Chapter 11

The feast started soon enough, with Joffrey proposing a toast to his beautiful wife, Queen Margaery, and the first of the seventy-seven courses was brought forward. Tyrion and Sansa both finished a cup of wine before tasting anything, Sansa trying to calm herself but Tyrion just wanting to get drunk. She looked to her right, noticing how fast he was downing the wine and signaled to the man behind them holding a flagon.

"Do not pour my husband any more wine unless I bid you to do so, no matter what he might threaten you with." Tyrion's eyes widened when he heard this. Sansa shrugged. "I mean no disrespect, but as I said the last time, I am not carrying you out of the hall."

She saw a flash of annoyance cross his face before being replaced with a smirk and a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Might I remind you that last time, it was me that was practically dragging you to our chambers before you passed out."

"I did not pass out, Tyrion, I fell asleep." Sansa pushed her bowl away after several small portions.

"Oh? What did we speak of when we were in our chambers that night?"

She hesitated. "Nothing of consequences, otherwise I would have remembered it."

Tyrion's smirk turned into a grin and he leaned closer to his wife.

"Why, you said something about owing me one undressing after our wedding night." He was not disappointed with her reaction, a deep crimson blush quickly covering every part of her body that he saw.

"I am quite sure I did not," she squeaked.

"Do you remember any of it?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her. Was he overdoing it? He wasn't sure where her boundaries were anymore, how much it took until she'd actually put up her armor.

"Surely you are making this up."

"So you don't remember any of it? I am not making anything up, just admit that you passed out, my dearest, and I will forget all of it."

"All of it? Is there more?" she squeaked again. Tyrion couldn't help but chuckle at her horrified expression. "Why didn't you tell me the other day?"

"I wasn't sure you would handle it then." He shook his head, still chuckling. "I think I'm taking this too far. You didn't say anything else that could embarrass your sweet, gentle and innocent heart, now, will I be allowed more wine? Please?"

Sansa squirmed in her seat. "I am starting to think that neither of us should drink anything but water for the rest of the feast," she muttered.

"My dear lady wife, if this is not the occasion to drink the best wine the realm has to offer, then there are no occasions at all," Tyrion declared as yet another course was set in front of them. Sansa was having some trouble deciding what to do, her head was swimming, Tyrion complimenting her, teasing her and making her feel embarrassed in only matter of minutes was But before she could grasp any coherent thought, Tyrion clutched her arm with his left hand and pointed with his right.

"Look over there, he's here!" he said in an urgent voice. Sansa looked around. Was it Petyr Baelish he'd seen?

"Who?" she asked after few moments trying to see where Tyrion was pointing.

"The Lord of the Mustaches," he whispered as dramatically as he could. Sansa let out a breath she'd been holding, then looked up and saw that glorious mustache walking around, and allowed herself to laugh, letting some of the tension go away as well.

"Gods, I had forgotten how magnificent it looked," she said, mustering her most breathless and adoring voice, earning Tyrion's laughter in return. Ser Garlan Tyrell, who they had been seated next to, leaned over to them.

"Lady Sansa, how nice it is to hear your sweet laughter again. I haven't heard it since your wedding, and I think it must be the most delightful sound to hear in this dreadful city," he said in a kind voice. She remembered how he had managed to make her laugh at her own wedding, something she'd been absurdly grateful for at the time.

"Thank you, my lord, you are too kind," she answered back.

"But what is even more pleasing to me, is that it seemed like your own husband was the reason and source of that beautiful laughter," he added. Ah, yes, Sansa also recalled that he and his wife, Lady Leonette, had both been very concerned for her at the wedding. She saw how uneasy Tyrion got at the sudden praise.

"He does have his good moments, my lord. But I do know of his bad moments as well, so if you could help me keep the wine away from him, I would be ever so grateful."

Tyrion looked utterly insulted.

"Away from me? Sansa, I thought we just had this conversation. In fact," he said, and with quicker motions than Sansa thought he possessed, he grabbed her cup, "I think it's you who should be careful with wine." He held the cup as far away from her as he could, trying to bait her into reaching for it. Sansa raised one delicate eyebrow at him.

"I will not try to get it, you are acting like a child, my lord. Please return my cup," she said in a calm voice. Tyrion just grinned at her and continued to wave the cup around, making Ser Garlan and Lady Leonette laugh out loud at their antics.

