Chapter Twenty-five

That night, Sansa didn't join Tyrion and Arya for the evening meal, and Tyrion was more than a little concerned. He knew that Sansa was upset about Arya's departure, but after everything they had shared that morning, he'd thought that she would be in high enough spirits to join them for dinner. Tyrion was so concerned, in fact, that when Sansa failed to make an appearance, he skipped the meal altogether and went in search of her.

Tyrion was dismayed to find that Sansa had not retired to her chamber, and for a moment, he was at a loss. But he'd spent enough time at Winterfell now to know where she would be, and so, he headed for the godswood.

The moon was high and full as Tyrion walked the snowy earth, the night cold and silent around him. He caught sight of Sansa long before he reached her, a solitary figure sitting on a stone beneath the heart tree, staring out into the darkness. There was a part of him that didn't want to disturb her. She looked too peaceful, too serene. But he knew, despite her reserved exterior, that she was battling demons in her own mind, and he desperately wanted to comfort her.

Tyrion could not hide his approach for long. His footfalls crunched the frozen snow, giving him away as he walked toward her.

Sansa looked up, clearly surprised to see him. "What are you doing here?"

Tyrion moved closer, sitting down on the stone beside her, but leaving a comfortable distance between them. Despite the intimacies they had shared just that morning, he knew she was in no mood to be wooed. He needed to give her space, to let her come to him on her own. He was there as a friend, not a lover, and it was important to him that she understood that.

"You didn't join us for the evening meal, and I was worried."

"I wasn't hungry," Sansa said, pulling her cape closer around herself as if it could somehow shield her from her pain.

"Of course, you weren't. How could you have an appetite after learning that your sister intends to abandon you for King's Landing?"

Sansa looked away, her gaze settling in the far distance, as if just by turning from him she could will the hurt away. "Arya is free to do as she pleases. She is not the Lady of Winterfell. And she certainly has no obligation to me. She can do whatever she likes."

"But you can't."

Sansa stiffened, and Tyrion knew he had struck a nerve. "My duty is to Winterfell. Arya's duty is only to herself now. She has made her choice, and she will not be swayed."

"Do you want to sway her?" Tyrion already knew the answer. He knew Sansa was devastated by the thought of losing her sister. What he didn't know, however, was if she was capable of admitting it.

"I don't care what Arya does. If she wants to leave, she may leave. Just like everyone else."

A pang of understanding struck Tyrion's heart, and he stared at Sansa with new eyes. "Is that what this is about?"

Sansa looked at him again. "Is that what what is about?"

"Is that why you're so hurt? Because you feel like everyone you've ever loved has abandoned you?"

Sansa's blue eyes turned stormy, telling Tyrion all he needed to know. She opened her mouth to protest, but the words just wouldn't come.

"I'm sorry, Sansa," Tyrion said when she didn't reply. "I know what it's like to be forsaken by those you love, to be left behind. My whole life I've known nothing but heartache, rejection, and abandonment. I understand what you're feeling right now, better than anyone, and I am sorry."

Sansa shook her head, a hint of moisture glistening behind her eyes. She turned away, hiding her unshed tears. "I don't want her to go," she said softly, the words barely a whisper

"I know. I don't want her to go either. But it's time."

"Is it? Why does she have to go at all? Why can't she stay here at Winterfell with me for the rest of her life? She was born here. She belongs here, by my side. Not in King's Landing. Not in that dreadful place."

"She belongs wherever she will find her happiness. And if that is King's Landing, then so be it."

"She's being selfish," Sansa said as she straightened her shoulders and stared out into the night. "She's acting like a child."

Tyrion didn't think Arya was the one who was acting like a child, but he held his tongue, lest he upset his wife. He knew that Sansa was angry and frightened, and she had a right to those feelings, but she was letting her emotions get the best of her. She seemed determined to wallow in her own misery, no matter how hard he tried to reason with her. "I think Arya is just doing what she thinks is right. Just as you did when you offered me your hand in marriage."

