Chapter Twenty-six
By the time Sansa reached her bedchamber, every nerve in her body was trembling. Although she had somehow managed to hold back the tears as she'd retreated from the crypts, the moment she was alone, she collapsed onto her bed and burst into uncontrollable sobs.
Never in her life had Sansa imagined doing anything as blasphemous as swearing an oath on her father's bones, and yet, that was exactly what it had taken to get Tyrion to finally acknowledge that Eddard was his son. Even now, Sansa wasn't sure that it had been worth it. Instead of feeling vindicated, she felt hollow inside, empty. She felt like she had just betrayed every Stark who had ever lived, even though there had been no falsehood in her vow. Her ancestors had been interred beneath Winterfell so that they could find eternal peace. They had not been laid to rest there to be used as pawns in petty quarrels between mistrustful spouses. Sansa knew that her father would be ashamed of her if he knew what she had done, but she'd done what she'd had to do to protect Eddard.
Even though Eddard was half Lannister, he was also half Stark. And although Sansa loved her mother and father with all her heart, she loved Eddard more. She couldn't help it. He was her son, and she loved him more than anything else in all the world. As far as Sansa was concerned, Eddard deserved the respect and recognition that was rightfully his as the heir to Winterfell, and she had done the only thing she could do to secure his legitimacy in his father's eyes.
Sansa turned onto her side and curled up into a little ball, staring blankly at the fire in the hearth. The night had not ended at all as she had planned. She had asked Tyrion to stay behind after dinner because she had wanted to talk. Although she had never expected to convince him that Eddard was his son, she had hoped that they might at least be able to find some common ground. After all, Winterfell still needed a second heir, and Tyrion was Sansa's only hope of conceiving another child.
But things had not gone at all as planned, and now, Tyrion was preparing to leave Winterfell and Sansa would never see him again. Of course, she had been the one who'd told him to go, but that didn't make the pain any easier to bear. As the anger began to subside and the heartache took over, Sansa suddenly didn't know how she was going to let him go.
She was such a stupid girl. All the tragedies she had suffered, all the years of misery she had endured, had not changed that in the least. She still believed in fairytales and true love and all that nonsense. Despite her resolve to grow up and leave such frivolities behind, every poem she had ever read, every song she had ever heard, still played endlessly in her heart. And she still loved Tyrion Lannister, even though she knew that made her a fool.
Sansa cried until there were no more tears to shed. She lay still and silent in her bed, waiting for sleep to claim her, when the door suddenly creaked open. Sansa held her breath as she listened to the familiar sound of little footsteps padding across the floor. It was Eddard, come to cuddle up with her for the night. Sansa prayed that if she was still enough, he would think that she was asleep and simply go away. But he didn't. As soon as Eddard reached the bed, he climbed up onto the mattress, and Sansa instinctively turned over and pulled him into her arms. She hugged him tighter than she had ever hugged him before, a strangled sob escaping her throat.
"Don't cry, Mother. Please, don't cry."
"No, no," Sansa said as she kissed the top of his head, gently smoothing down his curls with the palm of her hand. "I'm not crying anymore." Sansa had never cried in front of Eddard before. She had always fought to remain strong in front of him, to shield him from her own frailties. But tonight, she had failed. Tonight, she couldn't pretend that her heart wasn't irrevocably broken.
"What happened?" Eddard asked, snuggling closer.
Sansa didn't know how to reply. Tyrion was leaving – gods knew, he was probably already gone – and Eddard would have to find out eventually. Sansa didn't know if it would be better for him to find out now or after Tyrion left. She feared that if she told Eddard now, he'd run from her arms and try to stop his father, and that was the last thing Sansa wanted. She wanted Tyrion to leave without incident. And once he was gone, she wanted to forget that he had ever returned to Winterfell.
"It's nothing," Sansa said, kissing Eddard's head again and closing her eyes. She inhaled his scent, taking comfort in the familiar smell of honey and vanilla and winter snow that was distinctly Eddard.
