Author's Note: Since I'll be spending the majority of this week at the annual Romance Writers of America conference, I won't have any time for editing, which means that the next chapter of this story is going to be delayed. Instead of posting a week from now, it's more likely that I'll post in two weeks. I'm so sorry, but I think it's going to be unavoidable. I will do my best to reply to reviews before I leave, but if for some reason I'm unable to do that, please know that I will reply to everyone once I've gotten home and had a chance to recuperate.
Chapter Sixteen
Sansa didn't have a chance to be alone with Brienne until late that afternoon. Brienne and Arya had spent the morning sparring in the yard and hadn't come inside until right before luncheon. They'd had just enough time to clean themselves up before coming to the table. Eddard and Jaime had joined them as well, but Tyrion had been conspicuously absent, a fact that still rankled Sansa as she and Brienne sat alone in her sitting room.
Although Brienne had gone to the yard that morning in fighting leathers, she was now dressed in a velvety gown of deepest green. The darkness of the fabric warmed her pale complexion, and she looked undeniably pretty in the late afternoon light. There was a lovely glow about her skin, and Sansa assumed it was the result of hours of vigorous exercise in the cold, northern air.
As they sat in the matching chairs by the hearth, Sansa tended her embroidery and Brienne quietly sipped a cup of tea. Sansa had tried to teach Brienne the intricacies of needlework once, but she'd had no more success with Brienne than Septa Mordane had had with Arya. Perhaps there was something about wielding a sword that precluded a woman from being able to wield a sewing needle. One was so heavy and cumbersome and the other fine and delicate. They were both pointy at one end, but that was where the similarities ended.
"Eddard is very happy to see Jaime," Sansa said, her head bent over the hoop in her hands. "I hope he hasn't been too much trouble."
"Oh, not at all. Jaime loves his nephew, and he enjoys every moment of their time together. You should have seen them in the yard this morning. I can't remember the last time I've seen Jaime so happy."
Sansa glanced up, offering Brienne a sly smile. "He's always happy when he's around you."
A slight blush crept into Brienne's cheeks. "Yes, well, I am happy when he's around me too."
Sansa's smile broadened, and she went back to her work. She was truly happy for Jaime and Brienne, especially for Brienne. Brienne of Tarth had been her mother's sworn sword, and when Sansa had needed protection from the world, and from Littlefinger, Brienne had been right by her side. Sansa had never met a truer, more loyal soul than the Maid of Tarth, and she was glad that Brienne had finally found happiness. She deserved it more than anyone else Sansa knew.
"I see though that you and Tyrion do not feel the same way," Brienne said, breaking through Sansa's thoughts.
Sansa's fingers stilled on her needle, and it took her a moment to compose herself. She'd known they couldn't avoid the subject forever. In fact, Tyrion was the reason Sansa had asked Brienne to tea in the first place. She wanted to talk to someone about him, and she knew she'd find a much more sympathetic ear in Brienne than she would in Arya.
Sansa rested her needlework on her lap and looked up at Brienne. "No, I can't say that we do."
"But you've waited so long for him to return to you. Even when Jaime and I left for Casterly Rock after the war, I know you were still hoping he would come home. And not just because you wanted him to rule Winterfell by your side."
The heat rose in Sansa's cheeks, and she fought to hold Brienne's gaze. Brienne knew Sansa's heart better than she knew it herself. This wasn't the first time Sansa had confided in Brienne about Tyrion, though she'd never made her feelings explicitly known. "Unfortunately, the fantasy I created in my mind is nothing like reality. Tyrion refuses to believe that Eddard is his son, and there is nothing I can do to convince him otherwise."
Brienne's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Has he given you a reason why he refuses to believe it?"
"Too many. He doesn't believe anything I say on the matter. He simply doesn't trust me, and if he refuses to trust me, I have no idea how to trust him."
Brienne was thoughtful for a moment, her eyes looking through Sansa as she worked on the problem. "But surely he can see that Eddard is a Lannister. It's as clear as day to anyone who looks at him."
"Even if he does, he refuses to admit it. Perhaps he thinks that Eddard is a Lannister, just not his son."
"Does he think Jaime is the father?" Brienne asked, clearly horrified.
Sansa laughed. "I don't know what he thinks. And honestly, at this point, I don't want to know." She turned back to her needlework, the pain suddenly too much for her to bear. She sewed steady, even stitches, imagining each time she pierced the fabric that she was piercing Tyrion's flesh instead.
