Chapter Thirty-two

That morning, everything changed for Sansa and Tyrion. When she saw him a little while later in the Great Hall, there was a marked difference between them, an easiness, a familiarity, that hadn't been there before. It carried over into everything they did together, and for the next fortnight, they lived a happy, peaceful life.

Sansa stopped avoiding Tyrion, and instead, went out of her way to seek his company whenever she could. They took meals together, went for walks in the godswood, watched little Eddard playing in the yard. At night, when the rest of the keep was quiet, Tyrion would come to her. He would climb into her bed and make love to her until they were both too exhausted to do anything but sleep.

And some nights, Eddard would steal into bed with them before they could protest, snuggle beneath the furs, and demand a bedtime story. Sansa didn't mind the intrusion though, and she was certain that Tyrion didn't either. They would lie in bed together, the three of them, a happy little family, and Tyrion would regale Sansa and Eddard with stories of dragons and magic and the First Men. Sansa loved Tyrion's stories just as much as Eddard did, and nothing made her happier than falling asleep beside her husband, their son wrapped in her arms.

Sansa had never imagined that her life could be so perfect, and it scared her just a little. She had yet to ask Tyrion if he intended to stay at Winterfell, but she knew she couldn't put it off forever. With every day that passed, his departure grew closer, and soon, she would have no choice but to ask him. Sansa feared his answer more than she had ever imagined possible. She didn't want Tyrion to leave again, but he had given her no indication that he intended to stay. Every morning, Sansa awoke, determined to finally ask him. And every day, her courage failed her. She didn't want to ruin their perfect little dream. She knew it couldn't last forever, but she didn't want to be the one to break the spell.

But the spell broke on its own.

Early one morning, as Sansa lay snuggled beneath the furs with Tyrion, she was suddenly overcome by a terrible wave of nausea. Without conscious thought, she slipped from the bed and grabbed her robe, shrugging into it before falling to her knees and reaching for the chamber pot. She retched out the contents of her stomach, struggling to stay quiet, lest she wake Tyrion. There was nothing ladylike about her current situation, and she didn't want him to see her in such a state.

But Sansa couldn't hide her sickness any more than she could stop herself from retching, and Tyrion was awake before she knew it.

"Sansa? What's wrong?"

Sansa was too ill to answer him, and an instant later, he was off the bed and on his knees beside her.

"Sansa, what do you need?" Tyrion asked, his voice trembling. "Tell me, do you want me to get Maester Wolkan?"

But Sansa still couldn't reply. She couldn't even shake her head in answer. All she could do was hover over the chamber pot, waiting for the next wave of nausea to overtake her.

"I'm going to get Maester Wolkan," Tyrion said.

"No!" Sansa reached out, grabbing Tyrion's wrist and stopping him. The movement alone was enough to make her sick again, but she took a few long, slow breaths, and eventually, the queasiness subsided.

"Are you sure? Because you look positively dreadful. And if it's poison—"

"It's not poison."

"How can you be sure?"

Sansa was sure because she had been through this once before, when she'd been pregnant with Eddard. She'd started feeling the changes in her own body a few days earlier, but she'd chosen to ignore them. Her breasts were more tender, her nipples a little duskier. She was tired all the time, and there was an incessant ache in her lower back that had nothing to do with the time she and Tyrion spent in bed together. She knew the signs well enough, but she hadn't wanted to acknowledge them. Although she desperately wanted another child, being pregnant meant that her time with Tyrion was nearly at an end. Now that she was going to have a baby, there would be no reason for him to visit her bed again, and soon enough, he'd be on his way to Casterly Rock.

Sansa slumped back against the bed behind her, crooking her legs to one side so that she was no longer sitting on her knees. She leaned her head back against the mattress and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to make sure that the worst of it was over.

She heard Tyrion rise, and at first, she feared that he was headed to find Maester Wolkan, but he didn't even leave the room. Instead, much to Sansa's relief, he returned to her a few minutes later and settled before her on the floor.

