Author's Note: I'm sorry it's taken me so long to post this chapter. Things have settled down a bit in my personal life now, and I'm slowly easing myself back into editing and posting. I want to thank everyone for their kindness and support. It has been very much appreciated.

Now, I know everyone is just dying for Sansa and Tyrion to finally start working on that baby, but it's going to be a few chapters before we get there. Please be patient. I promise it will be worth it.

Chapter Eighteen

Sansa stared at the closed door, her hands trembling even though they were clasped tightly together. She wanted to throw something. She wanted to run to the door and pull it open just so she could slam it in Tyrion's face. She hated him. Gods, how she hated him. She wished now that he had never come back to Winterfell. If he had just stayed away, she could have gone on believing that he was the kind, warm, gentle man of her dreams and not the drunken, whoring reprobate he truly was. She hated him so much she could cry.

Sansa closed her eyes, trying to fight back the tears, but all it did was make them flow more freely. Her legs suddenly felt weak, and she sank down onto the couch behind her, crying her heart out. She had never wanted things to be this way. Never. Before Tyrion had returned, she had honestly thought that they could be happy together, but she had been a fool, a stupid fool.

Sansa wrapped her arms around herself, her entire body trembling. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to hide alone in her chamber and never face the outside world again. Never face Tyrion again. She felt humiliated, mortified, rejected. Even though Tyrion had not refused her request to share her bed, she knew he had only conceded under duress. He didn't want her any more now than he had back in King's Landing, and he had no qualms about showing it. She was a nuisance to him, an obligation, and he was already quite eager to move on with his life.

Without warning, the sitting room door slowly creaked open, and Sansa's eyes darted toward the sound. She swiped feverishly at her cheeks, fearing that Eddard had awoken and come in search of her. She didn't want him to see her crying. She had always been sure to put up a strong front for Eddard, to never let him see the weakness within her, and she was not about to fail him now.

But it wasn't Eddard, it was Arya, and Sansa sobbed in relief.

"Where is he?" Arya asked, not even getting far enough into the room to close the door.

"Who?" Sansa was too emotional to be thinking clearly.

"The man I'm going to kill for you."

Sansa shook her head. "No, you can't," she said feebly, her voice lacking all conviction.

"Where is he?"

"Please, just let it go. He'll be gone soon anyway."

"I'm not going to let it go. I told him the night he arrived that if he ever hurt you, I would kill him, and I meant it. He knew the risk, and now, he's going to have to pay the price." Arya turned around and headed back out the door.

Sansa bounded from the couch, her legs shaking with the effort. "No, wait!"

Arya stopped, turning around so that she could look at Sansa again. She arched a brow in question.

"Come in and close the door," Sansa said. "I need to talk to someone."

Arya turned around just far enough to pull the door closed behind her, and Sansa sighed in relief. She sank back down onto the couch as she waited for her sister to join her. It seemed like forever before Arya finally crossed the floor. When she sat down beside Sansa, her expression was no more sympathetic than it had been when she'd first entered the room.

"I hope you don't intend to tell me why I shouldn't end Lord Tyrion's life," Arya said. "I've already made up my mind, and nothing you say will change it."

"He is the Lord of Winterfell," Sansa replied. "You can't simply execute him because you want to, particularly when he's committed no crime."

"He hurt you. I don't know what he did or said to do it, but he hurt you, and that's crime enough."

"No, it isn't. He is the Lord of Winterfell, whether we like it or not, and neither one of us has a right to harm him without just cause."

"This is just cause. Look at you." Arya's eyes narrowed in concern as she examined Sansa's face. "He left you sobbing like a child."

"It's my own fault."

"No, it isn't. He's a grown man. He is, as you say, the Lord of Winterfell, and yet, he has just proven himself unworthy of that title. So it's time someone took it away from him."

Sansa wasn't sure how genuine Arya's threat was. She knew that between the time Arya had disappeared from King's Landing and the time she had reappeared at Winterfell, she had killed many men, but Sansa wasn't certain that meant she truly intended to kill Tyrion. At least, Sansa hoped that wasn't what it meant.

"Well," Sansa said, some of the calm returning to her voice, "that someone is not going to be you. I forbid it."

The warmth suddenly faded from Arya's eyes. "You forbid it?"

"Yes, I forbid it. As long as I am the Lady of Winterfell, you will not cause my husband any bodily harm. And when he leaves for Casterly Rock at the end of the month, you will let him go without a word."

Arya shook her head in disbelief. "Why are you protecting him? He doesn't give a damn about you or Eddard. Why are you doing this to yourself?"

"Because Tyrion will be gone in a few short weeks, and before he leaves, there's something I want from him."

"His head on a pike? His blood flowing in the Great Hall just like Littlefinger's?"

