Chapter 7
True to his words, Tyrion dined alone the next day, and the day after that. He also made a point of being long gone from their chambers when Sansa awoke and not returning until late into the night, when she was fast asleep. He was also gone early the day after that. Sansa sat in their bed, hugging her knees and staring into the air. If anything, her marriage was worse than before. And it was her fault. Tyrion had tried. He had truly tried to make her happy, at least bring a smile to her face, even if it was by making her drunk and forget all her worries. She had been happy that night, she had acted in a manner so completely different from her own that she barely believed it herself. But she couldn't act like that again. It wasn't... it wasn't proper! Her parents had raised her better than that. Her parents, her septa, her maester, her whole family and all of Winterfell, everyone had raised her to be a lady. When you were a lady there was no room for silly antics and drunken giggles.
"Are you not going to eat anything, my lady?"
Shae had been a constant companion at her side for the last days, almost physically forcing Sansa to eat in the mornings, when she was at her worst.
"Yes, I am," she whispered back, still lost in thought. It was her fault for making everything worse. After her reactions the day after the feast it seemed like Tyrion had just given up on her. She couldn't blame him. But did it matter? He was a Lannister. He would have hurt her in the end, just like the rest of them had. He would gain her trust and confidence, then throw it all back into her face. They all did.
But he had been kind to her, long before they were married. Long before he would have gained anything by kind words and offers of help. No, that wasn't entirely true, he would most likely have gained her trust in the long run. He should have learned by now that he'd never gain her trust. A shudder went through Sansa. That was exactly what had happened, her husband had decided that there was no point in trying anymore. He'd given up on her, and the worst part was that she didn't even understand why she cared!
She looked at Shae, preparing a table by the bed filled with food. She couldn't confide her troubles to Margaery, after her marriage to Tyrion the future queen had not been seeking her company. Could she talk to Shae? Dark-haired, beautiful, impolite and caring Shae, who was some strange kind of protective sister or niece in Sansa's eyes.
"Do you think he'll start talking to me again?" she whispered.
"Not until you've spoken to him first," Shae answered. It was exactly the answer Sansa thought it would be, but she needed to hear it out loud. Shae didn't try to pamper her the way her other handmaidens did, she told her the harsh truth when needed.
"I wouldn't know where to start," she muttered into her knees.
"Why should you care? You don't want him, we can't change that. Your breakfast is ready."
"But I do care."
"Why?"
Sansa pondered her answer. Why did she care?
"This might be an awfully long and dull marriage if we never speak again," she whispered after few moments. Something hardened in Shae's eyes as Sansa started to eat.
"I should find him." Sansa took a deep breath. "I should talk to him. I'm not going to let it go on like this, it's ridiculous, we are both too old for this nonsense. I'll start by telling him what his father told me. That should be a good beginning." She nodded to herself.
"What did his father tell you?"
"I don't... I can't tell you, Shae. It has to remain between me and Lord Tywin, and hopefully, soon, Tyrion."
"Very well. I'm just your handmaiden, I don't have to know such things." She shrugged carelessly, but Sansa could see that she was clearly annoyed by this. There were certain things not even Shae could know of. She trusted her, but only to a certain extent.
"Will you help me choose the right gown for today? If I'm going to try and make things better I should wear Lannister red or gold at the very least. Or would he like it better if I just wore the Stark colors?" Sansa chewed her food thoughtfully. This would need to be perfect. She couldn't afford ruining this, not again. She'd not be as polite to him as she was to every other lord. Tyrion Lannister was her husband, and her closest family, she was allowed to tease him and reprimand. Her thoughts strayed to her own parents. Her mother had often chided her father in a quiet voice. Sometimes angrily, sometimes with a small laughter. Sansa put down her fork. Her mother had married her father out of... duty. She didn't love him, she didn't even know him when their marriage took place. She had been meant to marry his older brother, and after his death she'd simply been shipped off to the next one in line. Her home changed from Riverrun to the cold, harsh north where she knew no one. And somehow she had made it all work out for her.
Suddenly Sansa desperately wished to meet her mother again, to ask her how she had done it. How do you find beauty in a man you don't know? How can you bear his children? How do you learn to care for him? She did not doubt it for one second that their parents had loved each other while in Winterfell, but it hadn't always been so. At some point, Catelyn Tully had been going through the same thoughts as Sansa Stark did, wondering how to truly be a part of her new family. How to think of herself with another last name.
