Chapter Thirteen

The next fortnight was particularly trying for Tyrion. He and Sansa barely spoke outside of the Great Hall, and despite his best efforts, his attachment to little Eddard seemed to grow exponentially by the day. The weather had warmed just a bit, and the roads were finally passable, but Tyrion was reluctant to leave. He'd finally started to feel useful for the first time in a long time, and he wasn't ready to abandon his new post just yet.

Tyrion had always thrived on politics and planning and intrigue. And while there was very little in the way of intrigue at Winterfell, as far as politics and planning were concerned, there was still a great deal to be done. The north had suffered devastating losses during the war, more so than any other region in the realm, and it was in desperate need of an experienced leader to at least see it through the winter.

Navigating the concerns, complaints, and varied personalities of the local inhabitants had proven particularly challenging for Tyrion, but he liked the challenge. It made him feel alive in a way he barely recognized. It made him remember why he had refused to leave King's Landing when Shae had begged him to all those years ago. He had always needed to be active and involved with the world outside of himself in order to feel like his life was worth living.

And so he had stayed at Winterfell even after he had been free to leave. Although, truth be told, he'd never really felt as if he was free to go. The morning Maester Wolkan had informed everyone that the kingsroad was clear, Arya had given Tyrion a look that had threatened unimaginable suffering if he so much as stepped foot outside the castle gates. Even though Arya didn't seem to trust him, she was determined to see him stay, if only for Sansa and Eddard's sakes.

One afternoon, about a month after Tyrion's arrival, he was sitting at the desk in the small study that he had claimed for his own when there was an urgent knock at the door. "Come in," he said as he looked up from his work and turned toward the sound.

The door opened, and a maidservant stepped inside. Her face was flushed, and she was out of breath. "Lady Lannister sent me," the girl said. "You're needed in the Great Hall at once."

Tyrion didn't wait for an explanation. He hopped down from his chair and headed straight for the door. "What's wrong?" he asked as he walked past the girl, making his way out into the corridor. "Is it Eddard?"

"No, my lord. You have a visitor."

A visitor? Tyrion couldn't imagine who had come to see him. He didn't have any friends in the north, and hardly any acquaintances. If it had been just another petitioner – a bannerman or a tenant farmer – Sansa could have addressed the matter on her own. Tyrion wasn't sure why he was being called to the Great Hall, but he was determined to find out.

With hurried steps, Tyrion traversed the maze of corridors that led to the Great Hall. The instant he passed through the open doorway, his feet faltered and he stopped dead still. There were nearly a dozen people milling about, but he saw no one beyond the pair chatting amiably by the hearth, Sansa and . . . Jaime.

A small sob escaped Tyrion's throat at the sight of his long-lost brother. He had thought it would be months before he saw Jaime again. Tyrion had no idea what Jaime was doing at Winterfell, or why he had come in such dangerous weather, but he didn't care. All he cared about was the fact that his brother was standing right in front of him, mere feet separating them instead of hundreds of miles.

Tyrion stood there, frozen to the spot, until Jaime's eyes finally found him. Jaime smiled broadly, as if he was just as happy to see Tyrion as Tyrion was to see him. Then, without another word to Sansa, Jaime left her side and made his way across the hall.

Tyrion finally regained the ability to move, and he started toward Jaime. His legs shook as he crossed the floor, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was getting to the brother he hadn't seen in five long years.

The moment Tyrion was within reach, Jaime leaned down, wrapped his arms around him, and hugged him tightly. "Dear gods, it's good to see you!"

"What are you doing here?" Tyrion asked, struggling to get the words past the lump in his throat.

The position they were in was awkward for both of them, and Jaime finally released Tyrion and stood to his full height. He looked down at Tyrion again, his eyes bright with unspoken joy. "You said you were headed for Winterfell, so I headed for Winterfell."

"But I would have come to you."

Jaime laughed. "When? When you grew tired of your beautiful wife and adoring son? When you were through meddling in the affairs of what's left of the north?"

"My wife may be beautiful," Tyrion said, "but beyond a father for her child and a lord to rule by her side, she has no use for me."

"Really?" Jaime asked, a hint of cynicism in his voice.

"Yes, really. And as much as the boy adores me, he isn't mine, so what's there to stay for?"

Jaime's eyes darted to Sansa and then back to Tyrion again. "And she told you this? She told you that Eddard isn't your son?"

"No, of course not. She swears that he is—"

"Because he is."

Now, it was Tyrion's turn to laugh. "Don't tell me she's somehow managed to convince you too? You and Arya Stark seem to be the only people in all of Westeros who think that boy is mine."

"Have you looked at him?" Jaime asked. "Really looked at him? Or have you spent the last month avoiding him because you feel his very existence is some slight against your Lannister pride?"

"I haven't avoided him. I tried, but he made that impossible."

"Of course, he did. He's your son, and he's been waiting his whole life for you to come home."

Tyrion shook his head. "I don't believe it. And nothing anyone does or says is going to convince me."

"Even though he looks just like Tommen at that age?"

Tyrion was silent for a moment. He was surprised that Jaime had mentioned Tommen. Even though Tyrion had been in Essos when it had happened, he knew how Tommen had died, knew how he'd thrown himself from a window after Cersei had murdered his beloved wife, Margaery. The loss had been painful for Tyrion, but he was certain it had been even more painful for Jaime, and he suddenly felt very ashamed of himself for having forced his brother to bring it up in the first place.

Tyrion dragged his eyes away from Jaime's, unable to face him a moment longer. Somehow, he managed to reply, "Even so."

Sansa came up beside them then, and Tyrion immediately turned his attention toward her, thankful for the distraction.

"Lady Sansa," he said cheerfully. "I hope you don't mind that my brother has arrived so unexpectedly."