"Who needs singers and jugglers when we've got the pair of you?" Lady Leonette said and shook her head. Sansa decided to continue to be a source of amusement to them and extended her long arm over Tyrion, and just like the last time she did that, unknowingly giving him ample view of her bosom. Ser Garlan noticed it and only laughed louder at Tyrion's delighted expression, while Sansa grabbed her cup quite easily. They resumed their eating shortly after that, both keeping a vary eye on each other when taking sips of wine, and Tyrion making lashing remarks about every singer that performed, much to the enjoyment of Ser Garlan and his wife. Sansa could still hear Garlan's voice in her head since her wedding.

... your Imp will make a better husband. He is a bigger man than he seems...

But at the moment they weren't truly husband and wife. They were acting more like young siblings than a married couple. Just two unlucky people trying to get through a situation they had no control over, trying to laugh it out. It was getting easier to handle situations the way Tyrion did it: by making fun of them, not ignoring everything and trying to shield herself from everyone around.

She shook those thoughts away. This was not the time for some deep contemplation on the strange relationship she was developing with Tyrion. She should concentrate on the feast itself, one the strange Collio Quaynis of Tyrosh, who had just started started singing. Ah, but speaking of the feast... she leaned slightly to Tyrion so no one would hear her. She'd been doing quite a lot of that lately.

"Have you given any thought to how we should withdraw from the festivities without attracting any attention?"

He nodded eagerly. "I have several different scenarios in mind. Some are pretty good if I say so myself, others... well, if you weren't such a lady, you'd probably slap me for suggesting them."

"Please begin with the ones you deem inappropriate or bad."

"I could become so drunk that you truly have to carry me to our chambers. I could probably do it before the next singer finishes," Tyrion said with a boyish grin. Sansa pursed her lips.

"That would only be a last resort. What else do you have?"

"Well, seeing that the whole castle knows we haven't consummated our marriage, but everyone wants us to, we could run off acting as we're finally going to, and just about to tackle each other from excitement of the thought of..." he trailed off, with Sansa's lack of expression growing stronger the more he spoke. He cleared his throat. "As I said, if you weren't a lady, you would have slapped me for this suggestion."

Some part of Sansa knew the wine was starting to affect her when she started speaking.

"Ladies often slap others, Tyrion, but fortunately for you I am not prone to physical violence," she said in a calm and collected voice. Tyrion wouldn't hurt her, she could say things like that to him, she tried to reason with herself as soon as the words left her.

"I don't have to worry about such things, if we were standing you wouldn't be able to reach down to me anyway," he said nonchalantly. Sansa hesitated, but as soon as Ser Garlan and Lady Leonette started laughing, she gladly joined them.

"Perhaps I'd rather not hear the rest of the inappropriate ideas. Did you have something else in mind?"

Tyrion glanced sheepishly at her.

"I actually hadn't thought of anything else, I was hoping you would already be drunk enough to agree on that one..." he said apologetically, managing a sheepish look. Sansa wasn't sure if she should be insulted, embarrassed or angry, so she settled with polite.

After many ideas being thrown back and forth, they somehow settled on Sansa leaving in a huff, and Tyrion coming after her, trying to placate her annoyance and bring her back. That way it wouldn't actually be him leaving the hall, but his wife, so if anyone else would think that whatever was to come after the Summer Isles dancers was intended for him, no one would be suspicious of him leaving because of it. They hoped.

The feast was lavish and colorful. When the dancers finally appeared Sansa and Tyrion were both red faced and laughing with Ser Garlan and Lady Leonette, Sansa forgetting all about keeping their drinking in check. She looked up when the first Summer Isle dancers emerged, graceful, beautiful and moving in a way no Westerosi ever could. She took one deep breath, trying to figure out how she and Tyrion should start their little fight. That was when she heard it. The laughter of Cersei, somehow making its way through all other noise and straight into Sansa's ears. That awful laughter, which could be false, empty, haughty or threatening. She didn't dare to look up and see what made the Queen Regent laugh, afraid of catching her eye.

A sudden fear gripped Sansa. What if Tyrion was trying to trick her? No one was allowed to leave the feast before the bedding ceremony, what if he had planned all of this just so she would rise and Joffrey could punish her for trying to leave? She leaned to her husband.

"My lord, do you think we truly have to leave? Whatever is to come, it might be harmless," she asked in a hushed voice. Tyrion shook his head.

"Lady Olenna was, I hope, trying to do me a favor by warning me. It would be a slight to her if I didn't heed her advice and at the moment, I want to keep her on her good side. You don't have to be truly angry if you're worried about that, just... pissed off, really," he answered.

Sansa nodded thoughtfully. It had been Lady Olenna that started it by warning them, not Tyrion. It was unlikely she and Tyrion would be together on such a foul plot, just to see the Stark girl humiliated... wouldn't it? Her muddled mind was having a hard time thinking logically, but then she realized that if this was all a plot by Tyrion then it should have ended with her beheading after conspiring to kill the king. Not just beaten for leaving the feast.