"My lady?" Shae crouched slightly to meet Sansa's gaze, and it looked like she had been trying to contact her for some time.
"Yes?" Sansa shook those thoughts off herself.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes, I'm fine. I know what to wear, I think I own a dress in the Tully colors." Sansa had always been more of a Tully than Stark, both in looks and behavior. Family, duty, honor. Those were the words she lived by, not the ominous reminder of winter.
It was close enough to the Tully colors, Sansa thought when she regarded herself in the mirror. It made her feel better, and more confident. The blue looked just about right, but the red was more akin to the bright Lannister-red, rather than the brownish red of the Tullys, so she hoped no one would run after her screaming "traitor" for her choice of dress.
Full of confidence and determination she walked to the rooms she knew Tyrion spent his time in, trying to figure out numbers and more numbers. Shae was by her side, there had been no more speaking of getting her a personal guard after that eventful night, so her handmaiden was the closest she had to one. Two guards stood at the door. Sansa bade them to announce Lord Tyrion that his wife wished to speak with him. One of them entered, and came back few moments later, all the while Sansa stood still and straight, staring at the door.
"My lady, Lord Tyrion says he's rather busy at the moment, and would receive you at some other time," the guard announced. Sansa's spirits fell. Would he never talk to her again? She opened her mouth, ready to order the guard to take her inside, no matter what her husband wanted. But she couldn't. It wouldn't be right, not proper. She could talk to Tyrion when he came back after finishing his work, she'd force herself to stay awake until he came.
"Maybe he really is busy, my lady. There is a big wedding feast coming, it must be quite a trouble to find all the money for it," Shae whispered in her ear. Sansa nodded absently.
"Yes, perhaps. I will find out tonight. Could you run back for me and ask the guards to tell my husband I shall be waiting for him tonight?" Sansa wasn't sure if that would make him hurry up or stay there even longer, but at least he'd know it didn't matter how late he came, she'd be up and ready to talk to him. Truly talk, this time.
Shae scurried off and Sansa rounded a corner, only to fall on her face. For a split second she thought she had tripped over a loose stone in the floor, until she felt a searing pain in her left foot and saw who stood in front of her.
King Joffrey, and by his side Ser Meryn. To her left was was Ser Boros, who had clearly tripped her with his sword. Joffrey did not look happy.
Tyrion hadn't been this annoyed and angry for a long time. And the worst part? He didn't know if he was angry at himself or his wife. The first day he just couldn't bring himself to hear her soft and gentle voice being all polite and courteous. The day after that he was simply stubborn and felt he couldn't come crawling back to her, trying to make jokes and get her to talk again, not yet. Bronn was nice enough to point out that he could still fuck his wife even if they didn't talk. And that day he was extremely busy as well, or at least that what's he told himself when he tiptoed into their chambers and climbed quietly into their bed. On the third day? He had all but forgotten how to speak to her.
It was therefore a pleasant surprise when one of his guards announced that his wife was standing at his doors and wanting to speak with him. But he still couldn't bring himself to see her just yet. Bronn, who was lounging about his workplace because he had nothing else to do, snickered when Tyrion told the guard he was too busy to receive her.
"Ya makin' 'er beg now, are ya?" he asked when the doors closed.
"I just want her to realize that if this bloody marriage is supposed to work, she has to do something as well!" Tyrion muttered back, which only made Bronn snicker even more. "If she even wants to make it work," he added.
A guard entered the room again, preparing to speak when Shae strode in as well and pushed him aside.
"Your wife wanted me to tell you that she'll be waiting for you to come tonight, so you two can talk," she said through gritted teeth. Before Tyrion could answer she started to speak again. "And you bloody well won't keep yourself locked up here all night, the poor girl feels awful about how she acted. You're not making it any better."
"Yes, thank you, I will come earlier than usually tonight, don't worry. Now, could you please leave me be? I'm rather busy." Tyrion tapped his fingers on the thick ledger in front of him. Shae nodded stiffly and went back.
