Chapter Twenty
Sansa spent the rest of the day trying to distract herself, trying not to think about what was going to happen when Tyrion entered her bedchamber later that night. She wanted him, she couldn't deny that, but it didn't make her anxiety any easier to bear. She knew that Tyrion didn't want her, knew he had only agreed to bed her because it was his duty to do so. Sansa wasn't expecting a romantic evening in the arms of the man she loved. She was certain there would be at least one argument before the deed was done, if it was done at all. Knowing Tyrion, he would probably start a fight the moment he entered the room, and their night together would be over before it had even begun.
About an hour before sundown, the fret and worry became too much for Sansa, and she escaped to the quiet of the godswood in search of solitude. A light snow had begun to fall, and Sansa settled herself onto one of the rocks beneath the heart tree to admire it. Back in King's Landing, after her mother and Robb had been murdered, she had often retreated to the godswood, not because she had wanted to pray – prayer had failed her in those days – but because she had wanted to be alone. And that was exactly what she wanted now, a quiet moment to herself, alone with her thoughts, but the gods had other plans.
The peaceful silence was suddenly broken by the distant sound of boots crunching freshly fallen snow. Sansa looked up, surprised to see Jaime ambling through the woods, idly swinging his sword through the low hanging leaves, causing showers of snow to fall on his head and shoulders. He was headed toward the keep, and Sansa held her breath, hoping he wouldn't notice her. But just as quickly as the thought flitted through her mind, Jaime looked in her direction and their eyes met across the snowy expanse.
He headed straight for her, not saying a single word until he stood beneath the heart tree himself. "I hope I'm not disturbing your prayers, my lady," he said as he gazed up at the leaves, still bloodred even in the heart of winter.
"I wasn't praying. The gods don't listen to my prayers anymore."
Jaime looked down at her, concern marring his handsome face. "I never expected to hear such words from you. You're a Stark. Aren't Starks the most faithful of all the gods' servants?"
"Haven't you heard? I am the most faithless of wives, so why shouldn't I be the most faithless of the gods' servants?"
Jaime sheathed his sword and sat down on the rock next to Sansa. She moved over just enough to allow a comfortable distance between them.
"My brother is an ass," Jaime said. "You do know that, don't you?"
"Better than anyone, I can assure you."
"Then why do you let his opinions bother you? You know you've been faithful. You know who Eddard's father is. If Tyrion refuses to believe the truth, then that's his failing, not yours."
Sansa looked away, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. It was one thing to discuss the intimate details of her marriage with someone like Brienne. It was another thing entirely to discuss them with Jaime. But Jaime had insights into Tyrion's character that Brienne didn't, and Sansa hoped he could enlighten her, just a bit, about his brother's motivations.
"Why does he refuse to believe the truth?" Sansa asked. "He's a very wise man – at least, people say he is – so why can't he see what's clearly in front of him?"
"Don't you know why?" Jaime replied.
"I haven't the slightest idea."
"Because he's afraid of the truth."
Sansa turned and looked at Jaime again. He was staring back at her with a knowing smile, and Sansa was suddenly struck by how truly handsome he was. For a moment, she found herself envying Brienne. Jaime was everything Sansa had ever dreamed of – handsome, charming, kind, gentle – and yet, despite all his many flaws, her heart still belonged to Tyrion.
"What do you mean, he's afraid of the truth?" Sansa asked. "Tyrion isn't afraid of anything."
"Of course, he is. He's afraid of being happy. He's afraid of being made to look like a fool."
"That's ridiculous. Who in the world is afraid of being happy?"
"Tyrion," Jaime said softly, his words reflecting the genuine affection he felt for his brother. "He's had too much taken away from him in his life to ever truly trust the good that comes his way. He's always waiting for the ax to fall, always waiting for things to come to ruin. And he fears you most of all."
"Me? Why does he fear me?" Sansa could scarcely believe it.
"Why, indeed?" Jaime said with a laugh. "Don't you know what my brother wants from you?"
"To let him leave Winterfell? To let him abandon his duties and his family so he can live the life he's always dreamed of?"
"If you believe that, you're either in denial or you're a bigger fool than he is. And I don't think you're a fool, Sansa. Not in the least."
"I'm not in denial about anything."
"She said, denying the accusation," Jaime countered with a knowing grin.
Jaime was starting to try Sansa's patience, but she kept her temper in check. She liked Jaime, and she had no desire to alienate him. He was the exact opposite of his brother, and she valued his opinion and his company more than she had any right to.
"Fine," Sansa conceded, "but what am I in denial about?"
"Tyrion's wants. Specifically, what he wants from you. You see, Tyrion may seem quite complicated, but he's really a very simple creature with very simple needs."
"Yes, drinking and whoring. I'm well aware."
"Well, I'll give you the drinking, but I think he's forgone the whoring for quite some time now."
"I sincerely doubt that."
"Either way, that's not what Tyrion really wants. He may be a drunk, he may be a pervert, he may even be a murderer – in fact, I know he's a murderer – but deep down, he wants what we all want. To be loved. To have a home and a family all his own. To be accepted and wanted for who he really is. He wants the same life we all want. The same life you want."
"Then what is he afraid of?"
"He's afraid to get his hopes up," Jaime answered. "He's afraid he'll start believing because he wants it so badly, and then, and only then, will he find out it's all a lie. He's too afraid to let himself be happy because he's too afraid to lose what he loves again. He's lost so much over the years, from the day he was born until the day he fled Westeros. He's terrified of losing anything more."
