Fellowship & Fairydust

November 7, 299

Sansa woke to the feeling of the sun against her face. She yawned, stretched, and rolled over, her bare feet finding purchase on the icy floor. There was no fire in the hearth. Sansa frowned, looking at the sun again. It had taken a while for Shae to learn her duties, but she had learned them. Usually, by this time she’d have a fire going and an outfit selected for Sansa. Instead Sansa pushed herself out of bed and looked for a suitable dress to wear for the day on her own.
She was struggling to figure out how to fasten it when there was a knock on the door to her chambers.

“Um…” Sansa turned towards the doors, not sure how to address the situation.

The door swung inward, and Tyrion stepped into the room. Standing beside him was a dark-skinned girl with a nervous smile.

“May I help you?” Sansa asked.

Tyrion coughed. “I, uh… I’ve brought you a new handmaiden.”

Sansa frowned at him. “I rather liked the handmaiden that I had.”

“I know.” Tyrion sighed. “I did, too.”

“I don’t understand.”

Tyrion sighed again. He looked at the young girl next to him, “If you might wait outside?”

“Of course, m’lord.” Her voice was barely audible, and she quickly slipped back out of the door. Tyrion closed the door behind her.

“I don’t know much about marriages.”

“Nor I,” Sansa admitted.

“I’ve been told they’re built on trust,” Tyrion said. “A trait which is perhaps even more important in an arranged marriage.”

Sansa inclined her head.

“Shae was a… special friend of mine. I met her on the battlefield, and when I was named hand of the king, I brought her with me.”

Sansa stared at him.

“My father threatened to kill the next whore that he found in my room,” Tyrion said. “And so, I disguised her as a handmaiden and sent her to you.”

Sansa blinked slowly.

“I knew you wouldn’t mistreat her,” Tyrion said. “And as she wasn’t one of Cersei’s paid spies, I thought you might find in her the sort of confidant you couldn’t find elsewhere.”

Sansa tucked a strand of hair carefully behind one ear.

“Now we’re to be wed,” Tyrion said. “And I… I might not have asked for this marriage, but neither did you; I intend to do right by you.” Sansa’s eyes narrowed.

“You mean you’re not planning to sleep with other women.”

“No,” Tyrion replied. “I’m not planning to.”

Sansa swallowed. That was a lot of pressure. If she was one of many, she might only have to sleep with him in order to become with child. If she was his only release, though, he might expect such attention all the time. She wasn’t ready for that.

Tyrion shook his head. “Don’t trouble yourself, my lady. I assure you, I’m quite capable of abstaining.”

Sansa swallowed. “So where is Shae now?”

“In Pentos,” Tyrion said. “I sent her on a nice ship with some gold coins. She’ll have enough to buy herself a manor home when she gets there, and a few servants of her own. Men will be knocking down her door – she’ll have her choice.”

“A better deal than either you or I are getting then,” Sansa said wryly.

Tyrion chuckled humorlessly.

“And the girl?” Sansa nodded towards the closed door. “Where did you find her?”

“She’s the daughter of a special friend of Ser Bronn,” Tyrion said. “A nice girl. Polite, if little shy.”

“You trust her?” Sansa asked.

Tyrion cocked his head to the side. “I’m wary of trusting anyone, Lady Sansa.”

“A wise choice.” Sansa inclined her head.

“She’ll be a good handmaiden,” Tyrion said. “And I don’t think she’s anyone’s spy yet. It’s the best I can offer you for now.”

“Thank you.” Sansa curtsied. “I wish I could have said goodbye to Shae, though.”

For a moment, Tyrion looked surprised, and then the surprise faded to sadness. “I’m sorry, Lady Sansa – truly I am. You’ve already had so much taken from you – I hadn’t wanted to contribute to it.”

Sansa inclined her head.

Tyrion turned back towards the door. “Should I bring her in?”

“That would be fine,” Sansa said.

Tyrion turned and pulled open the door. The dark-skinned girl stood just outside, twisting the hem of her dress in her hands. Tyrion gave her a gentle smile and gestured for her to come into the room.