"It's not the same thing."

"Of course, it is. You made a decision that you knew was right for you, and no one could have swayed you from it. Not Arya, not even your cousin Jon. No one. This, this is Arya's decision, one she made by herself for herself. I know it hurts. I know you don't want her to go, Sansa. But you have to accept it. It's her choice, and you can't hold her here any longer."

"I don't want to hold her here. I told her if she wants to go, she should go."

"And she has every intention of doing so."

"Good. Then she'd best do it quickly because I have no desire to see her again before she leaves."

Tyrion sighed. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration and fought the urge to swear. Sansa was being purposefully obstinate, and he wanted to yell at her, to scream at her, until she saw reason. But he knew getting angry with her wasn't going to solve the problem. If he raised his voice, she'd stop listening to him altogether, and that was the last thing he wanted.

So, Tyrion inhaled a steadying breath and did his best to reason with her as calmly as he could. "Sansa, your sister, your only sister, is about to leave Winterfell forever. It may be years, decades, before you see her again. Don't you at least want to say goodbye to her, one last time, before she goes?"

"I've said my goodbyes. I have nothing more to say to her or to you."

Sansa stood abruptly, and Tyrion scrambled to his feet. She headed toward the keep, and he followed after her, but her long strides were too swift for him, and he couldn't keep up. He stopped suddenly and called out her name, hoping that she wouldn't ignore him.

Sansa halted several yards away, but she didn't turn around. She stood there and waited for Tyrion to reach her. He hurried forward, stopping directly in her path so that she was forced to face him. He stared up at her, struck silent by the haunting beauty of her face. She looked so solemn, so sad, and he wished, more than anything, that he could take her pain away, that he could convince her that she wasn't alone, that she was loved. But the words got stuck somewhere in his throat.

"What do you want, Tyrion?"

It took him a moment to answer, but finally, he said, "I want you to know that, whatever happens, I will never leave you. I will stand by your side until my dying day, Sansa Stark. I swear it on my life, by the old gods and the new. I will never leave you. You have my word."

For a single instant, he thought he saw hope spark behind her eyes, but it quickly faded, replaced by suspicion and doubt. "You don't know what the future holds," she said. "My mother and father both thought they would be together until their dying day, and they were both wrong. My father lost his head in King's Landing, and my mother had her throat slit at the Twins. You say you will stay with me for the rest of your life, but how can I believe that? Everyone else has left me – my mother, my father, my brothers, and now Arya. Why should you be any different?"

"Because I . . ." Tyrion wanted to say the words, but he couldn't. He feared she wouldn't believe them. She was too angry, too emotional. She would think he was only saying them to make her feel better about Arya's departure. She would never believe the truth, no matter how sincere his words.

"Because you what, Tyrion? Because you have nowhere else to go? That isn't true. You are free to leave for Casterly Rock whenever you like. Perhaps you shouldn't wait until spring. Perhaps you should go now. You can ride with Arya along the kingsroad until you must turn west and she must continue south. I'm sure you'll enjoy the company."

Sansa swept past him then, not waiting for him to utter a single word of reply.

The instant Tyrion regained the ability to speak, he called out after her, but she kept walking. She disappeared into the night before he had any chance of reaching her.

Tyrion stood there in the darkness, the cold closing in around him, wondering what the hell had just happened. Only twelve hours earlier, Sansa had invited him into her bed, not because she'd had to, but because she'd wanted to. She had trusted him, she had loved him – not with her heart, of course, but with her body – and he had thought they had grown closer. But now, all his hopes were dashed. She had closed herself off from him again, fear and anger blinding her to the truth that was right in front of her eyes. He would never leave her. He would fight until his dying day to remain by her side. He loved her more than anyone or anything he had ever known, and he would never abandon her. Never. He just wished she could open her eyes and see that, once and for all.