Author's Note: I'm sorry that this update took so long. When I wrote the first draft of this fic, I actually wrote two versions of this chapter, one in which Tyrion talks to Jaime and one in which he talks to Arya. It took me a while to figure out which version to use and that contributed to the delay. Once I finally finish posting this story, I may post the alternate version of this chapter on tumblr, in case anyone wants to read it. If I do, I'll make a note of it at the end of this fic.

Also, I had a reviewer ask when they could expect updates on this story, and unfortunately, I couldn't reply because this site will not allow authors to reply to guest reviews. I make it a priority to reply to every review I receive, so if you would like a response back, please make sure that you are logged in. At this point, updates to this story will be sporadic, depending on how the revisions go, so I can't really say how often I will update, but hopefully, it will be more frequently than it has been these last couple of months.

Chapter Nineteen

The next few days at Winterfell were particularly tense, the uneasiness between Tyrion and Sansa felt by all around them. Of course, life continued on just as it always had – they took meals together, met with petitioners, planned for the future of the north – but an unspoken tension ran through all of it, and Tyrion wanted nothing more than to escape from Winterfell as soon as possible.

Tyrion took every opportunity to avoid his wife, spending as much time with Jaime and Eddard as he could. Arya had suddenly taken to giving Tyrion even darker looks, and he had the distinct feeling that she knew every last thing that had ever passed between him and her sister. He was secretly waiting for her to come up behind him in a corridor, slit his throat, and disappear like the faceless, nameless assassin that she was. He knew that Arya was hungry for his blood, and he was doing everything in his power to avoid giving her a reason to take it.

Every day, Tyrion worried that Sansa would come to him and tell him that she was ready for him to share her bed. He knew he dreaded it more than was reasonable, but he didn't want to be alone with Sansa again, didn't want to be intimate with her again. She hated him, and he despised the idea of spending a cold, loveless night in her bed. Would she just lie there, staring up at the ceiling, while he pushed himself inside her and fought to spill his seed? Or would she close her eyes and imagine that he was Eddard's real father, that she was making love to the man of her dreams?

Either way, Tyrion had no desire to do what Sansa had asked of him, but he knew there was no way out. He was her husband, and Winterfell was woefully lacking in heirs. Before he abandoned her for the last time, he had to at least try to give her a child. If not for her sake, then for Eddard's.

Tyrion sat at the desk in his study, staring blindly out into the room, thinking about the little boy who still believed that he was his father. Eddard wanted a brother more than he wanted his own pet dragon, and Tyrion was the only man in the world in a position to give him one. There was very little that Tyrion could do for Eddard, but if the gods were feeling generous, perhaps they'd allow him to do the boy this one kindness before he left Winterfell forever. Tyrion wanted Eddard to be happy, and a baby brother would go a long way toward making him happy.

A soft rap at the door suddenly roused Tyrion from his reverie. It was late afternoon. He had missed luncheon in favor of work, and he hadn't the slightest idea who had come to see him.

Tyrion pulled himself up farther in his chair, straightened his doublet, and said, "Come in."

The door opened, and Sansa quietly stepped into the room.

Tyrion's heart sank. He didn't want to be alone with Sansa. Not again. Not after what had happened the last time.

"Am I disturbing you, my lord?"

"No, of course not," he lied. "I was just catching up on some correspondence, but it can wait."

Sansa crossed the floor and stopped on the opposite side of the desk.

"Would you like to sit?" Tyrion offered, motioning toward the chair beside her.

"No, thank you. I won't be staying long. I just came to inform you that I would like you to come to my chamber after dinner tonight, if you are so inclined."

Tyrion was not so inclined, not in the least, but it really didn't matter. Sansa was just being polite. There was no way she would accept a refusal.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Tyrion asked, his eyes watching her intently, searching for the slightest hint of uncertainty. "If you've changed your mind, I won't hold it against you."

"No, my lord. This is what must be done for the good of Winterfell. Will you do your duty tonight, as you promised?"