She stepped around Tyrion and curtsied. “Hello, My Lady.”

“Hello.” Sansa stared at the girl, trying to get a feel for her. She was no Shae: Timidity seemed to course through her veins. Sansa swallowed and forced herself to ask, “What’s your name?”

“Adelaide, miss.”

“Adelaide.” Sansa tasted the words on her lips. “Help me finish doing up my dress, Adelaide, so that I can go down to breakfast.”

“Yes, Miss.” Adelaide crossed the room, her feet barely making a sound on the stone floors. She buttoned the back of Sansa’s dress deftly with impersonal hands.

Sansa bit back a sigh. She had little in King’s Landing. Shae had been a friend, and now she was gone as well – gone because she was bedding the man who was to become Sansa’s husband. She frowned, trying to figure out what Shae had seen in him.

“Do you have plans for the day, m’ lady?” Tyrion asked her.
Sansa swallowed. “I had thought to spend the morning in the Godswoods.”

“Very good, my lady.” Tyrion smiled gently. “If it’s not too much bother, I should like you to join me for lunch.”

“I’ve already accepted an invitation to lunch with Lady Margaery,” Sansa said.

“Very well,” Tyrion replied. “Dinner, then.”

Sansa bit down gently on her lower lip.

“We’re to be husband and wife,” Tyrion said. “I know I’m not your dream man, Lady Sansa. But if we are to be wed, we ought at least to get to know each other.”

“Very well.” Sansa inclined her head. “I’ll meet you in your room?”

“That would be good.” Tyrion gave a small bow. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Sansa waited for him to leave before turning to her new handmaiden. “Please clean the room while I’m gone. I’ll be back just before lunch to change clothes.”

“Yes, m’lady,” Adelaide whispered.

Sansa closed her eyes for a moment, trying to keep her emotions under control. She selected a book from her vanity and wrapped her arms around it. She had found the Godswood to be the one place in the castle where she wasn’t bothered, and so she’d taken to reading there on occasion, or practicing her stitching. After last night, she didn’t trust herself with the needle and thread, but she thought the book should be tame enough.

The Godswood was located far from her chambers, but, by now, she could travel the path with her eyes closed. It was hard to remember that only a few short years ago, she had chased Arya through these very halls; yelling at her about a cat that she’d let into their chambers. What a child she had been then. Now she was considered grown – engaged to be married. What a joke it all was. What a perfect joke!

***

Tyrion looked around his chambers. They were unmercifully small, even for him. Bringing a lady into them would make them feel even more cramped. Sansa was supposed to be the Lady of Winterfell. Tyrion scowled and shoved away from his table. He went to find his father.

Tywin, as usual, was in the Tower of the Hand. Tyrion shouldered past his father’s guards to rap on the man’s door. There came the sound of shuffling paper, and then a gruff voice called, “Come in.”

Tyrion pushed open the door. It was a heavy oak thing, and he was forced to admit, if only to himself, that he didn’t miss pushing it open several times every day. He walked into the room with his head held as high as possible.

“What do you want?” Tywin’s eyes were cold. For once, Tyrion didn’t try to tip-toe around the situation.

“I’m here to talk to you about Lady Sansa.”

“You’re not getting out of the marriage,” Tywin snapped coldly.

“I’m not trying to.” Tyrion swallowed. “I ask only that, once we are wed, you allow us to leave King’s Landing.”

Tywin’s eyes snapped. “And go where?”

“Joffrey is king,” Tyrion said. “Any number of lands are at your disposal, even if you don’t want to give me Casterly Rock.”

“Why would I give you lands?” Tywin scowled. “We’ve talked about this. I told you….”

“Some women never give birth,” Tyrion said quietly. “Even once they have been bedded. Even once they have been bedded hundreds of times, there are still women who never give birth. The Maesters say there are many things which can affect a woman’s ability to give birth to healthy children, but the well-being of the mother is always at the top of the list.”

