Chapter Twenty-four

For the next few days, Tyrion was oddly quiet around Sansa, and she couldn't help but worry. He only spoke to her when he absolutely had to, and he avoided her whenever he could. Occasionally, she would look up during a meal or when they were working together in the Great Hall and catch him watching her, but he would always turn away just as quickly. It seemed as if he could no longer bear to look her in the eye, and Sansa was certain that he regretted what had happened between them the night he had visited her chamber.

Sansa, however, had no regrets, and she already wanted Tyrion in her bed again. Arya had been right when she'd said that, given time, Sansa's feelings on the matter would change. Despite the pain and rejection that she knew would inevitably follow, Sansa wanted Tyrion more with every day that passed. It was still too soon to know if they had conceived a child, and Sansa wanted to try one more time before they lost the chance forever.

Early one morning, Sansa and Brienne headed out onto the covered bridge that ran between the Great Keep and the armory to watch Eddard and Jaime spar in the yard below. They stood side by side before one of the open windows, enjoying the crisp morning air as the fighting got underway. It brought Sansa great joy to watch Eddard sparring with his uncle, but it also made her heart ache just a little. Jaime had accepted Eddard as a trueborn Lannister. Why couldn't Tyrion?

"Jaime's going to miss Eddard very much when we leave," Brienne said. "I know he's hoping that whatever kind of child the gods give us, boy or girl, that it grows up to be just like Eddard. Nothing would make him happier."

The hint of a smile curved Sansa's lips, though it was bittersweet. "Eddard's going to miss him just as much. It's too bad you and Jaime can't stay here and send Tyrion back to Casterly Rock on his own. I think Winterfell would be a much happier place if you did."

"You don't really mean that."

Sansa pulled back her shoulders, focusing even more intently on Eddard. "I do. I think Tyrion could be quite content back home in the Westerlands, and we could all be quite content here without him."

Brienne was quiet for a moment, and Sansa hoped that was the end of the discussion. But it wasn't.

"May I ask you something rather delicate?" Brienne said, her voice softer than usual.

"I would rather that you didn't."

"But we're friends. Actually, we're sisters now. So, you'll indulge me, won't you?"

Sansa sighed heavily. She knew that Brienne was only trying to help, but she had no desire to discuss the intimate details of her marriage with anyone, and that seemed to be where the conversation was going. But if she refused Brienne now, she'd only be putting off the inevitable, and as far as Sansa was concerned, it was best to just get the interrogation over with.

Sansa kept her eyes focused on the yard, purposefully avoiding Brienne's gaze. "All right," she reluctantly conceded.

"I know I haven't asked until now. I didn't think you wanted to talk about it—"

"I don't."

"But what happened the other night between you and Tyrion? I know he did as you asked of him, but was it truly so terrible?"

Sansa clutched the windowsill in front of her, leaning on it for support. Her limbs suddenly felt weak, and it was a struggle for her to answer. "No, it wasn't terrible," she said. "At least, I didn't think so."

"Then what's wrong? You two have barely spoken in days. Did something happen?"

Sansa's cheeks burned hotly despite the bitter cold. She'd spent a lot of time trying to understand why Tyrion was actively avoiding her, and she'd come to one rather uncomfortable conclusion. "I may be wrong, but I believe I overstepped my bounds a bit when we were together. I . . . I asked more of him than I had any right to. I think he was horrified by my brazenness. There were moments when I behaved no better than one of his whores."

A small laugh escaped Brienne's throat, and Sansa glared at her from over her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Brienne said, trying to keep the amusement from her voice. "But you don't really believe that, do you?"

"Of course, I believe it. Why wouldn't I? I am Sansa Lannister, the Lady of Winterfell. The world holds me to a different standard than other women. I'm sure Tyrion was horrified by my behavior that night. He hasn't looked me in the eyes since."

"I'm sure your behavior in the bedchamber has nothing to do with it. Perhaps he expects you to be uncomfortable around him and is just trying to be considerate of your feelings."

