Chapter Twenty-seven

Tyrion groaned as he turned onto his side, his head pounding with the effort. He could feel the morning sun beating mercilessly against his closed eyelids, and he slung an arm across his eyes to shield himself from the assault. He was more asleep than awake, and he very much wanted to stay that way.

Tyrion couldn't remember everything that had happened the night before. Oh, he remembered Sansa banishing him from Winterfell quite clearly. But after that, everything was hazy. He knew he'd drank too much, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember where he had spent the night. He feared the worst, and he was too much of a coward to open his eyes and face the truth.

A warm body snuggled up close to Tyrion, and he groaned again, silently cursing himself. He couldn't believe that after five long years of being faithful to Sansa, he had thrown it all away in a single drunken night. He knew that Sansa didn't care about his fidelity anymore, but he cared, and he would never forgive himself if he had broken his marriage vows.

Tyrion tried to pull away, tried to put some distance between himself and his bedmate, but he could barely move. He lowered his arm and attempted to propel himself onto his back when something wet suddenly licked his cheek.

Tyrion cracked his eyes open just wide enough to catch a glimpse of a long, furry snout nuzzling his face. He exhaled a relieved sigh, his lids falling closed again as he realized that he had passed out in the kennels and not in some whore's bed.

Of course, it wasn't the first time Tyrion had awoken to find himself surrounded by dogs. The first time he had visited Winterfell, he had also passed out in the kennels, but now, there was even less dignity in it. This time, he wasn't just some visiting lord who couldn't hold his drink. He was the Lord of Winterfell, and he was a disgrace to both his title and his family.

When Tyrion had left the crypts the night before, he'd had every intention of heading into the winter town to find himself a room, but after some thought, he'd realized that was the worst thing he could possibly do. There was no legitimate reason for the Lord of Winterfell to take a room in town. If he did, it would look more than a little suspicious and the Stark bannermen might begin to question his loyalty once again.

So instead of heading into town, Tyrion had snuck down to the kitchens, stolen two flagons of wine – because that was all his stunted arms could carry – and had gone off in search of a nice warm place to get drunk. He hadn't started out in the kennels, but apparently, he had somehow made his way there during the night.

Had Tyrion had a choice, he would have been perfectly content to stay right where he was and sleep the day away. But it would be scandalous for the Lord of Winterfell to be found sleeping with the dogs, and the last thing Winterfell needed was another scandal.

It took a great deal of effort, but Tyrion finally managed to turn over onto his back. The instant he opened his eyes, the bright morning sun hit him like a hammer and he winced in pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, but it only made his head throb more, and he was forced to open his eyes again. Tyrion had no idea how he was supposed to even sit up. He was sure that if he tried, he'd just get dizzy and collapse.

For a moment, Tyrion stared up at the beams above him, wondering how bad it would be if he just closed his eyes and died right there. Of course, if he did, everyone would be much better off, particularly Sansa. She could remarry and forget all about him, and Eddard could have a father who wasn't a drunken coward.

If left to his own devices, Tyrion would have stayed like that forever, but a familiar voice suddenly broke through his thoughts, disturbing his peace.

"Well, it took you long enough, didn't it?" Jaime said, quite clearly amused. "I thought you were going to sleep the day away. Actually, at first, I thought you were dead. But then, I remembered just how fond you are of drink, and I realized you were just unconscious."

Tyrion couldn't see Jaime, but he knew he was close, probably standing just outside the kennels. Tyrion turned his head, his vision blurring with the movement. When his eyes finally refocused, he saw Jaime sitting on the edge of the fence that ran around the pen, an infuriating smirk on his face.

"I'm so glad you find this amusing," Tyrion said, his voice hoarse.

Jaime's grin widened. "Oh, I do. I thought your days of sleeping with nameless bitches were over, but I guess I was wrong."

Tyrion pushed himself up into a sitting position, groaning with the effort. A wave of dizziness instantly washed over him, and he swayed a little to one side. "Maybe my days of drinking should be over too. But then, what would I have to live for?"

