Chapter 14
Tyrion stood on the bottom of the fence, leaning over the top as he threw some meat into the kennels. The hounds rushed around the food, eagerly devouring it.
"Don't they make ya nervous, boy?" asked Emory, cleaning out the kennel away from the hounds
Tyrion was hardly a boy or even close to that age, but given how elderly Emory was he supposed it made sense.
"Why would they? All castles have hounds"
"Aye, but your wife fed her last husband to the dogs"
Tyrion eyed the hounds warily "These hounds?"
Emory barked out a short laugh "No! Queen had them destroyed; the Bolton bastard had them far too vicious"
"That's good" said Tyrion, breathing out a sigh of relief "it was still a kinder fate than the bastard deserved"
"Don't reckon you'll get to fed the hounds"
"I can think of better ways to go"
Tyrion continued feeding the hounds and started to help Emory throw fresh hay into the area. Despite the kennel masters advanced age he didn't shy away from any work and Tyrion found him interesting company.
"You're a strange lord" said Emory, stretching up and cracking his back
"Have you only now realised I'm a dwarf?"
"I don't give a shit if you're a dwarf. Ain't many lords who'd dirty their hands helping the likes of me"
"I don't really think of myself as a lord anymore" said Tyrion "I never helped the small folk at Casterly Rock - I was taught it was below my station. Yet when I came to Winterfell, Lord Stark looked after everyone from the highborn to the small folk; I respected that"
"He was a good lord" agreed Emory
"I never really liked how my family treated the small folk. They're only small folk as a circumstance of birth. My father always told me how grateful I should be I was born a Lannister. If I'd been born to a poor family I'd have been left outside to die" said Tyrion, bitterness twinging his tone
The kennel master snorted turning to look at Tyrion "Your father was full of shit, boy. Way I see it poor folks treat their children better than half these lords and ladies. You're a right example of that"
Tyrion's mind drifted to Nessa and her family. It was hard to imagine her mother Tess throwing out her children if they'd been born like him.
"I do believe you're right"
"Too right, I am. The Starks were good lords - well-liked by the people, as you say. Queen's not so liked by the small folk"
"She's suffered a lot in her life and the crown is a heavy burden" said Tyrion
"Aye, reckon she's still getting used to it. You're a good lord of Winterfell though" said Emory tossing a stack of hay at him, nearly knocking him off his feet "Not a bad kennel boy either!"
"Maester Wolkan, what business is the most pressing to deal with today?" asked Sansa, taking her seat at the head of the table. The chamber she used for council meetings seemed so much larger now there was so few of them. Eventually Robin and Arya would both leave and it would be emptier still - the thought sent a wave of tension through her.
Although her council had all left, apart from Robin Flint, she found a regular meeting each week between herself, Arya, Tyrion, Robin and the Maester was useful. Her own days were filled with work and she knew Tyrion worked just as hard. This weekly meeting was the easiest way to keep everyone apprised of progress and what needed to be done moving forwards.
"Well your Grace, the trade deal with Dorne has been finalised and talks with Highgarden are set to begin soon. The issue of a border between the North and the six kingdoms of Westeros is still in negotiation with the Kings Hand, Ser Davos Seaworth. Locally, the main issue is filling empty seats and improving the economy. Bear Island for example has been empty for quite some time as has the Last Hearth, The Dreadfort and Karhold"
"All are major seats to fill" noted Robin "you will want loyal people to take control of those keeps"
"With so many Northern families killed during the war there are few choices for these seats" said Sansa, the beginnings of a headache forming
Sansa's attention drifted as Maester Wolkan and Robin continued discussing the possibilities for filling the seats. Arya rarely contributed during these meetings but had developed a peculiar habit of staring at her, which left Sansa distinctly uncomfortable. Tyrion tended to sit quietly unless you asked him something, which in many ways irritated her. She didn't understand why he had such an issue expressing his opinion now when he never hesitated in the past.
"Has there been any progress on the missing girls?" asked Arya loudly. Looking at her sister, Sansa could see she'd gotten bored of the previous conversation and changed the subject. Arya had her feet on the table, twirling a dagger through her fingers. Sansa sighed; time and again she'd told her sister meetings were not the place for weapons.
"Lord Tyrion, you were dealing with that issue?" said Robin, turning the attention to him
"Deke has had news from the Gift saying two more women have been taken. No-one saw the abduction, though a cart was seen traveling not far from the area in a south west direction. Unfortunately, the free folk there are quite poorly defended as most of their fighting men and spear wives went North with Tormund. That whole area of the North is rather empty until you reach Deepwood Motte or Winterfell" explained Tyrion, tapping his fingers against the table as he spoke
"Is there nothing we can do about it?" asked Robin, looking imploringly at Sansa
Truthfully she had far more important things to do than help the free folk. They wouldn't bend the knee so were not really her subjects nor were they under her protection. However, Tyrion had asked her permission to help based on the few cases of girls going missing from the villages that surrounded Winterfell. He seemed to think there was a connection and Sansa had been more than happy to let him handle it – one less thing for her to worry about.