"Here," Tyrion said, "drink this. If you sip it, it might make you feel better."

Sansa opened her eyes to find Tyrion offering her a glass of water. She reached out, taking it from him with trembling hands. "Thank you."

"I'm sure Maester Wolkan can suggest something more medicinal later, but for now, this is the best I can do. Oh," Tyrion said, almost forgetting something, "and this."

Tyrion offered her a damp cloth, and Sansa took it gladly, slowly sweeping it over her face and across her neck. Her skin was hot, and the cool cloth made her feel slightly less ill. She secretly wished that Tyrion would leave the room and let her suffer in peace, but she knew by the concerned look on his face that he had no intention of going, unless it was to run and fetch help.

Sansa laid the cloth over the back of her neck with a thankful sigh. Then, she slowly sipped the water, washing the taste of sickness from her mouth. The nausea was starting to subside a bit, though she knew it could return at any moment. She was in no condition to even pull herself up onto the bed again, so she stayed right where she was, content to spend the rest of the morning on the floor if she had to.

"Sansa," Tyrion said her name softly, obviously wary of making things worse.

Sansa lowered her glass and looked up at him, knowing she couldn't keep the truth from him forever.

"What's wrong?" Tyrion asked. "You said you know it's not poison. What do you think it is?"

It amazed Sansa that a man who was so wise in the ways of the world couldn't recognize the very clear symptoms of pregnancy. "I'm not ill," she said, her voice a little hoarse. "I'm with child."

Tyrion searched Sansa's face in silent disbelief. He shook his head as if he could scarcely comprehend her words. "Are . . . are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I had the same symptoms with Eddard. I'm going to have a baby."

In an instant, the look on Tyrion's face changed from deep concern to pure joy. He beamed up at her, happier than she had ever seen him, and Sansa's heart swelled with a joy all her own, even though it was bittersweet.

"I can't believe it," Tyrion said. "I mean, I can – gods know, we've spent more time in bed these past few weeks than we've spent out of it – but still, a baby. Our baby. I can't . . . I don't even have the words."

A small smile pulled at Sansa's lips. She hadn't expected Tyrion to be so happy about the baby. She had thought he was only trying to get her pregnant to fulfill his duty. It had never once occurred to her that he might actually want another child too. Maybe now, he wouldn't be so keen to leave. Maybe now, he'd finally have a reason to stay.

"What can I do for you?" Tyrion asked, clearly eager to do whatever he could to help. "Let me get you a pillow. You must be terribly uncomfortable."

Tyrion was on his feet before Sansa could stop him. A moment later, he offered her one of the pillows from the bed.

"Thank you," Sansa said as she took the pillow and tucked it beneath her bottom so that she was no longer sitting on the cold, hard floor.

"Is there anything else you need? Tea, soup, your back rubbed, your feet rubbed?"

Sansa laughed. "No, there's nothing I need right now. I'm fine. This will pass soon enough, and then I'll be fine for the rest of the day."

"Really?" Tyrion asked, clearly not quite believing her.

"Yes, really." Sansa held out her hand to him. "Come. Sit beside me for a minute. That's all I need."

Tyrion took Sansa's hand, sinking to the floor by her side and leaning back against the bed. Sansa refused to let go of his hand, but Tyrion didn't protest. It felt good just to be near him, even if she was still feeling a little ill.

They were both quiet for some time, just enjoying being close to each other. But eventually, Tyrion broke the silence. "Do you know what you want to name the baby?"

Sansa was surprised by the question. "I hadn't really thought about it. I hadn't gotten that far. What do you think we should name the baby?"

"Well, if it's a boy, we could name him just about anything. Robb, Rickon, Jon, Jaime—"

"Tyrion."

Tyrion laughed. "Oh, good gods, no! Let's not do that to the poor child."

"What about Joffrey?" Sansa asked, trying to think of something that Tyrion would hate even more than his own name.

"Joffrey?"

