Chapter Six
Sansa barely slept that night. Not long after she'd stormed from her solar, Arya had come to her door, wanting to talk about Tyrion, but Sansa had been in no mood to talk. She'd sent her sister away without a second thought and had spent the rest of the night fuming.
Sansa couldn't believe that Tyrion had come all the way to Winterfell just to accuse her of infidelity and tell her he intended to abandon her again. That was not the Tyrion Lannister she had remembered, that was not the Tyrion Lannister she had been waiting five long years for. But then, her memories of the past grew hazier every day. Perhaps she'd just imagined his kindness, perhaps reality had been much different and she had simply been too naïve to see it.
Now, morning had come, and Sansa sat on the edge of her bed, fully dressed but unable to stir from her room for fear of seeing Tyrion again. She knew he had spent the night. Her handmaiden had told her when she'd come to help her dress. Of course, her maid didn't know their visitor's true identity, but it didn't matter. Sansa knew, and she had no desire to see him again.
Every muscle in Sansa's body suddenly tensed. Facing Tyrion Lannister in the harsh light of day was going to be anything but pleasant. She was certain that he was going to be even more ruthless now that he'd had a good night's sleep, and she didn't know if she was prepared for it. She wished that he had just left in the middle of the night as he'd originally planned. Then, she could have gone on hating him without ever having to see him again.
Sansa stared out one of the high windows on the wall opposite the bed. A light snowfall shimmered beyond the frosted panes, but she barely noticed it. Her heart was too broken for her to see or feel anything beyond her own suffering. If she'd had the luxury, she would have stayed in bed for the entire day and forgotten all about Tyrion Lannister, but she was the Lady of Winterfell, and she had too many responsibilities she simply couldn't ignore.
The peaceful silence of Sansa's chamber was suddenly broken by the sound of the door opening behind her. There had been no knock, no warning, just the gentle creak of the door moving on its hinges. Sansa knew who it was. There was only one person in all the world who would ever walk into her chamber without knocking. She inhaled a steadying breath, willed away the tears that had pooled in her eyes, and turned around to face her son.
Eddard was just closing the door behind him when Sansa turned around. She rose from the bed and walked across the room so she could be closer to him.
"Good morning, dear heart," she said, a smile brightening her face.
Eddard whirled around and instantly barreled toward her. Sansa dropped to her knees so that he could throw his arms around her neck and hug her tightly.
"Morning, Mother."
Sansa held Eddard close, one hand on his back, the other on the back of his head. She didn't ever want to let him go. He was the only thing she had that made her feel safe and whole and happy, and she would protect him with her very life.
Eddard squirmed in Sansa's arms, obviously wanting to be free, and she was finally forced to let him go. But she didn't let him go too far. She held him by the forearms, keeping him in front of her so she could look him over and make sure that he was safe and sound.
"You weren't at breakfast," he said. "Why weren't you at breakfast?"
Sansa smiled softly, not wanting Eddard to see the trouble in her eyes. "I didn't sleep well last night. I didn't wake until late, and I missed the morning meal. I'm sorry."
"Did you have nightmares?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice.
Of course, she'd had nightmares, but Eddard didn't need to know that. "I just had a troubling night, that's all. But I'm fine now." Sansa quickly stood, taking Eddard's hand and leading him toward the door. Desperate to change the subject, she said, "Tell me, what do you have planned for the day?"
Eddard's demeanor instantly changed. The worry fled from his face, replaced by unbridled enthusiasm. "Aunt Arya is going to take me to the forest to hunt. She said she didn't want to stay in the keep today, so she's going to take me with her."
Sansa could only imagine that Arya wanted to make herself scarce to avoid Tyrion. She knew her sister was not happy about his return and probably wanted to get as far away from him as possible. If Sansa had been able to stomach the idea of going hunting, she might have asked to join them. She was in no mood to see Tyrion either.
"Well, be careful," Sansa replied. "And make sure you're home in time for your lessons. You don't want to keep Maester Wolkan waiting."
"I won't." Eddard pulled on her hand, encouraging her to bend down so that he could kiss her goodbye.
His gentle caress against her cheek made Sansa's heart swell with affection, and she almost sobbed at the contact. "Be safe, my love," she said as she stood to her full height. "I'll see you at the afternoon meal."
"Yes, Mother!" He turned around and bounded out of the room, a huge smile on his face, off to slay dragons – or woodland creatures, at least.
