Game Of War New Kingdom Schedule
The Edge of War's End
[AUTHOR'S NOTE] That you would spend your day reading my works is unreal. Thank you for sharing this story with me. It's for all of us!
The time for war has come and you need to raise both your army and settlement! Train your troops and recruit more powerful units as your own settlement grows and flourishes with new buildings that will aid you in your defense. Watch as the troops you have trained take down enemy forces and towns in this most epic online strategy game, Warbanner!
Chapter 3:
Tyrion
The legacy of war is peace in a perfect world. No matter how glittering the promise of peace appears, Tyrion knew it to be a dream. The next several days were a test in his patience, to say the least. In captivity, Jon had said that love is the death of duty. Yet the more Tyrion watched over Sansa, the more muddled the sentiment became.
The queen in the north loved her people. Like no other ruler he'd seen or guided, she stood amongst her subjects. Almost like equals.
Tyrion held up his wine glass that caught a ray of sunlight, which highlighted Sansa's fiery red tresses. Twisting the glass with his fingers, the empty glass refracted the light, bending around the queen until she sparkled. The glowing, starved queen picked up a stray stone and handed it to a small girl. Both glistened from physical labor.
To Sansa, duty was an expression of love, a thriving entity that connected her to her people. Standing in a step up from peasant's clothing, her hair fell over her shoulder. Standing to her full height, she wiped her forehead and glanced to him.
Dropping the glass and tensing, Tyrion swallowed and coughed. 'Fuck…' He'd been caught staring.
Wasn't he supposed to be watching her? He'd lost track of his purpose for a while. Shaking his head, he stood from the large stone he sat upon to begin meeting her halfway between them.
'You're a queen. Not a peasant, Your Grace.'
Sansa's smile disappeared. 'I understand; however, without a castle, having a queen is rather pointless.'
Tyrion narrowed his eyes. He'd banished her first smile in days. Why couldn't he say the perfect thing when it mattered most? Was his mind deteriorating? Was the alcohol finally getting to him in his increasing age?
'Point taken.'
Nodding, the queen sighed, muttering, 'Good.' When she walked toward the castle, Tyrion followed. 'Do you have any other comments, My Lord? You may speak your mind on account of my rule and position.'
Surveying the rubble and activity of the workers, Tyrion gathered his hands behind him. 'While I appreciate you treating your subjects fairly, have you given thought to the possibility of wearing more suitable clothes? Something that doesn't make you blend in with your people?'
Sansa stopped once they got into the castle. A torch burned high above him, providing a dim light for them. Her pale skin almost shined, but that could actually be the alcohol. Her hands were also joined behind her back, shoulders perfectly poised. 'I will not risk ruining my last few decent outfits with chores.'
In contrast to the late Dragon Queen, Sansa Stark was tall. While eyes similar, Winterfell's queen had a white hue mixed in, making them brighter and less grey.
You want to fuck the Stark Girl, Bronn had once said years ago when they were married. He had the decency of feeling ashamed due to her youth then. Tyrion was not the same man, nor was she the same terrified girl.
Clearing his throat, he turned, assuming she was retiring to bathe, a sight certainly not aiding in him avoiding the subject of fucking altogether around her. Sansa followed his lead. 'What do your accounts look like?'
'We're a nation starving, Tyrion. If we had money, things would be better than they are. I could provide my people with suitable housing and safety once more.'
Fixing his eyes on the stone floor ahead, he tightened his mouth before speaking. 'Have you thought about a loan?' He barely noticed her stop. Turning, he sighed. 'You don't like it.'
'The idea isn't outlandish considering our situation; however, I'm hesitant to accept too much on-the-books help. I've pleaded the North's freedom for too long to accept debt as quickly.'
'Sansa, there are things you will do alone, and there are things you will do for the good of your people.'
'I don't want to be in anyone's debt.'
'In your letter, you mentioned Winterfell is in the Lannister's debt,' Tyrion countered, eyes wide with a challenge. 'What's your rebuttal?'
Sansa brought her hands forward, fidgeting with her nails. 'One man isn't all of Westeros.' Quiet for only a second, she looked down each direction of the hall. Servants laughed and yawned in the distance. 'Let's go somewhere more private.' She led them through the halls back to her office. Closing the door, Sansa sat down in front of the fire. 'I cannot fail my people.'
'Sansa,' Tyrion said, opting to sit beside her before the fire. 'Failure is a huge part of how you figure out how to win.' He peered up at her, stomach twisting. They were too close. Their shoulders almost brushed. Swallowing, he chuckled, the sound airy than totally whole. His breath pushed a stray batch of hair away from Sansa's face.
The crypt hadn't felt like this. He'd kissed her hand. Her delicate hands had willingly curled into his…the same hands that killed Shae and his father. Her bright eyes weren't scared in this dark room. Her flawless features illuminated in the fire's light, half darkened by the shadows of the room. Even starved, Sansa was beautiful.