"What are you going to do about it Sansa?" questioned Arya, eyebrows raised "Surely the situation has escalated enough to gain your attention?"
"I deferred this issue to lord Tyrion" she said mouth tightening, before turning to her husband "you may take any action you deem necessary"
"Thank you, your Grace" he said "I intend to send out some patrols towards the Gift. That seems to be where the majority of abductions are happening and the best chance of catching them is having a presence in the area. Although they were seen travelling south west the area is far too large to search or patrol effectively. Better to maintain a presence close to the villages"
"Very good" she said, brushing his arm. Sansa liked it when Tyrion contributed to their meetings. His sharp mind was well suited to ruling and she valued his input above all others. Aside from that he was a great help in handling the small folk and that at least gave her more time to handle other matters.
Unfortunately, there was no end of issues to be dealt with and the responsibility ultimately fell on her shoulders. She didn't expect Arya to understand, but she had to prioritise. Securing the North's protection and trade deals was at the forefront of her mind. Perhaps when the major issues were handled she would have time to help the small folk, but until then her focus was elsewhere.
"Is that all for today?" said Sansa, weariness settling over her
Robin Flint straightened in his chair "Actually your Grace, I was going to ask your permission to leave for a hunting trip. Gawan invited me to meet him in a few days' time, but I'm worried about leaving you with so many issues at the moment"
Sansa smiled at his thoughtfulness "Please, go and enjoy yourself. Your help and support has been invaluable, it would please me greatly to know you were having a break"
"Are you sure, your Grace?" he said, looking torn "I'll happily remain by your side if you wish"
"Of course my lord" said Sansa, ignoring Arya's grimacing face "please send my regards to lord Gawan"
"Rest assured, your Grace I will be gone no longer than a moon turn and then I will return to assist you for a bit longer if it's all the same to you"
Sansa smiled "In that case I wish you a safe trip, my lord. I look forward to your return"
Steel clashed as Tyrion blocked Lyle's strike before retaliating with one of his own. Against his better judgement he'd continued to let Cayn teach him how to fight with a sword, which Lyle and Alec had eagerly joined in with upon their return from the village. The men had taken turns showing him different things, and after six weeks of drills he'd let himself get talked into some 'light' sparring. They only used blunt practice weapons but they were still capable of a nasty whack and Tyrion had certainly received a few over the last couple of sessions.
"Lyle, watch your footwork" called out Alec, observing from the side-lines
The young man quickly adjusted his feet, striking twice at Tyrion in rapid succession. He blocked the first and barely dodged the second, stumbling to the side out of reach. His own sword was shorter and lighter than the standard swords used by the guards. He'd practiced hitting the training dummy with it enough over the past few moon turns that the weapon was familiar in his hand. They continued to trade blows, Lyle dealing a painful strike to his hand, but Tyrion managed to keep hold of the sword.
"Go on Tyrion!" said Cayn, keen to see someone best his brother. True to their word, the men he trained with had all taken it easy on him when he first joined them for drills until he grew used to the training. Gradually they had increased the tempo, pushing him harder until he was comfortable enough to try sparring. He would never be as skilled as they were, but there was a certain thrill to the training and Tyrion found he didn't mind the bruises he ended up with.
Raising his sword high, Lyle brought the weapon down towards Tyrion's head giving him the opening he wanted. Raising his own weapon high, Tyrion deflected the blade as he stepped close to Lyle, quickly bringing it around to smack him across the stomach with the flat of the blade. Winded by the blow Lyle blindly swung his sword narrowly missing Tyrion's head as he brought his own weapon round in an arc catching Lyle across the back of the ankles and sending him flying.
The young man landed flat on his back, sword clattering across the yard as Tyrion planted his own sword at his throat.
"Dead?" said Tyrion, mouth twitching upwards
"Dead" agreed Lyle, lying on the ground
Tyrion lowered his sword, offering Lyle a hand up.
"You're a right sneaky sod" said Lyle grinning as he regained his feet "most people would have gone for my head"
"I'd have had to jump for it" said Tyrion, smiling in return
"Good match" said Alec as they headed over to the group
"That was beautiful to watch" said Cayn, throwing his arm around Tyrion "You'll have to explain how you beat him so I can do it too"
"I got lucky" said Tyrion, face reddening
"I wasn't going easy on you" said Lyle, collapsing onto the crates beside Brice
"He won 'cause he's clever" said Brice with a snort "You expected him to fight like every other bloke"
"Brice is right" said Alec, turning to Tyrion "Why do you really think you won?"
Tyrion considered his answer. Alec would often pose these reflective questions to them all as a way of evaluating their actions. In many ways, Tyrion found fighting was about tactics rather than brute strength and he knew the men would not accept luck as an answer no matter how much Tyrion believed it to be so.
"Well" he started, tilting his head to one side "Lyle is taller, stronger and much more experienced than me. It doesn't take him much effort to strike downwards at my head, but it would take a lot of effort for me to strike upwards at his head - and he would see it coming. So I struck at the targets closer to me"
"Exactly" agreed Alec, turning to Lyle and Cayn "You can't expect every opponent to fight the way you do. Sellswords won't fight like men trained by a master of arms, mercenaries or those from across the narrow sea won't fight like us. Men with injuries or physical weaknesses will adapt, and you need to adapt too"
"Expect the unexpected - got it" said Lyle stretching out on the crate "I'll beat you next time Tyrion!"