"Lord Jaime sent word of his arrival days ago," Sansa answered. "I thought it would be best to let it be a surprise."

Tyrion was moved by Sansa's thoughtfulness. Jaime's arrival had definitely been a surprise, and had Sansa told Tyrion about it beforehand, he likely would have done nothing but worry until Jaime had reached Winterfell. Sansa had made the right choice, but then, she usually did. She was a very astute young woman, almost as clever as her husband.

"Well, it certainly was that," Tyrion replied. "Thank you." He finally turned back to Jaime, the earlier tension between them gone. "I'm sure you've had a long journey and would like a hot bath and a warm meal. We can catch up later if you like."

"Not so fast," Jaime said. He turned back toward the hall and held out his hand, beckoning someone forward. "There's a lady I'd like you to meet."

Tyrion turned away from Jaime and saw a tall blonde woman headed in their direction. Her hair was short cropped, falling just below her ears, but in every other sense, she was the perfect picture of womanhood. She wore a long, sapphire blue gown, with a matching cape to ward off the cold. She was no great beauty, and yet, she was undeniably captivating. She seemed oddly familiar, but Tyrion was having trouble placing her. He wondered if he had seen her at court, but too many years had passed for him to recall.

When the woman finally reached them, Jaime turned back to Tyrion and said, "You remember Brienne of Tarth, don't you? She's now my wife."

Brienne of Tarth. Tyrion stared at Lady Brienne in silent wonder. Yes, they had met before, a very long time ago, but he'd never imagined that she might someday be married to Jaime.

Tyrion was so stunned that he could barely speak. He tried to form a coherent reply, but all he got out was a single word, "How?"

Jaime laughed. "What do you mean, how?"

"I mean, I never imagined that you . . . that you even would marry. I mean . . ." Tyrion stumbled over his words, realizing, quite quickly, that he was making Lady Brienne highly uncomfortable. He inhaled a steadying breath, looked her directly in the eyes, and said, "What I mean is, congratulations, my lady. My brother is a very fortunate man."

The hint of a smile tugged at her lips. "I am the fortunate one, my lord. I intended to be a knight, not a wife, but I am quite happy with your brother by my side, much happier than I ever could have imagined."

"But of course. You're married to the most handsome knight in all of Westeros. Why shouldn't you be happy? Every woman who's ever met him has wanted him. The gods must favor you greatly."

"I don't know how the gods feel about anything," Brienne said, slipping her arm around Jaime's and moving closer to him. "But I know how I feel, and I know how Jaime feels, and that's all that matters."

Tyrion looked up at his brother again, meeting his eyes. Tyrion could almost swear that Jaime was blushing.

"I can see that my brother loves you a great deal," Tyrion replied.

"And I love him, more than I could ever express with words alone."

Jaime broke Tyrion's gaze and cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation. "Yes, well," Jaime said, "we really should be getting settled." He turned his attention to Sansa. "My lady, will we be staying in the Guest House again?"

"Yes," Sansa answered, "everything has been prepared for you. I shall show you the way."

Jaime cast Tyrion a sidelong glance as he and Brienne followed Sansa out of the Great Hall.

Tyrion just stood there, silently watching after them, his heart sick with envy. He had never imagined Jaime finding such unconditional love, nor had he imagined Jaime loving anyone but Cersei. But Jaime loved Brienne of Tarth. It was obvious to anyone who looked at him. He loved Brienne, and he was proud to call her his wife.

Tyrion wanted what Jaime had so badly he could taste it – an adoring wife and a true, abiding love. Even though Tyrion had his own wife, his relationship with Sansa wasn't based on love or even affection. It was based on duty and honor, nothing more. Although sometimes it seemed as if Sansa cared for him, Tyrion knew she didn't love him, and she sure as hell had never looked at him the way Brienne of Tarth looked at Jaime. Tyrion would have given just about anything for Sansa to look at him that way, but there were some miracles even the gods themselves couldn't perform.

As Jaime and Brienne finally disappeared from the Great Hall, Tyrion heard quiet footsteps pad up behind him, but he didn't turn around. He knew who it was. He had been back at Winterfell long enough now to recognize the sound of Arya's skulking anywhere.

"They make a fine pair, don't they?" Arya asked as she stopped beside Tyrion. From the corner of his eye, he could see that her gaze wasn't fixed on him, but on the empty doorway across the hall.

"They do."

"She's not the type of woman you'd think he'd fancy, is she?"

"No, I suppose not."

"Whether you love him or hate him," Arya said, "there's no denying that he is beautiful. Personally, I never thought him capable of looking at a woman like Lady Brienne and seeing the beauty in her. But then, I suppose one never can tell, can one?"

Tyrion finally turned to look up at Arya. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

Arya shrugged. "Just that appearances aren't everything, and if even someone like Jaime Lannister can look beneath the surface and find beauty there, maybe there's hope for you and Sansa yet."

"What . . . what are you saying?"

But Arya didn't elaborate. She just gave Tyrion a knowing look and ambled off in the other direction.

Tyrion stood there in stunned silence, barely able to comprehend what had just happened. Had Arya been implying that just as Jaime could see the beauty in Brienne of Tarth, Sansa could see the beauty in him? The idea was utterly preposterous, and Tyrion didn't understand why Arya had even suggested it. As far as Tyrion knew, Arya hated him, and he couldn't help but wonder what kind of game she was playing. Even after a month of living at Winterfell, Tyrion was still wary of his sister-in-law. He didn't know what she wanted from him or even what she thought of him. The only thing he knew for sure was that he needed to be careful around her. Arya Stark loved her sister and her nephew more than anything in the world, and Tyrion knew that if he ever hurt them, there would be hell to pay.