Sansa leaned her head against the doorjamb and sighed softly as she watched him go. Eddard was her greatest joy in life, and if anything ever happened to him, she didn't know what she would do. For years, little Eddard had been the only thing that had gotten her out of bed each morning, the only thing that had kept her going. If she hadn't had Eddard to care for, she might have given up a long time ago, let herself be crushed by the weight of the tragedies that still haunted her every day of her life.
Sansa stood there for the longest time, staring blindly down the corridor. It was already late morning, and she knew she had plenty to do, but she couldn't get Tyrion out of her mind. She wondered what he was doing at that very moment. Was he in his chamber, feasting and laughing, spewing epithets about his unfaithful wife? Or was he still abed, sleeping off the fatigue of countless weeks on the road?
Even though Sansa didn't want to face him again, she knew she'd eventually have to, and she didn't want to put it off for too long. The longer she waited, the more it would eat away at her. The sooner she got it over with, the better.
So, despite the gnawing anxiety in the pit of her stomach, Sansa went in search of her husband. She knew where he had spent the night. He'd been given one of the family chambers in the main keep, not a room in the Guest House. He was the Lord of Winterfell, whether he was willing to admit it or not, and it would have been shameful to treat him as nothing more than a visiting guest.
With unsteady legs, Sansa made her way to Tyrion's room. She stood outside his door for a long time, quietly listening for the slightest sound. But the door was too thick for any noise to carry through, and Sansa had no idea what she might find when she finally opened it. For a single instant, she imagined finding her husband beneath one of the village whores. Although no such women lived in Winterfell itself, there were plenty of them in the winter town. Sansa wouldn't have been at all surprised if Tyrion had snuck one in for the night, just to repay her for her supposed infidelity.
Sansa shook her head, quickly chasing away the thought. She knew she was letting her imagination get the better of her. The man she had found in her solar the night before had been weary from the road. The exhaustion – and the stench – had dripped off of him, and she doubted he'd had the energy to call for a whore to warm his bed. She was being petty and foolish, and she knew it. And she was better than that.
Sansa squared her shoulders and raised her chin just a fraction higher. If she was going to talk to Tyrion again, she would do it with dignity and grace. She wouldn't lose her temper. She wouldn't jump to conclusions. She would be calm and rational. She would listen to him, he would listen to her, and somehow, they would come to a reasonable understanding, whatever that might be.
Without letting another moment pass, Sansa raised her hand and knocked softly on the door. If Tyrion was asleep, she didn't want to wake him.
Sansa waited for an answer, but none came. She tried again, just in case he hadn't heard her the first time, but still, there was no reply.
Sansa bit her bottom lip, wondering if she should leave. If she left, she didn't know when she'd have a chance to talk to Tyrion again. She had many responsibilities as lady of the keep, and she knew she might not have another spare moment until after the evening meal. She hated the thought of putting off their meeting until then. Sansa made a quick decision, and slowly, quietly, pushed open Tyrion's door.
The room was dark except for the gentle glow of the fire burning low in the hearth. There were no candles burning, and the windows were still shuttered. All was quiet, and Sansa was careful not to make a sound as she inched into the room and eased the door closed behind her.
She scanned the semidarkness for Tyrion, spotting a small lump beneath the furs on the bed. She pushed herself away from the door and crept closer, wanting to get a better look at him. As she passed, she noticed the empty plate on the corner table, the half-full flagon of wine. Tyrion had obviously had his fill of food and drink before crawling into bed the night before.
Tyrion's clothes lay in a heap beside the table. They smelled almost as bad without him in them as they had when he'd been wearing them. Sansa would make sure to tell one of the servants to have them burned. Even if Tyrion decided to leave, he couldn't leave in rags. She would see him outfitted properly before he left Winterfell.
As Sansa neared the bed, she caught a glimpse of Tyrion's golden curls peeking out just beyond the covers. Even though Tyrion's hair was darker, it reminded her very much of Eddard's. They were so alike, her son and his father. It pained her to know that Tyrion didn't believe that Eddard was his. Perhaps, if Tyrion saw him—
Sansa couldn't finish the thought. She didn't want Tyrion to see Eddard, not with things the way they were between them. Once Tyrion was being reasonable, once things were more settled, she would introduce her husband to his son, but not before.