"And yet, you still love him."
The needle slipped in Sansa's hand, and she pricked the tip of her finger. She stared down in mute shock as the blood began to pool a dark crimson.
Sansa had never admitted that she loved Tyrion. Not to Brienne, not even to herself. She felt an affection for him, but that was all she was willing to admit. He was her husband, after all, and back in King's Landing, he had protected her as valiantly as any knight. In the quiet darkness of their bedchamber, he had made her a woman, loving her with a tenderness that made her heart sing even now. She had spent five long years without him, building him up in her memory until he had become more fantasy than reality. She loved the fantasy, she admitted, but she did not love Tyrion Lannister.
It took a moment for Sansa to recover from her shock. When she did, she raised her finger to her lips and sucked the blood dry. She didn't know how to respond to Brienne. She didn't know what to say.
Sansa finally looked up. There was deep concern etched on Brienne's brow, and Sansa hated the fact that Brienne was so worried for her. Brienne was no longer sworn to protect Sansa, and yet, she seemed gravely concerned for her welfare.
"I don't love him," Sansa said, her voice hollow. "I never did."
"Are you certain? It's all right if you do, you know? No one's going to judge you. He is your husband after all."
"I don't even know him anymore. I thought I did, but he's returned a changed man. And whatever I may have felt for him once has long since disappeared. It's slowly slipped away, day by day, since his return. In another moonturn, another year, I doubt I'll even be able to stand the sight of him."
"I'm sorry, Sansa. I know this isn't what you'd hoped for."
Sansa was struck by the sudden urge to cry, but she resisted it admirably. "I was foolish to hope for anything, really. I barely knew Tyrion when I escaped King's Landing. Anything I may have felt for him was just a fantasy of my own making. Tyrion Lannister – the real Tyrion Lannister – is not the man I thought he was. And I was foolish not to realize it sooner."
"But are you sure?"
"Of what? That he's a lying, whoring, drunken misanthrope who would rather hate me and feel sorry for himself than even attempt to be happy? Yes, I am very sure of that."
Brienne nodded, Sansa's tirade putting an end to whatever argument she had been intending to make.
"I'm sorry, Brienne," Sansa said, truly contrite. "I didn't mean to snap. I know you're just trying to help."
"I wish there was something I could do to help. It pains me to see you suffering so. Jaime and I came here hoping to see you and Tyrion happily enjoying domestic life. I don't think either one of us expected anything like this."
"Neither did I."
Brienne sighed, looking away for a moment, gazing into the roaring fire beside them as if she could somehow find answers there. When she finally looked at Sansa again, she said, "Maybe Jaime can talk some sense into him. He is his older brother after all. And a Lannister. Maybe Jaime can make him listen to reason."
"I doubt it. Tyrion is impossibly stubborn, as stubborn as Eddard is when he refuses to spend the night in his own bed or to eat the green, leafy vegetables on his dinner plate. And yet, Tyrion refuses to see the resemblance."
Brienne chuckled softly, relieving some of the tension in the room. "Well, if you put it like that, I can't imagine why he hasn't already claimed the boy as his own."
A smile pulled at Sansa's lips, but she fought it back. "It's frightening just how alike they are. Eddard is every bit as stubborn as Tyrion. And as smart, and as clever. When they sit together and read every night after the evening meal, it's as if Tyrion is telling stories to his own shadow. They are so similar sometimes, in their speech and in their manner, that it takes my breath away. And then, I feel the pain of Tyrion's rejection of us both so acutely that my heart aches with the tragedy of it all."
"But he hasn't really rejected you, has he?" Brienne reasoned. "He's still here. And he doesn't have to read to Eddard. He could completely ignore him if he liked, and no one could say a word about it."
Yes, that was true. Sansa wasn't entirely sure why Tyrion treated Eddard the way he did. Even though Tyrion didn't believe that Eddard was his son, he had never once given the boy the slightest indication that he had any doubts about being his father. Sansa was thankful for that at least. It was the one saving grace in an otherwise disastrous situation.
"I am willing to admit," Sansa replied, "that as far as his interactions with Eddard are concerned, Tyrion's behavior has been beyond reproach. But as for the rest of it, I fear he only remains at Winterfell because Arya has threatened him with bodily harm if he even thinks about leaving."