"But you never cry," Eddard argued. "Something bad must have happened." He squirmed in her arms, pulling back just enough so that he could look up at her face. "Is Father all right?"
Sansa could feel the tension in Eddard's tiny body. He was terrified that something had happened to Tyrion. He loved Tyrion every bit as much as he loved her, and if anything ever happened to him, Sansa knew that Eddard would never recover. She had wanted to avoid talking about Tyrion, but Eddard had just made that impossible.
"Your father is fine," Sansa said, lightly stroking the hair at the base of Eddard's skull. "But he will be leaving Winterfell very soon, I'm afraid."
"Leaving? Why is he leaving?"
The answer to that question was far beyond the comprehension of a child, so Sansa did her best to explain as simply as she could. "He's going to be spending some time in the winter town before he goes to Casterly Rock with Uncle Jaime and Aunt Brienne. You can visit him in town if you like. I will make sure that someone takes you there every day, I promise."
"Are we going to Casterly Rock with him?"
The breath hitched in Sansa's throat as she stared down at Eddard, his eyes full of hope. Until that moment, no one had told him that there was even a possibility that Tyrion might not be staying at Winterfell. Sansa hadn't meant to tell him this way, but the damage was already done, and she could do nothing but forge ahead.
"No, my love," she said softly, "we're not going with him."
"But why?" It was almost a whine.
"Because your father is the Lord of Winterfell, and sometimes, duty takes the Lord of Winterfell far from home. Your grandfather left Winterfell when he was called by King Robert to be Hand of the King. He didn't want to go, but he had no choice. It was his duty."
"Is that why Father's leaving again? Does he have a duty to the king?"
Sansa wished she could say yes. She wished that she could give Eddard some truly noble reason for why his father was abandoning him for the second time in his short life. But she couldn't. She could tell Eddard half-truths, imply that Tyrion's intentions were honorable, but she couldn't lie to him outright. He deserved better than that, even if he was still a child. "No, it isn't that," Sansa answered. "But he does need to go to Casterly Rock. It is his home, after all, and he hasn't been there since long before you were born."
"I don't want him to leave," Eddard said, tears starting to pool in his eyes. "I don't want him to ever leave again."
"I know, dear heart. I know." Sansa pulled Eddard close again, cradling his head against her chest, hoping to ease his pain. "I don't want him to go either."
And as much as it hurt Sansa to admit it, that was the truth. Even though she was furious with Tyrion, she didn't truly want him to go. She knew that when he finally left Winterfell, he'd be taking a piece of her heart with him. Sansa didn't know how she was ever going to forgive Tyrion for what he had done that night, but she didn't know how she was going to live without him either.
Eddard began to cry in Sansa's arms, and her heart broke anew with each shuddering sob. She prayed that he would fall asleep quickly and forget his pain. She was sorry that she hadn't been more guarded with her own feelings. Now, she wished that she had locked the door when she'd first entered the room so that Eddard wouldn't have found her in such a dreadful state.
Eventually, Eddard's sobs faded away and he finally drifted off to sleep. Sansa lay there holding him for the longest time, trying to figure out what she could do to make things right. She couldn't face Tyrion again. She didn't want to face him again. She was still angry, and she knew that if they tried to talk, even for Eddard's sake, they'd just get into another argument, perhaps worse than the last. No, there was nothing Sansa could do to fix what was broken between her and Tyrion, and it was best to just accept that fact and do what little she could to comfort Eddard in his grief.
Sansa was just nodding off to sleep when there was an unexpected knock at the door. It jolted her awake, and she lay there very still, worried that it might be Tyrion. He had no reason to visit her, of course, but what if he was at the door? What would she say? What would she do?
Sansa held her breath, unable to speak. Suddenly, the door opened, and a small figure entered the room. Much to Sansa's disappointment, it was Arya, not Tyrion.
"Do you know where Eddard—?" Arya caught sight of the little boy in Sansa's arms, answering her own question. "Oh, I see you do." She closed the door behind her, not waiting for an invitation, and approached the bed.