"Guard! Make sure that this girl does not interrupt me here again, is that clear? I don't care if you have to drag her away by her hair," Tyrion called before the door closed again.
Joffrey sneered at Sansa.
"Get up," he snarled. She took a deep breath and raised herself to her feet.
"Your Grace," she greeted him.
"How's your ankle? Are you feeling better after your fall?" Joffrey started to circle around her.
"Yes, Your Grace, thank you for your concern. It would seem that it's completely healed now." She kept her gaze lowered, hands folded in front of her and her voice soft. Joffrey was right behind her now.
"That's nice." She didn't see when he motioned Ser Boros, but she did feel the flat of the blade hitting her calves forcefully, making her tumble down again. Joffrey walked back in front of her.
"You know, I've been thinking, aunt," he crouched slightly to get his face closer to her, "that since you can't dance with your own king, that you shouldn't be allowed to dance at all. Besides, it's not like my uncle is going to dance with you, is it? You two were sitting there, the whole feast, and I thought I was doing you a favor, saving you from him like that." His face was mere inches from her own now. "But instead, you fell."
"Your Grace, that night I had been drinking quite a lot of wine. I could not keep my balance. I fell more than once on the way to my apartments."
"Did you now? Oh, then it's..." His gaze snapped up. Sansa didn't dare to look as well, but knew who it was the moment Joffrey almost barked at Ser Meryn. "Get that girl! Get her before she runs back to my uncle!" Then he grabbed the hair at the back of Sansa's head. "Your husband will not have you back in one piece," he snarled into her face.
Shae had not been gone long when Tyrion heard commotion outside his door. He could hear her voice yell "Tyrion", but just sighed, especially when he heard the next word, "Sansa". He'd be back tonight, why couldn't they leave him alone until then? He heard the clank of armor, probably both of the guards trying to push her away, with Shae still yelling something.
"Does she always make so much noise?" Bronn asked and raised an eyebrow.
"It's been getting more common with every day. I don't think she should..."
"THE KING! KING JOFFREY! SANSA!" Her voice carried loud and clear through the thick door. Tyrion's eyes widened, he bolted from his chair, his short legs carrying him as fast as possible to the door with Bronn right beside him, who opened the door hastily. The scene that greeted them was a disheveled Shae clawing, biting and kicking a Kingsguard that had both his arms around her waist, doing his best to keep her away. She continued yelling when she saw him.
"Tyrion! Down the hall, run you bloody idiot," she bit the hand of Ser Meryn who tried to put it over her mouth, "the King has her!"
Tyrion turned to Bronn.
"You are going to run there and safe my fucking wife, do you hear me? You two as well!" He pointed to the guards, who hadn't known what to do at the sight of screaming Shae. Bronn and the guards started running, brandishing their swords, with Tyrion coming after them, as fast as his legs allowed him. At that moment he truly wished he was as tall as Jaime so he could be the first to arrive at the scene. Suddenly something dark-haired ran past him and grabbed his arm. Shae pulled him forward, forcing him to run even faster by her side.
"I got a good kick at his balls, he won't be coming right away," she said as they ran forward. They rounded a corner, almost clashing into the rumble. Bronn was standing in front of Sansa with his sword pointed at Ser Boros, who was standing in front of Tyrion's nephew, who was lying sprawled on his back on the other side of the hallway. The guards seemed unsure of whom they should side with. Ser Meryn came panting behind them, also unsure of what he should do when he saw the scene. Tyrion filled his lungs with air.
"King Joffrey!" He took few steps closer to him, with Ser Boros eyeing him but still keeping his sword in the direction of Bronn. "Did you just attack your own family? That is my wife lying there, and if I recall then I am still your mother's brother!" All he wanted to do was attack the boy, beat him, kick him, bang his bloody, stupid head against the next wall and then throw him against the Iron Throne in hopes of it piercing him. But he couldn't. And it took all of his strength to remind himself of that.
"It's her own fault!" Joffrey stood up and spat at Tyrion's feet. "You're unable to tame and break the bloody barbarian she truly is, someone has to do it for you!"
"You have done quite enough in that direction, nephew. Now I suggest you bring your dogs to your heel and take them with you when you go away." He took another step. "You will not touch Sansa again," he whispered.