Tyrion turned his head, looking up at her in utter horror, and Sansa couldn't help but laugh.

"Well," she said, "he was a king, after all. There's no shame in naming our son after a king, is there?"

"If you're so keen to name our son after a maniacal ruler, why not just name him after Aerys Targaryen?"

Sansa giggled, the movement making her just a little bit queasy, but she held her breath for a moment, and the nausea passed. "I don't think I like that."

"How about Loras?" Tyrion asked. "We can name him after your dream lover. Maybe he'll grow up to prefer men in his bed just as Ser Loras did."

"Did he?" Long after leaving King's Landing, Sansa had heard rumors that the High Sparrow had forced Loras Tyrell to confess to having relations with other men, but Sansa had found his confession difficult to believe. Loras had once been the most dashing knight in all of Westeros, and Sansa could scarce imagine him preferring the company of men.

Tyrion laughed. "You may be all grown up, Sansa Stark—"

"Sansa Lannister," she corrected.

"Forgive me, Sansa Lannister. You may be all grown up, but you're still just as naïve as the day I married you. You are quite the marvel, I must say."

Sansa knew that Tyrion was only teasing her, but she was still slightly offended. "I am not naïve."

"Oh, yes, you are. Even after all these years, you still believe that Loras Tyrell was as enamored with the ladies as they were with him."

"You really expect me to believe that the most dashing knight in all of Westeros had no interest in the fairer sex?"

"That's exactly what I expect you to believe. Ser Loras much preferred spending his nights with Renly Baratheon than with any fair maiden. Just be glad you didn't marry him. You would have ended up childless, and you never would have known the pleasure of a man's touch." Tyrion sighed dramatically. "So I guess that means my father, bastard that he was, actually did you a favor in that regard. Maybe we should name the child after him."

"Absolutely not!" Sansa slapped Tyrion playfully on the arm, completely forgetting her sickness for a moment.

"What? Tywin Lannister II sounds like a noble enough name. I'm sure the very thought would make my father turn over in his grave, which is good enough for me."

"We are not naming our child after that monster," Sansa scolded, though her tone held no conviction. She knew Tyrion didn't mean it. He was just trying to shock her the same way she had tried to shock him.

"All right, all right. We won't name the child after anyone either of us has put to death. So we can't name him Tywin or Petyr or Shae. Though why we'd name a boy Shae, I don't know."

"I think that's enough," Sansa said. Tyrion's teasing had taken a decidedly dark turn, and she wasn't sure that she found it amusing anymore.

"Fine, I'll stop," Tyrion conceded, his tone instantly sobering. "If it's a boy, I have absolutely no idea what we should name it. But if it's a girl . . ." He paused as if he couldn't quite finish the thought.

"Yes?"

"If it's a girl, I'd like to name her Joanna."

Sansa was stunned silent for a moment. She hadn't expected that. She should have, of course. She'd realized a long time ago that Tyrion's mother meant a great deal to him, even though he had never known her – perhaps because he had never known her. Ever since her own mother's death, Sansa had imagined that if she ever had a daughter, she would name her Catelyn, but she had already named Eddard after her father and it only seemed fair that if they did have a little girl, Tyrion should be the one to choose her name.

Sansa squeezed Tyrion's hand. "I'd like that very much."

"Would you?" he asked, his eyes narrowing on her skeptically.

"I would. I think it's lovely."

Tyrion offered her a tentative smile and then turned away. He leaned his head against Sansa's shoulder and began rubbing his thumb gently against the back of her hand in small, soothing circles. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice warm and soft.

"Better."

"Is there anything you need from me? Anything at all?"

Sansa needed him to stay at Winterfell. She needed it more than she needed anything else in the world. But did she dare ask him now? She knew if she did, he would probably agree to stay, but only because they were expecting a baby and he would want to be present for the birth. Now, Sansa wished that she had asked him earlier, when she could have been more certain of his motives. She wanted him to stay, not for Eddard and not for the baby, but for her. She wanted him to stay because he loved her.

