Disclaimer: George R.R. Martin owns them.
It was quiet. Candles glowed softly from sconces around the large washroom and steam rose in spirals from the tub in which Sansa lay, a sponge held in both hands as she stared into the embers of the dying fire.
A light breeze drifted in from the open balcony in the next room, but it did not bring a chill. Not to her. Perhaps the chill was already laden in her bones. It did not faze her any longer. Winter had come for all of them once. Still, the snows had thawed long ago. She wondered if she would ever feel fully thawed.
Probably not. But with every passing day to week to year she did feel something…
Sansa closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the tub and listening to the sound of the wind rustling the leaves. Suddenly, the air in the room shifted and Sansa felt a pair of eyes on her.
"You're home," she said without turning, a small smile playing on her lips.
"Just," her husband replied, moving from his spot in the doorway. Tyrion had thought he would find his lady wife asleep upon his return. The sight of her lying in their tub, her lithe form barely covered by sudsy water had rendered him temporarily stunned.
He had been away too long.
"And how fairs our queen…" Sansa asked. "Now short one advisor?"
"Very short," Tyrion chuckled, sinking down and leaning over so as to rest his cheek upon her damp hair. He breathed her in with a sigh. "The queen is well, she takes no rest…she is determined to return the dragon skulls to the throne room."
Sansa smiled, leaning into his embrace.
"She is an ambitious woman."
"Ambitious indeed," he chuckled again, taking the sponge from her hands and running it up her arm and down the other.
There was silence for a time as they enjoyed being in each other's presence.
"Did you look in on the children?" Sansa asked him after a time.
"Mmm," Tyrion nodded, brushing the sponge lazily over her shoulder. "The girls are sleeping sweetly in their beds. Your son, however, was not in his room. I found him asleep in the library."
Sansa could hear the pride in his voice.
"Like his father," she murmured.
The fire had finally died and the candles cast a shadow over the room.
"What were you thinking just now...before I came in?" Tyrion asked softly.
Sansa did not respond right away. Instead, she turned her face to look into his eyes before brushing her lips against his. Tyrion let the sponge go with a splash and cupped her cheek. The kiss was lingering and heated, filled with all the longing they both felt.
Sansa's answer came out in breathy gasps against his lips and Tyrion thought his heart might burst from his chest.
"How happy I am."