“She’s not unwell,” Tywin said coolly.

“She’s unhappy,” Tyrion said. “She’ll only be more so once she’s been forced to marry me. And the king enjoys torturing her – you have to admit that. How can she ever learn to trust me as her husband, if I can’t prevent her from being beaten whenever the king’s in a temper? How can she learn to trust a marriage, when she is a prisoner here?”

A bit of air slipped through Tywin’s lips. “She is a prisoner, Tyrion. While her mother and brother live….”

“Once we’re wed, she will be mine,” Tyrion said. “I’m not asking you to let her go back to the Starks. I’m simply asking you to let us have some distance from King’s Landing.”

Tywin stared at Tyrion for a long moment. “You have to stay for the Royal Wedding.”

Tyrion sighed. “Do you think that’s wise? Lady Sansa….”

“It’s not up for negotiation,” Tywin said. “You will stay for the Royal Wedding, and when it’s over, the two of you may depart. I’ll have a destination for you by then.”

It was more than Tyrion had truly expected, and so he bowed before his father could change his mind. They could stay for the duration of a wedding. It was only a few days, after all, and then he could take Sansa out of this place. He suspected that doing so was the best wedding present he could offer his young bride.

***

Sansa sat against the Weirwood tree with her legs tucked beneath her. The wind toyed with her hair. It was a crisp, cool sort of day, but Sansa was from Winterfell and, even after two years at court, she remembered that days could be much colder. She refused to let the wind scare her away from the one place in the entire castle where she could find some peace. As it howled, it tugged at the pages of her book. She sighed and let the book drop away from her fingertips, sending a puff of dirt up into the air. She was to be married tomorrow. She would become Mrs. Tyrion Lannister. It all felt so completely cruel and meaningless.

She leaned her head against the Weirwood tree, trying to remember what Margaery had told her. She had said that Sansa might find herself surprised by Tyrion; surprised by a Lannister… The thought left Sansa feeling cold. She rubbed her hand against the bark of the Weirwood tree, absently at first and then with more focused intention; until the bark cut into her palm. Though it stung, the sting seemed to clear her head a little, leaving her free of the painful thoughts that had been cycling since Tyrion first came into her chambers.

***

Tyrion had tidied his chambers as best as he could. He wished he’d thought to ask Shae about Sansa’s food preferences before he shipped her off, but since he had not, he asked Varys what his little birds might know. That had resulted in plans for salad and roasted rabbit for supper. It was a lighter fare than Tyrion was used to, but it looked pretty, and if it might please his lady, then he was willing to make the sacrifice.

Tyrion had no interest in bedding the girl. He was fourteen years her senior – old enough to have fathered her himself, if only just. But they were to be married, and Tyrion was determined to do right by her. He was determined that even if she could never learn to love him, she might one day grow to think of him as a friend. That, he had decided, would have to be enough.

The knock came on his door just as the dinner bell finished tolling, just as Tyrion had known it would. He smoothed his hands down the front of his tunic before crossing to open the door to his chambers. “Lady Sansa. Thank you for joining me.”

“Thank you for having me,” Sansa replied politely.

Tyrion smiled gently. He gestured for her to come further into the room, and as she neared the small table which he’d set for the two of them, he pulled her chair out for her. His father may have hated him and wanted him dead, but Tyrion was still a Lannister, and he had all the manners of a lord. Sansa flashed a shy smile at him before settling herself in the chair.

“You look very pretty,” Tyrion told her, nodding at the blue dress she had selected for the evening – a dress that matched the color of her eyes.

“Thank you,” Sansa said, a little curtly. “You look… quite handsome.”

“Oh, yes.” Tyrion’s lips twisted wryly. “The husband of your dreams.”

Sansa inclined her head, the light catching her hair, and making it look like a dancing flame. “I hope I will not disappoint you, my Lord,” she said.

“No, don’t,” Tyrion said. “You don’t have to speak to me as if you are a prisoner any more. After tomorrow you won’t be my prisoner in truth, you’ll be my wife.”