"No, I'm sure he distrusts me even more now than he did before." Sansa turned her attention back toward the yard, concentrating on Eddard and Jaime again. "He's always so quick to condemn. Knowing Tyrion, he probably thinks I learned such boldness from all the other men who've shared my bed."

"Have you talked to him about it?"

The air hitched in Sansa's throat, and it took her a moment to reply. "Talked to Tyrion about . . .? No, of course not. I could never—" Sansa turned around, finally facing Brienne. "You and Jaime don't talk about such things, do you?"

"Jaime and I talk about everything. There isn't any subject that we can't discuss openly and honestly, including what happens in the bedchamber."

Sansa's cheeks burned even hotter. "Yes, well, Tyrion and I aren't like that. We don't talk about anything of consequence, and even when we talk about innocuous things, we only end up arguing. I could never talk to him about what happened the other night. I can barely muster the courage to ask him to visit me again."

Brienne's lips quirked in a wry smile. "Do you want him to visit you again?"

"Yes," Sansa replied without a second thought. "For the sake of producing another child, of course."

"Oh, of course."

It was obvious that Brienne didn't believe her, but Sansa could hardly blame her for that. After all, Sansa had only told a half-truth. She wanted Tyrion in her bed again, not just because she was eager to produce another heir, but because she still wanted him desperately and she knew that he would be walking out of her life forever in just a few short weeks.

Brienne continued to stare at Sansa knowingly, and Sansa wilted under her scrutiny.

"It isn't what you think," Sansa said.

"Oh, and what is it that I think?"

"You think that I enjoyed having Tyrion in my bed and that it's the only reason that I want him to visit me again."

"No, that's not what I think," Brienne answered. "What I think is that you do want to produce an heir for Winterfell, but that you also enjoyed having Tyrion in your bed. We both admit that your motives have a practical component, but perhaps what we disagree on is the fact that there's a personal component as well. You enjoyed being bedded by your husband. There's no shame in that. And while he is still here and still willing, perhaps you should make the most of the opportunity while you can."

Sansa wanted to argue with Brienne, but she couldn't. Every last word Brienne had said was true. She did want Tyrion, for myriad reasons, and she had very little time left in which to enjoy his company.

"Have I said anything that is untrue?" Brienne asked. "Because if I have, please correct me, and I will make my apologies."

Sansa shook her head. "No, nothing," she said softly. "You're right. Everything you've said is right. Oh, Brienne." Sansa could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, and she did her best to fight them back. "I want him so much. Not just in my bed, but here at Winterfell, beside me always. If he just wasn't so stubborn and stupid—"

"All men have a way of being stubborn and stupid. That's how we know they're men."

"What am I going to do? Jaime told me that Tyrion loves me. I wish I could believe it was true, but—"

"I'm certain that he does."

"But why? How?" It had been three whole days since Sansa had talked to Jaime in the godswood, and she still couldn't bring herself around to his way of thinking. "If Tyrion really does care for me, why does he treat me the way that he does?"

"Well, Jaime has a theory about that."

"Yes, I know. But it's easier for me to believe that Tyrion's actions speak the truth inside his heart than it is for me to believe that he's secretly in love with me. Jaime says that Tyrion is afraid of being played for a fool, but he isn't the only one. I don't want to get my heart broken either."

"But isn't it already broken?"

Sansa stared at Brienne, the question resonating deep in her heart. Yes, it was already broken. It had been broken since the moment Tyrion had declared his belief that Eddard was not his trueborn son. And it had broken every time he had denied it thereafter. Every time he had questioned her fidelity. Every time he had stormed from the room after an argument. And especially the night he had left her chamber after they had made love, instead of staying behind to hold her. Tyrion had broken her heart more times than she could count, and now, there was very little of it left to break. "Tyrion has done an admirable job of tearing my heart to pieces, whether he intended to or not. Now, I wonder if there's enough of it left to ever be mended."

