Author's Note: I absolutely hate to do this, but I think I'm going to have to take a break from posting for the next week or two because of the holidays. I just have too much to do right now, and I want to take my time editing the next chapter. If, by some miracle, I can get the next chapter up sooner, I will, but I kind of want to take a break and just enjoy the holidays without a deadline hanging over my head. I promise though, the next chapter will definitely be worth the wait. 😉

Chapter Twenty-nine

Tyrion stood in the quiet of Sansa's sitting room, staring at the door, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. He had assumed that Arya was playing some kind of cruel trick on him, that she had lured him there to lull him into a false sense of security before the ax literally fell, but nothing could have been further from the truth. Tyrion was trembling all over, still shocked that Sansa had admitted to wanting him. Of course, Sansa had always been responsive when he'd visited her bed, but he'd never equated that responsiveness with desire. It was absurd, really, but his pride hadn't let him make that connection. But now that she had said the words, Tyrion couldn't ignore the truth any longer. His wife didn't love him – he wasn't even sure that she liked him – but she did want him, and that was more than he had ever hoped for.

Tyrion shook himself, trying to regain control of his faculties. He knew he couldn't stand there forever, staring at the door like a mute fool. He was still the Lord of Winterfell, and he had duties to attend to, first of which was ridding himself of the unmistakable smell of wet dog.

It took a great deal of effort, but Tyrion finally managed to leave Sansa's sitting room and make his way to his own chamber. He called for a bath, and while he waited, he stood before the mirror by the washbasin and began pulling bits of hay out of his hair.

He looked positively dreadful, and it amazed him that Sansa had been able to stand there and declare her desire for him at all. But then, even though Sansa had said that she wanted him in her bed for selfish reasons, Tyrion didn't entirely believe her. He knew her proposal was just as much about duty as it was about desire.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and a moment later, an army of servants entered the room carrying a large wooden tub and buckets of water. The tub was quickly filled, and Tyrion soon found himself alone again. He stripped out of his clothes, carelessly discarding them on the floor near the fire, and climbed into the steaming bath.

Tyrion sighed as he sank beneath the water. He scrubbed the stench from his body and then relaxed against the back of the tub, enjoying the feel of the heat sinking into his bones. He stared at the flames dancing in the hearth, wondering just what he had done to make the gods look so favorably upon him. He had a loving son, a wife who wanted him, and he was lord of one of the most powerful keeps in all of Westeros. His life was nearly perfect in every way.

Well, except for one thing, of course.

Tyrion laughed bitterly, dunking his head beneath the water to wash the thought from his mind, but when he resurfaced, it was still there. No matter how perfect his life was, there was one thing that was still missing. Although Tyrion loved Sansa with all his heart and all his soul, he knew that she could never love him in return. It was a sad fact that he had resigned himself to long ago. Sansa didn't love him, she could barely tolerate him, and even though she had every right to feel that way, somehow, it didn't make it hurt any less.

Tyrion stayed in the bath until the water turned cold. Then, he dried himself off and got dressed, and suddenly, he felt a great deal lordlier than he had when he'd woken up that morning. His headache had all but disappeared, and he was tempted to start his day with another flagon of wine but quickly thought better of it. There was a tentative peace between him and Sansa, and he was not about to risk ruining it by drinking again.

Instead, Tyrion grabbed a piece of bread from the tray that had been left for him earlier that morning and headed off to start his day. By the time he reached the Great Hall, Sansa was already there, meeting with one of their tenant farmers. They were discussing plans to reconstruct a border wall on the edge of the man's farm. Even though it was still winter, the snows were beginning to melt, and people were already making plans for the spring.

Tyrion sat beside Sansa, listening to her talk. He didn't much care about what was being said, but he was entranced by the sound of her voice and the way she held herself as she addressed the man before her. She was so regal, so dignified. So like her mother. Tyrion had never been particularly fond of Catelyn Stark, but then, he'd had more than enough reason to dislike her and the feeling had been more than mutual. But just because he hadn't been fond of her, didn't mean that he hadn't respected her. She had been a strong woman, a woman who had always fought for her children. And even though Tyrion was certain that, had she lived, she would have done everything in her power to separate him and Sansa, he was truly sorry that she was gone.

Tyrion fidgeted in his seat, feeling the eyes of a thousand dead Starks staring down at him from every corner of the hall. He could feel their collective disapproval deep in his bones. He was an intruder, an invader. He had no more right to be the Lord of Winterfell than Roose Bolton had when he had taken the keep. And yet, there Tyrion was, sitting at the high table, in Ned Stark's place, and somehow, they were all just going to have to make the best of it – Tyrion, Sansa, and all the dead Starks entombed below them.

Eventually, Sansa sent the petitioner on his way and finally turned to look at Tyrion. "I believe that is all for this morning," she said. "You were very late."

"Well, I didn't think you wanted me smelling like wet dog," Tyrion replied. "I'm sorry if I was wrong."

