Chapter 10, Sansa VI

Sansa hummed "The Bear and the Maiden Fair" as she worked on the coverlet for her and Tyrion's bed. She'd never cared much for the song before, she'd always thought it too bawdy, but she and Tyrion had had a bit too much to drink the night previous, and she'd got him to sing it for her, and the tune had been stuck in her mind ever since. He'd surprised her in having a lovely, deep singing voice. She tried not to make a fuss over it as she knew it would just make him self-conscious of it, but she had already begun plotting to have him sing more often. She had him drinking less wine in general, but ever since Tyrion had deduced how to water the stuff down to Sansa's taste, she'd started taking on his habit with him; lately, the only times Tyrion drank in excess were those when he drank with her. Occasionally they would invite Ser Bronn or Podrick to join them, but more often than not it was just the two of them, and their drinking games would end in giggles and drunken fumbles to undress each other before stumbling into bed.

In all, it wasn't the married life Sansa had expected for herself; she'd certainly never imagined overindulging in wine as a regular occurrence of her marriage, but it suited them. It just happened, and that was what their marriage truly was, when Sansa thought about it. They were never meant to be together, but now that they were, they chose to make the best of things in the most unexpected ways.

When the door to their chambers opened, Sansa expected it to be Tyrion, as he'd promised to return to her for luncheon. But when she looked up, she paled as she saw not her husband but Joffrey. She tried not to let the fear show on her face, as she knew only too well how he enjoyed that, but she was on edge more than she had been since she'd married Tyrion more than two months ago; Joffrey never visited their chambers. Whenever he wanted to see Sansa or Tyrion, he preferred to call them to court to challenge them in front of everyone else, not see them here in their own home.

"Your Grace," Sansa greeted, setting aside the coverlet tenderly and rising to greet him. Sansa looked at the door, and whatever kingsguard had accompanied him seemed to be remaining outside. Sansa wasn't sure if that was a good thing or bad. If he meant to attack her, he probably would have brought the guard in to hold her down. But maybe he meant to overpower him herself, and the kingsguard was meant to act as a lookout? Sansa looked at the poker set by their hearth, but she shook the thought from her mind. If she attacked in defense of herself, she was signing her own death sentence. Tyrion, where are you? she thought to herself, hoping that her panic was for naught, but wishing her husband were here all the same.

"I've just come from a small council meeting, my lady. We received some wonderful news by raven this morning. Care to make a guess as to what it was?"

Sansa felt a stone drop into her belly. She shook her head. "I haven't a clue, Your Grace."

"No, you never do, do you?" Joffrey's lips curled up in a grim smile, and suddenly Sansa wished she were sitting down as she waited for the news of whatever could make a sadist like him happy. "Apparently your traitor brother is dead, and your mother."

Sansa felt all the air leave her lungs, and her head spun to where she wanted to reach out to steady herself, but she couldn't, she could only stand there until he left. "Not sure exactly how it happened, only that it happened at your Uncle Edmure's wedding at the Twins. There was only so much room on the raven's scroll, but I do intend to ask Lord Walder to send a full account. I hope it was long, and drawn out and bloody for your traitorous family. Not the merciful death that I gave your father.

Sansa stayed silent, waiting for him to leave, waiting for Tyrion to come back, waiting for a chance to collapse. Tears welled up at her eyes, but she dared not let them fall, not yet. She felt her hands shaking, and she balled up her hands into fists behind her skirts, feeling her nails dig into her palms. She tried to focus on that pain to drive away the tears.

The door opened again, and Sansa saw the queen. "The king has told you, then?" There was no mercy in her eyes, no pity. She didn't seem to relish Sansa's hidden pain as Joffrey did, but she didn't care, either.

"Yes, Your Grace. I'm glad the war is at an end." It was all Sansa could force herself to choke out.

"As are we all," Cersei replied, and she reached out to Joffrey. "Come, Joffrey. We have so much to celebrate." She held out her hand, but Joffrey wouldn't take it.

"Get out," a voice growled, and Sansa looked up again to see her husband staring daggers at his sister and nephew.

"That's no way to speak to your—" Cersei started, but Tyrion just opened the door wider and stepped aside, gesturing for them to leave.

"Get out," he repeated. "Now."

Joffrey sneered. "Better get that wolf bitch pregnant soon, uncle," he said, finally following his mother out. "Winterfell needs a Lannister lord, now."

Tyrion closed the door behind them, and Sansa sat back down as it was just the two of them alone.

Her fingertips gripped into the coverlet she'd been making.

"Sansa," Tyrion started, but she interrupted him.

"Did you know?" Her voice was little more than a whisper.

"What?" he asked, his voice soft, and he took a few slow steps toward her.

"Did you know?" she asked, her voice louder this time, her eyes fixed on her embroidery. "Did you know about this?" She looked at him then, and his eyes widened, realizing what she was asking him. "Did you know about this and you didn't tell me?"

"Sansa, no. No." He closed the gap between them and tried to take her hands, but she ripped them away from him, and the coverlet she'd been gripped onto fell to the floor.

Sansa stood then. She had to get away from him, had to get away from the coverlet, had to get away from his stupid lion brooch and the crimson velvet hangings on their bed, and the golden bowl holding the fruit. She went to the window in the corner and looked out, away from all of it.

She didn't even know how she felt. Furious, confused, devastated, overwhelmed. It all hit her over and over again, wave after wave, and it was nauseating and exhausting. It was a moment that wouldn't end.

She felt Tyrion's hand on her hip, and she felt an anger she'd never known well up inside of her. Like a true wolf, she lashed out, and as she turned to him, she struck him across the face so hard he stumbled back onto the chaise. For a moment she felt pity, guilt for striking him, but then the pain came back, and all that came out of her lips was a growl. "Don't you dare touch me." She meant it to sound fierce, furious, but a sob came with her words that betrayed her pain.

Her breaths came harder, and she grabbed at her middle, trying to keep herself from falling apart, but she collapsed onto her knees all the same. She couldn't see anything anymore through the tears that fell from her eyes. She could see light and dark, washes of color, but no more than that.

Suddenly she felt so very tired, and she leaned back, her head resting against the cold stone wall beneath the window. She heard someone sobbing, great wails of pain, and it took her a moment to realize it was her.

A figure approached her slowly, and she realized it was the outline of her husband, kneeling before her. Through tears, she saw him reach out to take her elbow. She tried to pull away, but he caught her hand and put it to his cheek. Softly, he put his lips to her wrist and kissed her there, as he had a thousand times before.

She wept, but she didn't pull away. She didn't have the strength left to pull away from him any longer. Slowly, he pulled her forward by the wrist, then the elbow, and the next thing she knew, his arms were around her, and she was breathing in the comforting scent of her husband's chest. His hands moved at her shoulders, rubbing her in soothing circles that were so familiar.

Fury welled up in her again, and her fingers dug into his tunic. She clawed into the leather. She wanted to rip at him in anguish, to tear him apart in her fury, to show him what happens when you hurt a wolf, but she couldn't.

If she did, she'd have no one.

A/N: I'm sorry, but it had to happen eventually.