Cayn pouted "Hey, it's my turn next time. We could go now Tyrion?"
"Next time" said Tyrion, rolling his sore shoulders "I'm rather exhausted after that"
"Might give the lad more of a chance" said Brice, smacking Cayn on the back
The men continued to banter and Tyrion took his place on the crate to watch Brice and Alec spar. No matter how long his father had been dead, part of him still feared being scolded like a naughty child for training in arms. The rest of him however, enjoyed doing something he'd longed to do since he was a boy. A pang of sadness went through him that Jamie wasn't here to see it - his brother would have been proud of him even if Cersei and their father weren't.
Sansa eyed her unused needlework supplies in the corner of her room. She was sat at the desk with piles of letters spread out before her that seemed to be never-ending. She'd loved needlework as a girl; the repetitive motions were soothing and she enjoyed making her own clothes. Her role as Queen of the North didn't allow her the luxury of pursuing her childhood hobby however; she'd tried a few weeks ago but found herself unable to relax. There were piles of correspondence to go through and she was reluctant to delegate it to anyone else. Robin had left a few days ago and she had one less friendly ear to turn to for advice as she sorted through the work. As Queen she needed to know what was going on; Kings Landing had taught her what could happen if you weren't in control. Neither King Robert nor Joffrey had any interest in the affairs of the realm and it had opened the gates for opportunists like littlefinger and led the crown into huge debt. The North would not be led like that.
Glancing at a letter from Lord Robett Glover, Sansa's insides twisted. Most of the message was standard business but there was one line that bothered her:
I look forward to news of an heir soon.
She'd hoped her and Tyrion would have conceived on their wedding night as her mother had done, but that was not to be and they hadn't repeated the act since. Sweat trickled down her spine as she added the letter to a pile. Lord Manderly and several other houses had made similar comments in their correspondence over the past few weeks and anxiety wound through her. If she did not fall pregnant soon, would the lords and ladies of the North think her barren? Sansa gripped the side of her chair; possible outcomes flashing through her mind. Would they insist on her marrying someone else if she didn't fall pregnant? No, they couldn't do that - the marriage to Tyrion was consummated. Logic and fear warred within Sansa, causing her heart to race.
Tyrion seemed terrified of coming close to her - he never came to bed until it was late and Sansa was already asleep, and was gone before she woke in the morning. She knew he hadn't enjoyed their wedding night, but this was their duty. Sansa had allowed him plenty of space since their wedding but this was as much his responsibility as it was hers. She had no idea why he was unwilling, but perhaps there was a way to make it easier for him?
'All men are led by that thing between their legs' she recalled 'it does half their thinking for them'
Her head pounded as the responsibilities and demands threatened to overwhelm her. She would have to bed her husband soon; the North needed an heir.
Tyrion wasn't entirely sure how his evening had gone from work to spending time with Sansa. They sat opposite the hearth which crackled cheerfully, warming the room and casting an orange glow around the area. After dinner, Sansa had asked him to join her in their room and had pulled him onto the long chaise beside her. She had chatted about her work and trivial things, at some point wrapping her arm around him and pulling him closer. He was utterly confounded by her behaviour. While Sansa made sure to show affection to him in public he was sure it was an act to maintain appearances. Tyrion had made peace with that, yet tonight she seemed determined to be close to him even without anyone watching. The faintest ember of hope dared to spark in his heart; was it possible she did care for him?
"You're very quiet" said Sansa, sipping her wine
"Sorry" he said, smiling at her "I'm not sure what to say"
She laughed lightly "That never used to stop you"
"I've learnt since then" he said, a blush tinging his cheeks "what would you like to talk about?"
Sansa was so warm tonight; more like the girl who'd believed in dashing knights and tales of heroes and less like the ice Queen experience had forced her to become.
"Well, you could tell me a story" she said, placing her cup down and sinking into the chair until her head rested on his shoulder
"What would you like to hear?" he asked, heat spreading through him
"Hmm" she said, tracing her fingers along his arm "Something about your childhood"
A lightness filled Tyrion as he told Sansa of the few happy childhood memories he had. Mostly they involved Jamie or a trick he pulled on Cersei. His wife laughed as he spoke, snuggling closer to him and for the first time in many months Tyrion felt happy. The ember of hope that had sparked at the beginning of the evening continued to grow. Perhaps, in time Sansa might care for him as he cared for her. It was still a foolish notion, but he found himself daring to dream it just a little.
They talked late into the evening, telling tales and enjoying each other's company. It was intimate and warm, and it was a connection Tyrion had craved his whole life.
"I think I should get ready for bed" said Sansa eventually, untangling herself from Tyrion and pressing a soft kiss to his mouth which he hesitantly returned.
Tyrion went to his own screen, changing into his nightshift. Hope had taken root in his heart that Sansa did care for him. They had probably spoken more tonight than the whole length of their marriage, and it had ignited a joy in Tyrion he feared he'd never experience again. Heading to the bed Tyrion saw Sansa already beneath the covers and he quickly climbed in next to her.