The twisting expunged the air in his lungs until he felt like he was suffocating. Leaning back, he cleared his throat. Again.
Upon his withdrawal, Sansa gasped. Her eyes burned into the fire. 'If you were my Hand, what would you advise me to do?'
A shiver ran down Tyrion's spine. He had to contain whatever was going on. 'I-If I was, I would advise you gather your small council. Mirroring your government similar to the realm would be a familiarity with your subjects; therefore, they might see comfort in an otherwise bleak land. You only preside over one kingdom, so cut out what doesn't work.'
She looked to him again, nodding. 'While ships are important, given that we're building a new kingdom from the ground up, I thought we should switch Master of Ships to Master of Trade.'
Tyrion drew his head back, smirking. 'I agree. Commerce is vital for a developing nation.' Sighing, looked into the fire. 'One resource you might have over the realm would be the dragonglass weapons. Have you thought about using that as a means of export?'
'I've had what men I could spare survey the battlements for everything they could find. We've secured about half the approximate forged weapons.'
'Good.' Waiting for more information, Tyrion narrowed his eyes and diverted them back onto her when she didn't say more. 'And?'
Licking her lips and sighing, Sansa looked into the fire again. Tyrion stared at her mouth for more than what was considered appropriate. Gasping, he shook his head, freezing when Sansa fingered the fabric of his sleeve. 'Tyrion, are you alright?'
'Fine, Your Grace.'
She scowled. 'Sansa.' She adjusted her legs under her skirts and kept her attention on her peasant-like dress. 'I don't mind it in public, but especially when the setting is more intimate, please use my name.'
Intimate…his mind crept closer to the place where pleasure is more than passing whispers in his mind. 'What are you doing?' Tyrion groaned, slipping from her grasp.
When she turned, her brows were furrowed. 'What am I doing?' Her features read confusion, but the exaggerated purse of her mouth made his mind wander.
Head shaking, he exhaled through his nose, eyes closing. Tyrion needed his mind to settle down. 'N-nothing. There's a ringing in my ears. Head hurts.' He shoved a finger in his hear to demonstrate the lie. Chuckling, he shrugged. 'Must be all the wine.'
'If you wish to go, you do not need to feel pressured to stay at my side for all of the five months, Tyrion. You're not my Hand.' Sansa smiled weakly. 'You're my guest.'
Before he could respond, she stood gracefully and walked toward the desk. 'I have business to tend to anyway.'
— — — — — — — — — — —
The following two days, they danced around each other's presence, spending no more than a few minutes all day talking about the idea of her small council. She needed to select her Hand, but all her candidates were either south, dead, or exiled.
By midday on the third day since their awkward exchange before the fire, Tyrion knew he had to approach her. Otherwise, it would be obvious he was avoiding her. Being that he was a man of laughable honor, Tyrion had to mend things quicker rather than slower.
Without a structured castle and body of rule, Sansa's schedule was quite erratic. Sometimes she'd spend the whole day in the library. Other days, she'd sleep in an hour or two more. Most days, though, she did all she could to assist with the rebuild and assessment of their resources, which were frighteningly low.
Today, Tyrion couldn't find her anywhere. He'd asked about every servant in the crumbling castle where she was without success. His search eventually led him to the last place he'd not checked: The Godswood.
Perched upon a rock, she sat facing the white and red tree, appearing to pray, but he couldn't be certain. The snow crunched underneath his boots. There was no way she wouldn't hear him approaching, but he thought it best she knew he was there watching. She, too, could track the time he spent there watching her.
'There you are…' The words sounded disheartened. Tyrion winced. He should sound more neutral. A flow of wind passed between them. Stepping closer toward her, he admired the splendor of the tree hanging over them. He stopped until he was five paces behind her. Just out of her reach.
'Here I am…' She didn't move.
Swallowing, Tyrion tugged on his pelt around his shoulders. 'I've been looking all over for you.'
Game Of War New Kingdom Schedule Today
'I don't know whether I love or hate this place.' Sansa silenced Tyrion. His mouth hung open, the words he was about to say drifting away in the passing wind. 'So many memories here.'
'Do you wish to share?' Breaking out of the spell, he found a rock situated across from hers and sat down, now about 3 paces from her. 'You will always have my ear.'
Sansa opened her eyes, sliding them over to him and dropping them to his boots. Slowly, he watched her take him in as her blue hues rose from his feet to his chest until she hazarded a peek at his mouth. 'There are things I may never say. Not even to you.'
Tyrion's skin tightened. The cold had nothing to do with the goose flesh crawling all over his body. He cleared his throat. 'We all have our secrets.'
Turning her attention to the tree, she stared at the face on the trunk. 'Petyr Baelish swore his allegiance to House Stark here.' She wiped a tear away. 'He called me his love…professed his love to me…not for the first time…'
Tyrion listened to the leaves brushing together as another light burst of wind blew by. His gut clenched, and his fists tightened until the fabric of the glove dug into his skin. 'Were you close?'
