There were 513 steps between Tyrion's newest accommodations and the tower of the hand. He'd call them stairs, but the word didn't quite fit scattered about as they were. A few here, a few there, never more than 30 in one go. Stairs didn't fit, elevation changes was too long, and for all his books the only word he had left was steps.
So he walked the 513 stone steps, counting as he went. One hundred. Two hundred. At three hundred his legs began to ache but he kept walking and kept counting because it kept his mind off the upcoming meeting with Father.
Tyrion had yet to meet his father and walk away happy and he sincerely doubted a meeting called an hour passed dawn with no warning on the day of the Royal Wedding was going to end with hugs and wine. The only reason that came to mind for why his father might call him was if he had discovered Shae. And that thought wasn't worth thinking about so instead he counted.
400, 500, and when with tired, aching legs he reached the number 513 he schooled his features and knocked once on the solid oak door.
"Enter." Came Tywin's reply and Tyrion opened the door to the hand of the king.
"You asked to see me, Father?" He called, walking into the room that had once been his. Tywin sat behind the monstrous wooden desk buried in papers scribbling away with a quill. He didn't even look up as Tyrion entered.
"Sit." Tywin gestured at the empty seat before the desk, still not looking up. "We have something to discuss."
"Very well." Tyrion sat down on the hard chair glad that the chair had been made lower than most. Usually it made sure to reinforce a person's lower position. Now it just meant he didn't have to hop into it.
Tyrion sat in the chair waiting quietly for Tywin to begin, but he never did. He would finish writing in a piece of parchment, roll it up, seal it in wax, and set it to the side with a pile of other completed works before continuing the process again. After the third time the process had been completed Tyrion couldn't take the silence anymore.
"Father, I-"
"I'll be with you in a moment." The chittering of a quill on parchment continued. Tyrion sat with only that sound watching his father work with only the flickering candles lighting the contours of his face. Soon the sun would continue to rise and fill the room with its light, but for now it was just the two of them in flickering darkness.
"Do you know why I called you here?" Tywin asked, setting aside the last parchment he had been working on.
"Well based on the hour I can only assume you wanted to see the dawn break with your favorite son?"
"It has come to my attention that I have been remiss in your education," Tywin decided to ignore the quip. "And I intend to rectify that right now."
"And what might that be," Tyrion asked genuinely confused. "Unless they've added new letters to the alphabet I'm fairly certain I've learned everything."
"And yet you still seem to be unclear on how children are conceived. I had assumed that you would understand how it works giving your letching and whoring, but it would seem you still need to have this talk given to you by your father."
"I am quite certain of how children are conceived. I don't need any holes in my education covered. At least not by you."
"If you know how then why is your wife still a maiden? Do you think some sort of magic will happen," Tywin leaned back in his chair steepling his hand, "or perhaps all of your whores have made you forget how it works when there is no coin involved?"
"I have told you before that I will not rape her." Tyrion clenched his teeth and tightened his hold on the arm of the chair until his knuckles turned white. "If she is not willing then I will not bed her that is the end of it! Nothing you can say will change my mind."
The two sat staring at each other for moments that turned into minutes. Neither willing to look away or willing to be the first to speak. Until Tywin finally broke the silence.
"Tyrion, how do you see this ending?"
"Well I figured I'd refuse some more and you would order me to do so and I would refuse again until you grew angry and ordered me out while threatening me. Like we usually do."
"A petulant fool who thinks himself too clever by far. I see married life hasn't changed you at all." Tywin sneered.
"To be fair the seven wouldn't consider me married since we still haven't consummated. Perhaps there's still hope for me yet."
"If it hasn't happened in 35 years I doubt it will start now. No, what I want to know is how do you see this ending. Do you think I won't get my way eventually. We need the north and the key to the north lies within Sansa Stark's belly. You could be Lord of Winterfell one day."
"If you care so much about being Lord of Winterfell then why don't you just go and fuck her yourself," Tyrion spat. "I will not rape her."
The two sat in silence again staring at each other. The mornings light had barely begun to sneak in through the window.
"Very well." Tywin agreed at last.
Tyrion almost fell off his chair at that. "You're finally giving up on me making her with child?"
"Despite everything I cannot actually force you to do your duty to your house so if you will not then I will simply go with your other suggestion."
"My other suggestion?" Tyrion asked.
"You did just say I should, to quote you 'fuck her myself' did you not?"
Tyrion sat back with his mouth hanging open at the pronouncement. "What do you mean fuck her yourself?" He managed at last.
"You just said you didn't not need a lesson in sex. Which one is it Tyrion?" Amusement sparkled in Tywin's eyes and Tyrion narrowed his.
"She is my wife," he spat.
"Not according to the seven. The high septon owes his position to our family. With a few words and a girl with an intact maidenhead it will be easy enough to annul. Before the week is out we can be married and her with child."
"You cannot be serious."
