Even on the cusp of womanhood, Sansa was near perfection, with delicate facial features, beautiful auburn hair, and lovely, developing curves. She possessed none of the awkward appearance of other girls her age. As he groped her other breast, he heard a voice in the back of his mind, reminding him: It's her first time, be good to her…
Resting his forehead below her breasts, he snaked his hand between her legs. The girl clenched tight, entire body becoming rigid. He glanced up and saw her nervously chewing on her bottom lip, gaze locked on the ceiling. After a few quick strokes, her body began to respond. She took deep, shuddering breaths, trembling at the sensation of his touch. Even when drunk, Tyrion's fingers were deft.
"Who are you imagining in my place, Sansa? Who do you fantasize about?" he asked, working quicker.
"No," her voice was barely audible, as she tried to force back a sigh of pleasure.
"Who then?" the dwarf asked, "Who do you desire?" Sansa lay, sprawled out and breathless, and motioned for him to come closer, "Go on, sweetling, I can be anyone for you in the dark," he said, leaning in.
"Tyrion," his wife whispered.
"Tell me, and-"
"You, Tyrion," she explained quietly;
"Need I remind you that you do not have to tell lies on my behalf," he said softly, "I can pretend to be-"
"I am not a little girl anymore, and I don't need to pretend you are anyone other than exactly who you are."
Tyrion, left speechless, just stared at the girl. The last time a woman spoke to me like this… he tried to swallow back the lump forming in his throat, but it wouldn't budge. The image of a lovely, dark haired, low-born girl would crept into his mind like a sickness. He inadvertently shook his head, trying to remove such thoughts, and unlaced his breeches. His cock was already stiff, tip glistening wet. She is still just a girl, even if she claims otherwise. She hasn't a clue of what she's saying…he stared at her, sprawled out and naked, and licked his lips.
He stared at the girl, his wife, sprawled out and naked on his bed- their bed. He contemplated simply walking out of the room, without a word. He thought about facing his father in the morning, without consummating the political marriage he and Sansa had been forced into. He also thought about taking his dagger and plunging it into his lord father's chest. Absurdly enough, the thought of Tywin Lannister slowly choking to death on his own blood, only aroused Tyrion more.
"This is going to hurt, sweetling," he warned, and brought her thighs apart without resistance.
He positioned himself, as he had with countless women before. She screamed at first, her body stretching to accommodate him. A manic sickness overtook him, as he closed his eyes and thrusted himself deeper and harder, losing any sense of composure he clung to; in those few moments, he lost himself to the lustful beast everyone imagined him to be. The poor girl cried out as he ripped apart her maidenhead, but didn't shed a single tear.
"It's almost over," he murmured, "Almost over…"
Sansa's cries turned into soft whimpers with full penetration. With a final harsh thrust, causing the poor girl's body to jolt, he finished.
Tyrion had forgotten how good it felt to deflower a maiden. The rush that came with tearing away a girl's virginity, making her a woman. The wave of shamefulness nearly overcame him, and he bowed his head, rolling off of her. He tucked his limp cock away without cleaning off the blood.
"Your lord father will be pleased," Sansa said, breaking the heavy silence that engulfed the pair.
"Yes, he will," Tyrion replied, knowing that the mingling fluids were seeping into the sheets. He glanced at his wife, her eyes unmoving, fixed on a spot on the ceiling. An impossible mess to clean, he thought bitterly, turning to slide off of the bed. A hand shot out of the darkness, grabbing his arm.
"Where are you going?" Sansa asked.
"The deed is done."
"Please stay."
"I…," he paused, confused, "I will stay, as long as you wish me to."
Tyrion pulled himself back up next to her, and she threw her arms around him.
"You're all I have now," she explained, "Please, don't leave…"
"I won't," he replied, startled by her sudden clinginess; he chalked it up to the alcohol, and brought an arm around her to calm the poor girl down.
"Promise?" she asked, blue eyes locked on him, piercing through the darkness, "A promise you'll keep?"
"Yes, a promise I'll keep," he echoed, looking away. Sansa drew herself even closer, and within minutes, she began dozing off. Tyrion allowed himself to settle beside his wife, pushing a few auburn locks away from her face. I am no knight, he thought to himself, but I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe, and closed his eyes.
Incessant pounding on the door yanked Tyrion out of a dreamless sleep. He rolled out of bed, still in a haze, and nearly doubled over when his feet hit the floor. Stumbling to the door, he remembered the blade, snatching it off of the nightstand, not that he'd be able to do much with it: his hangover was wicked, and he could barely see straight. He gripped the blade all the same and opened the door. Two young women stood in the threshold, grinning from ear to ear, making him uneasy.
"I'm sorry, m'lord," the girl on the right began, "But Lord Tywin wants-"
"Yes, I know all about what Lord Tywin wants," Tyrion spat, bitterness in his voice, "Well, go on then, take what you must and leave."
The servant girls rushed past him, and into the bedchamber. Once Tyrion staggered back in, the pair woke Sansa. She stood, still bleary eyed, holding a blanket to cover herself. The two girls could barely conceal their glee as they stripped the bloodied sheet off of the bed. Tyrion could hear their giggles echoing down the hall as they rushed out.