The smile on Jaime's face faded, and there was suddenly a serious cast to his eyes. "All joking aside, what are you doing here? You're the Lord of Winterfell, and if anyone sees you—"

Tyrion held up a hand, cutting him off. "I know, I know. I'll lose what little respect they have for me."

"I think people respect you a lot more than you realize. Not that you necessarily deserve it right now. I honestly doubt that Ned Stark ever woke up in the kennels."

"I doubt Ned Stark ever did a lot of the things I've done." Tyrion lifted a hand and rubbed the base of his skull. Talking was making his head throb, and he was desperate to make the pain go away. "If only Ned Stark could see me now."

Jaime glanced out toward the yard as if to reassure himself that they were still alone. When he looked at Tyrion again, he asked, "Why are you here, anyway? What the hell happened to you last night?"

"My wife happened. Or rather, I happened to her. I don't know. It's all a blur."

Jaime grinned again, and he looked too charming by half. Suddenly, Tyrion felt even more wretched, staring up at his beautiful brother when he felt like complete shit.

"Somehow, I doubt Lady Lannister is that adventurous," Jaime said with a laugh.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Tyrion's mind was barely functioning, and if his brother was inferring something, he simply couldn't fathom what it was.

"Well, it's just, she strikes me as more of an in-the-bed type of girl than an in-the-kennels-with-the-dogs type of girl."

Tyrion scowled, finally understanding his brother's meaning. "Sansa didn't bring me out here to do what you're suggesting," he said. "We had a fight last night – a big one – and she demanded that I leave Winterfell and never return."

Jaime's brow furrowed with concern. "I can't believe that."

"Well, believe it. Because it's true."

Tyrion broke Jaime's gaze and looked about the pen. There were at least half a dozen dogs lying about in various stages of sleep. Tyrion wondered how the hell he was supposed to get on his feet and make it through the gate.

"What did you do to her?" Jaime asked, his eyes trained on Tyrion.

"You don't want to know."

"Oh, I think I do." Jaime slid off the fence and walked to the gate. He laid his hands on either side of it and leaned forward, trapping Tyrion inside. "If you don't want to spend the rest of the morning in that pen, you're going to tell me what you did."

Tyrion stared up at his brother, every last hint of amusement gone from Jaime's eyes.

"Well?" Jaime prompted when Tyrion stayed silent.

Tyrion laughed, the sound strangled from his throat. "Well, let's just say that I no longer have any doubt that Eddard is my trueborn son."

"What . . . what did you do?"

"I took Sansa down to the crypts and made her swear it on the bones of her beloved father. And now, she never wants to see me again."

"And I don't blame her. What if she'd made you do the same thing to Mother?"

"Yes, well, exactly," Tyrion replied, nearly stumbling over the words. "Look, I didn't say that I blame her. You asked what happened, and I told you. That's all. Now, would you mind helping me out of here? I don't think I can manage it myself."

Jaime stared at Tyrion far longer than necessary, as if trying to decide whether he should help him or just let him rot. Tyrion wouldn't have blamed his brother if he'd just turned around and walked away. If their positions had been reversed, Tyrion might have done just that. But Jaime was a much better man than he was – at least these days, anyway – and Jaime eventually took pity on him and opened the gate. He stepped into the pen and offered Tyrion his hand, pulling him to his feet with hardly any effort.

Tyrion struggled to stay upright, and Jaime clamped his hand on Tyrion's shoulder to keep him steady on his feet.

"Are you all right?" Jaime asked.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? Are you sure you can walk a straight line?"

"Well, no, not really," Tyrion answered. "But I am the Lord of Winterfell. I should at least try to present an air of dignity."

"All right, but if you fall, don't blame me."

Jaime let go of Tyrion's shoulder, and Tyrion staggered forward, almost losing his footing. He put his hands out to his sides to steady himself, and somehow, he managed to walk through the gate without falling flat on his face. His head still throbbed and his whole body ached, but at least he hadn't fallen.

Jaime followed Tyrion out into the yard. As soon as Tyrion caught sight of the Great Keep, he realized that he had no idea where the hell he was going. Sansa wanted him gone, and he feared what would happen if she found him still at Winterfell.

