Chapter Twelve

News of Tyrion's return spread like wildfire throughout the north, and suddenly, Sansa's days were filled with endless audiences with bannermen and smallfolk, all clamoring to see the new Lord of Winterfell so they could take his measure. Tyrion, for his part, was no more thrilled by the proceedings than Sansa was. Together, they spent long hours in the Great Hall meeting with petitioners and gawkers alike. The Lord of Winterfell had finally returned, and it seemed that everyone in the land felt the need to pass judgment on him.

Thankfully, most northerners looked kindlier on Lannisters now than they had in the past, especially after what Jaime had done for them, and their biggest concern seemed to be whether the man who had murdered Tywin Lannister was there to aid them in their struggles or to steal power for himself. They feared Tyrion was more like his father and Cersei than he was like Jaime, and they were waiting for him to prove his worth, one way or the other.

For the fortnight following his arrival, Sansa and Tyrion fell into a steady routine. Tyrion still took breakfast alone in his chamber every morning, but afterwards, he would meet her in the Great Hall to conduct business. Once the morning's work was done, he would join the rest of the family – his family, whether he was willing to admit it or not – in her solar for the afternoon meal. Then, it was back to work for a few more hours before they finally parted ways until dinner.

When Sansa and Tyrion were meeting with bannermen and tenant farmers in the Great Hall, there was nothing but business between them. But at meals, at least, Tyrion had finally begun to relax. He spent most of his time entertaining Eddard, but occasionally, he'd offer Sansa a warm smile or tell a particularly amusing joke that he knew would make her laugh. He wasn't quite as jovial as he had been back in King's Landing, but he still had a wry sense of humor, and Sansa found it a refreshing change from the gloom that had settled over Winterfell since the war.

On one such evening, Tyrion was engrossed in telling Eddard a dragon tale he had heard while traveling through Essos. Eddard had brought a few of his toys to the dinner table – a habit Sansa didn't entirely approve of – and Tyrion was using them to illustrate his story as they both ignored their dinner.

"And then, the dragon swooped down and burned the errant knight right where he stood," Tyrion said as he held the carved wooden dragon aloft, swirling it in large circles in the air, before finally driving it downward to attack the little wooden knight beside his dinner plate. "Ahhhhh!" As the dragon knocked over the little knight and flew away, Tyrion made a dreadful noise that Sansa assumed was supposed to be the sound of someone being burned alive.

Eddard laughed and clapped his hands in approval. "And then what happened?"

"And then, the dragon flew back," Tyrion arched his arm in the air once more, flying the dragon over the table, "and burned him again, just for good measure." The dragon flew low, hitting the recumbent knight and pushing him across the table as Tyrion made that godsawful noise again. "Ahhhhh."

This time, Arya laughed. But Sansa didn't think it was funny. Whenever Tyrion was at the table, Eddard lost all interest in his food, simply too enraptured by his father's stories to concentrate on anything else. And it wasn't just at the dinner table that Eddard hung on Tyrion's every word. He was still sneaking into Tyrion's room at night so they could read together, and Sansa was surprised that he and Tyrion were getting any sleep at all. She had never seen Eddard happier, which is why she kept her disapproval to herself. She didn't know how long Tyrion intended to stay, and she didn't want to take a single moment of happiness away from her son.

The blizzard that had stranded Tyrion at Winterfell had lasted for six days. Now, even though the heavy snows had stopped, the roads were still treacherous and the winds bitterly cold. Tyrion had made no mention of leaving again, but Sansa knew it was just a matter of time before he was gone. Once the weather was more hospitable, she was certain he'd be on his way and out of their lives forever.

As Tyrion continued telling his story, Maester Wolkan quietly slipped into the room and approached Sansa. "I'm sorry to disturb you, my lady, but there's been a raven from the Red Keep."

The room instantly fell silent, and all eyes turned to Sansa and Maester Wolkan.