When Sansa finally reached the bed, she saw Tyrion's face just above the furs, his eyes closed, his brow furrowed in fitful sleep. She wondered what he was dreaming about. Was it a nightmare? She had nightmares all the time, and she'd simply come to accept them as a normal part of life now.
Sansa took her time examining Tyrion's face. He had changed so much since she'd last seen him. He was older, of course, but it was more than that. He looked weary, haggard, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders even when he was at rest. The scar she had once found so frightening had faded considerably. It was still there, but it wasn't red and angry anymore. It was a thin, white line that spoke of a long-ago time best forgotten now.
The quiet of the room, the dim light, the intimacy, reminded Sansa of something else best forgotten. What a little fool she had been, all those years ago, when she'd asked Tyrion to bed her for fear of Joffrey. If only she had waited a little longer, she might have made it out of the Red Keep with her virtue intact. Joffrey had been murdered not long after she'd given herself to Tyrion, and Littlefinger had helped her escape. If only she had waited, she might now be married to a man who actually wanted her, instead of a man who was about to abandon her for the second time.
But then, if she and Tyrion had never consummated their marriage, she wouldn't have Eddard, and she wouldn't have the one beautiful memory she clung to in her darkest moments. It was all so very sad and tragic. She had waited so long for Tyrion to return, only to be rejected by him the moment he'd opened his mouth. Sansa had learned a long time ago to stop hoping for things that could never be. She'd been a fool to hope that Tyrion Lannister still cared for her. A sad, pathetic fool.
Sansa decided that it was best not to disturb Tyrion. He was obviously tired and troubled, and she didn't want to make matters worse for either of them. She turned away from the bed, intent on leaving before he awoke, but the sound of her name on his lips stopped her.
"Sansa." The word was soft, barely a whisper, but she heard it just the same.
Sansa turned around to look at Tyrion. He snuggled deeper beneath the covers, but he was still sound asleep. Was he dreaming about her? Sansa nearly laughed at the thought. If he was dreaming about her, he must have been having a nightmare, because she knew he held no softness in his heart for her.
Sansa turned around again, determined to leave, but her legs wouldn't carry her. She wanted to know what Tyrion was dreaming about, she wanted to wait and watch and listen. She wanted to see if he called out her name again, if he said anything more. She knew she would never have another opportunity to be alone with him like this, and she wasn't willing to give it up, not just yet.
Despite her better judgment, Sansa turned back toward the bed. She moved closer, easing herself down onto the edge of the mattress so that she could watch her husband. For some inexplicable reason, her fingers ached to reach out and touch him, to run through his hair, to caress his cheek. An unbidden sob escaped her throat, and she curled her hands into fists in her lap, resisting the urge to act on the impulse. How easy it would be to just reach out and touch him, to slip down onto the mattress beside him and beg him to show her comfort just one more time before he walked out of her life again forever. But Sansa couldn't do that. She wouldn't do that. She still had her pride, and that was enough to keep her sitting upright, her hands clenched in her lap.
As if he felt her restlessness, Tyrion began to move again. He fidgeted beneath the blankets, her name falling from his lips, "Sansa."
Sansa held her breath, waiting for Tyrion to say something more, but he didn't. Suddenly, his body twitched to life, his eyelids opened, and she found him looking back at her with hollow eyes.
They stared at each other for the longest time, neither one saying a word. Sansa didn't know what to say. She'd been caught spying, and she knew it, and there was no pretending otherwise.
The instant the shock wore off, Sansa slipped from the bed, standing up and smoothing out her skirts, trying her best to looked dignified. "You were talking in your sleep," she said in a mad rush. "I was concerned, and I wanted to check on you."
Tyrion pushed himself up into a sitting position, resting back against the headboard. The furs fell to his lap, leaving him exposed from the waist up. It had been a long time since Sansa had seen him in such a state of undress, and there was something oddly unsettling about it.
"I'm surprised that you were concerned at all," Tyrion said. "I thought you didn't care one way or the other what happened to me anymore."
"You are my husband," Sansa replied, her tone hardening just a bit. "It is my duty to care about your welfare."
Tyrion laughed. "Of course, the dutiful answer from the dutiful bride. Why am I not surprised?" He looked her over thoughtfully. "Tell me, dear wife, have you also come to fulfill your other wifely duties?"
Sansa's cheeks flushed warmly at the insinuation. She was shocked that Tyrion had even suggested such a thing, but then, Tyrion had always reveled in saying shocking things, so she really had no reason to be surprised now.
