Chapter Four
Little Eddard was just drifting off to sleep when there was a soft rap at the door. Sansa leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss against his mop of curly hair before blowing out his candle and moving across the room. She opened the door and slipped out into the corridor, not at all surprised to find Arya waiting for her there.
"You're needed in your solar," Arya said plainly.
"Needed?"
"There's a messenger here to see you. He says he's come with word about your husband."
Sansa's heart dropped to her stomach, and all the blood drained from her face. She stared at Arya for one breathless moment, trying to make sense of her sister's words. "Tyrion?"
"Do you have another husband I don't know about?"
Sansa couldn't even answer. She just shook her head in silent disbelief as she turned and began to make her way down the corridor toward her solar. Arya instantly fell into step beside Sansa, accompanying her with a disinterested calm that Sansa found slightly irritating. Arya was acting as if the messenger's arrival was an everyday occurrence, as if it meant nothing more than the average tenant farmer visiting to make a report on their grain stores. But it was definitely more important than that, much more important. Sansa hadn't heard word of Tyrion in months, not since Bran had left. She'd thought she'd never hear anything about him again, so this was an unexpected blessing.
At least, she hoped it was a blessing.
For all Sansa knew, the messenger had come to tell her that Tyrion was dead and would never be returning to Westeros.
As Sansa and Arya approached her solar, Sansa's limbs began to shake, and she feared, if she wasn't careful, she might faint.
"Are you all right?" Arya asked as they stopped in front of the door.
"What?" Sansa had barely heard the question. She'd been too lost in her own thoughts.
"Are you all right? You look pale. Well, more pale than usual. Are you sure you're up to this?"
Sansa swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded her head. The motion made her feel slightly ill. "Yes. I'm ready. Good or bad, I'm ready."
"Well, good or bad depends on your point of view, I suppose."
Sansa's eyes snapped to Arya. "What does that mean?"
"Just that it depends on whether you're hoping your husband is alive or dead. If you're hoping he's dead, you might be sorely disappointed."
Sansa's breath hitched in her throat. "Tyrion's alive?"
Arya shrugged. "You're going to have to ask the messenger."
That was all the encouragement Sansa needed. She immediately turned toward the door and pushed it open, stepping inside and scanning the room for the man who was going to tell her what had become of her long-lost husband.
And then she saw him, standing in the center of the room, his back turned toward her. He wore a long, dark cloak, caked with mud and grime from the road. It was tattered and torn and looked thinner than the blankets they used to cover the horses at night. The man stood no taller than Tyrion, and Sansa couldn't help but wonder if her husband had finally returned to her. She held her breath, waiting for him to turn around, hoping beyond hope that it was Tyrion and not just a messenger come to tell her his fate.
Slowly, the man turned toward her, and Sansa's eyes immediately fixed on his face. His skin was brown with dirt, half his face obscured by an unruly beard, but his eyes— Sansa would have recognized those eyes anywhere. It was Tyrion, come back from the dead, come back for her.
Sansa sobbed in relief, and her eyes filled with unshed tears. She stared in mute astonishment at the man who had haunted her dreams for so many years, the man she'd nearly given up hope of ever seeing again. She wanted to run to him, to fall to her knees and wrap her arms around him. She wanted to hug him close and make sure that he was real. But she couldn't. Her limbs wouldn't move. She was numb all over, and all she could do was stare.
And Tyrion stared right back.
There was something in his eyes that she couldn't name – pain, longing, wonder. She wasn't sure. But he made no move to come to her either. He just stared at her as if the Narrow Sea stood between them, as if she was far beyond his reach.
Sansa's bottom lip trembled as she struggled to speak. She only managed to say a single word. "Tyrion?"
He nodded his head, so slightly that he almost didn't move at all.
A stray tear rolled down Sansa's cheek, and she instinctively reached up to swipe it away. "Where . . . where have you been?"
"Pentos. Norvos. Everywhere that ends in an -os," he joked. "Except Westeros, of course."
The sound of his voice seeped through Sansa's skin like warm honey, sinking into her heart and making her feel oddly whole for the first time in more years than she could remember. She'd forgotten how beautiful his voice sounded, how rich and deep and comforting. It was a balm to her weary soul, and she was ever so happy to hear it again.
"What . . . what are you doing here?"
Tyrion's eyes darted to Arya for a moment and then back to Sansa. "I came here to make sure that you were well. I've only just returned to Westeros, and I needed to see you."