Tyrion stared at Sansa for a long time. Her face was a mask, her eyes cold and empty. He wanted to reach out to her, to take her hand and make her feel something, anything, but he knew it would do no good. She had already made up her mind, and there was nothing he could do to change it.

Tyrion sighed heavily, regretting his next words before he even said them. "Yes, I will do my duty, if that is your wish."

Sansa nodded. "Good. Then I will see you tonight." She didn't wait for Tyrion to answer. She just turned around and left the room as quietly as she'd entered it.

Tyrion stared after Sansa, his stomach in knots, his heart aching. He remembered the girl she had once been – the sweet, trusting girl who had come to him one desperate night when she'd feared his vile nephew more than she'd feared sharing his bed. Although she had been scared to come to him then, she had trusted him enough to ask for his protection. Sometimes, Tyrion fooled himself into believing that his memories of that night were more than just fanciful delusions. Sometimes, he could almost remember the pleasure she had felt at his touch, her soft sighs and gentle caresses. But this girl, the girl who had just left his study, was a wholly different creature. She was hurt and angry and cold, and she only wanted him to share her bed so that they could fulfill a duty that neither one of them had wanted in the first place. This time, Sansa would not yield to his touch. She would not offer him any softness or warmth. She would welcome him to her bed with all the enthusiasm of a condemned woman headed to the executioner's block.

Tyrion turned his attention back to his work but quickly found that he couldn't concentrate on anything but the idea of bedding his wife. Although his mind was plagued by anxiety, his body had no such qualms. His cock ached with need despite his personal misgivings, and he knew, if he continued to ruminate on the matter, the situation would only get worse. It had been five years since Tyrion had touched a woman, and even though he knew that Sansa hated him, even though he knew she didn't want him, he craved her touch just the same.

Overcome with frustration, Tyrion threw his quill onto the desk and shoved his papers aside. He shoved so hard, in fact, that a few scrolls tumbled off the edge of the desk and landed on the floor, but he made no moved to retrieve them.

"Fuck," Tyrion swore as he collapsed back against his chair and stared out into the nothingness before him. He wished now that he had left Winterfell when he'd first had the chance. He shouldn't have let Arya intimidate him into staying. He should have just followed his instincts and left the very night he'd arrived.

Tyrion closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, willing his body under control. When the pain finally eased from his treacherous cock, he opened his eyes again and exhaled a long, shuddering sigh.

Tyrion knew he wasn't going to get any more work done that afternoon, so he pushed himself off the chair and left the room, determined to find somewhere to clear his head. He decided to avoid his usual haunts – the library, the Great Hall, his bedchamber – hoping to avoid anyone who might feel compelled to seek him out. He didn't want to see Eddard or Jaime or Arya. He just wanted to be alone, to find a place to while away the hours before he was forced to do the one thing in the world that he was most terrified of doing, bedding his wife.

It wasn't long before Tyrion found himself in the glass gardens. He was certain it was the warmest spot in all of Winterfell. The glass walls captured both the sun's rays and the heat from the hot springs below, creating a cozy haven of warmth untouched by the cold outside. If was so deliciously warm that, if Tyrion closed his eyes, he could almost believe that he was in King's Landing at the height of spring.

Tyrion had been told that nearly all the glass surrounding the gardens had been destroyed during the war. But once the war had ended, it had been a priority to have the glass replaced. Food stores were dangerously low, and the Winterfell gardens had been converted into something akin to a tiny, working farm. Before the war, there had been decorative flowers growing throughout the gardens. But now, the only flowers that bloomed would soon sprout life-sustaining edibles like melons and cucumbers and gourds. Still, the verdant greens around him were beautiful, and Tyrion was sorry he hadn't visited the gardens sooner. The heat warmed his bones, and the lush greenery made him feel just a little less depressed by the cold.

For some time, Tyrion idly walked the narrow paths that ran up and down the length of the glass enclosure, enjoying the momentary reprieve from his sad reality. Outside, a light snow had begun to fall, making the godswood sparkle as if fairies danced among the trees. Tyrion saw a hint of color in the white tableau beyond the windows, and he stopped, moving closer to the glass panes so that he could get a better look.