"You don't really believe that, do you?"
Sansa unconsciously straightened her spine. "I most certainly do. When he first arrived, he only intended to stay the night. We let everyone believe that he was just a messenger because we feared what would happen if he disappeared the very next day. It took a great deal of persuading just to convince him to let me send a raven to Jon telling him that he was alive. If a storm hadn't rolled in that night, he would have left the very next morning."
"Have you heard back from Jon?" Brienne asked in an even, thoughtful tone.
"Yes. He commanded me to spy on Tyrion and report back to him. So far, I've had nothing to report but a job well done."
"Really?" Brienne arched a brow in question.
"Tyrion has proven to be a fair and just Lord of Winterfell. And while I wouldn't say that the people adore him, he has managed to earn their grudging respect. I don't know what I'd do without him, quite frankly. The only place we work well together is in the Great Hall. But once our duties for the day are done, we barely speak."
Brienne was quiet for a moment, her cheeks suddenly tinging a darker shade of pink. "May I ask you a very personal question?"
Sansa wasn't sure she wanted to know what was coming, but if she couldn't trust Brienne, she couldn't trust anyone. "What is it?"
"Have you and Lord Tyrion shared a bed since he returned to Winterfell?"
Sansa blushed so fiercely that she was certain her cheeks were as red as her hair. Her first instinct was to look away, to hide her embarrassment. But she was a married woman, and so was Brienne, and there was no shame in talking about such things in the privacy of her own sitting room.
"No, we have not," Sansa replied, surprised that she was able to keep her voice from trembling.
"And do you want to?"
Sansa stared at Brienne, the question hanging heavily in the air between them. Sansa didn't want to discuss her own desires with anyone. She'd been as celibate as a septa since the night Eddard had been conceived, and she always did her best to pretend that she was perfectly content to be so. But she knew the truth was written on her face, as clearly as if she had spoken the words, so what was the point in trying to deny it? "I . . . I wouldn't be averse to performing my wifely duties if Lord Tyrion insisted."
"And do you think he will insist?"
"No." Sansa didn't even have to think about her answer. Despite his claim that he hadn't bedded another woman since they'd been wed, she was certain that Tyrion had found other ways to satisfy his lust. She hadn't received a single report that he'd snuck off to the winter town to find himself some intimate company, but that didn't mean that he hadn't. All it meant was that he hadn't gotten caught. "My husband does not need me to fulfill his carnal desires. I'm sure he has other women for that."
"Sansa." Brienne's tone was surprisingly reproachful. "Don't you think you're being a bit unfair to Lord Tyrion?"
"In what way? He's always had a reputation for consorting with whores. I am not naïve enough to think that Tyrion remained faithful to me for five long years. I may once have been a very stupid little girl, but I'm not a little girl anymore."
"I don't know what Lord Tyrion did while he was across the Narrow Sea, but while he's been here at Winterfell, are you certain that he's been unfaithful to you?"
"There is little in this world that I am more certain of." Sansa looked away, finally taking up her needlework again and attacking it with renewed vigor.
From the periphery of her vision, Sansa saw Brienne lift her teacup, and for a while, they just sat there in silence.
Sansa's cheeks were flaming red, and it wasn't from the heat of the fire. She was angry, angrier than she had been in a long time. She had wanted so much from Tyrion, thought so much of Tyrion. Although she had never truly expected him to come home, fall into her arms, and confess his undying love, she had thought that they'd be able to make each other happy, or at least, content. She had not expected the strife, mistrust, and animosity that had existed between them since the day he had returned, and it wounded her to her very soul.
Sansa struggled for some time to get her temper under control, but it wasn't until she stopped stabbing her needlework that Brienne spoke again.
"I was glad when you asked me to join you for tea this afternoon," Brienne said softly. "There's something I wanted to tell you about me and Jaime."
Sansa sighed heavily, willing away the last of her anger. She wanted nothing more than to be a good friend to Brienne, but she couldn't do that if she was still furious about Tyrion. Sansa looked up slowly, happy to see a warm, kind look waiting for her in Brienne's eyes.
Brienne offered Sansa a sheepish smile. "We're going to have a baby."
Sansa was stunned by the news, and it took her a moment to react. The pain and the anger of a moment before were suddenly forgotten, and she smiled brightly at Brienne. "That's wonderful!"