Sansa knew her sister could see the red rims around her eyes, the tearstains on her cheeks. There was no way to hide the fact that she'd been crying, no matter how much she wanted to.
"What did he do?" Arya asked. There was no need to clarify who he was.
"He's leaving Winterfell in the morning," Sansa said, her voice flat. "Or maybe tonight. Maybe he's already gone. I don't know."
Arya's eyes hardened. "Why?"
Why? That was a very good question, wasn't it? And certainly one Sansa didn't want to answer. "Does it really matter why?"
Arya's left hand instinctively moved to her hip, where she normally kept Needle sheathed by her side, and Sansa knew exactly what she was thinking.
"Yes, it matters," Arya replied. "And either you're going to tell me or Tyrion is going to tell me. Those are your only options."
Sansa looked down at Eddard. He was sleeping peacefully now, and she knew that if she and Arya continued this discussion, he wouldn't stay asleep for long. So she gently removed her arms from around him and slipped from the bed, wanting to speak with Arya in private.
"Come with me," Sansa said as she moved toward the door to her sitting room.
Arya followed without a word of protest, but as soon as they were alone, she said, "Well? Are you going to tell me or is Tyrion?"
"I asked him to leave."
Arya's eyes narrowed on Sansa in genuine confusion. It was the first time Sansa had seen an uncertain look in her sister's eyes in more years than she could remember. Arya always seemed to know everything that happened at Winterfell before anyone else. The fact that she was confused now gave Sansa an odd sense of satisfaction.
"You asked him to leave?"
"Yes, I did."
Sansa skirted around Arya and moved toward the center of the room, lowering herself down onto one of the sofas.
Arya followed, sitting directly across from Sansa. As soon as she was settled, she asked, "Why?"
Sansa didn't have a better answer this time than she'd had the time before. "Because I'm ready for him to be gone."
Arya's demeanor instantly changed. Suddenly, she looked at Sansa as if she understood, with perfect clarity, exactly what was going on. "So, it worked? You're with child then?"
"What?" Sansa was startled by the question. "No, no, that isn't it."
"Then, what is it? Because until a few days ago, you were dreading the idea of Tyrion leaving for Casterly Rock. What changed? Did you find him fucking one of your handmaidens? I know he did that in King's Landing, but I didn't think he was doing it here."
Sansa's cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the crude suggestion. "No," she said firmly. "Nothing like that."
"Then what is it? Because, for the life of me, I can't understand why you would suddenly tell him to leave unless he had done something truly unforgivable. As I said before, one of you is going to tell me what happened, and for Tyrion's sake, it would be better if it were you. Because, if I have to ask Tyrion, it's going to be at the end of a sword."
Sansa didn't want to tell Arya what had happened. She knew that Arya would be horrified, that she'd feel that Sansa had disgraced their father's memory and that Tyrion was to blame. The surest way to get Arya to shove Needle through Tyrion's heart was to tell her the truth about what had happened that night. Sansa was tempted to concoct a convincing lie, just to protect him, but Arya killed the impulse even before it was fully formed.
"And don't even think about lying to me," Arya said, practically reading Sansa's mind. "I'll know if you're lying. I always do."
Sansa knew there was only one way she was going to be able to tell Arya the truth, and that was if she had her word beforehand that no harm would come to Tyrion. "I will tell you the truth . . ." Sansa began.
Arya leaned forward as if keen to hear her sister's confession. "Yes?"
"But only if you swear not to harm Tyrion."
Arya laughed. "Well, if that's the case," she said, rising from the sofa, "it must be pretty bad, which means I'm better off asking him. At least, if I ask Tyrion, I won't have to make some silly promise about not slitting his throat or cutting off his cock."
Arya turned to leave, but Sansa couldn't let her go. She reached out and grabbed Arya's wrist, halting her retreat.
"Please, don't," Sansa pleaded. "Sit, and I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything."