"Arya said that you'd sent a messenger. I was expecting to meet with a messenger." It was a stupid thing to say, and Sansa knew it, but she wasn't thinking clearly at the moment.
Arya laughed. "You don't really think I'd mistake the Imp for anyone else, do you? But I let him keep up his charade. It seemed to make him feel better."
Of course, Arya had recognized Tyrion. Arya was so keenly observant that it was almost frightening sometimes. Sansa just wished that Arya had told her the truth from the beginning. She might have been better prepared to face Tyrion if she had known that he was waiting for her in her solar.
Sansa's eyes scanned down the length of her husband. He looked tired and world-weary. And cold, very cold. She didn't know what they were supposed to do now, but she knew that, first and foremost, they needed to take care of Tyrion's immediate physical needs.
"Arya," Sansa said, "have a room readied for Lord Tyrion. And a bath, fresh clothes, and a hearty supper."
"No, my lady, no," Tyrion interjected before Arya could even move.
"And why not? You look like you've had a long journey. You need to eat and refresh yourself."
Again, Tyrion's eyes moved to Arya for a moment before quickly settling on Sansa once more. "I have no intention of staying. I just need a private word with you, please."
Sansa was thoroughly confused. Tyrion had obviously traveled a long way to see her. Why in the world was he suddenly so eager to leave? Whether he knew it or not, Winterfell was his home now, he was lord of the keep. There was no reason for him to go, especially in his current condition.
Sansa looked at Arya, who was patiently waiting for further instruction. Sansa couldn't read anything in her sister's eyes. She was as inscrutable as ever.
"Arya, give us a moment alone, please."
"Would you still like me to make arrangements for my brother-in-law's comfort?" Arya asked.
"Yes, thank you."
Tyrion grumbled something under his breath, but both Sansa and Arya ignored it.
"As you wish, my lady," Arya replied. She cast a sidelong glance at Tyrion, as if in warning, before turning around and exiting the room. She closed the door securely behind her, leaving Sansa and Tyrion alone for the first time in five long years.
The silence that settled between them was deafening. Tyrion glanced awkwardly about the room, looking at everything he could except Sansa. She didn't understand why he was acting so strangely. She knew it had been a long time since they had last seen each other, knew a lot had changed for both of them, but he was still her husband and she was still his wife, and that alone should have been enough to quell the awkwardness between them, but it wasn't.
Unable to bear the tension any longer, Sansa finally broke the silence. "You said you wanted a moment of my time. Well, you have it. What is it that you've come to say?"
Tyrion finally looked at her again. His eyes slowly traveled up the length of her, from the hem of her gown to the top of her head. He seemed to be memorizing every last inch of her, though she wasn't quite sure why. He searched her eyes for a long moment before he finally spoke. "I only came here to Winterfell to make sure that you were well. I have no intention of staying. But before I started my life again, I needed to see you one last time."
Tyrion's words couldn't have been more cryptic, and Sansa didn't know what to make of them. "Why?" she asked. "Why leave at all? You're here now. And even though many years have passed since we last saw each other, you are still my husband, and Winterfell is yours by right."
Tyrion shook his head. "I don't care about my rights, but I do care about you. I'm sure you've been through a lot while I was gone. I'm sure the last thing in the world you ever wanted was for your dead husband to show up in the middle of the night and disrupt your ordered life. You've suffered enough, Sansa Stark. You deserve your freedom, not a lifetime shackled to me."
"It's Sansa Lannister now, or had you forgotten?"
Tyrion laughed bitterly. "No, I've never forgotten. But maybe it's time that I did. Maybe it's time that you did too."
"Why are you doing this?" Sansa asked, the pain in her voice unmistakable. "Why did you come all this way if all you intended to do was abandon me again?"
"I'm not abandoning you," Tyrion said, his voice gaining strength as he spoke. "I'm giving you your freedom. I'm letting you go. I'm prepared to walk out of here tonight and pretend that I died back in Essos. I'll take a new name, start a new life. No one need ever know that I didn't die on foreign shores. I'm giving you what I can only imagine you've always wanted, the freedom to move on with your life."