Sansa put down her fork and took the letter, her fingers trembling slightly as she broke the royal seal. She held her breath and unfurled the scroll. It read:

Dear Sansa,

I have received your letter about Lord Tyrion's arrival. If he intends to take his place as the Lord of Winterfell, I trust that you will keep me abreast of his activities, for we must monitor his loyalties. And if there ever comes a time when you no longer want him to sit in Father's stead, I wish to know it so that I can make the necessary arrangements to relieve him of his duties.

I pray that you are well, sister, and that your husband's return has brought you comfort and not sorrow.

Yours, Jon

Sansa crumpled up the parchment and tucked it into her pocket, her whole body trembling. "Thank you, Maester Wolkan."

"Is there anything I need to know, my lady?"

Sansa forced herself to look at him, forced herself to pretend that Jon's words hadn't affected her. "No. It was just a personal note from the king, welcoming Lord Tyrion to the family."

The look in Maester Wolkan's eyes told her that he didn't quite believe her, but Sansa knew he wasn't about to contradict her. "Of course, my lady," he said with a slight bow of his head. "In that case, if I am not needed, I shall let you return to your meal."

"Thank you."

The room stayed silent as Maester Wolkan made his way to the door, closing it quietly behind him.

When Sansa turned her attention back to the table, she found Tyrion staring at her. She could tell that he didn't believe her either, and she suddenly wished that she was a better liar.

"Finish the story," Eddard urged, eagerly tugging on Tyrion's sleeve.

"Oh, right," Tyrion said, as if he'd completely forgotten what he'd been doing before Maester Wolkan had entered the room. Tyrion pulled his eyes away from Sansa and turned toward Eddard. "Yes, the bloodthirsty dragon and the rivers of fire." Tyrion went back to entertaining Eddard, but there was an edge to his voice, and Sansa could tell that his mind was on the small piece of paper stuffed in her pocket.

Sansa went back to her meal. She could feel Arya's eyes upon her, and she wished she could just retire for the evening and be left alone in peace.

Arya leaned in close, her knee brushing against Sansa's beneath the table. Her voice was low and soft as she asked, "What did it really say?"

Sansa's eyes darted to Tyrion, to see if he had heard Arya's question, but he kept his focus on Eddard, and she couldn't tell for certain.

"Exactly what I said," Sansa replied, looking askance at Arya. "Jon has acknowledged Tyrion as the new Lord of Winterfell, that's all."

"Of course, it is." As Arya leaned back, Sansa felt something brush against her hip. An instant later, the letter was out of her pocket and in Arya's hands.

"Give that back!" Sansa demanded, her voice shrill with alarm.

"No, I think I'll keep it." Arya stuffed the letter in her own pocket, out of Sansa's reach.

The rest of the table had gone quiet, and Sansa could feel Tyrion and Eddard watching them.

"That isn't for you," Sansa snapped.

"That may be true, but I'm going to read it anyway."

Sansa had to fight to control her temper. Had she not been a grown woman and the Lady of Winterfell, she would have thrown herself at Arya and forcibly wrested the letter from her pocket. "Arya," she warned darkly.

But Arya just laughed. "Yes?"

"Give me back that letter."

"Or what? What could you possibly do to me to make me give it back?"

Sansa knew there wasn't a single threat she could level against her sister that would have any weight. Arya didn't fear anything, least of all Sansa.

Not wanting to argue with Arya in front of Tyrion, Sansa turned back to her meal without answering.

"That's what I thought," Arya said.

Sansa concentrated on eating her dinner. The truth was, there was nothing in Jon's letter that Arya couldn't see, but the same was certainly not true for Tyrion. Sansa wanted to drop the matter as quickly as possible, before Tyrion started asking questions and she had to concoct more lies.

When both Sansa and Arya remained silent, Eddard and Tyrion finally went back to their storytelling and the evening meal returned to relative normal. Ordinarily, Sansa took great pleasure in watching her husband and son together, but Jon's letter had rattled her, and she found it impossible to enjoy anything at that moment.

Sansa hadn't known what to expect when she'd written to Jon a fortnight earlier. She'd half expected him to send a small army of soldiers to Winterfell to arrest Tyrion for crimes against the crown. Although Tyrion's crimes had all been committed before Jon had taken the throne, officially, he was still a fugitive, and Jon had every right to arrest him if he wanted to. Even though Bran had assured both Jon and Sansa that Tyrion had not murdered Joffrey, there was no denying that he had murdered Tywin Lannister.