"Oh, won't I? And are you going to stop me? I hope you have good luck with that." The King turned on his heel and walked away, with his two Kingsguards following close behind. Tyrion considered how much damage he would be able to make before they'd stop him, but quickly realized that there was someone else that needed his attention at the moment. Shae had wrapped her arms around Sansa, who was still on the floor.
"Sansa?" He took few cautious steps towards her. She was looking at the floor and her hair, which had clearly been pulled in every possible direction, was hiding her face. He closed the distance between them and put one hand on her shoulder. With the other the put two fingers under her jaw and lifted her head up. He choked slightly on his breath. The left side of her face was quickly swelling up. She bled from the nose and her lips, there was a bulge around her eye that seemed like it would only get bigger and her chin was all red. Tyrion felt terribly helpless at that moment.
"Sansa, I... I am so sorry. I promised you protection. I made an oath, that you were to be under my protection, and yet..." He shook his head. He would never be able to protect her, not himself, not truly. He'd always need bigger men than him to draw a sword if needed. Silent tears were running down Sansa's face.
"My lord," Shae said in a low voice, and motioned to Sansa's legs. Part of her skirt was ruined, and he could see her calves having a crimson hue to them, few cuts and blood seeping into the fabric. He swallowed a big lump in his throat.
"Bronn," he said hoarsely, "please be so kind as to carry my wife to our rooms. Shae, could you fetch a maester to tend to my wife's wounds?"
"We won't a need a maester. All her handmaidens have ready healing salves and bandages for cases such as these. We've dealt with worse, my lord," Shae answered in such a low voice that Tyrion wasn't quite sure if he heard her correctly. He watched, with more than little jealousy, as Bronn put his hands under Sansa's knees and arms and lifted her.
"Ye weight next to nuthin', m'lady!" he exclaimed. At that moment it registered in Tyrion that his wife hadn't uttered a single sound since they came.
"Sansa, are you alright? Do you need a maester, or is this something that your handmaidens can handle?" he asked while they walked briskly. Well, he was practically running, but Bronn and Shae were walking briskly. Sansa made no sign of hearing him.
"My lady, you must talk to us." Shae had a worried look on her face. They saw her move her lips, but heard no sound.
"Ah think, and it could be wrong, she said she's fine, m'lord," Bronn offered. Tyrion could feel more jealousy bubble inside him when he noticed how close Sansa's lips were to Bronn's face.
"Let's hope so." When they neared their rooms Shae ran ahead to get the bandages and salves, and ready warm water and clean linens. When they entered, with another handmaiden readying the bed for them to lay Sansa down on, Tyrion got the sudden feeling that this was certainly not the first time her handmaidens had done this. Everything was laid out with some strange precision that he didn't like at all. Bronn put her on the bed, with more gentleness than Tyrion thought the sellsword capable of.
"Ah'll leave ya to it then," he muttered and closed the door gently behind him. Shae and the other handmaiden (Ella? Ellie? Belle? Kelly? he couldn't remember) went straight to their mistress, undressing her and dressing her again in a clean, simple night shift. Some part of Tyrion made comment on how absurd that seemed, it was still the middle of the day. They started cleaning her wounds, which were thankfully not that many or severe. Shae started speaking to him while they were examining her calves.
"This ointment should be put on her calves every day until they're properly healed. We can bandage them now so she won't bleed and the wounds won't become infected, but it's better if they can breathe. See this jar? This goes on her face to sooth the swelling, it can be used as much as you like. This one is only used if the wounds are deep, we won't need it know, but just so you know of it."
"Why are you telling me all of this?" Tyrion asked.
"Because you're going to take care of your wife," she turned to Sansa, who had yet to utter one word, "and you are not going to push that little lion away when he does, you hear me?" With that both of the handmaidens walked out of the room, leaving Tyrion standing with a jar of some green stuff in his hand and Sansa lying on the bed, both looking equally confused.
AN: I think I got a little depressed writing last chapter and this one. Seriously, if you dislike reading about them not being together, how do you think I felt writing it and deciding it should happen? This is more than my happy-go-lucky mind can handle for those two! But hey, there can't be a Sansa/Tyrion fic without Joff attacking her, can it?
And uh, did someone somewhere post a link to my story on the 25th? The views from the US went over everything I've ever seen!
