Fellowship & Fairydust

December 21, 299

Sansa woke, feeling almost drugged. There was a weight around her middle which made it hard to move. Her head felt heavy, and she struggled to open her eyes. When she did, it was to find herself staring at an unfamiliar room. Her leg ached. It was long moments before she remembered the night before, and when she did, it came in horrifying waves. Robb and her mother were dead. Joffrey had won the war. She’d held the comb in her hand and…

Sansa swallowed. She was in bed now, and it was Tyrion’s arm draped across her protectively, holding her in place. He knew. She was chilled at the thought. She shifted, trying to slip from beneath his arm without waking him.

“Where are you going?” Tyrion’s voice was thick with sleep, but it was alert.

“The privy,” Sansa said. She didn’t even know where the privy was in this place, but she couldn’t bear spending another moment trapped beneath his arm.

“Hold on.” Tyrion pushed himself up. “I’ll escort you.”

“To the privy?” She stared at him in disbelief.

Anger flashed across his scarred face. “Yes, to the privy. After last night I’ll escort you to the damn bathhouses if necessary.”

His anger surprised her. She felt her cheeks flush hot. “How will that look to the Lyddens?”

“Better than it would have looked had they been the ones to find you last night.” Tyrion’s voice was clipped.

“Oh, for the sake of all that is good!”

“You didn’t see it!” Tyrion shouted.

Sansa flinched at his tone.

Tyrion sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. In a quieter voice, he said, “You were so pale, Sansa. I thought you were dying.”

Sansa shook her head. “I wasn’t dying….”

“You lost a lot of blood,” Tyrion said. “And that’s excluding the risk of infection, which still remains even now.”

Sansa pressed her lips together and looked away.

Tyrion sighed. “If you can wait until your handmaiden arrives, she can escort you. But you will have an escort at all times until I’m sure you’re safe.”

Sansa shook her head. “No.”

Tyrion glared at her, his expression unwavering.

“You said you didn’t want to be my jailor,” Sansa hissed at him.

“I don’t,” Tyrion said. “But if my choices are to jail you or let you kill yourself, I would much prefer the cell.”

“I’m not going to kill myself!”

“You almost did last night!” Tyrion’s hand slammed against the bedpost. “Damn it, Sansa!”

Sansa’s lower lip wavered. “You’d have been better if I had – it’d get you out of this marriage.”

“Don’t.” Tyrion’s voice was soft. He stepped closer to her.

Sansa stepped away. She wouldn’t look at him.

Tyrion stilled. “My lady, I am your husband. Let me help you.”

“How can you help me?” Sansa’s voice was cold.

“I don’t know,” Tyrion admitted honestly, “but I can try.”

Sansa shook her head. “I can’t close my eyes without seeing their faces,” she whispered.

Tyrion was silent.

“Last night… I just… I felt so numb. I was afraid I’d never feel anything ever again.”

“And the knife helped?” Tyrion asked.

Sansa inclined her head.

“You can’t do that again,” Tyrion told her.

She stared at the floor, her red hair falling around her face.

“Next time you feel like that,” Tyrion said, “I want you to come to me.”

“What will you do?” Sansa’s voice was thick with an unspoken challenge.

Tyrion shook his head. “I’m not sure. But we’ll figure it out – together.”

Sansa’s eyes were hooded.

“I swore to protect you,” Tyrion reminded her.

“Your family killed mine,” Sansa told him. “Can you protect me from that?”

Tyrion’s face twisted. “What happened to your family was a terrible crime. I didn’t know your brother. He seemed like a good man, but I didn’t know him. Your mother, on the other hand… I admired her.”

Sansa looked at him in surprise.

“She wanted to have me executed,” Tyrion admitted, “but I admired her. She was a strong woman, and she was fierce, especially so when it came to protecting her children.”

Fresh tears glistened in Sansa’s eyes.

“Sansa,” he said, “your mother would want you to carry on. You know it’s true.”

Sansa sighed. “I just feel so tired,” she whispered.

“I know.” Tyrion’s voice was sympathetic. “I want to help you, Sansa.”

The door opened before she could reply, and Adelaide stepped in. The maid was as quiet as she had always been, but Tyrion noticed confidence in her step that had been previously missing.

“Adelaide.” Tyrion bowed to her. “Please escort Lady Sansa to the privy.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Adelaide turned, looking to Sansa expectantly. With a heavy sigh, Sansa let herself be swept away.

***

Tyrion had said almost nothing to Sansa since their conversation that morning. He’d been engrossed in a book, leaving her to brood on her own. On her own, but not alone. He followed her almost everywhere, and when it wasn’t him it was one of his lackeys –

Podrick, Bronn, or Adelaide. By the time the caravan stopped to make camp at the base of a knoll, Sansa had decided that she hated every last one of them.

“Rabbit or bear for dinner?” Adelaide asked, standing just inside the door to the tent Sansa and Tyrion were sharing.

Sansa shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

Adelaide pursed her lips. “You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” Sansa repeated stubbornly.

Tyrion, seated across from Sansa at the table, lowered the book he was reading. “My lady, you do need to eat.”

“I don’t want to eat.” Sansa felt uncomfortable in her own skin. She scratched at her arm with her fingernails, leaving red marks on her pale flesh.

Tyrion’s hand reached out, stilling her movements. He looked past her to Adelaide. “Rabbit for both of us. Thank you.”

Sansa waited for Adelaide to leave before pulling her hands away from Tyrion’s. “I told you I wasn’t hungry.”

“You’ve hardly eaten all day,” Tyrion said.

“Are you going to tell me when to urinate next?”

Tyrion flushed. “If you’re fool enough to refuse to do it on your own!” he replied.

“You’re impossible!” Sansa snapped.

“I thought the very same about you.”

The flap opened, and Adelaide stepped in carrying two plates of hot rabbit. She set them in front of Sansa and Tyrion before scurrying from the tent again, clearly sensing the tension in the air.

Tyrion gave Sansa an expectant look. Sansa returned it with her own look, a look of challenge. What would he do if she refused to eat? Her freedom had already been stripped away from her, and he’d promised he wouldn’t hurt her – a promise she found that she now believed. He had little recourse left to him.

Tyrion sighed. “Please,” he whispered, in a tight voice.

Sansa looked away, feeling shame heat her face. He had spent the night cleaning up after her… she took a careful forkful of rabbit. It tasted of ash, but she forced herself to chew it and swallow it, letting it lay like a leaden weight in the pit of her stomach.

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