And Shae.

But Sansa tried not to think about that.

Sansa ate her dinner in silence, forcing the darkest of her thoughts from her mind. She didn't particularly like the idea of spying on Tyrion for Jon, but she understood why he had asked her to do it. Although Tyrion and Jon had known each other once, had even traveled to the Wall together, that had been a long time ago, and they had both been very different people then. Tyrion had been the dissolute son of the most powerful man in Westeros, and Jon had been nothing but a bastard about to swear his life away to the Night's Watch. Now, their circumstances couldn't have been more different. Tyrion was the Lord of Winterfell, and Jon was king of the Seven Kingdoms. Oh, how their fortunes had changed!

Even though Jon had asked Sansa to keep him informed of Tyrion's activities while he was at Winterfell, she was certain that she would never have anything nefarious to report. Despite Tyrion's refusal to trust her, Sansa still trusted him. She knew he was a good man, even if he didn't believe it himself, and she knew he would make a splendid Lord of Winterfell one day, perhaps even rivaling her father in wisdom and kindness.

The thought brought Sansa's eyes back to Tyrion. Eddard was now telling his own story, and Tyrion was laughing heartily at the boy's theatrics. Tyrion had been the acting Lord of Winterfell for less than a fortnight now, but he'd done quite an admirable job of it. He'd heard a lot of criticism, a lot of doubt, from the men and women who had come before him, and he'd taken everything in his stride. He'd listened, reasoned, considered, and above all, been respectful of everyone who'd addressed him, from highborn lord to the lowliest of the smallfolk. He was a wise man, there was no denying that, and he seemed willing to use that wisdom for the betterment of the people and not the betterment of himself.

Eddard's story suddenly grew serious, and the laughter died away as Tyrion furrowed his brow in concern for the wounded dragon that lay lifeless in Eddard's hands. As Eddard continued to weave his tale, Tyrion glanced at Sansa, their eyes meeting for the briefest of moments. He smiled softly at her, then turned back toward their son.

In an instant, there were tears in Sansa's eyes, and she lowered her head to hide them. The novelty of seeing Tyrion and Eddard together had yet to wear off, and it always struck a chord deep inside her soul. And sometimes, when Tyrion looked at her, she felt something else, something more, something she'd thought never to feel again. But she refused to get her hopes up. She and Tyrion were married, yes, but they weren't lovers, and she doubted they ever would be again. He thought her faithless and fickle, and she was certain that he intended to leave her as soon as he could.

Dinner didn't linger much longer after that. Soon, Eddard's tale was done, and he was trying to pull Tyrion out of his chair so they could go down to the crypts to play a game of hide-and-seek by torchlight.

Tyrion, however, refused to move from his seat. "I think your Aunt Arya is much better suited to such a game than I am. Why don't you ask her?"

But Eddard didn't even bother to ask. Instead, he raced around the table and began tugging on Arya's arm, trying to drag her to her feet.

Arya skewered Tyrion with her eyes, and he simply smiled back at her.

"Have fun," he said.

"Oh, I will. And I won't forget this. I promise."

Arya finally allowed Eddard to pull her from her chair and drag her out of the room. When the door closed behind them, the silence was deafening.

Tyrion and Sansa sat at opposite ends of the table, their eyes never meeting. Without a word, Tyrion picked up his glass and took a long drink. When he was done, he looked up at Sansa, finally breaking the silence. "I suppose Jon is none too pleased with the current turn of events."

Sansa was surprised that Tyrion wanted to talk about Jon, but then, she already knew he hadn't believed her lies any more than Arya had. Sansa reached for her wine, taking a sip before answering. "Jon didn't say any such thing."

"But he must have said something to put such a somber look on your face."

Sansa put down her glass, deciding that she needed to be as honest with Tyrion as she possibly could. "He wants to ensure that you make a suitable Lord of Winterfell, and he has tasked me with seeing to it that you do."

"And if I fall short?"