"Have you ever known me to jape in such a matter, Tyrion?" Tywin leaned forward over the desk. "I may be old and while I may not live long enough to see my son grow to take over Winterfell I am still able to sire a child. Kevan will raise him or if necessary Jaimie."
"She is only a child," Tyrion protested.
"She is old enough to do her duty the same as you. How many thousands of deaths could be avoided because the north is under our control? Once Cersei has married Loras and Jofferey to Margaery Highgarden will be in the fold. Outside of Dorne and the Iron Islands there will be no one left to oppose us."
Tywin stood up from behind the desk and walked to the wall where a map of Westeros lay. Pins and markings of all colors spread across it. "The family will grow. The family will prosper. The family will be great."
Tyrion looked down at the stone floor as though studying it. Each crack and imperfection sealing itself in his mind as he considered his father's words. "And if I refuse," he called at last.
"Refuse?" Tywin asked turning around. "Refuse what? This is what will happen if you refuse to do your duty."
"And if I refuse to go along with your plan. If I refuse to get the annulment? If I refuse to allow you to rape a child?" Tyrion asked, voice growing louder with each question. "What will you do then?"
"You will be cut off from the family. You will have no gold, no position, no land. You will be a dwarf in the middle of a war. And then it will happen anyway. Have you not yet learned that I always get my way?"
"Yes that has become very clear," Tyrion gritted out through clenched teeth. "So my options are to rape a child or allow you to do so."
"Call it what you will, but you have until the end of the feast to decide. Rather than attend the wedding you can stay in your chambers with your 'wife'. If you can do your duty, then tomorrow life will go on as it has. If not, well you know what will happen."
Tywin sat back down behind the desk and picked up another piece of parchment and began scribbling away. "You can go now." He gestured dismissively at Tyrion.
"You are too kind, Father." Tyrion stood and walked out of the room in a haze of anger barely even noting the white cloaked guard following him. The anger followed him even closer as he walked thoughts of his father and his threats consuming him. Tyrion began to mutter under his breath about family and duty. He'd made it almost halfway to his chambers before the next thought finally struck him.
How was he going to tell Sansa?
The thought made him stop in the middle of the hall and the sound of a cloak whispered behind him. Servants and maids passed all around him, but he paid them no mind. What was he going to tell Sansa? How was he to explain to her that she got the honor of choosing between the dwarf whose family killed hers or the man who had arranged the entire thing? Never mind that the youngest of the two was still 20 years older.
"Keep moving, Imp." The words came with a harsh shove and Tyrion barely stopped from falling to his knees. He turned back to see Ser Maryn Trant standing behind him.
"Was that really necessary?" Tyrion asked
"Your father has ordered you and your wife to your chambers for the day. His order made it clear that this was to be done with all due expediency. Now get moving."
"And if I don't want to get moving?" Tyrion almost regretted the question as soon as it was asked. His mouth had always gotten him into more trouble than it was worth and he could see on Trant's face exactly what he would like to do.
"If you weren't a member of the royal family you would simply be cut down. As it stands your father has ordered that if you do not cooperate you are to be carried. If I have to carry you then you can be damn certain you will not enjoy it. Now move."
Trant was never the most expressive member of the Kingsguard and even in anger it was hard to read him, but stories of exactly what kind of a man Trant was got around and Tyrion wasn't in a hurry to test them. No matter how little he wanted to go back to Sansa.
So he began to walk starting at step 279, over half way there. And much like the trip to start he kept his count and just the same to keep his mind off the upcoming conversation he was to have. What was he supposed to say, 'Sansa, darling. Have I ever shown you why the Maester at my birth thought I had a third leg? Oh and by the by it's either this or my father so let's get going!' Even in his mind the words became twisted.
No, better not to think about it at all. Better to enjoy the last few moments of peace he'd have for a while. 300, 400, 500. In the blink of an eye the 513 came and he stood outside a plain wooden door with a dour faced white cloak by his side.
"In." Was all Trant said and Tyrion glanced around hoping for a last minute reprieve or at least an escape route. A few gold cloaks glimmered down the hall and he knew that even that wasn't going to happen. Not that he would have made it far anyway.
"Can I have a last request at least?" He asked Trant with all the joy of a man before the gallows.
"Of course," Trant replied. "You can have any request you like. So long as it's me pushing you inside."
"That's not exactly-" And with a start Tyrion was pushed through a doorway he hadn't even noticed was open. Leather boots skidded across the stone floor until he stopped with a harsh bang as the door closed behind him. A soft click as the lock fell into place of its own accord.
Sansa stood in the middle of the room cloaked in the purple dress that was to be her outfit for the wedding. Hair half braided before the hand maids had been forced from the room. She stood there in the morning light looking at him in confusion.
Suddenly Tyrion's lips felt incredibly dry and his head began to pound as though he'd been drinking all night. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
"Is everything alright, my lord." She spoke softly, sweetly as she had been brought up to do and Tyrion cursed his father and family for all that they make him do.
"No, no, nothing is alright."