"We can stay in the brothel. There's no need to intrude on the hospitality of the Starks any further," Caree told Tyrion a fortnight later. They were in an inn for the evening, two days' ride from Winterfell. Tomorrow they would camp; the day after that, Tyrion was determined to stay with the Starks – Caree's opinion be damned.
"They will welcome us with open arms," her brother said now, digging into his food.
"And closed hearts." Caree's finger circled the rim of her wine cup. The trials of the road were stamped on Tyrion's face; a life of travel did not suit him. Nor her, for that matter. Caree would have liked to let them both get some proper rest, with roasted duck and hot baths and featherbeds. All of that could be found at Winterfell. But so could the Starks. "They've never liked us, you know that."
"They liked you."
"They had to. I was a good match. At first."
"And now you're determined to hide from Robb Stark for the rest of your life." Tyrion took a long gulp of wine and smacked his lips, studying her all the while. "Although I thought you had reconciled with him. What went wrong?"
"Nothing went wrong, dear brother, you just read too far into things."
"Mm. And you're a terrible liar."
"I'm a fantastic liar." She twisted around to scan the half-full room, wondering where Yoren had run off to. But, of course, he would not side with her. He would side with Tyrion, who was now reiterating –
"We're staying at Winterfell."
She rolled her head on her neck, trying to squeeze the tension out of it. "Tyrion –"
"I am not spending the night in a brothel with my sister in the next room! I do have some limits . . ."
She cocked her head. "Remember how when I was little, you would sometimes be kind to me?"
"That was when you were cute. When you became pretty, I lost interest."
"Spoken like a true brother."
"What could have gone so wrong before we left," he asked, picking at his bread, "that you're terrified of spending one more night there?"
She did not mean to raise her voice, but the weariness from the ride and the frustration at the conversation joined forces and broke her. "It's not about what happened before we left a month ago, Tyrion, it's about what happened before I left four years ago!"
He gave her a dark look and then smiled at the innkeeper's daughter, who was cleaning a table close to them and staring like a frightened little mouse. Caree rubbed her eyes and waited a moment. When she did speak again, she was careful to control her voice. "I was discovered to be barren, my betrothal was broken –"
"If you're looking for me to cry for you, little sister," Tyrion interrupted, "I'm not going to." He stuck a piece of meat into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and said, flatly, "You have it far better than you think."
Caree's hands slowly formed into fists. She watched her brother, calm as ever, cutting out a new chunk of meat, and finally she said, her voice low, "You don't know what it's like to be me any more than I know what it's like to be you."
"Would you like to switch?" he replied without looking up.
She left the table. She went upstairs to her room, closed the door, threw a candle, and went to bed.