"There are some ravens that need to be seen to. If you truly wish to make up for your tardiness, you can reply to those." Sansa didn't wait for Tyrion to answer. She just stood with the grace and dignity of a queen and left the Great Hall without another word.

Tyrion didn't mind handling the daily messages that went in and out of Winterfell. In fact, it was one of his favorite duties as lord of the keep. He had a curious mind, and one never knew what interesting or not-so-interesting news might arrive by raven. Tyrion didn't mind replying either. He enjoyed writing almost as much as he enjoyed reading. He was a clever talker, yes, but he was even more clever when he had time to think about his words before committing them to parchment.

Tyrion threw himself into his work, deciding to spend his time in the Great Hall rather than in his study. There were simply too many scrolls, and he knew his stunted arms couldn't carry all of them at once.

More than an hour passed before Tyrion looked up from his work. He heard footsteps behind him, and when he turned around to see who was approaching, he found Brienne entering the hall.

Tyrion moved to stand, as was the custom when a lady entered the room, but Brienne held out a hand, stopping him.

"Please, don't," she said. "I was just looking for Sansa."

Tyrion quickly settled back down in his chair. "I'm afraid she's done here for the morning. I'm not sure where she is now."

"Thank you, Lord Tyrion. I shall go and find her."

Brienne turned to leave, but Tyrion just couldn't let her go.

"Lady Brienne, wait!"

Brienne stopped and turned toward Tyrion again. There was a curious look in her eyes, as if she was just as surprised as he was that he had called her back. Since her arrival at Winterfell, Tyrion and Brienne had never shared a single private moment together. And while Tyrion wasn't quite sure what he wanted to say to her, he knew that Brienne was very close to Sansa, and he hoped that she might be able to offer him some insight into his wife's true feelings.

"Would you care to join me for a little while?" Tyrion asked, desperate to make her stay. "I could use the company."

"Are you sure it's my company you want, my lord? You've never sought it out before."

"I've never gotten you alone before. Please," he said, motioning toward the chair beside him, "join me."

Brienne gave him a wary look but approached the table just the same. She slipped into Sansa's chair with an awkwardness that was almost laughable for someone who was so graceful on the battlefield. With a sword in her hand, Lady Brienne was poised and confident, but in formal company, she was a lot less sure of herself.

Tyrion smiled at Brienne, trying to put her at ease, but she didn't smile back. It was obvious that she didn't trust him, and he didn't blame her for assuming the worst. He had only asked her to stay because he wanted something, and he was sure she knew it.

"Is there something specific you want to discuss, my lord?" Brienne asked.

Tyrion paused for a moment. He didn't want her to think that the only reason he'd asked her to stay was to question her about Sansa. He racked his brain for something else to say, blurting out the first reasonable thing that came to mind. "Podrick," he said, nearly tripping over the word.

"What about Podrick?"

"Well, I know he's at Casterly Rock and that he's finally become a knight, but I wondered how he was doing. How you think he's doing. Remember, he was once my squire. And a good one at that. He saved my life at the Battle of the Blackwater."

Brienne's suspicions seemed to ease a bit, and her countenance softened. "Podrick has grown into quite an accomplished young man," she said. "There were times when I wasn't sure he was ever going to make it as far as knighthood, but he fought bravely in the Great War, and King Jon was impressed by his prowess on the battlefield."

"And why shouldn't Jon be impressed? Pod learned everything from you, and you truly are a skilled warrior."

Brienne's eyes narrowed on Tyrion, and he squirmed under her scrutiny.

"Do you really think that I'm a fool for flattery, Lord Tyrion?"

"No, no, of course not."

"Then why do you try to flatter me? Do you want something from me?"

Tyrion opened his mouth, intending to deny it, but the look in Brienne's eyes told him that she was not going to stay there another moment unless he admitted the truth.

Reluctantly, Tyrion said, "Well, there is something."

"Something to do with Lady Sansa?"

"Now that you mention it, yes."

The hint of a smile curved Brienne's lips. "What is it that you want to know?"

"I—" Tyrion didn't know what to ask. He'd honestly thought that Brienne wouldn't let him get that far. But now that she had, he knew he needed to choose his words wisely. He tried to think of something clever to say, but both his wit and his wisdom failed him. "I don't know."

"You want to know how she feels about you, don't you?"

"I do," Tyrion answered before he could stop himself. "Except, I think I already know how she feels about me. I'm an obligation, a responsibility, a duty she is shackled to for the rest of her life. That's all."

"Is that what you really think?" Brienne asked, her tone implying that she thought he was the stupidest man in all the world.

"Isn't that the case?"

Brienne shook her head. "You men are all the same, aren't you? You can never see what's clearly right in front of you. Do you really think you mean nothing to Sansa?"

"I don't think I mean nothing to her. I'm her husband. I'm the father of her child—"

"Oh, so you believe that now, do you?"

"Yes," Tyrion said, the word barely audible.

