Author's Note: After reviewing the remaining chapters in this story, I realized that my initial chapter count was incorrect. Including the prologue and epilogue, this story will have 34 chapters, not 32.

Chapter Twenty-two

Sansa stared at the closed door, her entire body trembling. She wanted to bolt from the bed, dash across the room, and call after Tyrion. She wanted to beg him to come back, but she couldn't. She could barely even move. Her limbs were weak, and her whole body still ached with the memory of his touch. She was certain, if she even tried to stand, her legs would buckle beneath her.

Sansa wished she'd had the courage to ask Tyrion to stay, but despite everything Jaime had said just a few hours earlier, she'd been afraid to let herself believe that Tyrion felt anything for her but a sense of obligation. Although Tyrion had been nothing but gentle and attentive when he'd been in her bed, she knew that didn't mean that he loved her. He was simply very good at pleasing women, and she had merely benefited from a lifetime of ill-gotten experience. When he'd touched her, kissed her, she'd felt like the only woman in the world. But the moment he had closed the door behind him, reality had crushed her like a stone, and she'd instantly remembered that she was just one among hundreds and that the affection he had shown her was nothing more than artifice.

Over the years, Sansa had spent many long, lonely nights imagining what it would be like to lie with Tyrion again. As the years had passed, her fantasies had grown more ardent, more desperate. When he had finally come to her bed, instead of acting like a lady, she had behaved no better than a Flea Bottom whore. She loved Tyrion, she wanted Tyrion, and since she'd been unable to tell him with words, she'd done all she could to show him with her body.

Her limbs still trembling, Sansa sank down under the furs, lying on her back and staring up at the ceiling. Her skin burned at the memory of her own wanton behavior, and she couldn't help but wonder what Tyrion thought of her now. She had touched him, kissed him, done unspeakable things to him in her sheer desperation to create new memories for the lonely years ahead. Did he think the worst of her now? Sansa almost laughed. Tyrion already thought very little of her, and she was certain that nothing she had done that night could have made it any worse.

With a shuddering sigh, Sansa turned onto her side, curling up into a little ball. She stared blankly at the wall in front of her, trying not to cry. Tyrion had given her exactly what she'd asked for, and yet, she was more miserable now than she had been before he'd come to her. Having him in her bed had done nothing to quell the ache in her heart. She still wanted him. She wanted him to trust her. She wanted him to love her just as much as she loved him.

Sansa closed her eyes, sobbing with the effort. She wrapped her arms around herself and tried to fall asleep. She couldn't take any more pain tonight. All she wanted to do was forget about Tyrion Lannister, forget the way he made her feel, forget the way he made her heart long for something she knew she could never have. She wanted to be free of him since he'd already decided that he wanted to be free of her.

Sansa lay there for the longest time, barely conscious of anything but the ache in her heart. At first, she didn't hear the soft rap at the door, but it quickly worked its way through her addled brain, and her whole body tensed.

Please, don't be Eddard, Sansa silently prayed. She didn't want him to see her suffering. He deserved better than to sneak into his mother's room in the middle of the night only to find her hiding beneath the covers, on the verge of tears.

Sansa stayed silent, hoping that whoever was at the door would go away. But they didn't. Barely another moment passed before the door creaked open and someone stepped inside.

Sansa stayed huddled beneath the furs, pretending to sleep. She listened as the door closed behind her and familiar footsteps padded across the floor. It wasn't Eddard who had snuck into her chamber, it was Arya, and Sansa sighed in relief. She opened her eyes and stared at the wall again, waiting for Arya to approach.

A few seconds later, Arya climbed into bed next to Sansa, but she made no attempt to get beneath the covers. Instead, she snuggled up against Sansa's back, draping one arm around her and resting her cheek against Sansa's shoulder.

An involuntary sob escaped Sansa's throat, and suddenly, she was crying in earnest.

"I'll kill that bastard," Arya said, her words far softer than their meaning implied.

"No." Sansa shook her head, sniffling plaintively as she tried to fight back the tears. "He didn't do anything wrong."

"Didn't he? He just left you here, miserable and alone."

"I didn't ask him to stay," Sansa said in a small voice.

"Well, he should have seen that you wanted him to stay, and he shouldn't have left."

Sansa laughed bitterly. "No. I don't expect him to know what I want, any more than I know what he wants."

"But it's obvious to anyone who looks at you. You want him, and you wanted him to stay. And he's a fool if he couldn't see that."

"We're both fools."

"You're not a fool, Sansa," Arya said. "Tyrion may be a fool. I won't argue with you there. But you're not. All you've ever been to him was a loving and faithful wife. He's the one who ruined everything."

Arya had a point, and Sansa could do nothing to refute it. If only Tyrion had believed her about Eddard from the start, things might have been very different between them. But he hadn't believed her – he still didn't believe her – and that had destroyed any chance they might have had at happiness. "It doesn't matter," Sansa said. "What's done is done, and it can't be changed."

Arya cuddled closer, and they settled into a long silence. Sansa was glad for her sister's company. As children, Sansa could never have imagined sharing a moment like this with Arya. They'd always been adversaries, constantly at each other's throats. But now, things were different. The tragedies they'd shared had profoundly altered their relationship. There weren't many Starks left in the world, and the ones who had survived had no choice but to cling to each other for dear life.

Time seemed to stand still as they lay there, quietly listening to the fire crackling in the hearth. Arya's breathing was so shallow that Sansa was certain she had drifted off to sleep, but Arya suddenly surprised her by breaking the silence. "Was it everything you wanted it to be?" she asked, her voice soft, almost childlike.

"It was."

"Do you think you'll ask him to visit you again?"