"I am sorry, Sansa, for allowing my family to put you through even more humiliation," he apologized.
"I don't feel very well, my lord," she whispered.
Sansa swayed and collapsed to her knees. Tyrion rushed over to her, pulling back her thick, auburn hair. He knew what was coming, and just as he expected, Sansa spilled the contents of her stomach onto the floor. He watched as the bile began to seep into the cracks, as the girl kept on retching.
"I'm sorry," she coughed, wiping her mouth, as he helped her find her feet.
"This is my fault, do not blame yourself," Tyrion helped her back onto the bed, "Lay on your side, dear."
"Why?"
"In case you get sick again, you won't choke on your vomit."
The girl looked deathly pale and dehydrated, and Tyrion thought for a moment to call for the maester, but he knew that the old fool, Pycelle, would be of no help. He spied a jug of water on the night table, rarely used, but it was full. Taking an empty wine cup, he poured her a glass and asked her to drink.
"No more wine," she groaned, burying her face in the pillow; he smiled.
"It's just water, dear," he said, placing the cup within her reach. There was another sharp rap at the door, and once again, he snatched up the dagger, "I'll be right back."
As he strode toward the door, he half expected his lord father to be standing there, just as he had on the day his first wife was sent away. Tyrion remembered how he had to watch as each member of his father's guard raped his first wife. and how all of the silver coins she had been given in return overflowed out of her hands, rolling onto the floor. Tywin commanded that Tyrion go last, and when he finished, to give her a gold dragon. Because a Lannister is worth more…
"What do you want?" Tyrion snarled, not giving a single courtesy to whomever stood on the other side of the door; the shame from his past came back to haunt him, and his blood roiled at the thought of his father's satisfied smirk once he saw the bed sheet.
"Lord Tywin requires your presence at once, my lord," a man's voice replied, and Tyrion knew the man belonged to his father's guard.
"Tell him I'm busy," the dwarf spat.
"Lord Tywin requires your presence at once, my lord," he repeated. He wouldn't leave until Tyrion complied
"Tell Lord Tywin, I need time to properly dress, I've had a busy night," Tyrion shot back, as he went back into the bedchamber; Sansa hadn't moved.
"Sansa, I must speak with my lord father. I'll be back as soon as I can for you," he explained as he changed into fresh clothes, "I'm locking the door on my way out, but bolt it once I leave. Do not open it for anyone, not even for Sh- the handmaid. Do you understand?"
"Yes, my lord," she said, with a weak smile. He took her hand, kissed the tips of her fingers, and left, making sure to lock the door. The guardsman had stayed, just as Tyrion expected, and the man escorted him down the stairs, toward Lord Tywin's chambers.
"You're still here?" Tyrion asked, "I'm quite capable of making the walk to the Tower of the Hand alone."
"Oh, Little Lord," the guard sniggered, "I wouldn't miss your meeting with Lord Tywin for the world."
Tyrion did not like the smirk plastered across the man's face.
Entering the Hand of the King's chambers, Tyrion could see the sheet, spread across his father's writing table. The stain of blood, coagulated and dark, couldn't be overlooked, and as the dwarf walked in, the rest of the Tywin's guard had to stifle their laughter. Bile shot up into his throat, but he swallowed it back down, along with the shame.
"Lord Tywin," Tyrion's escort announced, "Your son, Lord Tyrion."
"You are dismissed," Tywin replied, waving his hand, "All of you, go."
As the guard left, a few snorts of laughter could be heard in the hall. Tyrion was already in a foul mood: hungover, the girls stealing the sheet, and now these idiots. Tywin only guaranteed to stoke his rage.
"Are you satisfied, father? I deflowered Sansa Stark."
"Sansa Lannister," Tywin corrected, "You did your duty to your family."
"Say what you must, and let me be on my way."
"You look hungover, Tyrion," his father countered, gazing back at the sheet, "But you were somehow able to perform."
"Yet another jape at my expense? How droll of you, father," Tyrion felt the heat creep up his neck, but said nothing.
"A fact. I had anticipated you disobeying my orders," Tywin continued, "And forcing me into having your union with Sansa happen by whatever means necessary. I will admit, I am mildly surprised, but then again, you wouldn't want a repeat of last time."
"Do not -"
"She was a whore."
Tyrion fell silent for a moment, and swallowed his pride. Nothing said at this moment would matter, but he decided to speak anyway, "I loved her all the same."
"You were a fool," Tywin spat, "You will do your duty and serve this family. You will put a child in your wife and secure our position in the North. You are dismissed."
"Why did you summon me here? Just to humiliate me in front of your guards? Is that it?"
"I summoned you here because you are my son," Tywin's harsh gaze bore into him, "Keep serving the family, the way you should, and you will be properly rewarded. Now, go."
Without a word, Tyrion turned on his heel and left. He didn't understand what his father meant by "reward. He did find it amusing, how everyone would balk at an imp becoming Lord of Winterfell and Casterly Rock. He thought about bringing Sansa to Winterfell and leaving Shae at the Rock. Tyrion quickly buried those ridiculous hopes, he knew that he could only fantasize of such a perfect ending for someone like himself.
