Chapter Ten
Sansa lay there for the longest time, unable to move. Her heart was pounding, and her skin was flushed with sweat. There was an uncomfortable ache between her legs, coupled with an unpleasant stickiness that made her feel just a little bit ill. She knew she should be able to move, but she couldn't.
She didn't know quite what she had expected, but she had not been adequately prepared for her encounter with Tyrion. She had thought the whole thing would be over within mere moments, but it had lasted considerably longer. And while it had not been the most pleasant of experiences, it had been far from the nightmare she was used to. It had been uncomfortable, yes, but not brutally painful, despite the fact that Tyrion was just as well-endowed as Ramsay Bolton, if not more so.
Sansa had expected simply to close her eyes and lie very still, but when Tyrion had moved to leave her without even attempting to fulfill his duty, she had panicked. Never in her life had she imagined touching a man so intimately, and yet, in her desperate need to keep him from abandoning her, she had done just that.
Sansa's cheeks flamed pink at the memory, and she closed her eyes in an attempt to hide from it. But when she did, all she saw was Tyrion staring back at her, his eyes locked in solidarity with hers, as he moved inside her.
Sansa opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling again. Every time Ramsay Bolton had taken her, the instant she had been left alone, she had crawled out of bed and scrubbed herself clean. And although the temptation was there to do just that now, she knew it was unwise. Tyrion had left his seed inside her. She needed to give it time to quicken. She could not wash away the evidence of his passion for fear that she would rob herself of the chance to produce an heir. Sansa wished her life consisted of more than duty, but it didn't. Her own heart, her own desires, didn't matter. All that mattered was her obligations to her people, to Winterfell.
The hour was late, and Sansa knew she should try to sleep. She closed her eyes again, imagining what kind of child she and Tyrion might have. Would it be a dwarf, like its father? She shivered involuntarily at the thought. She wanted her children to be normal, to walk in the world without being persecuted at every turn. She wanted the yard to be full of healthy little wolves playing and laughing and enjoying life. But she knew that was an unlikely future. Tyrion's mother had died giving birth to him. There was every chance that she would suffer the same fate.
The truth was, Sansa didn't want to bear Tyrion's children, but she knew she would have to. Or at least, try to. And she would make the best of it when she did. After all, what choice did she have?
When Sansa finally found the courage to move, she turned onto her side, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, hugging herself in the dimly lit room. It was done. She and Tyrion had consummated their marriage, and now, no one could separate them. For the first time since she had left Winterfell for King's Landing all those years ago, she knew who she was and where she stood in the world. She was Sansa Lannister, the Lady of Winterfell and Casterly Rock, and no one could take that away from her.
Sansa sighed, her body finally relaxing. She was safe now. Finally. And she would do her best to make the most of it.
Sansa awoke late the next morning. Sleep had claimed her quickly the night before, and she'd had her first restful sleep in ages.
She allowed her maidservant to help her out of bed, hoping that the girl would notice the disheveled bedsheets and realize what had happened. Of course, there was no blood, since Sansa was no longer a maiden, but she hoped the soiled sheets would be evidence enough. Gossip traveled quickly among the servants, and Sansa wanted it known that her marriage had been consummated and could no longer be torn asunder.
Sansa asked for a bath to be brought, a luxury she didn't often allow herself. She soaked in the tub until the water turned cold, allowing the ache from the previous night to ease from her muscles. She scrubbed her skin clean and washed her hair, before finishing her bath and letting her handmaiden dress her for the day.
It was just before noon when Sansa finally left her chamber. The day before, she had agreed to accompany some of the northern lords out into the environs surrounding Winterfell to assess the damage that had been done during the war. Even though there was still snow on the ground, it was only a mere inch or two, nothing of concern for those born and raised in the North. Sansa was looking forward to getting on horseback and riding out into the countryside, even if it was on official business as lady of the keep.
When Sansa entered the yard, she was surprised to see Tyrion there, talking to the men. Her feet faltered, and she stopped dead still, her eyes transfixed on her husband.
He had his back to her, but even so, there seemed to be something different about him this morning. Or maybe it was just the way she saw him that had changed. For better or worse, he was her husband now, in every sense of the word, and it made her look at him with different eyes.
Tyrion was laughing and joking with the other men, and they all seemed charmed by his humor. But then, he was a master with words, so why shouldn't they be?