The question hung in the air between them for a long time. Sansa didn't know how to answer it. She wanted Tyrion to visit her again, but she didn't know if she could withstand the heartache. Every time he'd touched her tonight, her hopes had soared. But then, when he'd left her, cold and alone in her bed, all her hopes had instantly come crashing back down. She didn't know if she could survive being close to him again. Even though it brought her pleasure, it also brought her pain, and she'd already had all the pain she could stand for one lifetime. "I . . . I don't know," Sansa finally answered. "I just don't know."

"Well, I've been told it can take more than one go at it to make a baby. Perhaps you'll have no choice but to invite him to share your bed again."

Sansa didn't even want to entertain the possibility. The first time she and Tyrion had been together, they had produced a child. She hoped – no, she prayed – that they had done so again tonight. Even though it would mean that she would never lie with Tyrion again, it would also mean that she'd have another small piece of him to love when he finally abandoned her. "That is up to the gods to decide," Sansa said.

"Do you really trust the gods anymore?"

"No, not really."

"Then maybe you should make sure that your husband does his duty as many times as possible before he goes. You wouldn't want to leave everything up to the gods, would you?"

Sansa suddenly felt trapped in Arya's embrace. She turned onto her back, forcing her sister to pull away and give her some space. Arya propped herself up on her elbow and stared down at Sansa, watching her curiously.

"I don't think I could survive having Tyrion in my bed again," Sansa said as she pulled the furs up under her chin. "Just look at me. I've done nothing but cry since he left."

"Yes, but who's fault is that? You wanted him to stay, but you didn't ask him to stay. As much as I would love to place all the blame on Tyrion, on second thought, I'm not sure that I can."

"I know it's my own fault. I make no excuses about that. I am no coward."

"But you were a coward tonight, weren't you? Otherwise, you would have asked him to stay."

"I was a coward, yes," she said quietly, the sound barely a whisper, "but only in the end."

A wry smile quirked Arya's lips. "And the rest of the time?"

The heat instantly rose in Sansa's cheeks, and she was tempted to turn away again, but she was trying to demonstrate just how brave she was and cowering in shame would do nothing to prove her point. "The rest of the time, I was as brave as the bravest Stark who ever walked the halls of Winterfell."

Arya's smile broadened. "Good. I'm glad to hear it. You deserve something, Sansa. And if you weren't quite brave enough to tell Tyrion how you feel, then I'm glad you were brave enough to take what you wanted from him."

Sansa's heart sank, the modicum of pride she felt quickly chased away by her sister's words. "But I didn't take what I wanted. Not really," she said, tears beginning to sting her eyes. "He may have given me his body, but what I wanted was his love."

"Oh, Sansa."

Arya's expression softened, and Sansa could tell that her sister pitied her. Sansa hated being pitied, but she'd never felt more pitiful in all her life, so she could scarcely fault Arya.

Sansa sniffled, trying to hold back the tears. "Jaime says that Tyrion is in love with me, but I can't bring myself to believe it. Not even after Tyrion was in my bed. Not even after . . ." The words died in Sansa's throat. She was dangerously close to sharing too much with Arya. What had happened between her and Tyrion was private, sacred, and she didn't want to share it with anyone, not even her sister.

"After what?" Arya asked, cocking a brow in question.

"After . . . after the way he treated me tonight," Sansa said vaguely. "He was gentle and kind and patient, and for a moment, I thought—" She inhaled a tremulous breath. "It doesn't matter what I thought."

"You thought that maybe he loved you too."

"Well, Jaime seems to think so."

Arya was quiet for a moment, and it felt like ages before she replied. "It's possible," she said flatly. "Actually, I can't imagine why he wouldn't love you. You're beautiful, you're kind, and you're a far better wife than he deserves."

"And he thinks I've been unfaithful to him," Sansa reminded Arya, lest she forget.

Arya shrugged. "Yes, well, that doesn't mean he doesn't love you. Men aren't always wise when it comes to matters of the heart."

Sansa didn't want to talk about it any longer. She turned away from Arya again, nestling even deeper beneath the covers.

Arya sidled up next to her, close, but not too close. She rested her head on Sansa's shoulder. "What makes Jaime think that Tyrion's in love with you?"

It was hard for Sansa to answer. Jaime's words had been haunting her for hours, and she was still having difficulty accepting them. "He thinks that Tyrion is desperate to be loved," she said. "He thinks that Tyrion wants me and Eddard more than he wants anything in the world, but that he's too afraid to let himself believe that we could ever love him."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Arya replied, "which makes me think it must be true."

Sansa shook her head. "No. If he loved me, he would have stayed tonight."

"You love him, and you let him go. So that doesn't prove anything."

Sansa bit her bottom lip, trying to keep herself from saying something she might regret. She didn't want to admit that Arya was right. If she did, it would mean putting her faith in Tyrion again, trusting him again, and she wasn't quite ready to do that. Although she truly wanted to believe that he loved her, she simply couldn't. He had barely spoken a kind word to her since his return, and despite what they had just shared, it was difficult for her to believe that he felt anything for her beyond a sense of obligation.

"I knew he didn't want to stay," Sansa said, "so there was no point in asking."

"Next time, ask."

"There isn't going to be a next time."

"Yes, there is," Arya answered. "In a day or two, you'll feel differently than you do now. Once you've gotten through the night, you'll want him again. And the next time he comes to you, just ask him to stay."

Sansa was certain that there wasn't going to be a next time, but she didn't want to argue with Arya anymore. She knew that Arya thought she was being irrational, but Sansa was too hurt to be rational. She was too hurt to do anything but feel.

Arya snuggled closer, and she and Sansa fell into another long silence. Sansa closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the sound of Arya's breathing as she drifted off to sleep, the small body next to hers a poor substitute for the man she wanted in her bed.