Fellowship & Fairydust

November 6, 299

The morning found Sansa at the tea garden, sitting on the stone wall and staring out at the sea. It was hazy this time of day, the clouds kissing the waves and making the land across the sea seem like a foggy dream. Sansa stared out at it blindly, wondering what was to become of her. What kind of life could she possibly hope to have, married to that scar-faced imp of a Lannister? It had only been a few short years since she had left Winterfell, high on her dreams of becoming Mrs. Joffrey Lannister. She could barely remember the girl she had been back then – the utter and complete fool of a girl she had been. She felt the tears begin to track down her cheeks again. They’d barely had a chance to dry since Tyrion’s visit the night before, and here she was wetting them again.

Footsteps behind her had her turning. She sighed when she saw that it was Lady Margaery. The two of them had become something like friends since Margaery had come here. Sansa had been looking forward to being her sister. It was yet another disappointment to add to the long list she kept in the back of her mind.

Margaery, sat beside her on the wall, also looking out at the water. They sat in silence for a moment or two – the sort of gentle, companionable silence that Sansa used to enjoy spending with her mother back in Winterfell.

“Growing up at Winterfell, all I ever wanted was to escape,” Sansa heard herself admit. “To come here to the capital – see the southern knights and their painted armor, and King’s Landing after dark – all the candles burning in all those windows… I’m stupid. A stupid little girl with dreams, who never learns.”

“Come on.” Margaery stood, holding a hand out to Sansa. “Come walk with me.”

Sansa let herself be pulled to her feet. She trailed along next to Margaery, feeling numb.

“I remember the first time I saw you in the throne room,” Margaery told her. “I’d never seen anyone who looked so unhappy… I want very much for you to be happy, Sansa, and so does my grandmother. You would have been happy at Highgarden. But women in our position must make the best of our circumstances.”

“How do I make the best of my circumstances?” Sansa hissed. “I have to marry him.”

“Has Lord Tyrion mistreated you?” Margaery asked.

Sansa’s lips pursed. “No.”

“Has he been kind to you?”

“He’s tried.” She shrugged, looking away.

“You don’t want him, though,” Margaery deduced.

“He’s a Lannister.”

Margaery gave her a sisterly look. “Far from the worst Lannister, wouldn’t you say?”

Sansa winced. “I’m sorry. Here I am complaining to you…”

“My son will be king,” Margaery said coolly. “Sons learn from their mothers. I plan to teach mine a great deal. And your son… If I’m not mistaken, your son might be the Lord of Casterly Rock and the North someday.”

“What?” Sansa stared at her. “My son… with him? I’ll have to… We’ll have to….”

“If it’s the pain you’re worried about…?”

“I’m not afraid of the pain,” Sansa said. “Not after what Joffrey’s done to me.”

“What is it then?” Margaery asked. “He’s rather good-looking, even with the scar… especially with the scar.”

Sansa gave her an impatient look. “He’s a dwarf. And Loras….”

“Loras.” Margaery rolled her eyes. She gave Sansa a look that made her feel suddenly quite young. “Some women like tall men. Some like short men. Some like hairy men. Some like bald men. gentle men, rough men, ugly men, pretty men, pretty girls.”

Sansa shook her head.

“Most women don’t know what they like until they’ve tried it,” Margaery pressed. “And, sadly, so many of us get to try so little before we’re old and gray. Tyrion may surprise you. From what I’ve heard, he’s quite experienced.”

Sansa coughed. “And that’s a good thing?”

“It can be.” Margaery shrugged. “We’re very complicated, you know. Pleasing us takes practice.”

Sansa could feel color springing to her cheeks. “How do you know all of this? Did your mother teach you?”

Margaery gave Sansa a long look, and then, at last, she smiled. “Yes, sweet girl. My mother taught me.”

Sansa shook her head, not sure what to make of that. Her own mother had barely gotten around to telling Sansa where babies came from. She’d known about birthing, of course….

Arya had screamed and screamed when she first came into the world, and Bran came so quietly they’d thought, at first, that he was stillborn. It wasn’t until Rickon, that Catelyn Stark took her daughter aside and told her about the woman’s role in all of it. Even then, Sansa had been a child, dreaming of marrying a beautiful prince and raising gorgeous, golden-haired children. Joffrey had been every ounce as beautiful as she’d always imagined… and he was a monster. Perhaps there was a chance that his monstrous uncle might be something more.

***

Tyrion sat at the table in his room, holding a mug of ale. Through bleary eyes, he stared at his hired sword. “She’s a child!”

“She’s a foot taller than you,” Bronn said dryly.

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “A tall child then.”

“What’s the youngest you’ve ever had?” Bronn asked.

“Not that young.”

“How much older?”