Tyrion stumbled to a halt, and Jaime nearly crashed into him.

"What's wrong?" Jaime asked. "About to be sick?"

"No," Tyrion said, though the very suggestion caused a wave of nausea to rise up his throat. "No, I just don't know where to go. Lady Lannister wants me gone, preferably yesterday."

"If you really want to avoid her, come back to the Guest House with me. I'm sure we can find somewhere to hide you. You're not very big, after all."

"Haha," Tyrion mocked, his head aching with the effort. "As much as I'd prefer to leave Winterfell at the moment, it's probably not in my best interest, or Sansa's, despite what she thinks. I guess I have no choice but to go with you for now."

Jaime held out his hand toward the Guest House, motioning for Tyrion to follow. They traveled no more than a few yards before Tyrion stopped dead in his tracks. Eddard and Arya were just emerging from the Great Keep, and Tyrion was instantly paralyzed the moment he saw his son.

Tyrion had seen the boy a million times before, but this time was different. This time, he wasn't seeing some other man's son. He was seeing his own son. His own trueborn son. And he felt like such a fool.

Tyrion stared at Eddard across the yard, his eyes misting with tears. Even from a distance, he could see the resemblance between them, the golden curls, the keen eyes. Tyrion had never been prouder of anything in all his life. Or loved anything more. Eddard was the greatest gift the gods had ever given him. And giving him life was the best, most admirable thing that Tyrion had ever done.

Eddard didn't see Tyrion at first, but when he did, his eyes grew wide and he raced across the yard, hurling himself into Tyrion's arms and nearly knocking him over.

Tyrion stumbled back a few paces but quickly regained his balance. His entire body was trembling, and he could feel the tears threatening to fall. He wrapped his arms around Eddard and hugged him tightly, closing his eyes and kissing the top of the little boy's head. He loved Eddard so damn much, and he didn't ever want to let him go.

"You didn't leave," Eddard cried, his words half muffled in Tyrion's chest.

"No, of course I didn't. I would never leave without saying goodbye."

"Mother said you left."

Tyrion opened his eyes and glanced at Arya. Her expression was as cool as ever, and he had no idea what she was thinking.

"Well," Tyrion said, turning his attention back to Eddard, "obviously, I didn't."

Eddard squirmed out of Tyrion's arms and looked up at him. The boy's eyes were red-rimmed, his face puffy and blotchy. He looked like he'd spent the entire morning crying.

Tyrion inhaled a sharp breath. Until that moment, he hadn't realized just how devastated Eddard would be by the news of his departure. For the first time in a long time, Tyrion was seriously considering staying at Winterfell for the rest of his days.

"Aunt Arya was taking me to the winter town," Eddard said, reaching up to wipe his nose with the back of his sleeve. "Mother said you'd gone to the winter town."

"Yes, well, that was my intention," Tyrion replied, "but my plans have changed. I'm not going anywhere."

"Do you promise?"

Tyrion's eyes flickered to Arya again. Although she hadn't said a single word, he was certain that she knew everything that had happened between him and Sansa the night before. What he didn't know was whether she wanted him to stay or whether she wanted him dead.

Tyrion looked down at Eddard again. "I promise, I will stay as long as I'm able."

"Will you take me to Casterly Rock with you when you go?"

Tyrion laughed, reaching out and playfully mussing Eddard's hair. "I don't know if I can promise that."

Eddard looked up at Jaime, his eyes round and pleading. "Can Father bring me to Casterly Rock? Please?"

Jaime smiled at Eddard in that infuriatingly charming way he had. "I would love to have you visit the Rock, but I think it would be best if you waited until you were a bit older. It's still winter, and it's a long and treacherous journey. Your mother would have my head if anything happened to you."

"But I'm a Stark," Eddard said, puffing out his chest with Stark pride. "Snow is in our blood."

"And I'd very much like for you to keep your blood in your veins and not see it spilled on the road. But I promise, when spring comes, you can visit Casterly Rock for as long as you like. And by then, you'll have at least one little cousin waiting for you. Isn't that something to look forward to?"

