Chapter 7: Fall ~ Tyrion

Tyrion lay in his bed staring at the ceiling. Candles burned all around him but the hour was late and the dark outside was intrusive. He strained to hear anything that might be outside of the norm. The castle was mostly quiet, but there was some chatter in the courtyard and occasionally the dogs would bark.

Sansa's quarters were above him and he strained to hear her most of all. Was she in danger? Was she in bed with the prince? Tyrion couldn't decide which would be worse. Don't be ridiculous, he thought. They are not married yet.

Ah but she dismisses you quick enough when they are alone together, doesn't she? She asked you if you loved her, and how did you respond? What did you expect, dwarf?

He grit his teeth and closed his eyes. He imagined her in her bed with the prince, their bodies naked, tangled together. He could scarcely breathe. He imagined the prince drinking her in, his hands all over her. He let the images play, and to his horror, Tyrion felt his cock stiffen.

What a stupid little shit you are. Tyrion pushed himself off the bed and swung open the shutters to his window. The cool summer air hit his face and he felt more awake. Tyrion tried to imagine what their wedding night might have been like if Sansa had not recoiled when he touched her—if he did not look in her eyes and see revulsion…or pity. Were he taller, were he not the scared and misshapen thing he was when they married, would she have wanted him? Would she have let him love her?

Sansa had instructed Tyrion to tell Bran that she would be wed come the autumn. Tyrion begged Bran to let him return to the capitol, but Bran ordered him to stay put.

-You are no craven. Be brave and await my arrival – the king had written. And so here he was, torturing himself night and day and worrying for a woman who already had more protectors than she knew what to do with, a Dornish prince who had charmed every man, woman and child in Winterfell into loving him, and the longer they waited for these so-called assassins to show themselves the more Sansa believed that they would never come.

Tyrion gave up on sleep and poured himself a glass of wine. And when that was gone he poured another. And when that was gone he pulled on his pants and threw a shirt over his under-clothes and went down to the great hall in search of yet another.

He froze when he heard the prince's hearty laugh. Sansa laughed as well. No, Tyrion thought. Not worth it. He turned to make his retreat, but it was too late and her sweet voice stopped him.

"Tyrion?" Sansa had spotted him, and she'd risen from the table to beckon him over. Brianne was with them, as was Yara.

"Forgive me," he said averting his eyes. "I was looking for more wine, and—"

"Join us," she said. "We have plenty."

"Did you know," Quintyn said, pouring Tyrion a glass, "That my lady does not like the taste of wine?"

"I did know that was true at one time," Tyrion said, "Only when she had too." His eyes touched Sansa's and then flitted away.

She smiled at him, thoughtful, and then took a cup for herself. "I have a game," she said looking around the table. Then to Tyrion. "I am going to make a statement about you, if I'm right you drink, if I'm wrong, I drink." Tyrion's mouth dropped. No.

"Fun," said the Prince and poured everyone another round. Brianne quietly excused herself and Tyrion tried as well, but Sansa stopped him.

"Are you not well?"

"I'm very well, Your Grace, I just—"

"Then I would have you stay." Tyrion swallowed and nodded. You're no craven. Be brave. He took a seat directly across from Sansa, Yara to his side and the Prince across from her.

"You," she pointed at Tyrion, "Don't like him." She pointed at Quintyn.

Tyrion gave them both a half-smile and took a drink of his wine, which, by this point, was making him bold. "Don't be offended, my lord. I'd dislike anyone engaged to her," The prince laughed and he and Sansa shared a look.

Tyrion refilled his cup. "You," he said to Sansa, "were repulsed by me when we were married." Sansa took a drink and Tyrion nodded, his suspicions confirmed.

"Yes, I disliked you," she said, "partly because you were a dwarf. Mostly because you were a Lannister."

"Even now I repulse you," he said, his voice taking on a valiant cadence. "Come, drink. I know it's true. Am I not still a dwarf? And my name is still Lannister."

Sansa looked him over. "I cannot argue, my lord. Your name is still Lannister, and you are a dwarf now as you've always been." He nodded again, pity it was then. "Drink," she commanded him.

