Chapter 21: The Lion Still Has Claws

The Great Hall

"Sansa Stark of House Lannister," Sansa thought to herself. Is that how she should style herself now? It was the night after her wedding, and she lay in bed staring at the canopy over her head. Her Lord husband, Tyrion Lannister, had been called to speak with the Queen. Apparently, he had instructed the servants to let her sleep, because it was well past noon, and she was still abed. The place where Tyrion had lain next to her had grown cold. She was not sure if he was still in the castle, or if he had already departed for Dragonstone. As Sansa lay in bed, she began to contemplate the future. She was now well and truly a married woman, consummated, and her husband was to be thousands of miles away from her for Gods knows how long. Her long auburn hair was tangled and frizzy from a night of rough sleeping, and being a toy in her husband's hands. She imagined that she looked quite a mess. She lay for a moment, remembering the urgency of his touches, and the warmth of his skin, and she could feel a curling tension within her core that she decided to push away, she sat straight up in bed. "I will be alone for many months," She thought, and she felt the hunger already beginning to claw at her from the inside. She had only just been reunited with Tyrion, and now he was to leave her for gods knows how long.

Sansa sat up with her back pressed against several pillows, and looked around her room. The sunlight streaked through her windows. "It must be well into the day," she thought, sliding down onto the warm floor, and slipping the fox fur slippers onto her feet. She walked over to the mirror near her dressing table, and admired herself. "My hair is a mess," she thought as she studied her reflection. She sat down on the stool that accompanied the dressing mirror and began to brush the tangles from her hair. She brushed and oiled her hair until it shimmered like spun gold in the sunlight, and then began to braid her hair into several thick braids, which she pinned behind her head neatly in a bun. After calling for her handmaidens, Sansa bathed, and dressed in a long, black gown, with a high collar and a fur cape to cover her shoulders, and made her way to the Great Hall. She hoped to find that Lord Tyrion had not yet departed.

The halls of Winterfell were beginning to feel less hectic. As Sansa walked through them, she felt keenly, the chill of the hallway. As she approached the Great Hall, she could smell the aroma of freshly baked bread coming from the kitchen, and hear the servants frantically brushing and scrubbing pots and pans. The Great Hall was large and beginning to look empty, as the men that had slept and ate and fought at Winterfell began to trickle away like so much melting snow. The eight, heavy, long wooden tables of the hall were dotted here and there sparsely with the remaining men of Winterfell, and the Vale. The Unsullied and the Dothraki, seemed to have already departed for Dragonstone, as there was none to be seen in the Great Hall when Sansa looked around for their faces. At one table, Sansa spotted Jaime Lannister and Ser Brienne, engaged in some lively conversation. At another table, near the center of the room and closer to the hearth, she saw Arya, and her blacksmith, playfully bantering. Arya's hearty laugh rang out through the hall like music as she made some jape or other, and Sansa thought to herself how good it felt to hear her sister laugh. Sansa continued to make her way into the hall, her eyes scanning the room for a head full of golden curls at one of the wooden tables. But she did not see her Lord husband anywhere. Finally she went towards the table at the exact center of the room, and sat there, to eat her solitary breakfast, beside a few Winterfell soldiers. They bowed their heads to her with a "M'Lady" as she took her seat. Her Lord father had always said that a lord needed to eat with his men. As the lady of Winterffell, this was now her responsibility. Her lord father always kept an extra seat at his own table for one of his men, and he would dine with a different man, and have a conversation with him, to get to know them better. It was his way.

She could see one of her handmaidens, "Mora!" She called to her. The young woman walked over to her, eyes bright and alert.

"Yes, m'lady?"

"Has Lord Tyrion been in the hall today Mora?"

"Yes, m'Lady. I think he was here earlier, with the Queen."

"Ah," Sansa said, "Has she departed for Dragonstone?"

"Yes m'lady, she flew off on that dragon...and your brother too, on the other one."

"I see. Is there any of her party still here at Winterfell?"

"Yes m'Lady, I saw that eunuch fellow."

"Mora, might I have some ale, some of that fresh bread, and some jam?"

"Yes, m'lady."