Sansa's heart skipped a single beat, and her skin flushed warmly. What would he think when he finally saw her? Would his memory take him back to the night before and what they had shared? Did the men know? Did everyone know?
Of course, Sansa wanted everyone to know, on a rational level, and yet, the idea made her feel embarrassed and uneasy. Lady of Winterfell or not, she would assuredly be the subject of much gossip once everyone knew, and she didn't know how she would bare it.
Sansa inhaled a steadying breath and continued on her path. As she approached, Tyrion turned to greet her.
"Good morning, Lady Sansa." His countenance was cheerful, without a hint of tension or awkwardness. It was as if nothing had passed between them at all the night before.
Sansa couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.
"Good morning, my lord." She turned her attention toward the small group of men, "My lords."
They all greeted her politely, giving her no indication that anything was amiss.
"I have decided to join you on your outing," Tyrion said. "If you have no objections."
"Of course not," Sansa replied reflexively. She was surprised to find that Tyrion wanted to go with them, after all, he wasn't obliged to. She had agreed to accompany the men, not him. Had it been any other day, Sansa would have been glad to see him taking an interest in the goings on at Winterfell, but under the current circumstances, she feared being too close to him. Her mind and heart were on shaky ground, and she wasn't prepared to spend the next several hours riding beside him, making idle conversation.
"Shall we then?" Tyrion held his hand out toward the team of horses waiting in the center of the yard.
Sansa walked past him to her own steed, where her groom helped her up into the saddle. Podrick assisted Tyrion as he mounted the horse beside hers. Astride, she and Tyrion were nearly at equal height.
The small party of riders exited through the East Gate, the men leading the way. Sansa and Tyrion rode behind, just a bit, with Brienne following them for protection.
Sansa sat stiffly in the saddle. She was playing a role, and she needed to keep her dignity at all times. She kept her eyes on the path ahead, determined not to look at her husband for fear that he might see too much emotion in her eyes.
"I hope you don't find it impertinent of me to join your party this morning," Tyrion said.
"Quite the contrary," Sansa replied. "I am happy that you are taking an interest in Winterfell and its people. You are Warden of the North now. You should be involved in every aspect of its upkeep."
"That is my hope. And perhaps, someday, when things are settled here, you will join me at Casterly Rock and we can do some good there as well."
Sansa looked at Tyrion in surprise. His gaze was focused on the party ahead of them. He looked so confident this morning, as if he could conquer the world. She wondered if it was a result of what had happened between them the night before.
"I don't know how I feel about going to Casterly Rock. If given a choice, I don't think I'd ever leave Winterfell again."
Tyrion finally looked at her. "You may feel that way now, but someday, you may feel differently. And, if you ever do, I would like to take you there. It's a beautiful place, under the right direction, and I would like to share it with you."
There was a warmth to his tone that made Sansa's heart beat just a little bit faster. Something had changed between them. Tyrion was talking to her more like a husband and less like a political ally. It was a little disconcerting. Sansa wasn't sure she was ready for it.
Discomforted by his scrutiny, she turned her attention back to the road. "I shall take your request into consideration, but only after spring has arrived."
"Fair enough."
Sansa was afraid to spend too much time alone with Tyrion. She was afraid of what might be said. "Perhaps we should join the others," she suggested. "As Lord and Lady of Winterfell, we should not lag behind."
Then, before waiting for him to answer, she urged her horse to pick up its pace and overtook him, heading toward the small group traveling before them. Tyrion soon joined her, and they spent the rest of the journey talking with the men about the plan for the day.
The morning quickly turned into afternoon as they traveled the countryside, stopping to talk with tenant farmers about crop stores and the structural damages their properties had suffered during the war. Buildings had been destroyed, defensive walls decimated. Much of the North needed to be rebuilt as soon as possible, and it was up to Sansa and Tyrion to decide which projects were the most urgent and which could wait until spring.
Sansa was impressed by how engaged Tyrion was with everyone he met. No complaint was too trivial for him to listen to, from highborn lord to farmer's wife. He was patient and understanding, and everyone treated him with a respect that had surely been earned by his reputation alone. The people of the North knew of his connection to their new queen. And even though he was a Lannister, his loyalty to Daenerys and the entire Stark family had earned him their gratitude. It was a relief to see that the people Sansa was sworn to protect approved of her choice. It made her decision a little easier for her to live with.