Tyrion looked up at her and tilted his head, his eyes pained. "No lying," he said. She pointed at his cup. "Why?"

Sansa shrugged, "I can't say for sure, but I think it's because you've grown a beard." The prince laughed and Yara refilled both of their glasses.

Yara took her turn to the prince. "You've never made love to a noblewoman," she said. The prince grinned at her, but took a drink.

"Yet," he said.

"And you," Yara said, this time to Sansa, "have never made love to anyone."

The prince laughed at this. "The queen is a widow twice married. And I'm certain the second was more productive in that capacity than the first." Sansa looked at him and then took her cup and drank. Tyrion was stricken. Quintyn said, "Am I wrong? Did you not consummate any of your marriages?"

"Lord Bolton consummated," Sansa said flatly. "I did not." Tyrion burned inside and wondered if she raged as he did, but she betrayed nothing.

"Most women are not enthusiastic when their husbands first bed them, but they learn to endure it in time. If their husbands are decent lovers, they will more than endure it," Prince Quintyn smirked at Yara and she back at him.

Tyrion narrowed his brow and looked between Sansa and the prince. Would she hold her tongue at that, really? He refilled her glass. "You two—" he wagged his finger between them, "are not really engaged."

Sansa's eyes widened, and she looked over at the prince who laughed. He raised his glass and took a drink. Sansa nodded and did the same.

"Fascinating," Tyrion said.

An hour later, Tyrion had ahold of Sansa's arm as he guided her up the stairs, Brianne a short distance behind them. They were both quite drunk by this point, and Sansa had to brace herself on his shoulder to keep from tumbling over.

"You've become a player, my love." Tyrion said to her as they moved down a long hallway toward a large wooden door at the end leading into his library. "But I'm not quite sure I understand why you feel the need to play me."

"You're quite fun to play, my lord." They reached the door and Sansa turned back to Brianne. "It's alright, Brianne. Lord Tyrion will do me no harm."

Brianne nodded and opened the door for them. "I know he won't, Your Grace."

Once inside, Sansa threw another log on his fire and turned to find him staring at her. "Be serious, Sansa. I need to know. You provoked me into coming to Winterfell. Why? Why keep me here? How can you say you were disgusted with me then and claim you're not now?"

"I grew up," she said simply. "I came to see my enemies not just in Lannister red. There was evil in those who claimed to be my rescuers, in those who'd call me their blood and…even my northmen. And I realized that you weren't my enemy—you never were. You were more chivalrous, braver and more knightly than anyone I'd ever known. Our marriage was meant to be a sham, but you took our vows more seriously than I could have back then."

"I placed my cloak upon your shoulders and vowed to protect you," he said sadly. "Of all my failings, my lady, this was the worst."

"You gave me strength," she said. "When Joffery beat me, when my brother and mother were killed," She reached for his hand. "When we were in the crypts and thought that moment might be our last, you gave me the strength to keep fighting, and to learn to protect myself. That has meant more to me than you could ever know." Tyrion put his hand over her's. He was so touched by this, he couldn't find words, so he leaned in to her and brushed her lips with his. She touched his face, let her fingers trace the line of scar tissue on his cheek. "I realized then that I wanted to give us another chance. To see if I could do better by you. But, before, when you said that love did not work for you…"

"No, Sansa…" he whispered to her.

"Make me understand," she pleaded. "I know you love me, so just tell me."

"You don't want to do this," he said to her. It had been he who reached for her. He invited this. She was giving him a chance to explain himself—to make her understand—he saw his love, not as a gift, but as a sword: a weapon wielded to cut down the objects of his desires. His love was not a thing to be coveted by anyone, for it would only bring them pain, and torment and death.

But still she pushed. "You told me about your first wife—you mentioned her I mean, but we never really spoke of her. Is that who you meant when you said you'd been in love before and it didn't work out?" Tyrion nodded and his eyes grew sad. "Littlefinger told me that when you tired of her you sold her to your father's guards and let them all rape her, one after the other."