Sansa paused, not sure how much of the truth she should tell Tyrion. Jon's letter had been written in the strictest confidence, but Tyrion was her husband and she had no desire to keep secrets from him. "If you fall short," Sansa answered, "I am to tell him straight away."

"Ah," Tyrion said, leaning back in his chair, his glass still in his hand, "so he can have me arrested. Tell me, do you think he'll just throw me in a cell, or do you think he'll take my head?"

"I suppose that will depend on what crime you're accused of."

"Well, I've committed many crimes, so he'll have a long list to choose from."

Sansa was tempted to ask Tyrion about Shae. For five years she had wondered why he had murdered one of the only people in King's Landing who had ever been kind to her. She knew, of course, that they'd been lovers. It had all come out in Tyrion's trial. She also knew that Shae's body had been found in Lord Tywin's bed. What she didn't know was what had driven Tyrion over the edge, why he had murdered his lover and then passed the same sentence on his father. He could have left King's Landing without ever having seen either one of them again, but he had chosen to go to Tywin's chamber, and that choice had ended in tragedy.

"I see you're wondering exactly what is on that list," Tyrion said when Sansa remained silent.

"No, not what, but why."

"Why?" Tyrion's eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward, obviously surprised by the question.

"Why did you murder Shae?"

The shock in Tyrion's eyes was unmistakable. He stared at Sansa for a long moment, the air heavy between them. She thought he might deny it, after all, he had never been convicted of Shae's murder. But he didn't. Instead, he answered, "Because I was angry."

A cold chill flushed Sansa's entire body as she stared in silent horror at her husband. She had not expected such an answer. She had expected him to make excuses, to say that he had killed Shae because she had betrayed him or because he'd been fighting for his life. But no, he had offered no excuses, just a simple answer, an answer that Sansa found frightening.

"Is that what you do when people make you angry?" Sansa asked, the words hollow in her throat.

"No, it's not. But that . . ." Tyrion closed his eyes and scrunched up his face, as if disturbed by the memory, "that was different."

"How?"

Tyrion opened his eyes and looked at her again. "Shae betrayed me in the cruelest of ways. She stood before all of King's Landing and swore that I had murdered Joffrey when she knew I was innocent. She made a public mockery of everything we had ever shared, and then, when it was all over, she went to my father's bed as if it all meant nothing to her."

"She was a whore," Sansa said, the word feeling impossibly foreign on her tongue. "What choice did she have but to do your father's bidding? How can you blame her for trying to save herself?"

"Because she swore that she loved me," Tyrion replied, the pain in his voice unmistakable. "I would never have betrayed her the way she betrayed me. I would have let them kill me before I ever spoke a word against her."

"And yet, you killed her yourself. How pure could your love have been if you could do something like that to her?"

Tyrion stared at Sansa for a moment, then looked away. "Yes, I know," he said, his voice little more than a whisper. "Don't think that I don't regret it. Don't think that I don't know that I'm a monster, because I do. You asked me why I killed her, and I told you. I'm not defending myself. I'm just answering your question." He finished his drink, leaning his head back so that he could capture every last drop of wine. Then, he put down his glass and climbed from the chair. Without another word, he turned away and headed toward the door.

"Tyrion, wait!"

He stopped but didn't turn around.

Sansa rose from the table. She crossed the room, leaving a comfortable distance between them. "I didn't mean to attack you," she said. "I cared for Shae. She was one of the few people who was ever kind to me in King's Landing, and when I heard what she really was, and when I heard what you had done, I didn't know what to think, what to believe. I know she betrayed you. I know that, had things gone differently, that betrayal would have led to your execution. I know all of that. I just needed to know why, so I could understand how my friend's life ended at my husband's hands."

Tyrion slowly turned around. He looked up at Sansa, and she thought she saw the sheen of unshed tears glistening in his eyes, but perhaps it was just a trick of the candlelight.

"I'm sorry, Sansa. I never even thought— I'm sorry."

"I know you are."

"I loved her," Tyrion said. "I truly did. But she hurt me more than anyone else ever has. I didn't intend to kill her. I didn't intend to kill my father either. I went to his chamber that night to confront him, to make my hatred and anger known. I wanted to frighten him, terrorize him, maybe leave him wounded and helpless, but I never wanted to kill him. And I never expected to find Shae in his bed."

