Chapter Twenty-eight

Sansa was in the kitchens when Arya found her. She'd been tallying food stores, making sure that Winterfell had enough rations to make it through what was left of the winter. It was tedious work, but it was a welcome distraction from more troubling concerns.

"I found Lord Tyrion," Arya said, her tone formal. The kitchens were teeming with servants, and even Arya had to be on her best behavior since they were not alone.

Sansa froze, the quill in her hand skidding to a halt against the tally sheet. The air stilled in her lungs as she struggled to compose herself. Without sparing a glance at Arya, she began writing again, trying to pretend that she didn't care in the least. "Is he at the inn?" she asked offhandedly.

"No, he's not. In fact, I don't think he ever made it that far."

Sansa finally looked up at Arya, startled by her words. "What do you mean? Where did he spend the night?"

"One can only imagine."

Sansa scowled. There was far too much insinuation in Arya's words for her liking. Despite Tyrion's assertion that he had been faithful to her since the day they had been wed, she couldn't help but fear that he had spent the night in another woman's bed.

"Where is he now?" Sansa asked, her tone strained.

"Oh, he's waiting for you in your sitting room. I told him you wanted to talk to him."

The bright light of day had somewhat changed Sansa's feelings on the matter of Tyrion Lannister. She had cried herself to sleep the night before, and now, she felt much less vulnerable. She wasn't sure that she was ready to talk to Tyrion yet, despite Arya's insistence.

"Well," Sansa said, "if he's already waiting, he can continue to wait. I have a great deal of work to do this morning, and since Tyrion is neglecting his duties, it's even more imperative that I don't shirk mine."

"So, Lady Lannister becomes a coward in the harsh light of day, does she?"

Sansa looked around the room, hoping that no one else had heard Arya's insult. "I am no coward," Sansa replied. "I just have more important things to do this morning than chase after Tyrion Lannister. I'll see him when I'm ready and not before."

Sansa went back to her work, but Arya refused to leave. She just stood there, staring at Sansa in that unsettling way she had, not saying a word.

Sansa endured her sister's scrutiny for as long as she could before finally losing her temper. She suddenly turned angry eyes on Arya. "Do you intend to stand there all morning watching me?"

"If necessary."

Sansa exhaled a long, frustrated sigh, fighting the urge to scream. She threw her parchment and quill down onto the table in front of her and said, "Fine, I'll go see him now. Are you happy?"

"Nothing about this makes me happy."

"Well, that makes two of us."

Sansa squared her shoulders and straightened her spine, determined to project an air of dignity. "I'll be in my sitting room if anyone needs me. And don't follow me," she warned darkly. "I don't need you skulking outside the door while Tyrion and I talk."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Arya replied, not a hint of sincerity in her tone.

Sansa left the kitchens without another word to Arya. She was already trembling at the thought of facing Tyrion again. She didn't know what was going to happen when they were finally alone together. They couldn't seem to be in the same room with each other for any great length of time without arguing, and there was no reason why this encounter should be any different. Despite how badly it would hurt Eddard, Sansa was beginning to think that it might be for the best if Tyrion did leave. There would be no peace at Winterfell as long as its lord and lady continued to be at odds.

Sansa stopped outside the sitting room door and took a moment to collect herself. She looked over her shoulder, searching for any sign of Arya. The hallway appeared empty, but that didn't mean anything. Arya was a trained assassin, one of the Faceless Men. She could be hiding anywhere and Sansa would be completely oblivious to her presence. Sansa decided to pretend that Arya had stayed behind in the kitchens, rather than face the very real possibility that she was already being spied upon.

Sansa turned back toward the door and opened it without knocking. When she stepped inside, she found Tyrion standing by the hearth, his back to her. He was warming his hands by the fire, gazing into the flames as if he hadn't heard her enter the room. He looked a frightful mess. His clothes were disheveled, and there were bits of hay in his hair. Sansa didn't even want to imagine where he'd spent the night. She knew it couldn't have been any place respectable.

The moment Sansa closed the door, Tyrion whirled around as if startled by her presence. "Lady Lannister," he said, the words almost breathless.

"Lord Lannister. I thought I told you last night that I never wanted to see you again. What are you doing here now?"

A bitter laugh escaped Tyrion's throat. "Your sister told me that you wanted to see me. She promised it wasn't a trap, but I suppose I should have known better."

"Arya meddles far too much for her own good."

"I couldn't agree more."