"I . . ." Sansa tried, but she just couldn't say the words. "This is fine for now. Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I just want to do everything I can to help. I want to take care of you, Sansa. I want to get you through this with as little pain and suffering as possible. I know it's going to be difficult. I mean, you know it's going to be difficult. I've never carried a baby or seen one born or been around many pregnant women, but whatever I can do, I will do."

"Then stay." The words were out of Sansa's mouth before she could stop them. She held her breath, staying deathly still as she fought back the tears that were threatening to fall.

Tyrion lifted his head and turned to look up at her again. There was just as much uncertainty in his eyes as there was in her own heart, and she didn't know what to say or how to feel.

"Is that . . . is that what you really want?" Tyrion asked.

"Yes." The word was barely a whisper.

"Because of the baby?"

"No, not because of the baby. Because I want you by my side. Always."

Tyrion's hand began to tremble in hers, and Sansa was surprised by his reaction. She hadn't thought her words would affect him in the least.

"I . . . I don't know what to say," Tyrion replied.

Sansa pulled her hand away, suddenly afraid that she had gone too far. "You don't have to say anything right now. Just think about it. You have some time before you have to make a decision."

"I don't need to think about it."

"Don't you?"

"No," Tyrion said. "If you want me to stay, I will stay. I will stay for as long as you want me here. And the day you decide you can no longer stand the sight of me, only then will I go, and not before."

"I don't think that day will ever come."

Tyrion laughed. "Oh, I've only been at Winterfell for a couple of months now. Trust me, the day will come when you can't stand the sight of my ugly face any more than I can. And then, you'll be happy to send me off to Casterly Rock, never to be seen again."

"No, that is never going to happen. I've waited too long for you to return to me to ever wish you away again."

"Really?" The doubt in Tyrion's voice was unmistakable.

"Really."

"Ah, well, in that case, I'm afraid you're going to be stuck with me for the rest of your life because I will never leave of my own accord. You have my word on that."

"But why?" Sansa asked, more than a bit surprised. "I thought you hated it here at Winterfell. I thought you wanted nothing more than to return to Casterly Rock and forget all about this place."

"I did," Tyrion answered. "But that was before."

"Before the baby."

"No, before you, Sansa. Before you."

Tyrion took her hand again, this time bringing it to his lips and placing a gentle kiss against her fevered skin. Sansa nearly sobbed at the contact, but she fought to keep her emotions under control. She didn't want Tyrion to know how much his words had affected her. She didn't want him to know how much she loved him. Not yet. Not when she didn't know how he truly felt about her.

"What . . . what do you mean?" Sansa asked, struggling to keep her voice from shaking.

Tyrion lowered her hand, gazing up into her eyes with undeniable warmth and affection. "I don't think you'd believe me if I told you."

"Tell me, please. We agreed to trust each other, remember? In fact, that's all we've done for the past fortnight, trust each other."

"And love each other."

Love.

The word startled Sansa. She didn't think she had ever heard Tyrion use it before, at least, not regarding their relationship. And while she knew he was just referring to the time they spent in bed together, she couldn't help but wonder if, perhaps, he was hinting at something more.

"Is that what you call it?" Sansa asked, unwilling to let him take it back.

"What would you call it?"

"Love involves the heart. We may be man and wife, but what we do when we're alone together, that doesn't require affection."

"True. And yet, I think it's there just the same. At least, I know that I love you, Sansa. Though, as I said before, I don't expect you to believe me."

But she did believe him. She believed him because she could see the truth of it in his eyes. She believed him because she could feel it every time he touched her, every time he had ever touched her. Even back in King's Landing, he had always been kind and patient and gentle with her. He had felt an affection for her from the very beginning, and she for him, though neither one of them had known what it was at the time.

"I believe you," Sansa said, her voice trembling with emotion. "I believe you as if you'd sworn it on your mother's bones. I believe you as if Bran were standing right before us, stating it as fact. I believe you, Tyrion Lannister. I believe that you love me. I'm just sorry that it took me so long to see the truth."