"Sleep well Sansa" he said, grinning at her before turning to extinguish the lights
A hand on his wrist stopped him "Hang on, I want to talk to you first"
"Of course" he said, letting her guide him to the mattress until they were both lying down facing each other
"I knew you'd be a great lord of Winterfell" she said, brushing a hand through his hair
"I'm glad one of us did"
"You're more than capable Tyrion. You're clever, fair and dutiful"
"Thank you" he said, mouth turning down. Why was she telling him this?
"There is one duty you still need to complete though" said Sansa "the North needs an heir Tyrion. I've given you time to adjust to the marriage and your role as lord, but we must complete this duty"
Coldness swept through Tyrion as if the Night King was in the room with them, extinguishing the embers of hope that had stirred to life that evening. This wonderful, intimate time he'd spent with Sansa hadn't been because she cared for him – it was to seduce him.
"Are you going to complete your duty?" asked Sansa, icy blue eyes watching him
"I'd rather we didn't" he said lowering his eyes from Sansa's expectant gaze
"We must do our duty" she said, tone brokering no argument "the North needs an heir"
"I… don't think I can" he said, voice thick. He couldn't do it. Not for duty; not even for Sansa.
"That's ok" she said with a sigh "just relax and let me handle it"
Tyrion didn't bother to resist as Sansa pushed him onto his back and straddled him once more. For a moment he'd allowed himself to dream that Sansa could possibly, one day love him, but it had all been an act.
Sansa leaned over him covering his face with soft kisses but he didn't respond to her advances. This was duty, not passion; there was no need for her to pretend anymore. She continued kissing him and stroking his face as her other hand found the hem of his shift and lifted it just above his private area.
"This will be over soon" she soothed leaning back to grasp hold of him.
Tyrion couldn't bear to watch as Sansa moved her delicate hand up and down his cock until he was at full attention. She quickly lowered herself onto him, her warm folds clamping tightly around his cock holding him prisoner. Despite the crushing pain that wrapped around his heart, his body betrayed him by joining Sansa's rhythm until the deed was done once more, a small moan escaping him as he finished.
Sansa slid off him after finding her own release, pulling his shift back in place and reaching for the furs at the bottom of the bed. She covered them both before lying on her side next to him once again.
"At least that's taken care of" Sansa said; as if she'd finished writing a letter.
"If you say so" said Tyrion, dropping his head away from her as she lay beside him.
"We don't need to sleep right away" Sansa said, a note of desperation creeping into her voice "we can talk some more if you'd like?"
"No, thank you"
Tyrion felt Sansa move to wrap her arms around him, and he quickly turned on his side away from her scooting to the edge of the bed where he normally slept.
"Tyrion?"
"I'm rather tired" he said, curling in on himself "Good night"
"Ok" she said after a moments pause "Good night Tyrion"
Tyrion kept his breathing as steady as possible until he was sure Sansa was asleep before he let the tears escape down his face.
'Stupid dwarf' he though 'you know this is a marriage of duty not love'
It had been utter foolishness to let himself think it could be anything else. He was a means to an end for Sansa, and while she might value his opinion and trust him as a lord she could never love him.
Tyrion cried for his own heart; broken far beyond repair. Mostly he cried for Sansa; the girl who had dreamed of romance and had the illusion shattered by his family. Joffrey broke her heart and stole her ability to trust; Tywin married her to an imp rather than the dashing knight she deserved. Cersei's influence was the clearest, though he doubted Sansa realised it. His sister had often given Jamie a taste of what he truly wanted as a way of manipulating him to do what she wanted – and Sansa had used the same tactic. Tonight Sansa had given Tyrion a taste of what real love could be and despite his years of experience he'd let himself fall for the illusion.
He couldn't blame Sansa. It broke his heart that her idea of marriage and bedding was based on manipulation and coercion, though it was a lesson she'd undoubtedly started to learn from Cersei. Tyrion wanted to be angry at how she used him, but he couldn't do it. It was his fault for hoping in the first place. Sansa Stark wasn't capable of loving him and he had to accept it.
Tyrion wiped his sleeve over his eyes and tried to settle down to sleep. He wouldn't dare to hope again; tonight had taught him a painful lesson. Although Sansa could never love him, Tyrion couldn't help but care for her. The root cause of her suffering was his family and Tyrion would spend the rest of his life trying to repay that debt to her. He'd do his best to be the lord of Winterfell and her husband, though he knew deep down he was inadequate for both roles. Sansa clearly had no problem taking him in the bed and he wouldn't resist anymore; he was hers to use however she liked. No matter what Arya or the kind people of Winterfell told him, Tyrion knew in his heart he was a prisoner and would be until the end of his days.
Sansa trembled as she stared at the breakfast on the table before her, stomach rolling at the sight of food. The memory of last night made bile crawl up her throat and more than once that morning she'd almost been physically sick. She knew the wedding night had hurt Tyrion, but the broken hearted look on his face as he lay listless beneath her last night haunted her every thought.