"I'm drunk," she muttered into her glass. She usually wasn't so slow. Or was she, and simply didn't realize it?

"Yes, but could we please get going? You know, before something happens...?" Tyrion said through clenched teeth. Sansa let out a tiny giggle before turning her head sharply around to look at Tyrion.

"What?" she hissed at him. His eyes widened.

"Before... you know..." he hesitated.

"I heard what you said, Lannister," Sansa hissed again, mustering up all the hate and malice she could with her last word. It was a strange relief. She was never allowed to be angry. This could get just as fun as their last feast! Tyrion seemed to pick up what was happening and put down his fork.

"I'm not sure that you did, my lady," he said cautiously.

"Trust me, I did. If you'll excuse me, my lord, I think I'll be going now." She stood up, the room spinning slightly, but she was determined not to fall. Tyrion pushed himself out of his seat.

"My lady, you can't just leave, no one is allowed to exit the hall before the bedding ceremony!" he said in an urgent whisper. They had to be seen bickering, but not by too many. Not by Joffrey. Some part of Sansa's mind registered that this had been extremely stupid idea, but it was too late to back away now.

"Do I look like I care?"

"Well, you should care!"

They were almost at one of the doorways. The guards eyed them warily.

"I'm leaving this hall, and you're not coming with me, Tyrion Lannister."

"Sansa, don't... you two, tell her! She can't leave, can she?" He looked between the guards.

"No one is allowed to leave before the bedding ceremony, my lady," one of them answered.

"There. Now come and sit down, I want to see the rest of the dancing..." But Sansa wasn't listening to him, she took two steps closer to the guard that had answered her.

"You will let me pass. The King hates me, he will not care if I leave, he will most likely be glad. I was only invited because of my relation to him through my husband, otherwise I'd not be here. Now step aside, I doubt King Joffrey wants to be interrupted at his own wedding because of the traitor's daughter," she said in a commanding voice, that was only ruined slightly by her swaying a little to the sides. The guard hesitated, but nodded slightly and opened the door wide enough for her to slip through. Tyrion made an exaggerated groan.

"Gods, you idiots, I'll go after her and bring her back! Close the door behind me, but be sure to open it when I knock. That bloody she-wolf..." he said, muttering the last sentence when he went past them. He saw Sansa at the end of the hallway, still looking angry. Of course, there were two guards on this side as well.

"Sansa, come back here! We can talk this through at the feast. Over a cup of wine!" he called to her.

"No, we will not. I'm not doing this back there, and neither here in the hallway. Just go back, we can finish this discussion tomorrow." She strode away, rounding a corner, leaving Tyrion no choice but rushing after her. He practically ran into her after rounding the corner himself, but she grabbed his shoulders to steady him. She was smiling from ear to ear.

"We did it, we did it... I did it!" she exclaimed, face alight with happiness and almost jumping up and down. Tyrion was reminded uncomfortably well of how young she was. She looked like a child, squealing with delight. But he hadn't seen her this happy since the last time he got her drunk, barely a week ago.

"We were terrific. You were sublime. I was afraid for few moments!" He smiled back at her. "And I'm not making it up, I truly was afraid, you reminded me of your mother with that voice. I've seen her angry, it's not a happy memory."

"Well, raising six children while being married to the Warden of the North does teach you to use your voice."

"Can't wait for that to happen to you. Now, there's one more thing. Could you poke your head around the corner every now and then, give a giggle or something silly while I go and have a chat with one of the guards..." Tyrion rounded the corner and practically ran to the next guard, while Sansa did as he instructed. After few short moments of them speaking together he ran back to her.

"What were you doing?" she asked when he grabbed her hand.

"Making sure we won't be followed. I told the guard to give a message to my father."

"What kind of message?" "Somewhere along the lines of that we were going to consummate our marriage and didn't want to be interrupted. He might hold Joff back if he knows."

"What?! Tyrion, we can't..." Sansa stopped dead in her tracks. "What were you thinking? And we haven't danced yet! We have to go back there!"

"Ah, we'll figure something out, don't worry dear."

AN: Well, fuck, I finally did it! You won't believe the shitload of things that have happened in the last year. Anyway, this fic will be finished, even if it takes a decade! This chapter was as good as finished in last September, I found it few days ago, slapped few lines into it and voila! Here you go! Enjoy! Next chapter was also begun some ten months ago, so it should be here soon.

To the reviewers: you guys are the best. You're awesome. Seriously. Keep on rocking!