They stared at each other for a long moment before they both looked away. The air between them was heavy with tension, and Sansa suddenly didn't know what to say. She didn't want Tyrion to go, but after everything that had happened, she knew it was for the best. Even so, there was no reason for him to leave immediately. Jaime and Brienne would be staying at Winterfell for at least another few weeks. That would give Tyrion and Eddard plenty of time to say their goodbyes and perhaps make arrangements for Eddard to visit Tyrion in the Westerlands. Because even though Tyrion and Sansa couldn't fix things between them, she had no intention of keeping her son from his father.

Sansa looked at Tyrion again. He was gazing idly about the room, clearly just as uncomfortable as she was.

"Where did you spend the night?" Sansa asked, her curiosity finally getting the better of her.

Tyrion's eyes moved to her face. He seemed startled by the question. "I know you wanted me to leave Winterfell last night, and I had every intention of doing so, but it occurred to me – rather late, actually – that it would look peculiar if the Lord of Winterfell suddenly holed himself up in the winter town. I didn't want to bring any more shame to the Stark name than I already have, so I slept in the kennels with the dogs. A more than fitting place for me, under the circumstances."

Sansa fought the urge to laugh. The idea of Tyrion spending the night in the kennels was quite comical, but they were having a serious conversation and she knew that laughing would be highly inappropriate. She pursed her lips together and waited for the impulse to pass before she finally replied, "Do you intend to take up residence there for the foreseeable future? If you do intend to stay at Winterfell until Jaime and Brienne leave, you will need somewhere suitable to sleep."

"I will sleep wherever you will grant me permission to sleep, my lady. I may be the Lord of Winterfell, but the keep is yours, and you have more right to command it than I do."

Sansa wondered what Tyrion would do if she commanded him to sleep in her bed. It was still too early to tell if she was with child, and it couldn't hurt to keep trying for a baby until Tyrion left. But Sansa was still too angry and hurt to start asking him for favors just yet.

"You may stay in your own chamber," Sansa said. "You are not the only one who has pointed out the folly of allowing the Lord of Winterfell to abandon his post for a room in the village, and I have no desire to make things worse for Winterfell or her people."

"A wise decision, my lady. I thank you. I give you my word that you will not see hide nor hair of me until I leave. I will stay out of your way and let you run Winterfell as you see fit."

"By which you mean, abandon your duties and spend your days in your chamber drinking yourself into a stupor?"

Tyrion laughed. "Well, yes, I suppose that is one way of putting it."

"You will do no such thing," Sansa replied. "As long as you remain at Winterfell, you will continue to fulfill your duties. All of them. You will not be rewarded for your bad behavior by being allowed to skirt your responsibilities. Do you understand?"

Tyrion fidgeted nervously on his feet. "But that means we will have to see each other every day, and last night, you said that you never wanted to see me again. Or had you forgotten?"

"The good of Winterfell is more important than my own personal desires. Winterfell needs a lord, and while it still has one, we're going to take advantage of it to the fullest."

Tyrion bowed his head in agreement. "If that is what you wish, I am yours to command, my lady."

"Good." Sansa held her breath for a moment, summoning up all her courage before she continued. "In that case, I command you to resume all of your former duties as the Lord of Winterfell, including your duty to produce an heir."

Tyrion looked up at her, his eyes wild with disbelief. "You can't be serious."

"I am," Sansa said, inching her chin a little higher, feigning a confidence that she didn't really feel.

Tyrion shook his head. "I'm afraid that's the one thing I can't do. Ask anything else of me, and it's yours, but not that."

Tyrion couldn't have hurt Sansa more if he had tried. She knew that he didn't want her, but that didn't mean that they couldn't share a bed together just a few more times. They didn't have to talk. They didn't have to face any of the issues between them. They just had to spend some time together beneath the furs to produce a child. That was all.

"Do you find the idea of lying with me that distasteful?" Sansa snapped, her temper suddenly flaring to the surface.

"I do."

Tyrion's words struck Sansa like an arrow to the heart, and if she had been any less angry, she might have cried. "Well, I'm sorry that you find the idea of sharing my bed so abhorrent. I know I'm not quite as skilled as the women you're used to, but I thought, for the good of Winterfell, you might suffer through it."

"It has nothing to do with your skills as a lover, which are quite admirable, I might add. I don't want to share your bed because I know that you hate me, and there's no way in the Seven Hells that I'm going to bed a woman who hates me, married or not. I could lie and say it's a matter of pride, but it isn't. Despite how you feel about me, I still care for you, Sansa, and I don't want to put you through that. I don't want you to suffer the touch of a man you despise simply because you feel you have a duty to fulfill. I could never live with myself if I let you do that."