'If I wasn't a queen, I could make for a decent Master of Whisperers, I think. Sometimes I doubt that, but when a man like Petyr Baelish becomes predictable to you, you know you're clever.'
'Why did he give you to Ramsay Bolton?' Tyrion's shoulders sagged, chest heaving in fresh air when he could.
'At the time, he was the Warden of the North. I'm sure it made sense to him and his pretty plan at the time.'
'How did your spirit survive those horrors?' Sansa looked down at him, meeting his sad gaze. Her reply was silence. The leaves rustled, singing to them. In the distance, he swore he heard a bird chirping.
'Anyway,' Sansa started, 'it's also the place where I reunited with my family…where Jon made me swear not to tell a soul about who he truly is.'
'Why did you tell me?' Tyrion stood, walking closer to her. 'If you hadn't, things might have been different…'
Sansa remained seated, allowing them to match height as best as they could. Her eyes never left his. 'It was a risk I could not take. The north was always my only focus. We had to be independent.'
'You never gave her a chance.'
Sansa's eyes watered. 'Don't fight in the North or the South. Fight every battle, everywhere, always, in your mind. Everyone is your enemy, everyone is your friend. Every possible series of events is happening at once. Live that way and nothing will surprise you. Everything that happens will be something that you've seen before.'
Tyrion stepped back. 'Was that Baelish who said that?'
'He taught me many things.' Sansa reached for his hand. 'If anyone can understand what it means to lose all or most of your family, it's you. The Iron Throne beheaded my father and burned my virtue. I didn't want it after leaving King's Landing. I just wanted the north.'
Tyrion pulled away. 'Well, I'm happy someone got everything they ever wanted.'
'There are things even a queen can't have.' She dropped her hand and rested it in her lap. 'The Dragon Queen took some things with her in death.' Sansa looked away. 'At least I know what I cannot have.'
'Tell me, poor queen, what can't you have?' His chest burned and his nostrils flared. Lip trembling, Tyrion closed in toward her, a few inches away. While she was still taller, he could smell something scenting her hair, though he couldn't identify with all the wind. 'She could have been a great queen.'
'You feared her in the end.' Sansa's breath tickled his skin. She didn't cower away as she might have years ago. 'Is that a queen you should believe in, Tyrion?'
'She wanted great things.'
Sansa drew closer, just a hair, but it was enough to send Tyrion's heart surging. 'Many people want many great things.' Her gloved hand landed on his coiled fist, soothing the tension out by rubbing with her thumb. When his hand was relaxed, she took it. 'It doesn't make them right.'
Tyrion gulped, frozen in his place before her. Tears stung his eyes, but he wouldn't let them fall. 'What did she take from you?'
'I'll tell you all,' Sansa whispered. Adjusting her hand in his, she picked at the fingertips of his gloves, one by one, until she slid it off his hand. Using her free hand, she clutched his wrist and brought him closer to her enough to do what she desired.
Starting from part of his exposed wrist, she trailed her fingers across the expanse of his tight skin to the tip of his fingers. The contact was feather-light, nearly imagined. The sensation trickled across his body, forcing his spine to shake under her command. When he exhaled, his breath was splintered and quick. Dropping her hand from his wrist, Sansa swallowed, eyes questioning him. Sadness veiled her eyes, protecting her from his scrutiny. Taking his finger between hers, she guided his palm to her warm lips. The pad of her thumb traced where her mouth had been.
Eyes dropping to her mouth, Tyrion stood dumbfounded and unable to say or do anything, including moving away. What she did was highly inappropriate—no matter how friendly they were. A shiver broke the bottleneck holding his mind hostage. 'Sansa…'
'I know what these hands are capable of, Tyrion. I know because I'm capable of the same things. I've hurt people…maybe not with brute strength or weapon accuracy, but I need you to remember that we're the same, Tyrion.' Sansa let a few tears fall, not moving to wipe them. 'You're very gentle. You're kind. You're also crude, but I'm trying my best to let go of the past.'
'What is it you want?' The fog clinging around his mind mixed with his racing thoughts impaired his reason more than any woman or drink had.
Sansa smiled, still holding his hand. 'I want to be someone you are your whole self with. In turn, I want to be myself with you. Just honesty. I have no one in the world I trust with me. I just want one person to know who I am…completely.'
Tyrion swallowed the lump in his throat. 'Friends…'
The little light in her hues died in sync with her forming frown. Fingers once soft as a whisper tensed until she nodded and grabbed his hand between both of hers. Swallowing, Sansa forced a smile, similar to one she'd used around Daenerys upon their first meeting. 'Exactly.'
[A/N] The next chapter will be lighter. I'm just setting up a few strings in these first few chapters. Please review!