A/N: There are no sufficient apologies for not being able to update this story in THREE FREAKING YEARS. Instead of boring you with the details of my epic procrastination that rivals GRRM's, I will offer you this early Christmas present. This is the second to the last chapter and the concluding chapter is far longer than any of the individual chapters of this work, so please bear with me because I may only get to post it next year. I'll be breaking your hearts again with that so for now, a balm to appease your troubled souls. Here is a pretty...fluffy chapter when you compare it to the previous ones. This is the calm BEFORE THE STORM.
And please do me a kindness of searching this story in archiveofourown. I will be posting all of the chapters there so y'all can have PDF/EPUB copies of this. Leave me some kudos and feedback if you can!
The Night is Dark and Full of Terrors
The stories can't all be lies, Sansa once argued when Cersei Lannister challenged and mocked her beliefs about tradition, chivalry and romance months ago when she had her moon blood for the first time. The queen regent looked at her with a blend of fury and amusement in her expression when Sansa spoke up which was regretful to begin with. But then Cersei Lannister asked, Do you want to be loved, Sansa?
Sansa held the older woman's heavy gaze steadily even when she wasn't sure how to answer that question best. But she tried to anyway and replied, Everyone wants to be loved.
She thought Cersei Lannister would laugh at her in derision again but she didn't. She looked at Sansa with a soft and pained expression she hasn't seen in the older woman before. It still haunted Sansa to this day. She wondered why the queen regent was sad to hear her response. Sansa thought about it as she now lay next to her husband.
It was the first time that they decided to share their marriage bed. Tyrion had his back turned from her, already fast asleep. When he arrived to their chambers earlier, he seemed solemn, as if something was bothering him. Sansa knew better than to ask. Once in bed together, Tyrion didn't even try to touch or hold her which baffled Sansa, seeing as they were both so eager to be with each other two days ago. She decided that he must be tired. His duties as the new master of coin must be taking its toll now.
Sansa glanced at the curve of his back furtively and wondered if she should wrap her arms around him, but that might wake him up. She let out a sigh and shifted in her position so she could face the other wall. She tried to empty her mind from any line of thought but the proximity of her husband next to her was starting to make her feel uneasy. Not in the usual, dreadful way akin to the way Joffrey makes her feel when he's near. She couldn't explain it. It was like a pressure at the back of her mind, insisting that she face her husband and put her hands all over him. The thought intrigued her and she wondered if she should just act on it. But she didn't want to wake Tyrion. He wouldn't be pleased to have someone touch him while he slept, would he?
Annoyed with her contemplation and hesitation, Sansa turned around to face her husband again. He was motionless, covered in thick blankets. With a slow yet deliberate movement, Sansa's hand reached for his spine, tracing her two fingers against it. She then moved to cup his shoulder, squeezing gently. Tyrion still didn't react. She sighed and moved closer as said hand moved down to rest on top of his elbow. Sansa placed her chin on his shoulder now, breathing out, almost into his ear. This time, Tyrion roused. Sansa stifled a gasp and removed her hand. She was tempted to move away. But then her husband opened his eyes, staring blankly upwards for a few seconds before he turned to look at her. It took him another few seconds before he realized what was going on. When he did, he abruptly sat up and asked. "Is something the matter, my lady?"
"No," Sansa answered. "I was..." What? What were you doing, foolish girl?
Tyrion frowned. "Are you cold? Do you require more blankets?"
No, just your warmth. "I'm fine, thank you, my lord."
"Are you sure?" Tyrion then placed his hand on the top of her hand which was clutching the covers close to her. The contact was very brief since he immediately pulled back but that was all it took. Something very deep and persistent stirred inside Sansa. She moved close to Tyrion and captured his mouth with a kiss. A strained sound escaped his lips which actually delighted Sansa. She pressed her mouth against his with all the eagerness she could muster and it was only when she pulled away slightly that she realized that she was already pinning him down against the pillows. Sansa felt bad and apologized. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"
"Gods," Tyrion spoke up and it made Sansa afraid. He may be angry at her now for treating him so disrespectfully and crushing him under the weight of her body. But then his next action took her aback. With both hands, he reached out for her cheeks and pulled her down for another kiss. She wasn't prepared for the way that chilled and warmed her skin all at once. Her stomach even started hurting a little and she couldn't understand why. Despite that sensation, Sansa leaned into the kiss without even thinking about it. Her actions were not her own anymore. She pulled back to gasp for breath but immediately dove in again. Sansa cradled Tyrion's head with both hands as she crushed their mouths together. She made noises that she was quite shameful of while it happened but that seemed to please Tyrion because she felt his hands cupping her breasts from the blanket covers that separated them. He gave them a squeeze. That made her cheeks flush so hot that she thought she could faint.