"Get this out of here!" she snapped to the serving girl, hovering on the outskirts of the room. The food was quickly removed and Sansa found herself alone in her chambers.
Somehow she'd gone too far this time, but she just wasn't sure what she'd done wrong. The evening had been lovely and Sansa had been thrilled to find the old Tyrion beneath the quiet, lost mask he'd worn since coming North. It had taken a while but gradually his guard had dropped as they talked and joked; a happy smile crossing his face as they traded childhood tales. She'd felt closer to her husband than she ever had before and when she kissed him he had tentatively kissed her back. A strange warmth had spread through her at his reaction to the kiss but it all changed when she brought up bedding. The connection that had developed between them evaporated instantly and once more she'd had to force him through the deed. Though he hadn't resisted last night, he certainly hadn't participated willingly either. It was a necessary part of their marriage; why did it upset him?
Sansa bit her lip considering his reaction. When it was done she'd reached out to hold him, wanting to enjoy the closeness they had shared earlier on but he'd turned his back to her, moving as far from his wife as possible. The rejection had stung and Sansa knew then she'd somehow hurt him deeply.
What she would give for her mother's guidance. Even her Septa or Margarey might have offered her advice on what to do. The only person in Winterfell she could speak to about this was Arya and that wasn't really an option. Her little sister was hardly a sympathetic ear and this was a personal matter.
Sighing, Sansa rose from the table and readied herself for the day. What's done is done. Tyrion would be fine, wouldn't he?
The sun was just beginning its descent in the sky when Arya made her way out of Winterfell, light snow crunching softly under foot.
"Arya, where are you taking me?" asked Tyrion, a few paces behind her
"You'll see when we get there" she said.
Dinner for the past two days had been a strange affair. Sansa had showered Tyrion with attention pulling him into conversations and brushing against him at every opportunity. The attention she was paying her husband might not have been so strange if Sansa hadn't largely ignored him since he came to Winterfell. Meanwhile Tyrion seemed more withdrawn than ever, enduring Sansa's affection with a barely hidden grimace.
Arya didn't need her faceless man training to see Sansa was consumed by guilt; a blind man could see it. What she didn't know was why, and she had every intention of finding out.
"Why are we at the practice yard?" asked Tyrion as they came to a stop
Arya withdrew needle pointing the blade at Tyrion "Why do you think?"
"You've finally had enough of me and decided to end it?"
"Nope"
"Your sister wants me gone so she can marry someone worthy of her"
"Wrong again"
Tyrion sighed "What do you want then?"
"To practice with my big brother" she said with a grin, gesturing for him to fetch his own weapon
Telling Tyrion he was family now and they weren't going to throw him out on a sudden whim was absolutely pointless; Arya knew she could tell him a thousand times and he'd still be sceptical. No matter how long he'd been at Winterfell, it was clear he still thought of it as a prison. Sadness swept through Arya at the thought; she'd hoped with time the melancholy that hung around him would lift but it had only deepened. However long it took, she would convince her brother this was his home and he wasn't a guest.
Deciding whether she should talk to Tyrion or Sansa first about whatever was going on between them had been an easy decision - Tyrion was far less annoying than her sister. Besides, she had no idea how to converse with Sansa and break through her ice Queen armour. Turning needle in her hand, Arya wished she could simply poke a hole through her sister's defences to find the real Sansa again. Before approaching her sister she would try Tyrion. Despite her previous offers to be a friendly ear for him, Tyrion had never taken her up on it so tonight it was time for a different tactic.
"Should I just surrender now?" he asked, returning to the centre of the yard, with the short practice sword he used
"I'm not going to hurt you" she said "though it has been a while since I poked a hole in someone"
"What a charming thought"
Tyrion looked unsure so Arya made the first move, darting forwards with a jab to his face. To his credit, Tyrion managed to block the quick strike retaliating with his own as they began to trade strikes and jabs at each other. Arya made sure to keep it light and playful; from what the guards had told her it had taken a lot of convincing for Tyrion to join in with them and she didn't want to damage what little confidence he had. Much to her surprise Tyrion kept good pace with her and she found herself upping the tempo to keep him at bay.
"You're quite good" she said, grinning in approval
"You're holding back" he said, mouth twitching upwards
"Not as much as I thought I would need to"
Arya found it easy to get lost in the water dance as she sparred with Tyrion, but that wasn't the purpose of tonight. Eventually, she took two quick steps to his closed side, striking his sword before sliding needle up to rest at his throat.
"Dead" he said, panting "You beat the dwarf - congratulations"
"I'll have you know I beat the lord of Winterfell" she said, lowering her needle
"Who taught you to fight like that? The Braavos sword style is unusual in Westeros"
"I'd tell you, but I won so I get to ask you a question" Arya said, circling around Tyrion while he recovered his breath
"Ah, so this is a game?"
"You are clever brother" Arya said, raising needle "First to score a strike anywhere, gets to ask a question of the other and you've got to answer as truthfully as possible. Deal?"
"Very well. What's your question?"
"Why don't you drink wine anymore?"
