Chapter Fourteen

Sansa sat in the snow staring after Tyrion long after he had disappeared from view. Her cheek was still warm where he had touched her, and she couldn't bring herself to move.

Something had happened between them there in the godswood, something she had never expected. For the first time in ages, they had been comfortable with each other. They had talked and laughed and played together, and Sansa was stunned by it. She had never expected to find joy in Tyrion's presence, never expected to spend a single moment with him in which her mind wasn't clouded by fear. And yet, she had done just that. And when, after their little game had ended, he had come to her and brushed the snow from her cheek, she hadn't wanted to pull away. The gesture had seemed so kind and so sweet.

Sansa finally pushed herself up from the snow, her legs aching from sitting far too long. She walked slowly back to the keep, still startled by what had just passed. She realized then that she liked Tyrion. She always had, of course, but she had never really admitted it to herself before. He was good company, kind and clever. He had a sense of humor about himself and could make her laugh. He made a good companion. If they hadn't been dutybound to produce an heir, Sansa was certain they might have had a nice little life together. But then, they did need to produce an heir, and that prospect cast a pall over every other aspect of their relationship.

Of course, Tyrion had asked Sansa to put such things from her mind until they became inevitable. And she would endeavor to do just that. It was the only way to preserve the goodwill between them. She would not think about inviting him to her bed again until it was a proven necessity.

That night when Sansa joined Tyrion in the solar for the evening meal, it was with a light heart. She was looking forward to spending time with him. After all, they wouldn't be alone. Arya always joined them for meals, and she and Tyrion did most of the talking.

When Sansa arrived, she was momentarily dismayed to find Tyrion sitting alone at the head of the table. Ever the gentleman, he moved to rise when she entered the room, but she held out her hand, stopping him. "Please, don't."

Tyrion settled himself back in his chair, and Sansa sat next to him at the table.

"I see you have quite recovered from this morning," he said. "There isn't a snowflake on you."

"And I see that you have recovered as well, my lord. I'm surprised your nose isn't red with cold."

"I told you, I'm a lot heartier than that."

Sansa looked across the table where a place was normally set for Arya. But there was no plate and cup for her tonight. "Won't Arya be joining us?" Sansa asked with some alarm.

"Your sister has sent her regrets. Apparently, she has more important things to do than spend her time supping with old married people."

Despite Sansa's insecurities about being alone with Tyrion, she couldn't suppress the small smile creeping across her lips. "I am not old, my lord."

"Well, I am. And, apparently, my new sister thinks I'm quite boring."

"You are not old either. And no one could ever accuse you of being boring."

He pushed himself up in his chair so that he could begin filling his plate. "I'm older than you. And world-weary. Which is why I have decided to retire to a quiet life in the country."

"Then you've come to the wrong place."

"And don't I know it?" he said with a smirk.

"Clever men are never boring," Sansa said as she filled her own plate. "Dangerous, perhaps. But never boring."

"You think me dangerous?" he asked, his mouth quirking in a wry smile.

"I think you clever and cunning and quite dangerous to anyone who might cross you."

He picked up his glass and raised it in toast to her. "Married less than a fortnight and already you know me so well." Tyrion sipped from the glass, then returned it to the table, his eyes never leaving her.

Sansa broke his gaze, discomfited by his stare. "Besides, that scar has always made you look dangerous."

"Some women like that."

Sansa laughed.

"Why is that funny, my lady?"

Sansa couldn't help but grin as she replied, "Margaery Tyrell thought you were rather good-looking, particularly because of the scar."

Sansa hazarded a glance at Tyrion. He was smiling.

"Did she now?"

"She did. But then there's no accounting for taste."

Tyrion grasped at his heart. "You wound me, Lady Sansa!"

Sansa's grin widened. "I make no apologies, my lord. I prefer taller, prettier men."

"And I prefer less obstinate women."

Their eyes locked for a moment, and then, they both laughed.

Sansa sighed and turned back to her food. She suddenly felt more relaxed. It was so easy to joke with Tyrion. He didn't take anything she said seriously. He withstood her teasing with grace, and she admired his easygoing nature.

"So," Tyrion said as he began to eat, "did you and Margaery Tyrell often talk about me?"

"No, not often."

"But you did talk about me?" He moved to the edge of his seat as if eager to know more.

"Yes. I was rather dismayed when I was told that you were going to be my husband. Margaery did her best to help me accept my fate."

"Like a heretic to the stake." He shook his head. "How could you not be dismayed at the prospect of marrying all this?" He held out his hands and glanced down at himself.

"Stop," Sansa replied. "Stop belittling yourself all the time."

"Why? I am little."

Sansa's good mood was souring. "You're anything but. You've got big ideas, a big heart, and an even bigger mouth. There's nothing little about you." In that moment, Sansa's mind flashed to the night he had visited her in her bed. There was something else about him that wasn't little either, but she would never allow herself to say it. Instead, she said, "When we were in King's Landing, I was young and I was frightened. I didn't know any better. But I do now. Which is why I chose you for my husband."

"Maybe Lady Margaery's words are still influencing you."

"She liked you, Tyrion. And I liked her. I had a great deal of respect for her, even though, at the time, I didn't know how shrewd she truly was. She thought you handsome and a good match. I agree with her on one of those points." Sansa picked up her glass and took a sip of wine, smiling the whole time. The truth was, she didn't think Tyrion was ugly. He just wasn't the gallant knight she was normally attracted to. But she could see what Margaery saw in him, now that she was older and wiser. There was a ruggedness about him that was captivating, and the scar did make him look dangerous. If she had been attracted to dangerous looking men, she might have been attracted to him, but she still preferred pretty men like Loras. Not that she truly cared about such things anymore.

"First, you tell me not to belittle myself," Tyrion said, "and then you tell me I'm not good-looking. So, you, my lady, may belittle me, but I may not belittle myself?"

"Margaery Tyrell thought you handsome, which means you must be handsome since she was a very good judge of men."

"But you don't agree with her assessment of me?"

Sansa weighed her words carefully as she examined her husband's face. He looked at her expectantly as if her reply might truly wound him. It was then that Sansa realized how much her good opinion meant to Tyrion. She couldn't be glib with him anymore. She was done teasing. She didn't wish to cause him any distress. "I see why Margaery was attracted to you, and I cannot fault her judgment."

Tyrion nodded and sat back in his chair.

Sansa hoped he was satisfied with her answer. "I am sorry, my lord, if I hurt your feelings in any way. I was just teasing. I will not do so again."

"Don't you dare stop."

Sansa opened her mouth to ask him what he meant, but he cut her off.

"I want you to tease me. I want you to yell at me, to laugh at me, to confide in me. I want you as you are, Sansa Stark, not as the world expects you to be. I want . . . I want to be your friend, as sad and pathetic as that sounds."

"It doesn't sound sad and pathetic at all."

"Doesn't it?"

"My mother and father were the best of friends. It's how they kept going even when all the world seemed to be against them."

"Good. Then you understand what it is that I want."

"I want that too, Tyrion."

"Do you?"

Sansa nodded. "I do."

Tyrion smiled at her softly. "Then I think, my dear wife, that we shall have a happy marriage. Don't you?"

"I hope so very much."

His smile broadened, and Sansa couldn't help but smile back. Tyrion hadn't asked a great deal of her, and what he was asking for at that moment, she was more than happy to give. Even if they never shared a love like her parents had, at least they could share a friendship, and that was more than she had hoped for when she'd first asked him to be her husband.

Sansa and Tyrion stayed at the table long after the last plate had been cleared, talking and laughing and making plans for the future. It was the happiest evening Sansa had spent in a very long time.