Sansa stared at Tyrion, unsettled by his words. She'd thought she had him all figured out, that she knew what he wanted and how he felt about her, but maybe she'd been wrong. Even though she had declared her hatred for him the night before, he still claimed to care about her. He had spent the night sleeping in the kennels because he'd thought it was what was best for Winterfell, because he'd thought it was what he deserved. Suddenly, Sansa realized that she didn't really know Tyrion at all. She had made far too many assumptions about him, and she couldn't help but feel a little contrite.

"I don't hate you," Sansa said. "I know that's what I said last night, but it isn't true. I don't hate you. I was just angry."

"And you had every right to be angry. I'm angry, and I'm the one who created this whole mess."

"I meant what I said about wanting to try for a baby again. I think it's what's best for Winterfell and for Eddard."

"But what about what's best for you, Sansa? What about what's best for you? Is this what you want? Do you want to take me into your bed again on the off chance that we might produce an heir? Because there's also a chance that we won't. We could lie together a dozen times and my seed might never take root. Is that really the chance you want to take?"

If it meant spending every night with Tyrion until he left Winterfell, then yes, that was exactly the chance Sansa wanted to take, but she couldn't admit it. She knew that Tyrion wouldn't understand. So instead, she asked, "Was it really that much of a hardship for you, my lord? Because if it's just that you would rather not share my bed—"

Tyrion waved his hands between them, urging Sansa to stop. "No, that isn't it. I don't want you to suffer any more than you already have. No one is going to fault you if you let this go. No one. You don't need to force yourself to do this just for the sake of duty. After all, you are the Lady of Winterfell. You get to make your own rules. No one can tell you what to do."

"That isn't true," Sansa said. "That's never been true. Winterfell comes with its own set of rules that every lord and lady who watches over it must follow. We don't get to choose which ones we want to abide by and which ones we want to ignore. All are important, and all must be followed, for the good of the north."

Tyrion sighed heavily, glancing away for a moment in obvious frustration. When he finally looked up at Sansa again, he said, "I can't do what you're asking. I'm sorry. I will not be forced to bed a woman who doesn't want me. You can make me sleep with the dogs if you like, or the pigs. Hell, you can bring them all into my chamber and make me sleep side by side with them so that no one's the wiser, but I will not share your bed. And there's nothing you can do or say that will change my mind."

Sansa knew there was one thing that might sway him, but she was scared to say it. Her pride was already wounded, and she feared she might not survive being rejected again. And yet, the alternative was so much worse. If she didn't say something, Tyrion would walk away from her forever and they would never have this chance again. The night before, Sansa had been prepared to bare her heart to him, and then, he had ruined everything by taking her down into the crypts. She was wary about opening up to him now, but she had to take a chance. She couldn't tell him that she loved him, she wasn't ready for that, but she could give him something. So despite the anxiety gnawing at her belly, Sansa said the only thing she could say, "What if I told you that I want you, Tyrion Lannister?"

Tyrion's eyes narrowed on her as if searching for the truth, and Sansa held her breath. Her heart beat an uneven rhythm as she waited for him to reply. It had taken a great deal of courage for her to admit that she wanted him. She'd never been quite so open with him before, and she didn't know whether or not it had been a mistake. She felt scared and uncertain and vulnerable, and she desperately needed to know what Tyrion was thinking.

Tyrion was silent for a long moment, and then, suddenly, he laughed. "And here I'd thought you'd lost your sense of humor."

The sound of Tyrion's laughter cut Sansa to the core, and she instantly felt like a fool. But the damage was already done, and there was no going back. "I'm not joking."

"You must be," he said, the amusement slowly fading from his voice. "You can't possibly mean it."

"Of course, I mean it. I wouldn't have said it otherwise."

Tyrion's eyes took on a somber cast, and for a long moment, he just stared at Sansa, the silence between them nearly unbearable.

"You . . . you want me?" he finally asked, the words so small and weak that she barely heard them.

"Yes, I do."

"In your bed?"

"Yes."

Tyrion shook his head, his eyes glassy with disbelief. "But why?"

Because she loved him, of course, but she knew she couldn't say that. Tyrion had laughed when she had admitted that she wanted him in her bed. She could only imagine how he'd react if she confessed her undying love. But Sansa knew she couldn't stand there cold and silent. She had to say something. "Do you really need to ask?"

"Yes, I think I do."

Sansa looked away, unable to meet his gaze. Suddenly, she felt like a scared little girl, not a full-grown woman. "I have enjoyed having you in my bed," she replied, every nerve in her body trembling. "When we are alone together, beneath the furs, you make me feel things that I never thought I was capable of feeling. You have been nothing but kind and gentle to me in our marriage bed, and I have enjoyed every moment of it. I don't know how you can doubt that."