Sansa stared at him silently.

Tyrion nodded. “I suppose that’s a different kind of prison, isn’t it? I just… I wanted to say… I’m trying to say… very badly – that I hope to do right by you.”

Sansa swallowed nervously at his words.

“And I won’t hurt you,” Tyrion continued. “Not ever.”

Sansa nodded, but it was clear from the dull tint in her eyes that she didn’t yet believe him.

Tyrion sighed. He poured himself a glass of wine and started to do the same for her, but then paused. “Do you drink?”

“When I have to,” Sansa said.

Tyrion shook his head. “I’m not going to make you drink….”

Sansa stared at the flagon in his hand and then nodded. “Yes. I drink.”

Tyrion poured the wine and watched her take a long gulp from it before looking back over at him. The twist of her mouth let him know that she didn’t really like the taste of it, but she drank it just the same. Even as a renowned drunkard, Tyrion knew it wasn’t a good thing if his future bride had to be drunk, just to bare being near him.

He served Sansa dinner before he served himself, and then he cut a slice off his rabbit and dropped the morsel in his mouth. It was juicy and full of flavor, and any regret that Tyrion might have had at just having rabbit and salad for dinner disappeared altogether. Sansa took a careful bite of her salad, chewing it slowly as she stared down at the grain of the table. As she reached for her goblet, Tyrion noticed traces of dried blood on the palm of her hand.

“My Lady.” Tyrion reached forward, stopping the movement of her wrist. He turned it carefully, revealing a pale palm that was scraped and raw in most places and cut deeply in others. “What on earth happened here?”

Sansa pulled her wrist back, looking embarrassed. “I… I fell, my Lord. I’m a bit clumsy sometimes.”

“It’s not another trick by my fool nephew, is it?” Tyrion pressed.

Sansa shook her head. “Joffrey’s not usually so… subtle, my Lord.”

“Hmm…,” Tyrion took a swig of his wine. He glanced around the room, not sure what to say to the child sitting before him. He’d never been particularly good with children. He cleared his throat “What do you do with your free time, my Lady?”

“I read a bit,” Sansa said. “And I sew. When I lived in Winterfell, I enjoyed horseback riding too.”

“Not many opportunities for that here,” Tyrion conceded. “Maybe, after the wedding, we’ll get you a new horse?”

Sansa’s eyes widened, but not in a pleased way. She opened her mouth as if to speak and then it closed again.

“Please, speak freely, my Lady, for both our sakes,” Tyrion said.

Sansa looked away. “I’d rather not give Joffrey another thing to take away from me, my Lord.”

“Ah.” Tyrion took another swig of his wine. “Yes. Well, I don’t intend for us to stay at my nephew’s house forever.”

Sansa looked surprised. “But where would we go?”

“Anywhere but here,” Tyrion said dryly, shoving a forkful of salad into his mouth, making a face at the tasteless lettuce, and then forcing himself to swallow it. “I’ve told my father we’ll leave just after the royal wedding. Hopefully, he’ll have a destination in mind for us. If he doesn’t… Well, we’ll find something.”

The barest of smiles touched upon Sansa’s face. Tyrion realized it was the first time he’d seen even a hint of one, in all of the time she’d been at King’s Landing. It was one of the saddest realizations he’d ever come to.

They were both silent as they finished the meal. Tyrion was thinking over what he’d just said to Sansa. He’d been telling the truth – he would find something for them after the royal wedding, even if it was just a hut somewhere. He would have to. His duty as a husband was to ensure his wife’s wellbeing, and clearly, she was not well as long as they remained in King’s Landing under Joffrey’s thumb. He could only hope that his father would stick to his word. Tyrion didn’t relish the idea of making a home in a hamlet.

When the meal was finished, Sansa slid her plate away from herself and stood. “I’d like to retire now if you’ll excuse me… Tomorrow will be a long day.”

“It will, indeed,” Tyrion agreed. “I’ll see you in the morning, my lady.”

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