Tyrion's heart skipped a beat. Jaime and Brienne were walking through the woods, arm in arm, talking, laughing. There was an intimacy between them that Tyrion had never seen before. They didn't know he was watching them, and so they were perfectly at ease with each other. They looked so happy together, so serene and content. Tyrion's heart ached with longing as he watched them, his soul yearning for something beyond his reach.

Tyrion was happy for his brother. He truly was. After everything Jaime had suffered, after everything Cersei had put him through, Tyrion was glad to see that Jaime had finally found happiness. But Tyrion's jealousy rose like bile in his throat, and he silently prayed for Jaime and Brienne to turn and walk away. He couldn't bear to see them together like this. The way Brienne clung to Jaime's arm, the way she laughed at his jokes and gazed into his eyes, all made Tyrion long for something he knew he could never have.

Jaime led Brienne closer to the gardens, and Tyrion held his breath. He didn't want them to know that he'd been watching them. He wanted to make his escape, but he never got the chance. Before Tyrion could retreat, Jaime turned away from Brienne just long enough to glance in his brother's direction. Jaime instantly spotted Tyrion, their eyes locking in mutual frustration and disappointment.

Jaime turned back toward Brienne, leaning in closer. He whispered something in her ear, and her already rosy cheeks flushed a shade darker. Tyrion could only imagine what Jaime had said to her. No doubt it was a promise of wonderful things to come.

Brienne let go of Jaime's arm and turned to face him. He reached out and cupped her cheek with his gloved hand, drawing her close and kissing her softly.

Tyrion closed his eyes, an unexpected sob escaping his throat. He could feel tears threatening to fall, and he struggled to hold them back. He was spying on his brother and his lady wife, and he felt horribly guilty for it. There was something between Jaime and Brienne that went far beyond the physical, and it made Tyrion feel so small and wretched. He wanted what they had so badly, he would have given his life for it.

It took Tyrion longer than he would have liked to get his emotions under control. When he finally opened his eyes again, Brienne was gone and Jaime was making his way toward the glass gardens. Tyrion stepped away from the wall of windows in front of him, pacing nervously along the narrow path that led to the door. Suddenly, a rush of cold air whipped all around him, and when he turned, he found Jaime closing the door.

Jaime shook the snow from his hair, the glistening flakes settling on his shoulders for only a moment before the heat inside the glass enclosure melted them into nothingness. He looked pointedly at Tyrion. "I know you have a reputation for the perverse, but I had no idea that you got such pleasure from spying on other people."

Tyrion shuffled nervously on his feet. "Sorry about that. It wasn't my intention to spy."

Jaime cocked one fine brow in question. "Wasn't it?"

"No," Tyrion replied. "I came out here to be alone. I didn't expect . . . well, to intrude upon you and your lady wife."

Jaime gave Tyrion a sidelong glance and began ambling in his direction. He casually examined the plants as he passed them by, feigning interest. "Somehow, I doubt that. This isn't the first time I've felt you watching us. It's sad, really. If you're so desperate to see other people showing each other affection, perhaps you should take a trip into the winter town and visit the brothel. I'm sure there are plenty of whores there who would be more than happy to accommodate you."

Tyrion laughed, the sound undeniably bitter. "Now, you sound like my wife."

Jaime stopped in front of a bed of cabbages, absently toying with the leaves as he turned to look at Tyrion. "Has she made the same suggestion?"

"Not exactly, but she does have some ridiculous notion about me wanting a whore in my bed. She seems to think me completely incapable of controlling my baser urges."

"Well, aren't you?"

"No, of course not," Tyrion said in genuine horror. "I can control myself. I've controlled myself longer than you can imagine. Trust me, I am more than capable of keeping my cock out of places it doesn't belong."

Jaime laughed. It was a warm, genuine sound, and Tyrion knew his brother found his assertion quite amusing. "Yes, I'm sure you are."