By the time Sansa finished, her heart was beating wildly beneath her breast, and it took a great deal of courage for her to look at Tyrion again. His expression was unreadable, and for a moment, Sansa wasn't sure if her words had meant anything to him at all.

But finally, Tyrion nodded. "I have enjoyed it too."

"Good. Then you should have no trouble visiting me again."

"Sansa—"

"You can't possibly have any further objection."

"I . . . I just think that, with the way things are between us, it would be better if we didn't lie together again. That's all."

"Do you still intend to return to Casterly Rock at the end of the month?"

Tyrion inhaled a steadying breath. "That is what you want, isn't it?"

Sansa stared at Tyrion for a moment. That was the last thing she had expected him to say. Was he really leaving it up to her? Would he really stay if she told him that's what she wanted? Sansa wanted to say the words, wanted to tell him that she needed him by her side, but she couldn't. If she forced him to stay, the resentment between them would only fester, and that was the last thing she wanted. She knew that Arya would be angry with her for letting Tyrion go, but Sansa refused to force him to stay.

"What I want is irrelevant," Sansa said. "It always has been. You may do as you please, but if you do intend to leave, then it is more imperative than ever that we at least try to produce another heir. Give me a child, and you may go. After that, I promise I will never bother you again."

There was pain in Tyrion's eyes as he stared up at her, though Sansa wasn't quite sure what was troubling him. "Sansa, I—"

"If you are amenable to what I've suggested, I would like you to come to me tonight. Will you do so? Or will you disappoint me yet again?"

Tyrion flinched, and Sansa felt a twinge of guilt. She knew she was being manipulative, but she couldn't stop herself. Tyrion was about to abandon her again, and she wanted to take what she could from him before he was gone forever. She loved him, and she wanted to be close to him while she still had the chance. She knew she wasn't playing fair, but at that moment, she didn't particularly care.

"Well?" Sansa asked when Tyrion didn't answer.

It took him a moment, but he finally said, "All right. I'll do as you've asked. But Sansa, if you change your mind, if you decide at any time, at any moment, that you don't want me again, you must tell me. Things are difficult enough between us now. I have no intention of forcing myself on you. If you're just doing this for the sake of duty and honor—"

"I'm not. I'm doing this for myself."

"Very well, then," Tyrion said with a nod. "I will come to you tonight."

Sansa had thought she'd feel relieved when Tyrion agreed to her demands, but she didn't. A tiny knot of anxiety settled deep in the pit of her stomach, and suddenly, she was as nervous as she had been the first time she had given herself to him. Tyrion knew for certain now that she wanted him, and that made her vulnerable in a way she had never been before.

Sansa fought to hide her deep sense of insecurity. She kept her spine straight and her shoulders back as she replied, "Thank you. I will see you tonight then."

Sansa didn't wait for Tyrion to answer. Instead, she quickly turned around and left the room. As soon as she crossed the threshold, she closed the door behind her and slumped back against it, all the bravery suddenly draining out of her. When she finally looked up, she was startled to find Arya standing against the opposite wall, staring at her.

"I thought I told you not to follow me," Sansa snapped.

Arya shrugged. "When do I ever listen to you?"

Sansa pushed herself away from the door so that Tyrion wouldn't hear their conversation. "I'm sure you were listening now, weren't you? Did you hear every word?"

"I heard enough. Why didn't you ask him to stay? He gave you the chance."

"Because he's the Lord of Winterfell, and he's free to do as he pleases. I'm not about to demand anything from him."

"Other than that he give you a baby," Arya said wryly.

"Well, yes, but that's different."

"Why?"

"Because it's what Winterfell needs."

"And what about what Eddard needs?" Arya asked, her tone turning far more serious.

"Tyrion is not going to stop being Eddard's father just because he's living at Casterly Rock. I'm sure we'll find a way to make it work."

Arya shook her head, her eyes dark with disapproval, but she didn't say another word. She just turned on her heel and headed down the corridor, leaving Sansa alone.

Sansa knew that Arya thought she was a coward, and maybe Arya was right, but Sansa couldn't make Tyrion stay. Eddard deserved a peaceful home with parents who weren't constantly at war with each other. If Sansa forced Tyrion to remain at Winterfell, there was every chance that things would only get worse between them, and she didn't want that for herself or for Eddard.

Sansa inhaled a long, slow breath, forcing herself to head back toward the kitchens, her legs shaking beneath her. It was still morning, and it would be hours before she and Tyrion found themselves alone together again. Sansa was tired of fighting, and despite what had happened the night before, she just wanted things to be amicable between her and Tyrion. She knew that when he came to visit her later that night, there would be peace between them for a short while, but she was certain it wouldn't last.