Sansa was troubled by the image Arya's words conjured up in her mind, but she pushed her unease aside. "I want another child," Sansa said. "And Tyrion has agreed to give me one before he leaves Winterfell."

Arya laughed, and every muscle in Sansa's body unconsciously tightened.

"You can't be serious," Arya replied, her tone incredulous.

"I am."

"Why?"

"Because Winterfell needs another heir. Mother and Father had five children and look how things ended up. Robb and Rickon dead, Bran north of the Wall. Tyrion and I have one child. Just one. And if we don't at least try to make another, gods-only-know what's going to happen to Winterfell when we're gone."

"There's a much easier solution, of course. You do know that, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"Let me kill Tyrion, then you'll be free to marry whomever you want, and you can produce scores and scores of heirs with a man you can actually trust. A man who actually trusts you."

For the briefest of moments, Sansa was tempted by the idea – not the idea of allowing Arya to kill Tyrion, but the idea of marrying someone else and starting over. Tyrion had offered her that chance when he'd first arrived at Winterfell, and she had scoffed at it. Now, Sansa was sorry she hadn't considered the offer more seriously.

"You know I'm right," Arya said. "It would be quite easy to—"

"No." Sansa was adamant in her decision. "You will not harm Tyrion. You must give me your word."

"No. That is one thing I will not do," Arya answered without a moment's hesitation. "You have forbidden me from doing him harm at this moment, and so I will respect your wishes. For now. But don't ask me to give you my word against an unknown future. None of us know what the future may hold, and I am not prepared to give my word now, when circumstances could change at any moment."

"Fine," Sansa grudgingly conceded. "But for now, there will be no more talk of killing Tyrion. Is that understood?"

Arya didn't answer, and Sansa thought she might need more persuading, but the next time Arya spoke, it was obvious that the bent of her thoughts had changed considerably. "You still want him, don't you?"

Sansa's breath caught in her throat. She was surprised by the sudden accusation. "No, of course not."

"Yes, you do. That's why you asked him to give you a baby, isn't it? Not because Winterfell needs an heir, but because you want Tyrion Lannister in your bed. You asked me to let him live because you want to fuck him."

The blood rushed to Sansa's cheeks. She was mortified by Arya's brazenness. "Arya!" she scolded. "You may be a great warrior, but you are still a lady, and you should not use such language."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," Arya said. "You want to fuck Tyrion Lannister, and you can't deny it."

Sansa was stunned silent. Arya knew her even better than she knew herself. But that didn't mean she was going to admit to wanting Tyrion, whether it was true or not.

"See?" Arya gloated. "You're utterly speechless."

"I do not want to . . ."

"Fuck."

"Yes, that," Sansa said. "I do not want to do that with Tyrion."

"Really? Then why did you ask him to give you a baby?"

"Because I do want a baby. Because Winterfell needs an heir, and because Eddard has been asking for a little brother since he first learned to talk."

"So you're doing this for Winterfell then? And for Eddard? And not at all for yourself?"

"Yes, exactly."

Arya laughed. "Horseshit."

Sansa was not fond of Arya's coarse language, but she knew if she complained about it again, Arya would just scoff at her and do as she pleased anyway.

"It's the truth," Sansa replied.

"It is not the truth. You've been waiting five years for him to come back just so he could help you get at that itch you can't scratch. You want him, and you're just too much of a coward to admit it."

Sansa hated being called a coward. It was almost as bad as being called a liar and a cheat. She was a Stark, and Starks were brave. Always. They never ran from a fight or shied away from the truth.

And yet, Sansa wasn't sure this was a truth she could bring herself to admit.

"I'm not a coward," Sansa protested.

"Then prove it. Admit what you want from Tyrion. Admit what you feel for Tyrion. I dare you."

Suddenly, it felt like they were children again, Sansa trying to act all proper and reserved, and Arya needling her in an attempt to break her carefully crafted façade. Sansa didn't want to give in, but even though she was now a full-grown woman – or, more precisely, because she was now a full-grown woman – she could not back down from the challenge.

"You really want to know the truth?" Sansa said, her voice trembling slightly.

"I asked, didn't I?"

"Fine." Sansa self-consciously fluffed out her skirts, smoothing them down with nervous hands. "I'll tell you the truth. The situation here at Winterfell is dire, and Tyrion and I do need to produce another heir if we are able."

Arya rolled her eyes as if she expected Sansa to evade the truth again.

"But that doesn't mean that I view the prospect with dread," Sansa continued. "It has been a long time since my husband and I have had to fulfill our marital duties, and I am more than happy to do what is required of me."

Arya's lips curved in a broad, slow smile. "You just can't say the words, can you?"

"I did. I told you how I feel. There was no falsehood in what I said."

"You want to fuck him," Arya answered. "Just say it. Say the words. It'll feel good. Trust me."