Arya eyed Sansa with suspicion, but she sat down again without a word. Sansa let go of her wrist and settled back on the sofa. She nervously fluffed out the folds of her gown, trying her best not to panic.
Sansa decided to start at the beginning. She knew that Arya wanted her to get to the point as quickly as possible, but she needed time to work up to it. "I wanted to talk to Tyrion tonight after dinner. I wanted to see if there was some way we could settle things between us once and for all. So I asked him to stay behind after everyone else left, but he refused. He said he wanted to go for a walk instead. So I went with him, and before I knew what was happening, we were down in the crypts."
Arya arched a brow in question but didn't say a word.
"I didn't know why he'd brought me there. At first, I thought it was just because it was somewhere private. But it wasn't that. He brought me there because . . . because he wanted me to do something for him."
Arya's right hand twitched in her lap, and Sansa knew she was just itching to get her fingers on Needle. "What . . . what did that Lannister bastard want you to do?"
"He said he wanted to take my word for it that Eddard was his son, but that he couldn't, that my word would never be good enough for him."
"Yes. He's said that before."
Sansa nodded. "So he found another way to be certain of the truth."
Arya inched toward the edge of her seat, ready to bolt at any moment. Sansa knew that as soon as she told Arya what Tyrion had done, she'd be off the sofa and out the door. She'd hunt Tyrion down and slit his throat before Sansa could do anything to stop her.
"Go on," Arya urged.
"He—" Sansa stopped, inhaling a steadying breath. Fear threatened to overpower her, but she fought through it. "He said that he would believe me, truly believe me, if I swore it on Father's bones."
Arya did exactly what Sansa had expected her to do. She was on her feet and halfway to the door before Sansa could say another word.
"Arya, don't!" Sansa chased after her, stopping Arya just before she reached the door.
Arya turned on her heel, her demeanor calm, but her eyes hot with bloodlust. "I'm going to kill him."
"No, you're not."
"Yes, I am. He disgraced Father. He disgraced you. The fact that he could even ask such a thing is proof enough that he is not fit to be the Lord of Winterfell. I hope you spit in his face the moment he suggested it. If you'd like, I can lend you my dagger and you can kill him yourself."
Sansa shook her head. "No, Arya. There will be no retribution, no revenge. I won't harm him, and neither will you."
"You can't stop me."
"No, you're right. I can't. But if you're going to kill Tyrion for dishonoring Father's memory, then you're going to have to kill me too."
Arya's eyes narrowed on Sansa, searching her face. "And why would I have to kill you too, Sansa? Tell me, what have you done to dishonor our father's memory?"
"You know what I've done."
Arya's skin flushed red with fury. Her hands curled into tight fists, and Sansa knew she was trying very hard not to strike her. Sansa hadn't seen Arya lose her temper since they were children. She was always so stoic, so calm and collected. But not tonight. Tonight, Sansa had managed to breach all her defenses, to move her to the kind of anger and rage that could only be caused by a personal betrayal.
"You stupid cunt," Arya spat. "What the fuck were you thinking? How could you? I know Tyrion Lannister means the world to you, but I never thought he meant more to you than your own family. You disgraced Father, and Mother, and every Stark who is buried down in those crypts. And for what? To appease your Lannister husband?"
"No," Sansa said softly, unwilling to let Arya's anger infect her. "To protect Eddard."
"How? How does any of this protect Eddard? Just because Tyrion now believes that Eddard is his son – he does believe that Eddard is his son, doesn't he?"
"He says he does."
"Then explain to me how this changes anything. Eddard is the legitimate heir to Winterfell, whether Tyrion Lannister believes it or not. Just because Tyrion has finally taken his head out of his ass long enough to acknowledge the truth, doesn't mean that anything has changed. So tell me, dear sister, how does this protect Eddard? How?"