"I dried out in Kings Landing and lost the taste" he said with a shrug "if I started again now, I might never stop"
"Fair enough" said Arya, accepting the answer "Just wondered how you've been here so long and the wine stores aren't empty yet"
"Sansa seems equally shocked by my sobriety"
Arya shrugged "I never got a taste for wine. Ready to go?"
Swords clashed and Arya got the next question a few moments later after striking Tyrion's arm.
"How did you escape Kings Landing during your trial?" she asked
"Jamie freed me and forced Varys to aid my escape. I travelled across the narrow sea in a crate until I arrived in Pentos"
Arya's heart twisted at his words "You were in a crate all that time? It must have taken at least a week"
"Yes. Unable to get out or make a sound lest I be discovered. Shall we?"
Arya nodded raising needle in front of her. They traded strikes once more but her mind was whirling with new information. While she'd obviously known he'd escaped across the narrow sea, she'd never imagined how difficult the journey must have been. Arya knew about Shae – Sansa had told her everything, and it was common knowledge Tyrion killed his father. But the thought of being locked away in a dark, cramped space for at least a week without being able to talk, after killing two of the people closest to you made Arya's stomach roll.
"Got you" said Tyrion as his sword lightly hit her leg.
"So you did. What's your question?" said Arya, inwardly berating her lack of focus
"How did you evade my sister and escape Kings Landing? Everyone assumed you were dead"
"A man from the nights watch called Yoren was there when my father was killed. He stopped me seeing it and disguised me as a boy to escape. He was going to take me home"
Tyrion bowed his head slightly "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories"
Arya snorted "That's the whole point of this game"
"Reminds me of a drinking game I used to play"
They battled on with Arya winning several questions. So far she'd learnt;
Cersei hated him for killing their mother.
He missed Myrcella and Tommen a lot.
His favourite uncle disappeared across the narrow sea and had been presumed dead for years.
Yes, Joffrey had always been cruel.
Arya didn't want this to feel like an interrogation so she left herself open for Tyrion a few times to give him more of a chance – not that he needed much help. In return she'd confessed her childhood jealousy of her more beautiful sister, and killing Ser Meryn Trant in Braavos. Though Arya could have carried on all night quite happily, it was clear Tyrion was growing tired by his slower swings and clumsy footwork so she made her last few questions more pointed.
"Do you resent being exiled North?"
"No – it was far more lenient than I deserved"
"I think it was harsh"
"Bran should have taken my head"
"Don't say that Tyrion. You're my brother now"
The swords continued to sing in the dying light of the day as darkness crept over the practice yard.
"Are you afraid of Sansa?"
He tilted his head to the side, eyes downcast and for a moment Arya feared he wouldn't answer.
"No. I'm afraid of disappointing her" he said eventually
"You always seem nervous around her"
"She's a Queen and I'm an imp"
Arya placed needle back on her hip, approaching Tyrion. He was breathing heavily and she regretted keeping the sparring going so late. Arya knew he hardly ate or slept and the heavy exertion had clearly taken a toll.
"Tyrion, I've told you before you can talk to me. I know something's happened between you and Sansa, I just don't know what?"
Tyrion wouldn't meet her gaze, shuffling awkwardly on the spot "Don't you need to hit me before you ask a question?"
Arya crouched in front of him, flicking him on the forehead.
"So, what's going on between you and Sansa?"
"I appreciate your concern, but there's nothing wrong really. Things are the same between us as they always have been"
Arya's face softened "I just want you to be happy – and Sansa"
She'd meant to be more direct in asking him, but Arya was well aware it was private and she didn't want to risk scaring him off. She liked to think there was a trusting relationship building between her and Tyrion. Demanding answers could jeopardise that, so Arya resolved to force the answers from Sansa instead. While Tyrion may need gentle understanding at the moment, Sansa needed a rather crude awakening and Arya would happily deliver it.
"Give me your sword – I think we should call it a night" she said, taking in the deep shadows under his eyes
"Yes, it's getting rather late"
Arya returned his weapon and they started back into the castle.
"Thank you for tonight" he said as they headed upstairs "I rather enjoyed sparring with you – terrifying as you are"
"I enjoyed it too" she said "You're pretty good with a sword, but I'm sorry I worked you so hard – you look exhausted"
"I'll be fine" he said, turning off towards the library "Good night Arya"
Arya reached out grabbing his arm with a laugh "As if I'm letting you work now, you can barely keep your eyes open"
"There are things Sansa needs me to do..." he protested as she dragged him towards his chambers
"They can wait until tomorrow. You need proper sleep"
"I function rather well without it"
They arrived at the door and Tyrion looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't want to disturb Sansa if she's still working"
Arya watched Tyrion closely as he hesitated before his own chambers, unease filling her chest. What was going on between them that he'd be afraid of finding his wife awake? She pressed her ear to the wooden door, listening for signs of life.
"I'm pretty sure she's asleep" said Arya
Tyrion nodded, visibly relaxing "That's good. Sleep well Arya"
"Good night" she said watching him creep into the room.
