loved with all her heart. She no longer cared about how he looked, or how small he was, or what was said behind their backs when they were seen together as a couple. All that mattered now was the sweet words, the gentle touches, the kindness and warmth, the hand that now held hers so firmly and tenderly.

"There we are," said Tyrion, gesturing upwards to the magnificent rock jutting upwards and forwards into the sea. "Casterly Rock, Sansa. The ancient seat of House Lannister... the place I never thought to lord over," he added, his voice suddenly somber. Sansa squeezed his hand.

"It is your birthright," she said, "it was meant to be yours, ever since you were a boy. Your brother was in the Kingsguard, and your father had no other sons."

"True," he nodded, "but my father... well, it makes no difference now. He is dead and gone. I hope you will find our stay here pleasant."

"I am certain I will," Sansa said. She was quite ready to be pleased now. Of late, wherever they went, whatever they did felt god. The strained silences, the unspoken arguments were all gone, as a night's mist evaporates in the golden light of morning. Quite simply, they were happy.

- The End -

And yes... thus it ends. For once, I wanted to write a story about Sansa and Tyrion which wouldn't involve murdering anyone. Nothing but sweet romance!

I thank my faithful readers and frequent commenters, Zireael07, Pellaeonthewingedlion, and of course Mrs-Imp, who encourages me to let Sansa and Tyrion take over my life. :o)

Inspiration song for writing this story was Sielu, sydän ja kyyneleet ("Soul, heart and tears - Finn.) by Kari Tapio.