And like that, Mora was off to the kitchen, and Sansa was left with her thoughts. Surely, my lord husband would not leave without saying goodbye? She shook the thought from her mind. When Mora returned, she sat a cup of ale down on the table, and a pewter plate filled with bread and jam.

"Anything else m'lady"

"No," Sansa said, "that will be all."

Arya noticed Sansa sitting alone, and came over to sit beside her.

"Sansa," she said sidling up beside her sister. "Looking for the imp?"

"Must you call him that?" The edge in Sansa's voice, caused her sister to look a bit more concerned.

"I've seen the im...your Lord husband." She said, grabbing a piece of bread from Sansa's plate. "He was walking towards the library."

Sansa felt relieved, but she didn't want to betray her feelings, lest her sister tease her mercilessly.

"Thank you Arya." She said taking a bite of bread and jam.

"Seven hells Sansa! You're in love with the imp?" Arya's face widened in a grin. "I thought you were just trying to solidify an alliance...or making a political move...you actually are in love with the imp…"

"Can you please not call him that?" Sansa looked at her sister, putting her hand on her shoulder, "Please."

"Alright. Sansa Lannister." Arya smirked. " I won't call him the imp anymore. You really have got to lighten up. Are you going to go find your love then?" She said jokingly, batting her eyelashes.

"Yes, since you ask." Sansa finished up the last bite of her breakfast, took a sip of ale and started her brisk walk towards the library.

The Winterfell Library

Tyrion Lannister made his way up the steep stone steps that corkscrewed around the library tower. The library at winterfell was impressive, and Tyrion enjoyed cozying up with a flagon of wine, and reading near the fire. He hoped to borrow a few volumes from the Winterfell library for his long voyage to Dragonstone. He would be travelling from Winterfell to White Harbour, and would take a ship from White Harbour to Dragonstone. The travel to White Harbor would take gods knows how long, he would be travelling on horseback. He hated to travel this way, due to his short legs. He had a riding saddle made specifically for this purpose, to ease the pain in his legs...only it did nothing for his ass. Riding on horseback was his least favorite activity. His only solace was that travelling by ship would cut his land travel time considerably. As Tyrion made his way into the library itself, he almost bumped into the Septon. The Septon here was young, thin and hungry looking and was practically always falling asleep or sleeping whenever Tyrion visited the library. Septon Maldon was young, and thin, with dark hair, and apparently narcolepsy. Everytime Tyrion came into the library he seemed to be snoring loudly perched over some yellowing parchment or other. Not many other people took advantage of the Winterfell libraries. This was a shame. The library at Winterfell was quite fine, with hundreds of volumes and scrolls, some of them quite rare.

As Tyrion began to scan the rows of shelves in the library, he saw out of the corner of his eye, a tall, slim, stunning redhead, with an astoundingly long neck, walking towards him.

"My lady," he bowed to his lady wife. "I see you've finally woken from your slumber," he winked at her.

A blush rose to her cheeks. "Yes, my lord. I was, " she took a deep breath, "afraid that you had left without saying goodbye."

"I would never." He took Sansa's hand, and held it, before kissing it gently. "Were you looking for me?"

"Yes. When are you leaving?"

"I've asked for a reprieve from our Queen. I'm to leave tomorrow. I was able to convince her that one day won't make a big difference in our battle plans." He winked at her. "I wanted to borrow a few volumes from the Winterfell libraries for my voyage…"

"This is your library. You are technically the Lord of Winterfell…" She smiled then.

"Come, sit, talk with me." Tyrion motioned for her to sit at a table near the fire.

As they made themselves comfortable near the fire, the sound of Septon Maldon's snoring began to reach a crescendo. Sansa looked over towards where he sat, using a large leatherbound volume of yellowing parchment as a pillow. Tyrion shared a glance with her, and they both chuckled.

Tyrion stretched out his hand, across the small, square wooden table they shared, and held Sansa's hands in his. He looked into her eyes, clear, and blue as a summer's day. "Gods she was beautiful," he thought to himself.

"Sansa, I know this situation is less than ideal."

"True enough. Your queen intends it to be."

"Sansa...with Ser Jorah no longer at her side, she feels a bit...isolated."

"She has Jon." Sansa said defiantly.

"This is true. But, Jon serves a very...different purpose."

Sansa raised her eyebrows. "Well...at least I have you to myself for one more night."