Tyrion looked away from Jaime, unable to stand the knowing look in his eyes a moment longer. He swatted at the turnip leaves peeking out from the plot of soil in front of him. He had specifically come to the gardens to avoid talking to anyone, and yet, there he was, trapped by Jaime, with no clear path to the door.

"I'm sorry about spying on you and Brienne," Tyrion said, his tone suddenly serious. "I hadn't meant to disturb your peace."

"It's fine," Jaime replied. "We were going to spend some time alone together here in the gardens, but now, she's waiting for me in the Guest House instead. She probably already has her silks off and is lying in our bed."

A cold flush washed over Tyrion at the thought. It wasn't the idea of Brienne of Tarth naked in Jaime's bed that made him uncomfortable, it was the way Jaime had said the words and the way they had made Tyrion feel. Once Jaime left the glass gardens, he would retire to the Guest House to make love to his wife, and she would be a more than willing participant in the act because she loved him, more than she loved being a knight, more than she cared for duty and honor. She was so unlike Sansa, and Tyrion was so unlike Jaime.

"You're a very lucky man," Tyrion said, his tone flat.

"I'm not the only one."

Tyrion snickered. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means."

"No, I don't." Tyrion finally looked up at Jaime again.

"You have everything a man could ever want. A beautiful wife, a loving son—"

"Don't." Tyrion held up a hand to stop him. "Just don't. I don't want to have this conversation again."

"Fine. We don't have to talk about Eddard, but we do need to talk about Sansa."

"No, we don't. We don't need to talk about anything."

"What do you intend to do, Tyrion? You can't live like this forever."

"No, I can't." Tyrion had spent a great deal of time thinking over the past few days, and he had come to the conclusion that it would be best for all concerned if he finally left Winterfell for good. It had been a difficult decision, but ultimately, he knew he could not spend the rest of his life living with Sansa, not with the way things were between them. "When you and Brienne leave for Casterly Rock, I intend to go with you."

Jaime's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Why? You're the Lord of Winterfell. Why the hell would you want to give that up?"

"I don't care about the title. I don't care about the castle either." Tyrion laughed bitterly. "Ironic, isn't it? Father forced me to marry Sansa to secure Winterfell for the Lannisters, and now that I've done it, it doesn't even matter anymore. I can't stay here. All she and I ever do is argue. I don't want to live like that. I can't live like that. I will leave as soon as you and Brienne are ready to go."

Jaime shook his head in silent disapproval. Tyrion knew that his brother didn't agree with his decision, but he also knew that Jaime couldn't force him to stay at Winterfell. Although Jaime could most certainly bar him from returning to Casterly Rock, Tyrion knew he wouldn't. Jaime cared too much for him to ever be that cruel.

"I suppose," Jaime replied, "when you say leave, you mean, never to return."

"Yes, that sounds about right." Tyrion turned his attention back to the turnips and swatted at them again. He felt like taking his anger out on something, and Jaime was too dangerous a target.

"Have you told Sansa this?" Jaime asked, unwilling to let the matter rest.

"Not in so many words, no. But she already assumes I'm leaving anyway. She told me so herself. She will not be the least bit surprised when I leave at the end of the month, I can assure you of that."

"You know," Jaime said thoughtfully, "it amazes me just how easily you've been able to fuck this whole thing up. Really, you've practically turned it into an art."

Tyrion glanced up at his brother with a wry smile. "Oh, I'm an expert at that. Give me something beautiful, and I'll be sure to destroy it in due haste. It truly is a gift."

Jaime shook his head again. "So, what do you plan to do for the next few weeks? Avoid Sansa?"

"If only I could. But no, she's made that impossible."

"How?"

Tyrion screwed up his face in distaste, not at all keen to confess what Sansa had asked him to do. But he knew he couldn't get out of it now. He shouldn't have opened his big, stupid mouth in the first place. "A few nights ago, Sansa asked me to do something for her, something I have no desire to do, but as Lord of Winterfell, I have no choice."

A knowing smile slowly spread across Jaime's lips. "Let me guess, she wants you to give her another child."