His fingers expertly moved against the soft mounds of flesh, and Sansa pulled back from the kiss once more to look at him, though she dreaded the expression in his face. But Tyrion only smiled at her and asked. "Is this acceptable to you, my lady?"
"What?" Sansa replied numbly, her mind far too gone to come up with something meaningful to say at the moment. So instead she sat up and placed her hands on top of his as they were still on her chest and Tyrion understood clearly what she wanted before she could even think and verbalize it. He rose up to bury his face on her bosom and for a while Sansa wondered what he was going to do. When she felt his mouth moving, she glanced down and saw him—unlacing her smallclothes with his teeth. Gods, Sansa thought as she gulped down something hard on her throat and closed her eyes. Once she was exposed, Tyrion kept his hands on both her breasts as he suckled one and then the other alternately in a maddening rhythm that Sansa could even feel inside her thighs.
"Wait…" she tried to speak up. Tyrion didn't seem to hear it. She said it again, this time forcefully pushing his head back away from her. "Stop…m-my lord. I'm sorry but…"
She was afraid that he might get angry at her sudden refusal. Joffrey and the Hound got mad at her when she had dissuaded their advances before. What more could be said about her husband who is entitled to her body by the laws of the seven?
But Tyrion merely chuckled. The mixture of amusement and desire in his features almost cut her deep in the most pleasurable manner she didn't believe was possible. There was also a twinkle in his eye that made her want to kiss him again and hold on for life.
"It's quite all right, Sansa," Tyrion said. "I told you that I won't let you do something you're not comfortable with. I swore to all the gods and men to take care of you."
Sansa nodded at that as she let out a relieved sigh. But then it occurred to her that she was still sitting on top of him as he lay there back against the covers. "My lord," she began, her anxiety rising back again. She also started lacing up her smallclothes in slight panic. "Am I hurting you? I'm sorry—"
"Sansa!" Tyrion started laughing now. That further embarrassed her. She made a movement to get off him but then Tyrion caught her wrist. "No, stay there, my love."
Sansa opened her mouth to say something about that. Hearing him refer to her as such came as a shock to the both of them and they ended up looking away from each other. Tyrion cleared his throat, still clutching her wrist. "Listen, Sansa," he began as he gazed at her again. "There is nothing to be nervous about. I know that this is a delicate situation for a maiden of your virtue, but I can assure you that I will be patient and helpful every step of the way." He held her hand now. "I want you to trust me."
"I do," she answered sheepishly. "You know how I feel about you."
She looked back at him now and saw him blushing. He cleared his throat again.
"Yes," he replied. With his other hand, he placed it on her hip and his fingers felt hot even against her smallclothes. Sansa watched his expression the entire time. Tyrion was no longer looking at her but was instead focused on his hand on her hip. There was something about the way he just lay there, admiring her on top of him, that quickened her breathing in anticipation of what's about to happen next. He was so quiet and contemplative for a while now so Sansa decided to break the silence.
"My lord—Tyrion," she began. "I have to…I need to be honest with you about something. Promise me you won't get angry."
"Of course, Sansa," Tyrion's eyes were back on hers again and that comforted her.
"The Hound," she began, not sure how to go on.
A flash of concern passed by her husband's features. "What about him?"
"He came to me during the battle," she explained. "He…kissed me."
Tyrion met her gaze steadily but his expression was inscrutable. He said nothing.
"My lord, I'm sorry."
"No," Tyrion answered. "There is nothing to fear, Sansa." He paused. "Is that all?"
Sansa shook her head.
Now Tyrion looked genuinely perturbed. "Did he—?"
"He…tried." Sansa couldn't expound further. She was closing her eyes tightly now, hoping she could disappear. She didn't hear him speak so she opened her eyes to see his face. Tyrion was just looking at her but his eyes are alive with something that is not rage but something closer to that at least. She tried to explain then, "I didn't let him. And then I never saw him again. I swear by the gods and the honor of my—"
"Hush, my lady." Tyrion finally said. "It is nothing for you to be ashamed of. You are a woman bled when he came to you. I understand if you somewhat…enjoyed the attention and the feeling that he brought out when he touched you."