"Yes," he said, and he gently caressed her arm, feeling the soft skin against his fingertips. "And we mean to make the best of it."

Tyrion thought back to the last time that he was in Winterfell, way back before he was forced to marry Sansa Stark. When he first entered the great hulking stone maze that was Winterfell, and walked into this cozy library it was overwhelming. He sat in this very library, and felt unnerved by the howling of wolves. Somewhere within the maze of Winterfell, wolves were howling, and it chilled his blood. The sound of a wolf howling brings out the primal fear in a man. It takes you back to man's days in the forest, hiding in the darkness from things with sharp claws. Lions and wolves both have sharp claws. Lady Stark...or should he say Lady Lannister, was a true direwolf. She had caught him, and he was willing prey. He was utterly and completely smitten with his young wife. As she studied him, he thought of the refrain:

In a coat of gold or a coat of red,

a lion still has claws,

And mine are long and sharp, my lord,

as long and sharp as yours.

He hoped to the gods old and new, that she was smitten with him as well. She seemed to be quite fond of him, sure, but they would be apart now, for a considerable amount of time. Tyrion sighed.

"What's wrong my lord?" Sansa stroked his face. "You seem far away."

"It's my turn to be far away I guess. Would you like to take a walk with me?"

"Yes, I would like that very much."

Tyrion rose, and held out his hand. Sansa took it, and they walked to the long winding library steps to descend to the courtyard.

Outside in the courtyard, light snow swirled in the wind. The noise and chaos of the courtyards had died down. Winterfell was almost reduced to its original remaining inhabitants prior to the Great War. The thick stone walls had kept the interior of the library quiet and insulated from the noise of the men working outside. The walls were still being repaired. Outside in the courtyard was a study in controlled confusion and noise. There were men shouting, and breaking stones. There were horses neighing and stomping, and pulling large wheeled wooden boxes filled with stone, to repair the outer walls of the castle. In the middle of all of it, Sansa and Tyrion walked, hand in hand.

"Where are we going?" Sansa asked, the chill of the air bringing a rosy hue to her cheeks. Tyrion looked up at her.

"Where would you like to go?" He asked.

"I'd like to go to the Godswood," she said, biting her bottom lip. "I'd like to say a prayer for your safe return."

"To the Godswood we go." He gave her hand a squeeze.

They walked until they reached the weirwood forests. They made their way through dense canopies of oak and ironwood trees, and stopped at the large grey, moss covered stone that sat near the center of the Godswood, by the Heart Tree. Their reflections as clear as a mirror in the still pool of dark water beside the Heart Tree. Sansa knelt down on the mossy ground , and Tyrion did the same.

"What do we do?" Tyrion asked. These were not his gods. Tyrion looked at the face of the Heart Tree that stood before him, tracing the outline of the red sap with his eyes, feeling somewhat scared, but somewhat peaceful. The deep red eyes carved into the stark white bark of the tree seemed to be assessing him. He felt like the Gods were judging him, and he wasn't sure if they found him wanting. "Do I close my eyes?" He asked.

Sansa gently touched his shoulder. "You need only talk to the gods. That's all. Tell them your dreams. Tell them your wants. Feel the peace." She smiled at him. "You can close your eyes as you wish."

They knelt there together, eyes closed, and spoke with the Gods. Tyrion prayed that he would make it back to Sansa. He prayed that she would be safe in Winterfell. He prayed that the war would be won, and that a just ruler would rule Westeros. He prayed that the journey to Dragonstone would be uneventful, and he prayed that he would once again hold Sansa in his arms. When he opened his eyes, Sansa was staring at him.

"Are you ready to go back to the castle?" She said.

He nodded, and they rose from the mossy ground, their knees wet from the damp dirt of the forest.

"What should we do now my lord...Tyrion," Sansa said timidly.

"We can go back to our rooms. If you wish." He rose an eyebrow.

Sansa absently ran her hand through his golden curls. She bent down to him, cupping his face in her hands, and tentatively leaned in to kiss him, playfully sucking at his bottom lip. He felt a stirring in his groin.

"I take that as a "Yes." He said. As he followed his wife from the Godswood, he thought to himself, "as long and sharp as yours." He was at the mercy of the gods, and the mercy of his lady wife.