"Eddard has a right to have a relationship with his father, to be acknowledged by him, to have his legitimacy unquestioned by the man who gave him life. I was not about to let him spend the rest of his life denied by his own father. It doesn't matter what you think he needs or what I would have preferred to do. Tyrion needed to know that Eddard is his trueborn son, for Eddard's sake. And as much as it pained me to do so, I had no choice but to take the opportunity to prove the truth when I had the chance. I know I'll regret it for the rest of my life. I know Mother and Father have never been more ashamed of me. But I did it for Eddard, not for myself. And I would do it again if I had to."
"You're right," Arya said. "I should kill you both. It's a good thing I left Needle in my chamber. If I had a sword right now, I would have already ended your life. You don't deserve to rule Winterfell, any more than Tyrion does. In that way, I suppose you're perfect for each other."
Arya's words cut Sansa to her very soul. For better or for worse, she and Tyrion were the Lord and Lady of Winterfell, and nothing was going to change that, short of Arya slitting both their throats.
Sansa tried to reason with her sister. "I know that you're angry—"
"Oh," Arya said slowly, "you don't know what angry is yet. I'm going to tell Jon what you've done, and he's going to suddenly find a reason to call your treacherous husband back to King's Landing, and that will be an end to it."
Sansa's heart thudded against her ribs. "You don't mean that."
"Of course, I do. Tyrion Lannister is never going to make it to Casterly Rock. I'll see to that. And once Jon is through with him, he won't be Lord of Winterfell either."
"As long as Tyrion is my husband, Jon won't strip him of his title."
"I'm not talking about stripping him of his title," Arya replied coolly. "Do you forget, Lady Lannister, that your husband was convicted of regicide? He still has a death sentence waiting for him, even with a new monarch on the throne."
Sansa's whole body began to tremble. Although she and Jon had grown close after he'd returned from the Wall, Sansa was still not as close to him as Arya was. If Jon was going to listen to only one of them, it was always going to be Arya. She could still wrap him around her little finger without any effort at all. If she wanted Tyrion executed, Tyrion would be executed, no matter how much Sansa protested.
"I see that my threat troubles you, my lady. Could it be that you still harbor affection for your traitor husband?"
"Tyrion is no traitor."
Arya shrugged. "He murdered his own king."
"No, he didn't. And you know that better than anyone. Bran said it wasn't true."
"But he was still convicted, and he does admit to murdering the king's Hand. I scarcely see a difference."
"Arya, please," Sansa pleaded, her voice cracking with emotion. "Don't do this."
"Why? You obviously care more about your Lannister husband than you do about us Starks. Why shouldn't I drive the lion from the wolves' den? Give me one good reason."
"Because I love him. You know I do. I love him, and I don't want him gone from this world. Please, Arya. I've already lost too much. Don't take this away from me too. Please."
By the time Sansa finished, there were tears streaming down her cheeks, and she was afraid that Arya was going to laugh at her. But she didn't. Instead, Arya stared at her intently, as if she was silently warring with herself.
"You said that Tyrion believes that Eddard is his son," Arya said in a hard voice. "Is that true?"
"Yes." Sansa nodded.
"And does Eddard know about any of this?"
"He knows that Tyrion is leaving. I had no choice but to tell him."
Arya tore her eyes away from Sansa, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "Fuck."
"I know It's going to be difficult for him," Sansa said, "but he'll get through it. We both will."
Arya laughed. It was a cruel, bitter sound. "And why should he have to get through it?" she asked, finally turning to look at Sansa again. "Why should he have to go through any of this? He waited his whole damn life for his father to return to him, and then, when he finally got his wish, you and Tyrion fucked it up. What is wrong with you?"
Sansa wanted to cry again, but she didn't. She held her breath and met Arya's gaze, knowing that she deserved her share of the blame. She and Tyrion had made a mess of things, and Eddard had gotten caught in the middle. He had cried himself to sleep that night because they couldn't make their marriage work. Sansa wanted better for her son. She wanted him to have a happy life, surrounded by people who loved him, including his father.
"Apparently, there's a lot wrong with me," Sansa answered.