Tyrion shrugged uncomfortably. In truth, he hadn’t asked the ages of most of his whores. They could have been Sansa’s age for all he knew. But he knew Sansa’s age, and she was far too young.

“Older.”

“You’re a lord,” Bronn said. “She’s a lady – and a beauty at that. I don’t see the problem.”

“Shae isn’t going to like it,” Tyrion said.

“Shae is a whore,” Bronn reminded him. “Are you gonna marry her? Huh? How did marrying a whore work out for you the first time?”

Tyrion scowled. “I should never have told you about that.”

“You want Shae, keep her,” Bronn suggested.” Wed one and bed the other. All you have to do is get a son in the Stark girl. He’ll be Lord of Winterfell one day. You can rule the North in his name. You’ll have two women and a whole kingdom of your own.”

“Two women to despise me and a whole kingdom to join them?” Tyrion scowled. It was easy enough for Bronn. Tyrion knew that the moment he went through with this – the moment he actually married Sansa – whores would be lost to him forever. He wanted to think that he could actually keep Shae as his own. He wished he were the type to have a woman on the side, but for all his lechery, Tyrion knew that, once he was sworn to another, there would be no coloring outside of the lines.

Bronn shook his head. “You waste time trying to get people to love you; you’ll end up the most popular dead man in town.”

Tyrion took a swig of his ale.

Bronn laughed. “You want to bed that Stark girl. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“I don’t pay you to put evil notions in my head,” Tyrion said. “And the ones already there don’t need company.”

“You pay me to kill people who bother you,” Bronn replied with a grin. “The evil notions come for free.”

Tyrion shoved his drink away from him, suddenly disgusted with the whole affair. “She’s already had so much stolen from her. Her family, her freedom… Now she’s being forced into a lifelong commitment to me? Look at me!”

“She could do worse than you,” Bronn said.

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “You’ve never lied to me before. Don’t start now.”

“You’re ugly,” Bronn said. “I’d never tell you otherwise. If you’ll remember, she was betrothed to your handsome nephew. I’m sure, if you ask her, she’d say she prefers you of the two.”

“Two ends of the spectrum.”

“There’s plenty who’ll beat their wives,” Bronn said. “Plenty’ll sell them to the highest bidder for money, take their anger out on them, or abuse them day and night. You’ll treat her well. I know you – you won’t be able to help yourself. Trust me, she could do a lot worse than you.”

***

Sansa stepped back into her room as the sun was beginning to set. Shae wasn’t there, but Sansa found that she was all right with that. It took a few moments for her to unclasp her dress, but when she did, it was simple enough to let it fall down around her body and to step out of it. She changed into a pale nightgown, made of the thinnest material. She never could have worn a nightgown like that in Winterfell – even on the warmest of days, it was too cool for that kind of dress.

Her room was high enough up in the tower that she couldn’t dream of escaping through the window, but she seated herself on the wide sill with a bit of needlework and let the night breeze cool her arms. She’d always been a natural with a needle and thread. Arya had been atrocious with it. She remembered seeing pricks across Arya’s tiny hands and thinking that if her sister could only stop mucking about and pay attention, she might not be so terrible at it. They’d been at each other’s throats for as long as Sansa could remember. These days, though, she missed Arya so much at times that it made her chest ache.

Sansa turned her hand and, without thinking very much about it, nicked the needle into the fat, muscled part of her thumb. There was a sharp pain, and then the tiniest drop of blood bubbled to the surface; crimson against pale skin. Sansa stared at it for a moment, transfixed. She took a breath, shook her head, and wiped the blood against the stone, smearing it away. Clearly, she was more tired than she’d thought. She tucked her needlework away and retired early. No one would blame her for skipping supper tonight.

***

“You were just playing with me.” Shae’s tone was bitter.

“Never,” Tyrion said. “My feelings for you have not changed. But I will marry Sansa Stark and do my duty by her.”

“While I empty her chamber pot and service your needs when you’re bored?!” Shae spat.

“No.” Tyrion swallowed. Every word he spoke to Shae hurt, and yet he felt calmer than he had anticipated feeling with this conversation. “You’ll go away. I will send you with gold and jewels. You’ll have a nice house. Servants. You’ll be well provided for. Men will line up at the door to be with you.”

Shae stared at him; disbelief etched on her face.

“I’m not going to have a wife and a concubine,” Tyrion said. “That is not my way. And I will be wed to Sansa Stark.”

“Why?” Shae asked. “We could run away together across the Narrow Sea.”

“What would I do across the sea?” Tyrion asked her impatiently. “Be a juggler? I’m a dwarf, Shae. The only reason I have any semblance of a life is because I happen to be a Lannister.”

“Lannisters are selfish brutes,” Shae spat. “Every one of you.”

“Be that as it may,” Tyrion replied, “I am a Lannister. I can’t run away with you, and I will be wed in two days’ time.”

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