Brienne's hand instinctively went to her belly. "We just found out before we left Casterly Rock." She laughed. "Jaime offered to cancel the trip, to wait for Tyrion to come to us, but I wouldn't allow it. He was worried about me traveling in my condition, but I'm not even showing yet, and I'm a lot heartier than that."
Sansa couldn't chase the smile from her face. "I'm glad you did come. No wonder you're glowing. You're going to have a baby."
"Jaime Lannister's baby. Can you believe it?"
Sansa laughed. "Oh, I can. I see the way he looks at you. Truth be told, I'm surprised this didn't happen sooner."
"It wasn't for lack of trying, I can assure you."
Sansa's blush deepened, but she didn't look away. "I am truly happy for you, Brienne. After everything you've both been through, you deserve this. You deserve to be happy."
"You deserve to be happy too," Brienne said levelly.
Sansa turned her attention back to her needlework, unable to stand Brienne's gaze any longer. "I am as happy as I could ever expect to be," Sansa said. "I have Eddard. I have Winterfell. What more could I want?"
"We both know what more you could want."
Sansa's whole body flushed cold, and suddenly, she didn't want to talk about Tyrion anymore. It hurt too much. "I'm too practical to go on wanting things that I can never have," Sansa said, keeping her voice even with the rhythm of her sewing. "I've already learned that lesson more than once. I'm done hoping and praying for things beyond my reach. Now, all I want is for Eddard to be healthy and happy. I have no other desires beyond that."
"Somehow, I doubt that," Brienne replied.
Sansa held her breath, trying to keep her pulse from racing. She loved Brienne dearly, but she couldn't stop herself from envying her. Brienne had the life that Sansa had always dreamed of – a loving husband, a happy home, a baby on the way. Sansa would never have another child, or her husband's love, and it was all too much for her to bear.
"You can doubt all you want," Sansa said, "but it's true. I can't allow myself to want more than I have. My heart simply couldn't survive the disappointment."
From the corner of her eye, Sansa saw Brienne put her teacup down on the table beside her. She looked up from her sewing, thinking that Brienne was about to leave, but she wasn't. She was just sitting there, watching Sansa with a heartbreaking sadness in her eyes, and Sansa knew then that Brienne pitied her, and it made her feel a great deal worse.
"My good news has wounded you deeply, hasn't it?" Brienne said.
Sansa wanted to deny it, but she couldn't. She was sure Brienne could already see the answer in her eyes. "It isn't you. I don't begrudge you your happiness. Truly," Sansa said, attempting a smile. "But you have the life I've always wanted. You have a husband who loves you, a husband you adore, and you're about to bear his child. I'm certain he doesn't have any doubt that it is, in fact, his child, does he?"
"No, of course not."
"I envy you all of that. I don't want to – gods know I don't want to – but I can't help myself. It simply hurts too much."
"You know, it isn't too late for you and Tyrion."
"Yes, it is. As long as we continue to mistrust each other, there can be nothing more between us."
"I'm not entirely sure that's true."
"I can't love a man I can't trust, and Tyrion will never care for me, so what could there possibly be between us?"
"Winterfell only has one heir. And while that's better than it could be, the truth is, most noble families produce a great many heirs, just to make sure that their name carries on."
"What does that have to do with me and Tyrion?"
"Your mother and father had five children, three of whom were male. And yet, after all was said and done, who inherited Winterfell? You. Three sons and not one of them was able to take over after the war. Robb and Rickon are gone. Bran is in no state to rule. You have one son, Sansa. One. Your parents had three, and even that wasn't enough. Maybe you and Lord Tyrion need to concentrate your efforts on producing another heir while you still have the chance."
Sansa's heart beat a frantic rhythm, and she could feel the blood rushing through her veins, heating her skin. She couldn't believe what Brienne was suggesting. It was simply unthinkable. "I . . . I could never . . . we could never . . ."
"Why not? You've done it before, and you said yourself, you wouldn't mind terribly if Tyrion asked you to fulfill that particular marital duty again."
"Yes, but . . . I could never ask him to do such a thing."
"Even though it makes perfect, practical sense?"
It did make perfect, practical sense. Tyrion and Sansa were both heirs to great houses. They had one child. Just one. And if anything happened to that child, gods forbid, their legacy would die with him. Eventually, Winterfell would fall to someone outside the Stark family, and Sansa would fail every last one of her ancestors, but especially her mother and father. "I . . . I don't think he wants to."