Arya sighed heavily, some of the fight finally draining out of her. She unclenched her fists and shook her head. "I know I shouldn't say this, but I really don't think I have any choice."
"Please, Arya, just let Tyrion go. There's no point in getting revenge. It isn't worth it. I've given him up. Just let him go."
"We both know I can't do that," Arya replied. "I'm sorry, but I can't."
"Arya—"
"You and Tyrion have made a mess of everything, and while I could never forgive either one of you for my own sake, I have no choice but to forgive you for Eddard's. All Eddard has ever wanted was to know his father, to have him here by his side. And now that Tyrion finally believes that Eddard is his trueborn son, I'm not going to let either one of you take that away from him. I don't want Tyrion to stay at Winterfell, Sansa. Don't mistake me. If it were my choice, Tyrion would be headed to King's Landing to face his fate. But it's not my choice. Not really. I love Eddard more than I hate Tyrion, and I can't stand by and watch either one of you hurt that boy anymore. You, Lady Lannister, are going to go to your husband's chamber right now and command him to stay. For Eddard's sake."
Sansa was stunned by Arya's words. "No. I can't do that," she said, her voice trembling.
"Of course you can. You will go to him and tell him to stay. If you don't, I'll be the one to do it, and we both know you don't want that."
No, Sansa definitely did not want that. She didn't trust Arya to be alone with Tyrion at that moment, but she didn't know how to face him herself. The truth was, even though she was still hurt and angry, she didn't want him to leave Winterfell. But what choice did she have? She had already banished him to the winter town, and she was certain he was already gone.
When Sansa didn't answer, Arya said, "Tell me, Sansa, what will the villagers think if the Lord of Winterfell spends the next fortnight sleeping at the inn instead of in his own bed? What will that mean for Winterfell and for you?"
Sansa hadn't considered that. Yes, it would look quite suspicious if Tyrion abandoned Winterfell to suddenly go live in the village. It was one thing for him to travel to Casterly Rock, that was his ancestral home, but it was another thing entirely for him to be living in the village when the castle was only a short distance away. Suddenly, Sansa had the excuse she needed to visit Tyrion and rescind her earlier demand.
"All right, I'll go," Sansa said. "But I make no promises. If Tyrion wants to leave, there's nothing I can do to make him stay."
"Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something," Arya said knowingly.
Sansa didn't even dignify that with a response. Instead, she just turned away from Arya and quickly left the room.
As Sansa made her way to Tyrion's chamber, her limbs shook and her heart raced. Despite what Arya thought, Sansa wasn't at all prepared to face Tyrion again, but she couldn't allow him to leave Winterfell without causing more gossip. For better or for worse, she had no choice but to ask him to stay.
By the time Sansa reached Tyrion's door, she was no calmer than she had been when she'd left her solar. She inhaled a girding breath and wiped the tearstains from her cheeks. She knew she looked dreadful, but there was no time to make herself presentable.
It took a great deal of courage, but finally, Sansa raised her hand and knocked on the door. She waited for Tyrion to answer, but there was no reply.
A knot twisted in the pit of Sansa's stomach, and her hand trembled as she knocked a second time. Again, there was no answer, and finally, she reached for the door handle and pushed her way inside.
The chamber was dark, except for a few hazy streams of moonlight pouring in from the unshuttered windows. There was no fire smoldering in the hearth, no candles burning. All was still and dark and quiet.
Sansa exhaled a shaky breath and moved farther into the room. She approached the bed with careful steps, scanning the near-darkness for any sign of Tyrion, but the bed was empty, the furs undisturbed.
Sansa turned around and sank down onto the edge of the mattress, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She suddenly felt like crying again, but she fought back the tears. She stared out into the shadowy room, wishing things were different, wishing that she and Tyrion had never fought in the first place. Sansa knew she had no choice now but to return to her own chamber and wait out the night. In the morning, she would go to the winter town and pray that Tyrion was at the inn. Because if he wasn't, she didn't know where to find him, and she feared she might never see him again.