"And yet, he's more than willing to walk away from me and Eddard."
"Because he sees it as walking away from temptation, from the thing he wants most in this world. Think about it, Sansa. When have the gods ever been kind to him? He can't believe that they would suddenly start being kind to him now. Not after everything he's been through. Not after everything he's done."
Sansa stared at Jaime, trying to grasp everything he had said in Tyrion's defense. It was difficult for her to believe that Tyrion wanted to stay, but Jaime seemed to believe in his brother so earnestly that Sansa was tempted to start believing in him too.
"Do you really think that Tyrion secretly wants to stay?" Sansa asked.
"I think— No, I know," Jaime corrected, "that not only does Tyrion secretly want to stay, but that he secretly wants to believe that Eddard is his son and that he secretly loves you more than he can ever admit."
Love?
Sansa could barely comprehend the word. She stared at Jaime for a long moment, struggling to form some kind of reply. "But . . . Tyrion doesn't love me. That's absurd."
"Is it?" Jaime asked, cocking a brow in question. "Why is it absurd? You're a beautiful woman. You've shown him more kindness than he rightfully deserves. Why shouldn't he be in love with you?"
"But he never—" But Sansa couldn't finish the thought. Tyrion had never given her the slightest indication that he felt anything more for her than a sense of obligation. She could not believe Jaime's words, no matter how much she wanted to. "I think," Sansa said, "I think that being in love yourself has made you see love where it doesn't exist. You're so in love with Brienne that you want the rest of the world to be in love too. But it doesn't work that way. Just because I'm a pretty girl, just because I've been kind to Tyrion, doesn't mean that he loves me. He's had many women before me, and he will have many more after. I am just one among dozens, hundreds maybe. I may bear his name, but I mean no more to him than any of the countless women who have come before me. I wish you were right. I wish everything you've just said were true. But I know my husband, and I know how he feels about me."
Jaime shook his head. "I don't think you do. And I don't think Tyrion knows how you feel about him either."
A flood of warmth rushed to Sansa's cheeks at the implication. "I . . . I don't know what you mean."
Jaime looked at her as if he found her obstinacy just a little bit insufferable. "Come, Sansa. Do you really think you're fooling anyone? It's obvious how you feel about Tyrion. Just as it's obvious how he feels about you."
"If you mean that it's obvious that we despise and mistrust each other, yes, you're absolutely right."
Jaime laughed. "No one believes that but you and Tyrion. Perhaps tonight, when he visits your bedchamber, you'll both finally realize what is so painfully obvious to the rest of us."
Sansa's face flamed red to the roots of her hair. "How . . . how do you know about that?" she asked, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them.
He shrugged. "I have my ways."
"Brienne."
Jaime smiled broadly. "We don't keep secrets from each other, my wife and I. I know her secrets, she knows mine. Why do you think we have such a happy marriage?"
"Does she know all your secrets?" Sansa asked, wondering if the rumors about Jaime and Cersei were true, wondering if Brienne had known the truth all along.
"All my secrets," Jaime confessed in a conspiratorial tone. "Even the bad ones. Especially the bad ones."
"And she loves you anyway?"
"She does. Though I admit, I hardly deserve it. But," he said with a sigh as he finally pushed himself up from the stone and stood to his full height, "unlike my brother, I have no qualms about accepting gifts that I don't deserve." Jamie looked down at Sansa. "Don't give up on Tyrion just yet. I know he's an idiot. I know he's too much of a coward for his own good. But he needs you. And he needs Eddard. Don't let him walk away when there's still a chance that you can find some happiness together."
"I think you give me far too much credit," Sansa replied.
"Oh, no. You're Sansa Stark," Jaime said with a shake of his head. "You can do anything you set your mind to. You're a strong woman, capable and beautiful, and my brother absolutely does not deserve you. But I think, if you let him, he could make you truly happy. And you do deserve that. Don't throw away your one chance at happiness just because Tyrion's too afraid to see what's right in front of him." Jaime bowed his head in deference to her. "And now that I have said my piece, I shall bid you good day, Lady Lannister."
"My lord."
Jaime offered her one last charming smile before turning around and heading toward the keep. It was still flurrying, and as he left the shelter of the heart tree, the snowflakes settled on his hair and shoulders, making him sparkle in the dying afternoon sunlight.
Sansa turned away the moment Jaime disappeared from view. She wanted to believe everything that he had said. She wanted to believe that Tyrion loved her just as much as she loved him. She wanted to believe that the only thing holding Tyrion back was his own fear. But she didn't know how to take that leap of faith. Tyrion had hurt her so badly that she didn't know how to trust him anymore or how to fix what was broken between them.
Sansa was still nervous about spending the night with Tyrion, even though she had waited five long years to make love to him again. Or perhaps, she was nervous because she had waited five long years to make love to him again. Sansa knew that no matter how much love and affection she showed Tyrion in the bedchamber, she would never change his heart. No matter how glorious their night together was – and she still hoped and prayed that it would be glorious – come morning, she was certain that things would be no different between them.
Sansa wrapped her cloak more tightly around herself. She sighed heavily, the sting of tears suddenly pricking her eyes. She would not cry. She would not allow herself to wallow in self-pity. She would take what she could from Tyrion tonight, while she still could. He'd be gone soon enough, and then, she'd have an entire lifetime to feel sorry for herself. No, for one night, she would take what she wanted from him, and she wouldn't apologize for it, even though it would change nothing. She needed to feel Tyrion's warmth again. She needed to be close to him, just one last time, before he walked away forever.