Turning off towards her own chambers Arya ran a hand through her hair. She would speak to Sansa tomorrow and offer her help once again. No matter what Sansa convinced herself of, Arya knew her sister was still traumatised by the past few years - how could she not be? It was getting Sansa to admit to it that was proving difficult.
Sansa crept around the room, trying her best to not wake her sleeping husband. She'd been shocked to find Tyrion still sound asleep in bed this morning as he was always up and gone before she woke herself.
She dressed quickly, fixing her hair and preparing for the day. It had been tempting to stay in bed with Tyrion - part of Sansa had wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold her husband close, apologising for hurting him the other night. The Queen in the North won out in the end and Sansa forced herself to get up, leaving Tyrion curled up on the edge of the bed. She could not allow her emotions to rule her. Her mother had done so and it had helped ignite the war between the Starks and the Lannister's; Sansa had to be smarter than that. There was no room to second guess your choices as a Queen – it could be seen as weakness and weakness made you vulnerable. Sansa Stark would never be vulnerable again.
When she was ready for the day's business, Sansa found herself hovering beside the bed watching Tyrion sleep. A frown twisted his face as he lay curled in on himself and Sansa felt her resolve shudder. She would never regret bringing Tyrion North or making him her husband, but her heart constricted at some of her actions. He was the last person in the world she would want to hurt, yet she had anyway. Sansa had looked at every possible outcome and acted accordingly – everything she'd done had been necessary. Why couldn't he understand everything she was doing was for them? For the North?
'Is it really?' whispered a small voice 'or is this all for you?'
She turned away from the bed, taking a couple of steps towards the door even as her legs shook beneath her. There was something bothering her; an instinct urging her to go back. Turning back to Tyrion, she observed him once more. He looked so small and lost in the bed; her icy demeanour cracked and shuddered. Bending down she placed a gentle kiss on his forehead and adjusted the covers over him.
"I know I've hurt you" she murmured "but I do care for you very much. I promise"
Arya didn't bother knocking as she barged into Sansa's room at midday. The Queen in the North was eating lunch alone, a pile of correspondence beside her.
"You know some monarchs would have you executed for coming into their chambers unannounced" said Sansa, not bothering to raise her eyes
"When did you turn into Joffrey?" said Arya, pulling out the chair opposite her sister and dropping into it
"What do you want Arya?"
"To talk to my big sister"
"About?"
"You"
Sansa sat back in her chair, finally looking at her sister "What could there possibly be to talk about? Or are you just here to tell me what I'm doing wrong"
"You're awfully snappy today"
"Goodbye Arya" said Sansa, turning her attention back to the letter in front of her
"I'm not leaving until we talk"
"We just did"
Arya studied her sister closely. Sansa was trying to look very busy, but a quick glance at the incomplete work spread over the table told Arya her sister's mind was elsewhere. This conversation was long overdue; Arya would crack through her sister's defences one way or another.
"Where is your husband?" said Arya innocently "I hope he's not too sore after last night"
"He was still asleep when I got up this morning, but I believe he's holding court right now as you well know"
"His skills were quite good; I was rather impressed to be honest"
The corner of Arya's mouth twitched up slightly as Sansa finally looked up at her, placing her papers to one side.
"What are you talking about?" asked Sansa, trying hard to look disinterested "What skills impressed you?"
"We were sparring" said Arya "Your husband is quite good with a sword"
Sansa stared at her for a moment, before snorting "You need to learn to lie better. Tyrion isn't a fighter and I doubt he knows how to use a sword"
"You need to learn your husband better. He practices with the guards' everyday - how do you not know?"
A flicker of doubt passed over Sansa's face "He's never mentioned it to me"
"Are you angry with him?"
"Of course not. Tyrion is the lord of Winterfell; how he spends his time is up to him"
Silence lapsed between them once more and Arya absorbed this new information. It baffled her how oblivious Sansa could be to her husband, and it was more than a little worrying. Both Arya and Maester Wolkan had told Sansa that Tyrion wasn't himself on multiple occasions but her sister appeared incapable of seeing it for herself. Watching Sansa return to her pile of correspondence Arya pulled out a letter she'd received earlier on.
"I got a letter from Bran" she said, catching Sansa's attention
"Anything interesting?"
"It just says; Family, Duty, Honour"
Sansa's eyes darted to the letter in Arya's hand before quickly looking away "The Tully words"
"I always liked the Tully words" said Arya, throwing her legs over the side of the chair "puts things into perspective"
"I got the same letter from Bran this morning"
"Our brother has a way with words"
"Bran is hardly Bran anymore" said Sansa, looking away from the table
This conversation was going nowhere, and Arya realised it was time to get more pointed. She'd tried nice words and an understanding ear, but the real Sansa was too far hidden beneath the ice to be paying attention. Arya grimaced in preparation for what she was going to do; there was no other way around it.
"Tyrion's been quieter than usual the past few days" started Arya, voice curious "yet you've been paying way more attention to him than you normally do"
Sansa's cheeks flushed "He's my husband; I'm supposed to pay attention to him"
"Supposed to but you don't. Tell me big sister, does Tyrion resist when you bed him or just lie there..."
"How dare you!" said Sansa, blue eyes blazing into hers
"Am I wrong?"
