Sansa
Sansa went straight to the room she knew Robb had given to Tyrion Lannister.
Perhaps he had been too drunk to notice the way she clung to Theon the night before. Maybe it appeared innocent enough to a man who could hardly hold up his head in his stupor.
To Sansa's surprise, Tyrion's door was open. She knocked gently and cleared her throat. "My Lord? It's Sansa Stark."
Inside, he groaned. A woman's voice came next. It almost made Sansa back away, but the Imp called her in. She took a deep breath and obeyed.
The girl in his bed was tall and wide, a dark-haired woman that Sansa did not recognize. Her breasts were bared to the room as she rolled her feet onto the floor and stretched. Sansa hardly noticed Tyrion in the bed until he called out her name.
"My Lord," she stammered, "I can return later."
"No, no," he hurried. "My sleeping companion was just leaving." Tyrion wrapped himself up in a robe and shooed the woman out the door. "Sit, my Lady," he beckoned to Sansa. "Come now, I promise I don't bite."
She shut the door behind her and said, "Yes, my Lord."
Her lip ached. The night in Jon's former room brought nothing but pain and some small comfort: Theon had lied to the other Stark children, saying Robb asked him to watch over them all until morning to ensure the Lannister men tried nothing.
Sansa did not think any of them except Rickon believed it, but they did not object. And so Theon sat on the ground, his back pressed against the door, dagger in hand, for the rest of the night. When she was certain her siblings were asleep, Sansa slid her cot closer to him, so that he could put his arm up on the bed and stroke her hand gently as she slept.
It did not keep her from dreaming about what would happen when Tyrion told the prince he had see Sansa and Theon walking hand in hand through the castle while she wore only her nightshift. The dwarf had grumbled some apologies when he noticed them, before shuffling on to his destination.
Sansa sat down at the little table Tyrion had indicated, and he offered her some wine to drink. The sun had only been up for an hour, so Sansa declined. "Very well," he replied, pouring a glass for himself, "more for me." He leaned back in his chair to study Sansa with mismatched eyes. "What brings you to my chamber at such an early hour, my Lady?"
She did not know how much she should say, so she just replied, "I hoped to speak with you about yesterday."
Tyrion took a swig of wine. "Which part of yesterday?" he queried. "The part where I nearly pissed my pants before we got to the gates of Winterfell? Oh, or when my degenerate nephew whispered obscenities in your ear with a mouth full of pork?" Tyrion put the wine glass down on the table. "No," he mused, "you want to talk about when I saw you and Balon's boy lurking around after dark."
Sansa had been practicing. "Theon was only escorting me to my chambers, my Lord. It was late, and I'd had too much wine—"
"No, you didn't," he interrupted. "You hardly touched your glass. I'm small, my Lady, but I'm quite observant. It's important to have talents when you're a dwarf." Tyrion poured more wine before he went on, "Because I'm observant, I saw the way Greyjoy looked at you when my nephew got a bit too close. I didn't need to see you with him, half-naked, to know he wanted you." Tyrion paused when Sansa's eyes flickered to the candle on the table between them. "Oh," he sighed, as if he had only just realized it, "and you want him, too."
Sansa gritted her teeth, but kept her composure. I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell.
Tyrion seemed amused. "That does make things rather complicated, doesn't it." He finished another glass of wine. "My Lady, you need not fear me."
I am the eldest daughter of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully. "Who said I fear you?" Sansa asked flatly. The dwarf smiled, and Sansa thought it meant he approved. It encouraged her. "What do you fear, Lord Tyrion?"
He considered it. "My father, for one thing," he answered. "If my sister were as intelligent as she thinks she is, I might fear her, too."
When he moved to pour another glass of wine, Sansa laced her fingers in her lap. "If you know so much about me and about Theon Greyjoy, why didn't you tell the prince?"
Tyrion chuckled, though Sansa wasn't sure what he found so entertaining. "You know very little about me, my Lady." He hopped down from his chair to put a new log into the hearth. "As it turns out," he continued, "I have a soft spot for Northerners. Ever since I travelled with your brother and pissed off your big wall of ice. He's a good fellow, your brother. Stubborn, I must admit, but...a good man."
"He's Lord of Winterfell," Sansa reminded him.
Tyrion waved it away with his hand. "No, not that one—the bastard. Though considering Lord Robb allowed a party of Lannister men through his gates, he must be rather brave, too."
Sansa was quick to reply. "All of my father's sons are."
"And his daughters, too," Tyrion corrected.
I am as brave and as strong as my brothers and sister.
Tyrion was observant, but not observant enough to see the prayer flicker over Sansa's gaze. He told her, "You know, if you had bothered asking your sister, she would have told you she had but one friend in the South. Besides your Lord Father, of course."
"If I truly were to believe a Lannister was a friend to my sister in King's Landing, then I would tell you that he did a terrible job looking out for her," Sansa bit back at him.
Something that looked like sadness came over Tyrion's expression, but he turned away from the light, and it was obscured by the darkness. "You're right," he admitted. "But I can swear on my honor that I did the best I could to protect her—and that I was responsible for her return to the North."
Sansa scoffed; she knew what her father said about the Lannisters, how every debt they paid was in blood. Lady Catelyn had insisted it was the queen who was somehow responsible for Bran's fall from the tower. "How much is Lannister honor really worth?" Sansa muttered, testing her luck.
It paid off. "Depends which Lannister you're talking about." He swallowed the last of his third cup. "There is something I find particularly admirable about the Starks of Winterfell. I don't want to see the North in the hands of either my vicious nephew or the bumbling sot that calls himself king."
"That's kind of you, my Lord," Sansa sighed, "but I'm afraid my father has already promised the prince my hand. And my Lord Brother received a message that suggested you and your men will slaughter us in our sleep if we do not play by your rules."
Tyrion rolled his eyes. "Of course your brother received a heroic message of warning," he muttered, pouring the last of the wine. "But what hero would throw a rock through a window when the climb is only fifteen feet?" Tyrion lifted his cup. "Probably a man who does not count climbing as one of his many talents."