Sansa didn't know how to answer him, so she decided to play coy. "And what wifely duties are those, my lord?"
A bittersweet smile crossed his lips, but it was fleeting. "Oh, I'm sure you can remember. I know it was a long time ago, but something like that, you never forget."
Sansa did remember, better than he thought. She wondered what he would do if she told him that she was there to share his bed. Would he laugh at her? Would he reject her again? Sansa was nearly certain that he would.
"Is that what you want, my lord?" she asked in challenge. "For me to service you?"
The question hung in the air between them like an executioner's axe – heavy, unwieldy, deadly. Tyrion's eyes narrowed on her, ever so slightly, as if he was trying to read her emotions. Was he tempted to say yes? Did he want her to slip into bed beside him and perform her wifely duties? Did he want her at all?
Tyrion moistened his lips, then cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "No, that's all right. You don't need to do anything. I'm fine."
Sansa sighed, her shoulders slumping with the effort. She was surprised to discover just how disappointed she was by Tyrion's answer. After everything he had said the night before, she should have been happy to be spared sharing his bed, but she wasn't. It had been so long since she'd known the comforting touch of anyone but Eddard and Arya, and their hugs and kisses were not like Tyrion's. Eddard and Arya made Sansa feel like a mother hen. Tyrion made her feel like a woman. And she missed that more than she wanted to admit.
Sansa stepped back from the bed, suddenly feeling smothered by Tyrion's rejection. She tried to act calm, as if it hadn't bothered her in the least. She prayed he couldn't see the disappointment in her eyes.
"You've missed breakfast," Sansa said, looking idly about the room, trying to avoid his gaze. "Would you like me to have something brought to you?"
"I don't want to be any trouble."
"It's no trouble."
Another silence settled between them, nearly as awkward as the last. Finally, Tyrion said, "What are you doing here, Sansa. Really?"
"I told you, I came to check on you. That's all."
"Do you always check on your guests by sneaking into their rooms and watching them sleep?"
Sansa's heart beat a little faster, and she finally forced herself to look at Tyrion again. "You're not a guest, you're my husband. And the last time I saw you, you looked like something one of the dogs had dragged in. I just wanted to make sure that you were all right. Don't worry, it won't happen again."
"You're right, it won't," he said. "Because I won't be here another night. I'm leaving right after breakfast."
And suddenly, they were back to that. Sansa had hoped that Tyrion had changed his mind since the last time they'd spoken, but obviously, he hadn't. She didn't understand why he was in such a hurry to leave. He had come a very long way to see her. Why didn't he want to stay even for a little while?
"So," Sansa said, "you've made up your mind then?"
"It hasn't changed since last night."
"And do you still intend to play dead for the rest of your life and force me to live a lie?"
Tyrion shifted uncomfortably in the bed, and Sansa could tell that she'd struck a nerve.
"I understand the dictates of your Stark pride," Tyrion said, "but pride can only take you so far in life. Think about what you're asking, Sansa. Really think about it. Do you really want to be married to all of this," he held his hands out to his sides as if presenting himself to her, "for the rest of your life?"
"You are my husband, Tyrion Lannister. We were wed before all the lords and ladies of King's Landing, and although most of them are now dead, the fact remains that I am still your wife. We consummated our marriage. We brought a child into this world. Just because you are in denial about it, doesn't make it any less true. I, for one, do not run away from my problems, or from the truth, but then, I'm not a coward like you."
The words were out of Sansa's mouth before she could stop them, and Tyrion physically winced in response. She knew it wasn't exactly fair to accuse him of cowardice. Yes, he had fled Westeros and gone into exile, but he'd had very good reason for doing so. He'd had the courage to stand up for himself during his trial for Joffrey's murder. And he'd had the courage to put an end to Tywin Lannister's life when no one else would do it. But he was threatening to abandon her now, and she desperately needed to change his mind.
"Yes," Tyrion said softly, "I am a coward. I don't think anyone has any doubts about that, least of all me. But I'm not leaving because I'm a coward. I'm leaving because I think it's what's best for you."
Sansa laughed bitterly. "Please, don't do me any favors."
"I'm serious. You don't want to be married to me, not after the things I've done."
"I know the things you've done."
