A/N: This story isn't compatible with "Make Me a Lion" and "Blood of the Lion"; it is a different-premise AU taking place during SoS in King's Landing.
Sansa toyed absent-mindedly with the shell remnants of her soft-boiled egg. She lingered over her solitary breakfast far longer than usual, and there was a frown on her face which she tried in vain to banish. She didn't even know why the rumour should surprise her so much, even if it was true... which, she had to admit, it probably was.
Highborn lords, after all, often kept concubines - even when, unlike her, their wives performed their marital duty. Her own noble father... Sansa blushed and shook her head, extremely vexed. No, it was not like that. Her father did not keep a mistress - if he lapsed, he did so once, not more, and had been sorely ashamed of it all his life. Tyrion, on the other hand... well, she could hardly say she hadn't been warned. On the wretched night of their wedding, he told her quite explicitly what he means to do. That is why the gods made whores for imps like me.
She said nothing against this, so it could be concluded they have reached an unspoken agreement: he wouldn't touch her and she wouldn't pry into whatever affairs he might have with other women. She put it very plainly that she will never come to him willingly, and he accepted it, and he was entirely within his right to... yes, but... but... bringing this girl here, as his own wife's maid - there was something shameless and vulgar about it, or so Sansa's delicate spirit felt. He might fondle her each time she passes by him in the corridors. They might even... even... do the deed here, on our bed, when I am absent. Sansa blushed crimson. She still knew very little about what the deed actually consists of.
She had noticed before that something was odd about Shae's behavior. The girl was diligent enough and quick about her work, but the looks she sometimes gave Sansa - bold, insolent looks - could be better explained now. Her maid looked at her as if she were her equal - and sometimes there was this longing in her stare, especially when she helped Sansa choose jewels for a festive occasion or aided the seamstress in taking measurements for a new gown. It was almost as if she was imagining herself in Sansa's place and wishing to be her. If so, Shae is stupid, even though she is older.
It was obvious to Sansa that all Shae wanted from Tyrion was his gold. She was lowborn; he was a Lannister. Of course it had to be so, because the Imp couldn't possibly hold other attractions for a woman... could he? Sansa wondered if it made any difference to him. Probably not, she decided. Men were simply made that way, she mused in a worldly but wholly theoretical line of thought. They needed women, and if they couldn't obtain willing ones, they bought them - provided they had the money.
She didn't feel hurt by the entire situation, exactly, but she was annoyed. Did he think I would never find out? she thought. Did he think I am a stupid little girl? Perhaps they mock me behind my back, another angry thought struck her. And then another: perhaps this affair isn't new. Perhaps this girl has been Tyrion's mistress for a while now, even before his marriage. It seems likely, as it appears the entire Red Keep knew of the business before me.
She wondered at first whether she would dare to confront her husband about this matter, but she knew herself too well to pretend the answer wasn't obvious. Of course she wasn't going to say anything, even if the opportunity occurred - and in fact, she saw very little of Tyrion these days. Joffrey's wedding was looming closer and closer, matters of state were pressing, and Tyrion was usually dressed and gone before she was even up for breakfast. Usually they supped together, just the two of them, in strained silence; but soon afterwards, Tyrion went away for more work, or sat in his solar, hunched over books or scribbling on long rolls of parchment in his cramped but elegant writing. Sansa's custom was to go to bed early, sticking carefully to her side of it. Tyrion went to sleep late, and sometimes not at all. Up until now, when his blankets remained unruffled Sansa assumed sleep caught him at work and he stretched out on the cushioned seat in the solar; but now different ideas appeared in her mind, fascinating and repulsive at once.
That night was one of the rare occasions when both Tyrion and Sansa went straight to bed after supper. Sansa changed into her long, demure soft wool sleeping shift in the adjacent chamber, and Tyrion was pointedly looking away when she climbed under the blankets. Sansa pursed her lips to keep an unspoken and inappropriate question from slipping out, and turned her back on her husband, determined to have a long and dreamless sleep until morning.
It was not to be. In the middle of the night, she was woken quite suddenly by a faint rustling, as if someone was dressing quickly and quietly in the dark - but not quickly or quietly enough. Sansa looked up, and in the flickering light of a single candle, she saw that Tyrion was up and awake.
"Where are you going, my lord?" she asked innocently. "It is the dead of night."
To Tyrion's honor it can be said he looked abashed. "I couldn't sleep, and thought I would go to the solar and write some letters. The night is too long to while away in bed, awake."
Sansa looked at him and knew he was lying. He was fully dressed and even had his cloak draped over his shoulders, as if he was about to go out into the dark chill. He was going to go to her, she realized, and felt more vexed than she thought she was supposed to. Perhaps she felt jealous because he had someone to go to at night, while she was all alone in this city.
"I see," she said.
"Did I wake you?" asked her husband.
"No," Sansa said. "I... I had a dream, my lord. A troubling one." That wasn't a lie, strictly speaking; she did have a dream, a troubling one indeed, only it was on one of the nights when Tyrion was absent.
"What kind of dream was that?" asked Tyrion.
"I saw my mother," said Sansa. "It was as though I was standing outside the gates of a great castle on the bank of a river... it was supposed to be Riverrun, I think, although it didn't look quite like Riverrun - and my mother was riding past me on a horse. The hood of her cloak fell down, and I recognized her and called after her, and she looked back and saw me and her face - it... lit up with joy. And then..." she frowned, "then she tried to tell me something, but I couldn't make out the words. And then she rode away."
"Oh," said Tyrion, sitting back down on the bed, still fully dressed. "But what is so bad about this dream?"
Sansa knitted her brows together. "I am not sure how to explain this," she said, "nothing in particular, but when she rode away, I knew I was never going to see her again... and then I woke." A sudden impulse prompted her to speak further, "I do not wish to remain alone now," she said, "I would rather that you stay."
She lifted her eyes to him, scrutinizing his face. She knew he was too courteous to refuse such a request, but was there a flicker of dismay? For some reason, it made her feel wicked. Tyrion pulled off his cloak and boots and gloves and climbed back into bed. "I want you to know it is not my intention to keep you separated from your family forever, Sansa," he said. "If it depended on me in any way at all - "
"I know," she nodded.
"Sometimes, I dream of my mother as well," confessed Tyrion.
"Indeed?" Sansa couldn't help but feel curious. The character of Joanna Lannister held a fascination to her; she was supposed to be a famous beauty, and a good and wise woman. "You... you could not possibly remember her, could you, my lord?"
"No. She died when I was born, and my father took off all her portraits. People say he did that out of grief, because he couldn't bear to look upon her image, but as a boy I grudged him that. I wanted to know what my mother looked like. In my dreams, I could see her clearly, but the very instant I woke her features would become hazy in my mind. Cersei is said to look like her, but I could never imagine Cersei as my mother," he added. For a moment, he was deep in thought. "If she had lived, things might have been different," and the look on his face was that of yearning - the yearning of a boy who knows his mother would have loved him, small and scarred and stunted as he was.
After a few moments of silence, he stifled a yawn. "I think I will be able to go back to sleep now. Try and do the same, Sansa. Dawn is only a couple of hours away, and it won't do to be weary all the next day."
Sansa closed her eyes. It suddenly occurred to her that this was the first actual conversation they had since the beginning of their marriage. And somehow, it didn't seem Tyrion grudged her the loss of his nightly detour, either.