Sansa nodded, words suddenly failing her.

"If I could go back and do it all over again," Tyrion said, "I would never have gone to that room. I would have fled King's Landing straightaway and never looked back. You have no idea how many nights I've lain awake wishing that things had been different, wishing that I hadn't lost my temper, that I had simply turned around and walked away. There is nothing in my life I regret more than killing Shae. Nothing. Not even killing my father."

The sincerity in Tyrion's voice was unmistakable, and Sansa had no doubt that, if he could, he would go back in time and change everything. But he couldn't. Neither of them could. And now, their only choice was to move forward and do their best to live with the mistakes and regrets of the past.

"Do you hate me?" Tyrion asked.

Sansa was startled by the question. So startled, in fact, that she didn't even think before replying. "No, of course not."

"But I murdered someone you cared for. Surely, you cannot forgive me so easily for that."

Although Sansa's emotions were conflicted, she knew who deserved her loyalty and her forgiveness. "I didn't really know Shae. I thought I did, but I couldn't have been more wrong about her. You weren't the only one she implicated in Joffrey's murder, and while I understand why she swore that you and I conspired together, she still betrayed me just as she betrayed you. I miss her sometimes, and I mourn her loss, but she was no handmaiden. She was the woman who was sleeping with my husband."

"I wasn't sleeping with her," Tyrion said plainly.

"You need not lie about it," Sansa replied. "It doesn't matter now."

"Maybe it doesn't, but you should know the truth. Since we've been wed, I have not bedded another woman."

For a moment, Sansa stared at Tyrion in stunned silence, not knowing how to react. She was almost tempted to laugh. His confession sounded like a joke. "You don't really expect me to believe that, do you?"

Tyrion laughed to himself. "No, of course not. But it is the truth. Though that doesn't mean you have to believe it."

"Just like you don't have to believe that Eddard is your son."

"Yes, I suppose it is just like that, isn't it?"

"You can't expect me to trust you when you refuse to trust me," Sansa replied.

"I guess neither one of us can expect the other to believe us when we say such ridiculous things."

Sansa shook her head. "Eddard being your son is not ridiculous."

"Yes, it is. It's just as ridiculous as the idea of me being celibate for five long years. So I think, in this case, we're just going to have to agree to disagree. Because I can't believe you any more than you can believe me."

"Because you don't want to."

"Because I can't allow myself to."

"What's the difference?"

Tyrion sighed. He looked away from her then and gazed idly about the room. "It doesn't matter. I really should be going. I should leave you to your needlework or whatever it is you do alone after dinner." His eyes finally found hers again. "I will see you tomorrow morning in the Great Hall. Sleep well." And then, without another word, he turned and left the room.

Sansa stood there staring at the closed door, not knowing what to think or feel. Hearing Tyrion's account of what had happened with Shae had been painful, not just because he had ended Shae's life in a blind rage, but because he had loved her with a passion that still haunted him. Tyrion had loved Shae with all his heart, and it was obvious that he still loved her, despite what he had done.

In Sansa's more desperate, pathetic dreams, she had imagined Tyrion falling in love with her. She knew it was foolish, of course. There was nothing about her that could ever truly tempt him. He thought her a silly little creature, overly emotional and immature, just a child to be protected and coddled. Even though they had spent one night together as man and wife, that didn't mean that he saw her as a woman. She had no experience with men beyond a few stolen kisses and one night in her husband's bed. She could never compare to a woman like Shae, skilled in the arts of love. She would always be just a burden to Tyrion, the last great suffering his father had inflicted upon him before his death. She was an obligation, a responsibility, and nothing more.

And so was Eddard.

Sansa knew that Tyrion cared for Eddard, but the boy was just as much of a burden to him as the rest of his life at Winterfell. Whatever affection existed between them now would likely melt away like the snow in summer when Tyrion finally abandoned them again. Sansa knew it wouldn't be long until he was gone, and she just prayed that, when he finally walked away, she'd have the strength to let him go.