When the sun began its descent below the horizon, the small party finally turned back toward home. Tyrion and Sansa had agreed to take all that they had learned into consideration and discuss it at length before deciding how they were going to proceed. It had been a productive day, and Sansa was quite pleased. As they rode back to Winterfell, she was much more comfortable riding beside Tyrion. This time, she purposefully hung back so that she could talk to him privately.
"Thank you, Tyrion," she said as their horses trotted slowly toward home.
"For what?"
"For being a reasonable, honorable man. For taking an interest in my people."
"They're my people too now. Or had you forgotten?"
"Even so. Thank you."
"You are quite welcome."
Tyrion had been convivial all day. Kind and good-natured. Working together had made it easy for Sansa to forget her apprehensions about their relationship. But now that the work was done and they were alone again, her insecurities began to resurface. Tyrion had shared her bed once. Just once. And although that was all it took to consummate a marriage, she wondered if he intended to visit her again. She feared that he did, and before she could feel completely at ease with him, she needed to know for certain.
An uneasy tingle sparked along Sansa's spine as she prepared herself to question him about his intentions. She kept her eyes focused on the road as she said, "May I ask you something of a delicate nature?"
"You may ask me anything, Sansa. My life is yours to question and command."
Sansa hoped that wasn't true. She hadn't done such a wonderful job of taking care of her own life. She didn't want to be responsible for anyone else's. "What are your intentions, now that we are truly man and wife?"
"To be the best husband I can be."
"And does that involve visiting my bed again?" Sansa's cheeks burned red, even in the cool winter air. She was uncomfortable being so blunt, but she couldn't find any other words to ask her question.
Tyrion pulled his horse to a halt, forcing Sansa to stop as well. She finally turned to look at him. His countenance had turned serious, and she was suddenly sorry that she had chosen to question him in the first place.
"Sansa," he said softly, "when I said that I would not share your bed until you wanted me to, I meant it. Not just the first time, but every time. I will never force you. I will never ask you for anything you're not willing to give. Do you understand that?"
Sansa straightened her spine, trying to maintain as much of her dignity as possible. "I understand that you waited until I invited you. But now that . . . the deed has been done, what is to stop you from expecting it again?"
"You, Sansa, you. When you are ready, when you invite me into your bed again, I will come to you. But not before."
"And what if I never invite you again?"
Tyrion sighed heavily, his eyes finally leaving hers. He gazed off at Winterfell in the distance. "Then I shall content myself with my other husbandly duties, like protecting Winterfell."
"But men have needs that women don't. You more than most, by all accounts."
Tyrion laughed bitterly. "Women have the same needs as men. Don't let anyone tell you differently."
"I don't have those kinds of needs."
"Of course, you do. You've just been too scarred by the world to know it." Tyrion looked at her again. There was a softness in his eyes that she hadn't expected. "Sansa, you have done more than enough for your people and for me. I don't want anything more from you. Please, you must trust me. You and I could be quite happy together, just as we are, even if I never share your bed again."
He sounded so sincere. Sansa wanted to believe him. But she knew that men did have needs, that Tyrion's needs were infamous, and she didn't know how he was supposed to content himself with a wife who intended to keep him at arms' length for the rest of his life. She was asking too much of him, she knew that. He had sacrificed his life in King's Landing for her, his position as Hand of the Queen. She owed him something for all he had done for her.
"I have been told that there are women in the village who are more than happy to service men for a price," she said.
Tyrion laughed again, though this time there was no bitterness in the sound. "Yes, I've heard of them. They're called whores."
"Yes, well, they are available to you, whenever you want, if you should be so inclined."
Tyrion shook his head. "No, thank you. My whoring days are over. Now, drinking? I think I will be doing a lot of drinking in the days to come."
"I wish you wouldn't."
"I wish I wouldn't too, but a man must have some outlet for his frustrations." And with that, Tyrion spurred his horse, taking off toward Winterfell.
Sansa didn't follow. She watched as he rode toward the castle, the fading light casting blue shadows on the snow around him. She knew she couldn't hold out forever. Someday, she would have to lie with him again. After all, unless there was already a child growing inside her, Winterfell still needed an heir. She just hoped that, when the time came, she was ready for it. Because, if given a choice at that moment, she would have chosen never to lie with Tyrion, or any other man, ever again.