The blood began to heat in Sansa's veins, and she fought to keep her temper under control. This was not at all the way she had imagined their reunion, and she had imagined it more times than she cared to admit. In her more romantic fantasies, she'd imagined Tyrion running into her arms, holding her, kissing her, telling her that not a day had gone by that he hadn't thought of her. The years apart had only made her grow fonder of him. The more the world had battered her, the more his past kindnesses had meant to her, until she'd clung to them for dear life in her darkest hours.
But this, this was not what she had expected. And it hurt more than Sansa could bear.
"You . . . you did come all this way just to abandon me again."
"What?" Tyrion seemed genuinely surprised by the accusation. "No, no, of course not." He took a step forward as if he meant to comfort her, but then, just as quickly, he stepped back. "I came here to find out what you wanted, where you were in your life. I thought, if given a choice, you'd want me to go."
"Well, you thought wrong."
Tyrion's eyes narrowed on her in quiet disbelief. He stared at her for the longest time as if he didn't quite understand what she was saying. Finally, he replied, "You can't possibly mean that."
Sansa straightened her spine in a show of determination. "I do."
"But why? Not that I'm not flattered. I am. But why would you want me to stay? What possible reason could you have for wanting me by your side?"
"You're my husband. Isn't that reason enough?"
"No, I can't say that it is. You can always get a new husband. As long as the world thinks I'm dead, there'll be no harm in it."
Sansa gritted her teeth, fighting the urge to say something biting and cruel. She was angry, oh so very angry, and she didn't want to lash out at Tyrion, even though he more than deserved it. She was a lady, after all, and she refused to lose her temper like a petulant child.
Sansa inhaled a calming breath before she finally spoke. "You may think that lying to the world is perfectly acceptable. You are a Lannister, after all. But I am a Stark, and Starks don't lie. We have honor, and we respect our duty, and we live by both. I am not about to lie to the world and tell everyone that my husband is dead when he is very clearly alive. I am not going to take another man as my husband while I am still beholden to you. You may leave Winterfell, if you wish, but that will not change anything for me. I shall remain as I am, ever faithful to my lord husband."
A biting laugh escaped Tyrion's throat, and he shook his head.
"What?" Sansa asked. "What about that do you find so funny?"
His expression suddenly sobered. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."
"It must be something. Do you doubt my faithfulness? Do you think me fickle and flighty like the girls in King's Landing?"
"No, I don't. But I do know that you have lived for many years believing that you would never see your husband again. And I know that I am not the only man who has ever shared your bed. I think your declaration would be much more convincing if you were honest about that."
Sansa balled her hands into fists at her side. She was dying to lash out at Tyrion, but she held back. Her fidelity, or lack thereof, had become a much-loved topic among gossipmongers all throughout Westeros. Sansa was surprised that Tyrion had already heard the rumors. She was surprised even more by the fact that he actually seemed to believe them.
"How dare you?" she said, the words low and venomous.
"Oh, quite easily, I assure you," Tyrion replied flippantly. But then, his tone suddenly turned serious. "Please, don't think that I'm judging you or that I hold it against you. I'm not, and I don't. But if you are going to make me stay, then I would at least like us to be honest with each other from the beginning."
"Make you stay?" she asked, her voice strained almost to the breaking point. "I can't make you do anything, can I? If you want to go, go. I won't stop you. But I'm not going to admit to something that isn't true just to make you stay. I'm not going to confess to some imagined sin just because you won't believe the truth."
"Sansa, you don't have to lie to me—"
A cry of pure feminine fury tore from Sansa's throat. "That's enough! Stay or go, I don't care, but I am not going to pretend that you are dead. If people ask, I will tell them the truth. I will not marry another man just so you can have your freedom. You will be as beholden to me as I am to you, whether you like it or not, Tyrion Lannister, because that is the promise you made when you covered me with your cloak in the Great Sept of Baelor, and now that you're back among the living, you must stay true to your vow. Just as I must stay true to mine."
Sansa didn't wait for Tyrion to reply. She turned around and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. She was trembling all over, her limbs shaking uncontrollably, and she thought she might be sick. She had waited so long, so very long, for Tyrion to return to her. She'd thought that their reunion would be so different, but it had been nothing short of a disaster. Tyrion didn't want to stay with her. He wanted to continue to roam free – free of duty, free of honor. He wanted to be a vagabond once more, a murderer in exile. Well, if that's what he wanted, Sansa wouldn't stop him. She wouldn't say another word to try to convince him to stay. If he wanted to go, he could go. Sansa was certain that Tyrion would be gone by morning and that she would never see him again.