"How did you know?"

Jaime's smile broadened, and Tyrion was certain he was fighting the urge to laugh.

"My wife and I don't keep secrets from each other. She tells me everything, including what is said between her and your lady wife."

"You mean Brienne knows about this?"

"I believe Brienne suggested it," Jaime answered. "But that's another matter entirely."

Tyrion was horrified to discover that his new sister-in-law was meddling in his private affairs. He'd thought Arya's interference was bad enough, but now Brienne was meddling too? Tyrion wished that the women of Winterfell would just leave him alone and stop making plans for his future without his consent. He'd never asked for any of this, and all he wanted was to be able to live in relative peace until he could finally leave Winterfell once and for all.

"I wish everyone would stop worrying about what goes on between me and my wife," Tyrion grumbled. "It isn't any of anyone else's concern, and I wish all of you would just mind your own business."

Now, Jaime did laugh. "Well, if you two were better at this whole marriage thing, we probably would. But as it stands now, unless someone else intervenes on your behalf, you're going to ruin the whole thing."

"We've already ruined it," Tyrion replied somberly. "Despite what you and Lady Brienne think, there is no way to fix what's wrong between me and Sansa. It's too late now. Actually, I think it's always been too late."

"You know, if you'd just take that leap of faith, if you'd just—"

Tyrion held his hand up again, stopping Jaime before he could finish. "Enough! I've had enough for one afternoon. Go. Go back to the Guest House. Make love to your beautiful wife and leave me alone to dread bedding mine. Please."

"Why do you dread it?" Jaime asked.

"Why shouldn't I dread it? She doesn't want me. She's only doing this because Winterfell needs an heir. It seems the only time my wife ever invites me to her bed is when she is in a desperate situation. It never has been, and never will be, because she wants me."

"I think you're wrong."

"And what do you know about it?"

"It's just a feeling. I know you can't see it, but I think Sansa cares for you a lot more than you might imagine."

Tyrion scowled. It was bad enough that Jaime wanted him to believe that Eddard was his son, but now he wanted him to believe that Sansa cared for him too? Tyrion refused to even entertain such an idea. It was simply too preposterous.

"Go tell your fairy stories somewhere else," Tyrion said. "I'm sure Eddard would love to hear them."

"You really do love to wallow in self-pity, don't you? I think it's gotten worse since you left Westeros."

"Probably."

"All right, I'll go," Jaime conceded. "But one thing before I do. Since you have to do your duty whether you like it or not, why not try to enjoy it? A beautiful woman has demanded that you go to her bed, and you're acting as if it's a death sentence."

"It might as well be a death sentence."

Jaime shook his head. "Fine. You keep believing that if you want to, but it's just going to make things worse for the both of you. But then, that seems to be all you've done since you returned to Winterfell, make things worse for Sansa and for yourself."

Tyrion narrowed his eyes on his brother. "Is this supposed to be helpful somehow?"

"I'll see you at dinner tonight," Jaime said, ignoring the question. He turned around and walked to the door, a fresh gust of cold air swirling inside the glass enclosure as soon as he opened it. He paused a moment to look at Tyrion over his shoulder. "I know you're enjoying feeling sorry for yourself right now, but just remember, Sansa didn't ask for this any more than you did. Maybe you should stop thinking of her as the enemy and start thinking of her as your wife." Jaime shrugged. "It's just a thought." Then, he turned around and stepped out into the snow, closing the door behind him.

Tyrion just stood there, staring out the window, watching his brother retreat into the distance. Even though the door was now closed, Tyrion still felt cold. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to ward off a phantom chill. He hadn't asked Jaime for advice. He didn't want Jaime's advice. Tyrion knew Sansa wasn't the enemy. He knew that none of this was her fault. But that didn't change the fact that their marriage was doomed. He couldn't trust her, and she couldn't trust him. There was no foundation for them to build upon, no tentative truce, no common ground. Nothing. He would do his duty because he had to, but that was all. As soon as he was free to leave for Casterly Rock, he would. And he would never look back.