Tyrion squeezed her hand, his eyes misting with tears. "Then know, Sansa Stark, that my heart and my life are yours, and I will do everything in my power to protect you and make you happy. I know that I don't deserve you. I don't deserve any of this. But you do, and I want you to have the happy life you've always dreamed of, with a husband who loves you and happy, healthy little wolves running around the yard. That's all I've ever wanted for you, Sansa. You must know that."

"There's something more though," Sansa said. "Something more that I've always wanted."

"Yes, I know," Tyrion replied, his voice thick with regret. "A husband you can love. I wish I could give you that too, but I'm afraid, you'll just have to settle for me."

Sansa shook her head. "And I used to think that you were the cleverest man alive."

"Did you?"

"I did."

"Well, then, I suppose that just proves that even you can't be right all the time. But tell me, why do you no longer think that I am so terribly clever?"

"Because you can't see what's right in front of you."

Tyrion's eyes narrowed on Sansa, searching her face. "All I see before me is my beautiful wife. If there's something more, then indeed, I can't see it."

"I love you, Tyrion Lannister. I always have, and I always will."

Tyrion stared at Sansa, not saying a single word, and for a moment, she feared she had made a dreadful mistake. She hadn't expected Tyrion to believe her any more than he had expected her to believe him. But she had hoped that, after everything they had been through together, he would finally be able to take her at her word.

"Do . . . do you mean that?" Tyrion asked, his voice thick with disbelief.

"I do."

"Because you're carrying my child. Because we're husband and wife. Because—"

But Sansa couldn't let him finish. She leaned forward, her sickness long forgotten, and kissed him soundly. When she was certain that he would keep quiet long enough for her to explain, she finally broke away. "Because you're you, Tyrion Lannister, and for no other reason. I have loved you since the very first night you shared my bed. You didn't know it at the time, but you were my Knight of Flowers. You were everything to me. I just didn't know how to tell you."

"How . . . how could you feel that way about me after what my family did to your family?"

"You're not your family, Tyrion. You're you. And I don't hold their crimes against you. If Mother and Robb hadn't been killed, if we hadn't received word of their deaths the day after—"

Tyrion held up his hand. "Don't. You don't have to say it. I understand."

"You may understand, but do you believe me? Do you believe that I love you, Tyrion?"

Tyrion exhaled a tremulous sigh, his eyes never leaving Sansa's. He searched deep into her soul, looking for the truth of her words, and she felt more vulnerable than she ever had before. But it didn't discomfit her in the least. She wanted to be vulnerable with Tyrion. She wanted him to know all of her: her truths, her secrets, her fears.

It was a long time before Tyrion answered. Finally, he nodded and said, "I believe you, Sansa. I believe, for some crazy, unknown reason, that you truly think I'm a good man and that you truly think I'm worthy of you."

"But do you believe that I love you?"

A bittersweet smile curved Tyrion's lips as he struggled to fight back the tears. "I do."

Sansa smiled brightly, so overcome with joy that she thought her heart might burst. She put her hands on either side of Tyrion's face and drew him closer, kissing him deeply. She didn't ever want to let him go. She loved him so much, and she had never been happier in all her life!

When Sansa finally pulled away, she could barely catch her breath. "I love you," she whispered, happy to finally be free to say the words. "I love you."

"And I love you. More than you'll ever know."

"Then why don't you show me?"

Tyrion's brow furrowed with concern. "Are you sure? If you're not feeling well, it can wait."

"I'm sure. I feel better already. And I don't think I can wait another moment for you to show me just how much you love me."

"Well, then, how can I refuse?"

Tyrion leaned up and kissed her again, and a familiar warmth spread languidly throughout Sansa's limbs, leaving her breathless and wanting. When Tyrion finally pulled away, he helped her to her feet and onto the bed. A moment later, he joined her, taking her in his arms and loving her as he had never loved her before.