Tyrion didn't react or lift his eyes to look at her, but he whispered in short stops, "Do…you think that sounds like something I would do?"

"No."

"No." Tyrion was stricken. "I loved her. And I really believe, even now, that she loved me too. Not even the most accomplished whore could act that well." Tears were in his eyes and he rolled his head. He stepped away and poured himself another glass of wine. "I looked for her. For years I searched, but she was gone. I would not be surprised if my lord father had her murdered when he was done dolling out our lesson."

Sansa reached for him, but he shook her off, downing the wine in one messy swallow and filling the glass again. "And then there was Shae. Did Littlefinger tell you about Shae?"

Sansa nodded, remembering how protective her handmaiden was of her, and how indignant she was with Tyrion. It should have struck her as strange, but at the time she didn't know any better. And to be honest, she didn't care. So long as he wasn't sharing her bed, she didn't really care where he found his relief. "He told me that you were lovers."

"Lovers?" Tyrion laughed. "Yes, we were lovers. She was a whore, bought and paid for, but I didn't care. And she…she was a very good actor. He never told you what happened to her?" Sansa shook her head. "No, well why would he? No one weeps for whores."

Tyrion stood up and walked over to the great window overlooking the Godswood and draped himself over the window ledge. When he spoke, he was no longer looking at Sansa, but somewhere far off into the night air. "She wanted us to run away together, but I didn't want to leave. When it got too dangerous for her in King's Landing, I tried to send her away but she refused to leave on her own, so I hurt her. I told her I couldn't be in love with her; I called her a whore and told her I was done with her, that I didn't want her anymore. That I wanted you instead." Tyrion sunk lower on the rafter and laid his cheek against the windowpane. "When she stood in front of the court and told them all that you and I conspired to kill Joffery, she knew it would mean a death sentence for me. She didn't care. She lied and lied—with just enough hurtful truths sprinkled in to really get them laughing." He turned to her, "I'm used to being laughed at, as you well know, but this was not the same. And when I found her, in his bed…when she called him my lion, when she rolled over—I don't think I meant for her to die. I can't say for sure now, but…"

Tyrion grimaced and closed his eyes and turned back to the window. Sansa held her breath as he told his story, her eyes pooling with tears. "She went for a knife and I fought her, and the more she fought me the more I hated her, and the more I wanted to rip her apart." He shook his head his voice wet with disgust. "She knocked me to the ground and tried to scream but I had her neck wrapped in a chain made of golden hands and I wrapped my fingers in it and pulled to silence her. And it did. So effectively in fact that I kept on pulling. I pulled and she fought and I pulled and she fought until she was no longer fighting and I was silently screaming on the floor—I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Tyrion slid to the ground now and stared down at his murderous hands. The tears came and he did not fight them back. Sansa was at his side and he let her hold him.

"Tyrion, I didn't know—"

"No," he said as he lay in her arms, "Why would you? My father always drilled into us that family was all that mattered. That the Lannister name, our position and our future was everything. Everything he did was in service to our family. But it was a lie, and this name is cursed." Sansa shushed him and held him for so long that she wondered if he had fallen asleep in her arms, but just as she thought to open her mouth and say his name, he squeezed her arm and shivered.

"And then there was Daenerys," Sansa froze. "Before I met her I never believed in anything. Not the gods or fate or magic. And then I saw her, and how much her people loved her and that changed everything for me. I believed in her; that she could make the world better. But I could not see her clearly. I couldn't see what she had inside of her." He looked up a Sansa. "You saw her. You tried to tell me, but I was blind to it…and now she is dead too."

Sansa thought for a moment as she held him. "Tyrion, your sister once told me that your weakness was that you wanted to be loved. She called it your disease."

"Another evil cunt dead because of me," Tyrion muttered.

"We want the same thing, My Lord…" Tyrion wiped his face and shifted away from her until they sat on the floor facing one another and he looked at her quizzically, their hands still interlocked. "To be loved for who we are," she said. "Not because of gold, and not because of a family name or our claim to a great house. But for ourselves."

"Sansa—" was the last thing Tyrion said before everything went dark.