Chapter 7

The rose garden was in need of rain, but it was prettier than Sansa remembered with its vast array of colorful flowers in full bloom. Best of all, it was completely empty, which she suspected had been arranged by Tyrion, but she did not ask as she strolled by his side with the sun on her face.

"How was Lady Margaery?" inquired Tyrion as she stopped to pull a long-stemmed yellow rose from a bush.

"Curious," she admitted. "Far more curious than I gave her credit for."

"I'll just bet she was. Was she eager for her own wedding?"

"About as eager as a lady in her position would be."

"Which is to say not too terribly much," guessed Tyrion. "You can't blame the poor girl."

"Margaery is no fool. She knows what she is getting into."

"As do we all. It did you good to get out of our chambers and talk to a friend. There's no reason to hide yourself away, Sansa. I know you fear japes and embarassment, but truly no one knows what does or doesn't go on between us. Besides, marriage happens all the time, every day. There's no reason for you to feel shame or fear. You have me to protect you now."

"Even from Cersei and Joffrey?"

"Especially from Cersei and Joffrey."

Sansa sat down on a flight of steps in the shade, and he sat down next to her.

"I don't suppose you've had word of my brother Robb in the last couple days, have you?" asked Sansa.

"I've avoided the small council and my father for two days straight," he admitted. "However, I'll try to find out news of your brother as soon as I see you back to our chambers. I've been so concerned for your comfort that I forgot what you might desire most is the latest news regarding Lady Stark and Robb. Forgive me, my lady."

"There's nothing to forgive," replied Sansa. "I know you'll tell me when you find out something new."

Tyrion smiled at her. He was a restless man, possessing enough energy to drive a man twice his size. It was a wonder to her that he could hold still long enough to sit in the garden and hold a conversation with her or comfort her in the night.

"I recall you tasking yourself to find out one thing about your lord husband per day," he said pleasantly.

"I've found my task rendered moot because I'm finding out so much more than one thing per day," she told him. "However, I've noticed you have a book in your hands nonstop. What's your favorite thing to read?"

"Naughty stories," he said with a wink, and despite herself she laughed.

"No, really," she protested. "What do you mostly read in the evenings? I've seen firsthand how your books bring out your serious, thoughtful side."

"I've been reading a lot of history," he said.

"History? Why?"

"I suppose, in part, it's to try to solve what's happening in Westeros before it gets any worse, but there's more to it than that, Sansa. There's something dreadful but captivating about studying the past. We seem to repeat the same mistakes over and over throughout history, and each time we expect a better result. I've long heard it said that history is dull, that it's a study of long-dead men, but I couldn't disagree more. History is a study of man's mind, and history is frightening."

"You mean people are motivated most by power," said Sansa.

She couldn't help but notice the surprise on his face when she said it. He looked at her that way frequently, as though he were seeing her for the first time.

"Yes, I mean that exactly," he said.

"Do you want to be king?" she asked.

He snorted. "Never. I'd rather the Hound cut me from stem to stern and let my guts fall out in the streets."

"Then why study it so much?"

"Because I'm always looking for examples of good, worthy rulers," he said. "I study the qualities that make men merciful and fair."

"Have you ever met anyone who would make a good ruler?"

"No, and I fear that I never shall."

Sansa didn't know what to say that, and she tripped over her tongue and stared at the walkway. But he took her hand in the way that he had on their wedding night, and soon, instead of feeling out of place, she felt encompassed in companionable silence. He had not held her hand in such a manner in two days, and to her surprise, she liked it as much as she had the first time. She remembered the way he had kissed her forehead, and her pulse sped up inexplicably. That kiss had been tender, full of understanding. Why she should long for a similar occurrence, she didn't know, but there was some comfort in the slow pace he was taking.

She turned her head to look at him and gauge his thoughts. He was looking at her already, something was kindling in the depths of his green eyes. Slowly and gently, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and then stroked her cheek. Sansa remembered what Margaery had said about kissing him.

"Surely this is as good a time as any," she thought. "He wouldn't mind, I'm sure."

But her uncertainty hung suspended in the air between them, their eyes locked on one another as her heart thrummed in her chest like a hummingbird. Her cheekbone tingled where he had caressed it.

"Tyrion," she said.

"Yes?" He sounded hopeful to her.

The afternoon sun was suddenly blocked by someone standing in front of the steps. Tyrion abruptly dropped her hand.

"Good afternoon, Lord and Lady Lannister. I was beginning to fear that we'd have to send a search party out looking for you."

Sansa shaded her eyes to better see whom she was looking up at, but she didn't have to in order to know that Cersei was speaking.

"Two days of seclusion must mean marital bliss," said Cersei, her beautiful but cruel smile playing upon her lips. "When Father first suggested that the two of you wed, I was taken aback. Afterall, the Lannister imp and the Stark girl make for a strange pairing, but it seems to me that you're so invested in one another that it would have been a sin against man and the gods to let Sansa marry Joffrey. You're obviously perfect for one another." Her lips twitched in amusement. She tipped Sansa's chin up with one finger. "Tell me, my dove, are you happy?"

"Yes, your Grace," said Sansa dully, all the sparkle fading out of her afternoon.

"Perhaps when he has sated his perversions thoroughly and will let you out of his sight, we can all have supper together, hmmm?" asked Cersei.

"Yes, your Grace."

"Why the ugly mood, Cersei?" asked Tyrion. "Is our dear cousin not performing to your satisfaction after his wounds at Blackwater Bay?"

"You vile, little—"

"I'd tell you to cheer up because your own nuptials to Sir Loras are approaching, but I suspect you'll find the way he'll wish to bed you startling."

"One day I'll have Ser Ilyn Payne cut your tongue out by the roots, and I'll feel completely justified in giving the order," growled Cersei. "Indeed, I don't know why I gave the little dove to you. You don't deserve to touch anyone so pretty and well-mannered."

"Ladies have always been wasted on me. Because I prefer whores, she's not really to my preferences, your Grace. She'd be better suited to Jaime than to the likes of me. It's really a shame that he's a member of the Kingsguard and can't take a wife," said Tyrion.

Sansa smarted at his words. Surely he meant something else.

"He can't feel that way about me," she thought. "Although maybe he does. Sometimes truth comes out in arguments. Angry words sometimes ring loudest for a reason."

Cersei's face twitched. Sansa thought that Tyrion had hit her final nerve. "You're a fool," she said coolly. "I'll leave you to play nursemaid to your child." She swept away with her anger evident even in the way that she walked, her train twisting like a snake.

"How could you say that about me?" asked Sansa. "I know you didn't want to get married, but—"

Tyrion smiled gently. "It's not what you're thinking, Sansa. Cersei likes the idea of our marriage making us unhappy. If she thinks I enjoy being married to you, she'll devise a plan to take you away from me. I've already lost Tysha to Father and Jaime, and don't wish to repeat the experience. So long as we live at King's Landing, we should take care to cultivate an aloof, slightly dissatisfied relationship around Cersei. As long as she thinks I'm being inconvenienced and you're being debased, she'll remain thrilled that Father decided to marry us."

"That's a horrible game to have to play," reflected Sansa, but it made perfect sense to her.

"Yes."

Even though she was grieved to know that her sister-in-law was still a threat, it was the knowledge that Tyrion said he enjoyed being married that Sansa mulled over for the rest of their walk. She wondered why it meant so much to her.