"And pray tell, how did that happen?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," Tyrion replied, the subject making him decidedly uncomfortable. "Jaime knows, and I'm sure he'll be more than happy to tell you. The point is, I am Sansa's husband and the father of her child, and those things will always connect us, but that doesn't mean she feels anything more for me than a sense of obligation. Until this morning, I thought she hated me. In fact, last night, she swore that she did. But she has since changed her mind. And now, I have to wonder, if she doesn't hate me, how does she feel about me? Because I can't imagine that she feels anything for me but contempt."

"I suppose Sansa has an odd way of showing her affection," Brienne said, "but that doesn't mean she doesn't feel it."

"Affection?" That was the last word Tyrion would have ever used to describe Sansa's feelings for him. "You think Sansa feels an affection for me?"

"I think she feels more than that for you, though it's probably not my place to say so."

"Why . . . why would you even think such a thing?"

"Because I was there with her when you weren't. After she left the Vale, after I found her, I was her constant companion. Before Catelyn Stark was murdered, I gave her my word that I would protect her daughters with my life, and that's exactly what I did. I know how much Sansa has suffered since you've been gone, how long she waited for you to return. She never gave up hope that you would come back to her, and she truly thought, when you did, things would be amicable between you. It never occurred to her that you might doubt Eddard's paternity, so all the dreams she had about you returning to her were happy ones. Reality shattered that, of course. But still, I can assure you, there was a time when she felt great affection for you, and I don't think that feeling has gone. It's just been buried a bit."

Tyrion stared at Brienne in stunned silence. She painted a picture of a young girl who had lost everything and had been left with no choice but to cling to a false hope. He knew now that if Sansa had ever felt any affection for him, it wasn't something he had earned, it was something that time and circumstance had crafted to keep her from succumbing to her grief.

"I see you don't believe me," Brienne said.

"Oh, I believe you. But I think you misunderstand Sansa's feelings just as much as I have misunderstood them."

"How so?"

"If she ever felt any affection for me, it wasn't really for me, but for the idea of me. When I fled King's Landing, we hardly knew each other. We had scarcely spent any time together as husband and wife, and there was very little between us besides routine pleasantries and polite conversation. There was nothing there that could have inspired real affection. But when we parted, well, why shouldn't the girl have started to imagine things differently? Why shouldn't she have started to grow an affection for her ghost of a husband, especially when she was carrying his baby in her belly?"

Brienne leaned forward, and Tyrion fought the urge to fall farther back in his chair. She was an imposing woman, even in her silks, and it was obvious that he had upset her.

"Do you really believe half the shit that comes out of your mouth?"

Tyrion laughed awkwardly. "I wouldn't say it's shit. Actually, a lot of what I say is quite insightful."

"It's shit, that's what it is. Sansa loves you, whether you're willing to admit it or not. She always has and she always will, and no amount of stupidity on your part is ever going to change that."

Tyrion stared at Brienne, his mouth agape. He was so shocked that he couldn't even breathe.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" she asked, clearly confused. "Is it so difficult for you to believe the truth?"

"Love," Tyrion said, his tongue having difficulty forming the word. "You said she loves me."

Brienne averted her eyes, suddenly unable to look at him. "No, no, I'm sure I didn't."

"And I'm sure you did." Tyrion leaned forward in his chair, his eyes intently focused on Brienne. "Has Sansa ever told you that she loves me?"

Brienne finally met his gaze again, her confidence returning. "No, never."

Tyrion leaned back. "See, I told you. She may love her long-lost husband, but she doesn't love me. She loves a fairy story, a dream, nothing more."

Brienne shook her head. "Believe what you want. That's what you always seem to do anyway. For the longest time, you believed that Eddard wasn't your son. And why? Because you were too insecure to believe the truth? And now, you're doing the same thing with Sansa, believing the worst because you're so used to wallowing in your own self-pity."

"You've been talking to my brother, haven't you?"

"Just a bit."

"Well, it's nice to know that he thinks so highly of me."

"Jaime loves you," Brienne said. "More than you probably deserve. But love isn't about what we deserve, is it? It's not something that we can earn through good behavior or by being righteous or dutiful. It's something that is freely given to us despite our flaws. Perhaps you'd be wise to remember that." Brienne pushed back her chair and abruptly stood. "Now, if you would excuse me, I have more important things to do than spend my time talking to someone who is so adamantly determined not to listen to reason."

Brienne didn't even wait for a reply. Without another word, she turned and left the Great Hall, leaving Tyrion staring after her.

For a moment, he couldn't even move.

Could Brienne be right? Could Sansa love him?

It was far more than Tyrion had ever dreamed possible, and no matter how much he wanted to believe it, he simply didn't have that kind of faith. Sansa had every right to hate him. The fact that she didn't was a blessing in and of itself. But love? That was something else entirely, and far too much for Tyrion to hope for.

When the shock finally began to wear off, Tyrion turned back to his work, determined to forget every last word Brienne had said. He hadn't slept well the night before, for obvious reasons, and he knew it was going to be a very long day. He wasn't looking forward to visiting Sansa again at the end of the night, but he had a duty to perform and he would do it without complaint, even though his heart longed for more than Sansa would ever be able to give.