"I'd rather have a brother," Eddard said, looking at Tyrion again. "Will you give me one before you go?"

"As much as I would love to—"

"Your father is already working on it," Jaime answered. "If the gods are willing, maybe you'll have a baby brother come spring."

Eddard's face lit up like a bonfire, and Tyrion cast a threatening look in Jaime's direction.

"Well, it's true," Jaime argued.

"It was true, but after last night—"

"Sansa wants to see you," Arya said, interrupting the conversation.

Tyrion turned to look at her. There was still no emotion in her eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked, scarcely able to believe Arya's words.

"I am. She has much to say to you, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"That's strange because, the last I heard, she never wanted to see me again."

"Oh, that's not true," Eddard interjected. "Mother was in tears because she thought you were gone. I've never seen Mother cry before."

Tyrion stared at Eddard, the boy's words said with such earnestness that Tyrion didn't quite know how to doubt them. Perhaps Eddard had simply misunderstood.

"I'm sure that's not the reason your mother was crying," Tyrion replied. "I'm sure it was just because she was angry with me."

Eddard shook his head, his golden curls bobbing all around. "No, she told me. She told me she didn't want you to go."

Tyrion's eyes darted to Arya. She raised a single brow as if to say, I told you so.

Tyrion was desperate to believe that Sansa wanted to see him again, that she wanted him to stay, but after what had happened between them the night before, he simply didn't know how to believe it.

When Tyrion just continued to stare, Arya said, "Are you coming?"

"How do I know this isn't a trap?"

"You don't." She turned around then and slowly began to walk away, clearly expecting Tyrion to follow.

Eddard grabbed Tyrion's hand and tried to pull him along. "Come on. Let's go see Mother."

But Arya whipped around at that very instant, stopping their advance. "Just Lord Tyrion," she said, her gaze softening for Eddard's sake. "You go with your Uncle Jaime. It's still early, and since we don't have to go into town, I'm sure he won't mind giving you your sparring lesson for the day."

Jaime moved forward, taking Eddard's free hand and leading him away from Tyrion. "Come with me. Maybe today I'll let you practice with a real sword."

Eddard's eyes widened with excitement. "Will you?"

"No, he won't," Arya said sternly. "Not if he wants to live to see another day."

"Oh, come now, Lady Arya. Surely the boy is old enough to feel the weight of steel in his hands. I thought you Starks were made of braver stuff than that."

"We are made of saner, less reckless stuff than that. And Eddard is being raised a Stark."

"Even though he's a Lannister?"

"He's a Stark, first and foremost, and that's all that matters. No blades. Understood?"

Jaime smiled at her. "All right. For now."

Arya's look grew darker, and Tyrion scowled at Jaime. Arya Stark had reason enough to hate the Lannisters. She didn't need Jaime giving her even one more reason to despise them, especially when Tyrion's life was in her hands.

"We'll see you later, Father," Eddard said as Jaime practically dragged him away. "Don't leave. Remember, you promised."

Tyrion lifted a hand in farewell. "I remember. I will see you at luncheon, I promise."

That was all it took to appease Eddard. He finally gave Jaime his full attention, and together, they headed off to their favorite spot in the training yard.

Now that they were alone, Tyrion expected Arya to say something to him, but she didn't. She just turned on her heel and started walking again. Tyrion followed after her, his mind a lot less addled than it had been when he'd first awoken. The fresh air and the startling thought that Sansa might actually want him to stay did wonders for his aching head, and he almost felt like a new man. Almost.

Tyrion didn't know where Arya was taking him, but wherever it was, he truly hoped it wasn't a trap. For a split second, he wondered if Arya had sent Eddard off with Jaime just to get him out of the way, to keep him from bearing witness to his father's execution. But Tyrion quickly dismissed the idea. The Starks would never hide their children from the realities of death. They were an earthy sort, and they took their honor and duty very seriously.

And so Tyrion followed after Arya, not knowing what fate awaited him. Either Sansa would ask him to stay, or Arya would slit his throat. Either way, Tyrion was happy that he at least knew the truth now, and that he'd gotten to see his trueborn son one more time.