Brienne offered Sansa a sympathetic smile. "If you talk to him, yes. You just might be able to mend your broken heart and salvage what's left of your marriage. What's the worst that could happen? You get into another argument and he doesn't talk to you again before he leaves Winterfell? How is that any different than the way things are now? Unless, of course, you're afraid to risk him never visiting your bed again. But even if he does visit you, with the state you're both in now, will it really matter?"

Sansa weighed Brienne's words thoughtfully. The truth was, she didn't know why she was avoiding confronting Tyrion. Whether she talked to him or not, he was still going to leave. What was she risking by talking to him openly and honestly about what she wanted? Nothing, really. She was tired of Tyrion avoiding her. She was tired of the near-constant silence between them. She wanted to talk, really talk. She wanted to tell him how she felt, and maybe, just maybe, get him to confess his own feelings. Because if they couldn't start being honest with each other, what did the rest of it even matter?

Sansa turned away, unable to bear Brienne's scrutiny any longer. "You're right," she said. "About all of it."

"Then talk to him. Tell him what you want. Tell him how you feel. He'll only be here a short while longer. Don't spend the next few weeks living in anger and fear and silence. Talk to your husband and see if you can work any of it out before he goes."

Sansa nodded, even though the idea of confronting Tyrion made her undeniably nervous. There were so many ways it could all go wrong. Did she invite him to her bed again and force him to talk to her while they were both naked beneath the furs? Did she simply go to his study and bolt the door until he was willing to believe the truth? How could she possibly get him to understand just how much he meant to her and how much she wanted things to be different between them? She knew that nothing she said or did could get him to stay at Winterfell, but at the very least, she wanted him to leave on good terms.

As if her scattered thoughts had somehow given life to him, Tyrion suddenly appeared in the yard, ambling toward Eddard and Jaime as they continued to clash on the imaginary battlefield. The instant Eddard saw his father, he stabbed Jaime in the gut and ran to Tyrion, pulling on his hand and begging him to join in his fight against the evil Night King. Tyrion laughed and took the wooden sword that Eddard offered him, and soon, they were fighting Jaime on the snowy ground below.

Sansa couldn't help but stare at Tyrion, and she wondered if he could feel her eyes upon him. If he could, he certainly didn't show it, his attention seemingly focused on defeating Jaime, who had somehow transformed into the Night King at Eddard's command. Tyrion was no warrior, but he was a good strategist. He knew his own weaknesses and his own strengths, and he used that knowledge quite admirably. He instructed Eddard to go for Jaime's legs, and together, they both struck him behind the knees, bringing him down to their level.

"That's cheating!" Jaime exclaimed, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"That's war," Tyrion countered as he struck at his brother, trying to make purchase.

They fought like that for some time, Jaime on his knees and Tyrion and Eddard battling him like the bravest soldiers in all the king's army. Sansa knew that once Tyrion and Jaime were gone, she was going to miss moments like this. Eddard would go back to sparring with Arya every morning, of course, but it wouldn't be the same. Arya was always as serious as the grave when it came to swordplay, but Tyrion and Jaime knew how to make it a game for the little boy they both seemed to love so much.

Sansa felt Brienne move in closer, and she gripped the windowsill more firmly between her gloved fingers.

"I'm going to miss this when we return to Casterly Rock," Brienne said.

"So am I."

"I think Jaime is going to make a wonderful father, don't you? Just like Tyrion."

A reluctant smile tugged at Sansa's lips. Despite all his other failings, Tyrion did make an excellent father. He was patient and kind, engaging and supportive. She knew he couldn't have been more caring and loving toward Eddard if he'd truly believed that he was his own son. But he didn't. And even though Eddard hadn't the slightest notion that his father had denied him, Sansa knew, and it tore at her soul.

"I'm going to talk to Tyrion," Sansa said. "Tonight. I'll find a way. We'll settle things between us once and for all. We can't go on like this. I'm tired of fighting, and I would like to enjoy what little time we have left together."

"Good," Brienne said. "I'm glad. And not just for Eddard's sake, but for yours and Tyrion's as well. I think you could be very happy together if you could only settle things between you."

"I'm not sure that we can," Sansa replied, "but I'm willing to try. After all, what do I have to lose?"