"No. I will say no such thing, and if you keep pestering me about it, you can leave right now."

"Fine," Arya huffed. "But can you at least admit that your own desires were a factor in your decision?"

"Why? Why do you care so much?" Sansa asked, trying to understand why it even mattered to Arya anymore.

"You said yourself that Tyrion is going to leave at the end of the month, yes?"

"Yes."

"Well, when he does, I want to make sure that you're prepared for it. If you're doing this because you really just want an heir, that's one thing. But if you're doing this because you're still secretly in love with him and you're hoping that inviting him to your bed is going to make him stay, that's something else entirely."

"I've never been in love with Tyrion," Sansa replied stalwartly. "Never."

"Yes, you have. I know you have. You've ignored every other man who's crossed your path since you returned to Winterfell."

Sansa pulled back her shoulders and sat up a little straighter. "I'm a married woman. I'm supposed to ignore other men."

Arya shook her head. "No, not you, Sansa. You were always a flirt. You always loved the attention. But then, you married Tyrion and you had his child, and suddenly, everything changed."

"That wasn't the only reason things changed."

"I know," Arya said softly, acknowledging countless tragedies with those two simple words. "But the point is, you've always romanticized Tyrion's return, hoping for it even when you tried to pretend that you didn't care. You've loved him for a long time – or at least, you've loved the idea of him – and I don't want to see you get hurt when you give him what you think he wants and he leaves you anyway."

"It's not my intention to seduce him into staying."

"Then what is your intention?"

Sansa didn't want to examine her own motives too closely, but Arya was giving her no choice. It was getting late, it had been a long day, and Sansa had just spent a quarter of an hour crying her eyes out. Had circumstances been the slightest bit different, she might have refused to answer, but she was too exhausted to equivocate any longer. Arya wanted to know the truth, so Sansa was going to give her the truth.

"I didn't ask Tyrion to come to my bed because I'm trying to convince him to stay," she said. "I did it because, you're right, I do want him. And because I would like to make a few good memories with him before he's gone forever, so I have something to hold on to for the long, lonely nights ahead."

"Oh, Sansa." Arya leaned forward, wrapping her arms around her sister and hugging her tightly.

Sansa instantly began to sob. She buried her head against Arya's shoulder and cried out all her pain. "I'm so stupid," she mumbled between sniffles. "I know I am. I shouldn't want him, not after everything that's happened, not knowing what he thinks of me. But I can't help myself. I've wanted him for so long. I . . . I've loved him for so long. I'm such a fool."

Arya reached up and gently stroked Sansa's hair. "It's all right. It's all going to be all right. It isn't you, Sansa. It's Tyrion. This is all his fault, not yours. All you ever did was love him. All you've ever been was a good, faithful wife, and if he can't see that, then he doesn't deserve you."

Sansa sniffled plaintively and pulled back so that she could look at Arya. "I know you're right, but it doesn't make it hurt any less."

"Are you sure you don't want me to kill him for you? I could make it look like an accident if that's what you're worried about."

Sansa laughed softly. "No, that's all right. He'll be gone soon enough. There's no need for that."

Arya rested her head against Sansa's shoulder, and Sansa leaned back against the couch, taking Arya with her. They sat there holding each other for a long time. It had been ages since they'd shown each other any kind of real affection, and there was something deeply cathartic about the experience. Sansa knew she wasn't the only one who was suffering. Arya was no happier with her lot in life than Sansa was. They'd both traveled a long, painful road to get where they were now, and it was not often that they took the time to comfort each other. Sansa suddenly wished that she had confided in Arya sooner. It would have made all their struggles much easier to bear.

After a time, Arya broke the silence between them. "Do you really think he's going to leave?" she asked, her voice soft and almost childlike.

Sansa stared out into the empty room, wishing she saw a different future before her than the one she knew awaited her. "I do."

"But you want him to stay."

"Yes, but not for my sake, for Eddard's."

"Sansa," Arya scolded. She tried to pull away so that she could look up at her sister, but Sansa held her tight.

"That isn't a lie. If things were better between us, I would want Tyrion to stay for my sake. But as things stand now, it's probably for the best if he just goes. It will be less painful in the long run. It's hard to see him every day, knowing what he truly thinks of me."

"I'm sorry he's such an ass."

A bitter laugh escaped Sansa's throat. "So am I."

Sansa tightened her hold on Arya and held on for dear life. Tyrion wasn't going to change. Nothing she said or did was ever going to convince him that she was a loving, faithful, devoted wife. He had already made up his mind about her, and he would not be swayed.

Sansa placed a gentle kiss against Arya's head and closed her eyes. She held Arya for the longest time, doing her best to will the dark thoughts from her mind, doing her best to will the pain away.