"You won't know until you ask."
The heat rose even higher in Sansa's cheeks. "I can't imagine asking him such a thing."
"Well, I think you should. He is the Lord of Winterfell, after all, and he does have a duty to protect the future of the north. The best way to do that is to produce another heir. I don't think it would be an unreasonable request on your part, if you are so inclined," Brienne said, a knowing look in her eyes.
Sansa almost laughed. She could sit there all day denying the truth, but Brienne knew what she wanted. Brienne knew that Sansa wanted Tyrion in her bed, knew that she wanted to be close to him again. And Brienne, true friend that she was, was giving Sansa a way to get exactly what she wanted without having to sacrifice her pride. Sansa was grateful for the advice, but she couldn't quite say the words. "I . . . I will consider it."
"Good," Brienne replied with a soft smile, obviously pleased with Sansa's answer. "And there's no rush. I don't think Lord Tyrion is going anywhere anytime soon."
"I sincerely doubt that. I'm starting to suspect that Tyrion will leave when you and Jaime depart for Casterly Rock. It's been his intention to return there from the start, and when you and Jaime go, it will give him the perfect excuse to leave."
Brienne's smile faded. "I'm so sorry, Sansa."
Sansa shook her head. "I suppose, since you're with child, you'll have to leave here sooner rather than later, won't you?"
"Unfortunately, yes. Jaime had hoped to stay here for as long as you would have us, but under the circumstances, it would probably be best if we stayed no more than a moonturn, while I can still travel without danger to the child."
A moonturn. That wasn't long at all, really, not after it had taken them just as long to travel to Winterfell from Casterly Rock. Sansa was disappointed, but she understood. Jaime and Brienne had only come north so that Jaime and Tyrion could be reunited. Now that the brothers had seen each other again, Jaime and Brienne had more pressing matters to attend to back home, and Sansa knew that Tyrion would leave right along with them. Although he hadn't mentioned leaving in more than a fortnight, she was certain he wouldn't pass up such an attractive opportunity to go. He could travel in good company, his beloved brother by his side, all the way back to his childhood home. After all, what possible reason could he have to stay? Tyrion had already done his duty by Winterfell. He had sat in the Great Hall nearly every day since his arrival, offering his counsel and advice. But the snows were beginning to thaw, and life would soon get easier for the northern folk. There was no imperative to make Tyrion stay. Sansa was certain that he would be gone before another month passed, and she would never see him again.
"We will miss you," Brienne said. "Very much. Maybe, when the baby is born, you and Eddard can travel to Casterly Rock to visit us. I know Jaime would like that, and I have no doubt that Eddard would too."
"I doubt Tyrion would approve. Once he is rid of us, I am certain he would prefer to stay rid of us."
"Oh, Sansa."
"It's all right," Sansa said, holding back her tears with a bittersweet smile, "it's fine."
"It's not fine."
"Well, it has to be. Eddard and I spent years living without Tyrion, and we can do so again."
"I wish you didn't have to."
"I wish we didn't have to either. But I learned a long time ago that life isn't ever truly fair and we must suffer the whims of the gods as best we can."
"You could ask him to stay, you know?"
"No, I couldn't. I'm sure he's made up his mind, and nothing I can do or say will sway him."
"Then ask him to give you a child before he goes. It's the least he can do if he intends to abandon you again."
Sansa didn't think she had the courage to ask Tyrion to visit her bed again, but Brienne had a valid point. Tyrion was about to abandon his family and all of his duties as the Lord of Winterfell. The least he could do was try to produce an heir before leaving. "We'll see," Sansa said, unable to commit herself to anything more.
Sansa turned back to her needlework, her hands suddenly trembling. Since the morning after his arrival, she'd been certain that she and Tyrion would never lie together again. But now, the possibility was suddenly before her, and it made every nerve in her body hum with anticipation. She knew Tyrion didn't want her, knew he had absolutely no use for her, and yet, she wanted him. And maybe, just maybe, she would have him again, even if it was just for one night.
Sansa's heart fluttered against her ribs, and she tried her best to remain calm. Her hopes were starting to soar, and she knew she needed to keep them fettered to the ground, lest she foolishly risk her heart again.