"It's none of your business Arya"
"Family. Duty. Honour"
Her sister froze at her words, anger draining steadily from her gaze only to be replaced by guilt. The change was barely noticeable, unless you knew Sansa as well as Arya did.
"I had no choice" said Sansa, looking away "it was duty"
"I can't believe you would hurt him like that after what Ramsay did to you" said Arya, a hint of disgust in her voice
Her sister paled at her words "It wasn't like…that"
"You don't seem convinced Sansa"
"What do you want Arya?"
"To help you Sansa. I love you big sister but you're not acting like a Stark anymore - or a Tully. You're trying to be someone you're not and it's killing you" said Arya, moving to sit straight in her chair
"You don't understand - this is who I have to be to survive" said Sansa, voice rising
Arya sat back observing her sister "Ok. If this is who you are now, you give me no choice. When I leave to find what's west of Westeros I'll take Tyrion with me"
"No you won't. He's my husband, his place is here"
"He's my brother; I won't let you hurt him again. You treat him no better than his sister did - why would I leave him with you?"
Sansa looked as if she'd been slapped "You can't take Tyrion away from me…"
Arya leaned forward, glaring at her sister "Why not? You obviously don't care about him. I bet you can't name any of his friends, you didn't know he'd been learning to use a sword, you treat him like your personal servant and then you take him in your bed and force-"
"Because he's mine and I love him" blurted Sansa, blue eyes challenging Arya to argue
"You don't treat him like someone you love" said Arya after a moment's pause.
"Don't you think I've realised that? I really hurt him the other night, and I will never make that mistake again"
Arya studied her sister's face. Her behaviour the past few days made it clear she was consumed with guilt for what she'd done and Arya wasn't going to demand specifics, but that didn't mean they were done with this conversation. A glimmer of the real Sansa had broken through and Arya couldn't let this possibility slip by.
"I know you've been through a lot these past few years - we all have. Half of our family is dead, but we still have each other; we have our home. Tyrion lost everyone and everything he cared about, I don't want him to get hurt"
Sansa glanced at her, guilt filling her eyes "I never meant to hurt him. He should hate me for the way I've treated him"
"But he won't. I don't think Tyrion could ever hate you"
Her sister looked like she wanted to say something, but instead she turned away idly rearranging the papers on her desk. Arya sat there watching Sansa absorbing the new information she'd learnt. She wasn't really going to try and take Tyrion away from Sansa - Arya knew he wouldn't leave her unless Sansa ordered him to. Arya needed to scare her though, and it had certainly cracked her sister's armour even if just for a moment.
It was a small breakthrough, but Arya didn't doubt her sister's remorse for hurting her husband - or that she loved him. For now Arya would do her best to help them both.
'Sansa will need reminding' echoed Bran's voice.
Arya hadn't understood at the time, but now the message was clear; remind Sansa of who she is. Don't let her sacrifice her Stark and Tully values for the crown. Her sister may have forgotten herself these past weeks, but Arya would keep reminding her for as long as necessary. The real Sansa Stark wasn't dead; she was hiding.
Despite last night's exertion, sleeping later than normal had certainly left Tyrion refreshed, as he made his way back towards Winterfell. The day had been busy with court, sword practice and then meeting with Deke in the village. His list of responsibilities was near endless and the weight of the work rested heavily on his shoulders as the light snowfall crunched under foot.
The path back to the castle wasn't overly long but was a rather solitary walk. He'd left Nessa at her home for the evening after accompanying him all day, and his mouth twitched upwards at the thought of his squire. In some ways she reminded him of Podrick.
As he walked, Tyrion became aware of footsteps crunching behind him. Coldness crept down his spine, but he refused to alter his pace.
"M'lord" greeted a middle aged man, falling into step beside him
"Good evening" he said, offering him a smile
"Nice to meet you lord Tyrion" said a second man, appearing at his other side
"You too" he said, unease building "Can I help you with anything?"
Neither of the men replied, and panic rose in Tyrion as they continued to walk towards Winterfell. He was halfway between the village and the castle - too far to run for either.
"So you coming the easy way or the hard way?" asked the second man, lazily drawing a knife as they walked. The path rose and fell over the landscape and their position now obscured them from view of any passerby's.
"Coming where?" he asked, backing away from the second man
The man lunged towards him with surprising speed as Tyrion ducked quickly to the right but it was hopeless. The first man grabbed the back of his cloak pulling him towards them.
"Where ya going little lord? North's dangerous for lonely lions"
Tyrion kicked out striking the man's shin, causing him to release Tyrion with a shriek. He took only two steps before the second man leapt on top of him, forcing him face first into the cold, snowy ground.
"Can't believe you let the dwarf kick ya!" he snorted, twisting Tyrion's hands behind his back "hand me the rope"
The man he kicked grumbled but Tyrion soon felt his hands being restrained behind him. He twisted and struggled to free himself, but the men just laughed at his attempts.
"Night, night lord of Winterfell" said the man pinning him to the ground, before a heavy blow connected to the back of his head.
Stars swum in his vision as the world went black
'I'm sorry Sansa'