"No, you don't. Not all of it. And hopefully, you never will. You deserve to be happy, Sansa. After everything you've endured, you deserve it more than most. I don't want to take that away from you. If I leave, if I pretend that I never returned, you can start over, have what you've always wanted, a handsome prince by your side, true love, all of it."
Sansa shook her head, never breaking Tyrion's gaze. "You don't have any idea what I've always wanted, do you?"
He shifted on the bed again, sitting up taller against the headboard. "As I seem to recall, you were always a fanciful girl, a romantic. Although you thought you loved Joffrey once, what you really loved was the idea of him, the man you thought he was. You wanted to be the heroine of an epic ballad, beautiful and fair. You wanted to be swept off your feet by a handsome prince and live happily ever after. That was always your dream, wasn't it?"
"Dreams change. People change."
He eyed her curiously. "Did your dream change?"
"It did. Long after you left. So don't tell me what I want, Tyrion Lannister. I'm telling you what I want. I want you to stay. I want you to take your rightful place as the Lord of Winterfell, and I want you to be a father to your son. That is my dream."
Tyrion scowled the moment she mentioned Eddard, and it felt like a dagger piercing Sansa's soul.
"But that is not my dream," Tyrion replied. "I don't want to be the Lord of Winterfell. I don't want a wife who only wants me because it is her duty to do so. And I don't want to raise another man's child. I'm sorry, Sansa. I truly am."
Had Tyrion stopped before bringing Eddard into it, Sansa might have been able to control her temper. But as it was, she could feel the blood heating in her veins. She didn't care so much what Tyrion thought of her, but the fact that he could deny his own son made her angry in a way she couldn't even put into words. "You haven't even seen Eddard yet," she said, her jaw so tight that her mouth barely moved.
"I don't need to see him. I've heard the rumors. And if he's as perfect as I've been told, there's no way he's my son, which is probably a blessing for him. The boy deserves better than a murderous, lecherous, drunken dwarf for a father. And you deserve better for a husband. Please, Sansa, find someone else and just let me go."
Sansa didn't know what to say. She was so livid that she couldn't even speak. She turned on her heel and slowly walked toward the door, forcing herself to remain as calm as possible. She feared if she gave rein to her baser emotions, she would storm from the room like an angry child.
Sansa finally reached the door, her fingers slipping around the handle, the metal cold against her bare skin. The sensation had a slightly sobering effect on her, and she wondered if she should try, one last time, to reason with her husband.
Exhaling a calming breath, Sansa released the handle and slowly turned around to look at Tyrion again. He was still in bed, staring at her from across the room.
It took all of Sansa's resolve to force herself to speak. "I know you don't want anyone to know who you are. And I have no intention of revealing your true identity to anyone while you're here. But since you are here, and you've come all this way, you should meet Eddard, just once. I know you think all the rumors are true. I know you think the worst of me. But it's the least you can do after everything you've put me through. I want you to meet him. I want you to look in his eyes and then tell me that he's not your son. If you really believe that he's not yours, what do you have to lose? You'll see him, you'll deny him, and at least I'll know that I tried to give my son his father back. At least I'll know I tried."
By the time she was done, there were tears in Sansa's eyes, but she ignored them as she waited for Tyrion's reply. He was staring at her with a pained expression, and she wasn't sure if it was pity or guilt that she saw on his face. She really didn't care which it was as long as he agreed to her request.
"This really means that much to you," he said, his voice thick with emotion.
"Yes, and I don't think it's too much to ask."
Tyrion nodded. "All right, I'll meet the boy. But then, I'll be on my way."
"Arya's taken him out hunting this morning. Then, afterwards, he has lessons with Maester Wolkan, but he should be free just before the afternoon meal. I'll come and fetch you when he's ready. All right?"
Again, Tyrion nodded, though this time, he didn't say a word.
Sansa quickly turned around and slipped out of the room before she was tempted to say anything more. She didn't want to keep arguing with Tyrion. That wasn't the way to fix what was wrong between them. Whether he decided to stay or decided to go, she wanted him to at least acknowledge that Eddard was his son, and she wanted his permission to let the world know that he was still alive. Sansa didn't want another husband. She wanted the one she already had, the one she'd been waiting five long years for. Even if Tyrion did ultimately decide to abandon her again, if he gave her what she wanted, he would at least leave her with some semblance of peace. There would be no more wondering, no more waiting, and her precious son would finally have the legitimacy he'd so long deserved.