Sansa felt like crying. "I didn't mean for it to be so…"
Tyrion cocked his head to the side now and then he smiled, squeezing her hand with his. "Sweet Sansa, it's a normal thing. After all, what you've experienced then when the Hound kissed you and what you're experiencing now with me are similar things."
"No," Sansa found herself answering without thinking. "They're not."
"Sansa—"
"I don't mean to act very childish about this but please stop talking to me as if I am one." She let his hand go and moved to sit on the other side of the bed where she proceeded to glare at him. "I'm well aware about certain feelings that men and women share when they engage in such activities. I've been talking to the lady Margaery. She told me things that allowed me to make better sense of how I felt then with the Hound and I am telling you now, my lord, that what I feel for you doesn't compare."
"I—" Tyrion began as he turned to face her but Sansa cut him off.
"Please, listen." Sansa went on. "When the Hound took me in his arms and forced down a kiss, I wasn't sure how to conduct myself but I was also very afraid so I tried to appease him. He ended up pushing me toward the bed. Again, I allowed it. I was under duress and I felt…sorry for him. He was kind to me in his own way. And I simply wanted to assure him that…" she paused. "There was fire during the battle. He fears the fires. I wanted to comfort him." Sansa closed her eyes again, remembering the memory and it almost broke her heart all over again. She shook it away and looked into her husband's eyes now.
"But I felt hollow inside so I stopped him from going further. I didn't want him though I know he wanted me. He also wanted me to come with him. He promised that he will take me away so no one will hurt me again. And I refused because I couldn't trust him. Back then, I wasn't sure how to trust any man…not the way I trust you now, Tyrion."
Her husband just nodded. He waited for her to go on.
She took his hand again and gave it a squeeze. "I'm not ashamed because I felt aroused when the Hound touched me because you were right, it is a normal thing. What I am ashamed of was that I mistook his advances as a sincere form of affection and allowed myself to give in only because I was afraid I will never be held by a man like that again."
Sansa smiled now as she pulled Tyrion's hand to kiss it. She looked at him again and said. "I was relieved that I made the right decision at that moment. Even then, I was holding out for my beloved, and my patience was obviously rewarded."
It was a gratifying sight to see the way Tyrion's cheeks color the moment she said that. He slowly pulled their clasped hands together towards him now. He doesn't look like he had any response to what she instead, so instead he placed his other free hand on her cheek and gave her another lingering kiss. When she leaned in against him, he dropped his hands to grip her hips and Sansa knew what he wanted now so she obeyed and rested on top of him again. Once there, Sansa pulled back to gaze down at him with tenderness. Tyrion still gripped her hips, holding her gaze with the same intensity. But when she parted her legs, thinking that he'd want to take her this way, Tyrion spoke up. "No, Sansa. Not tonight."
"Oh," Sansa could only say. Embarrassed, she moved back to the other side again. Tyrion was staring at her the entire time. Once she was in place, he pulled the covers up to her and patted her on the lap.
"You have early lessons tomorrow with the septas," Tyrion explained. "Do get some rest so you'll be refreshed for them."
"I understand, my lord," she replied rather stiffly.
Tyrion sighed as he removed his hand from her lap. "Sansa, you know I want you."
She looked at him and smiled but then that smile quickly disappeared when she saw the same disheartened expression in his face. She should ask him what's wrong, shouldn't she? But Tyrion added. "But not tonight. Let's sleep, my lady." And then he lay back down the bed himself and closed his eyes, effectively cutting off any kind of communication between them. She was growing suspicious of this, but Sansa decided to let it pass. They will have more time to talk about things. They are man and wife after all.
Still, as she lay there on her side, she couldn't help but wonder why Tyrion seems rather hot one moment and cold the next. Could it be because of the demands of his work? If he wanted her, then why doesn't he claim her? She had given him the permission to do so tonight and he didn't take it. Sansa turned to her left and closed her eyes, trying not to think about this quandary anymore, at least for the time being.
Tyrion watched Sansa and Ser Loras together for the second time this week. Neither of them knew of his presence from the corner where the pillar stone hid him in sight. Across them, both Septa Cora and Lady Margaery played their respective lyres as Sansa and Ser Loras danced in perfect timing and grace. They glided as a pair very comfortably as if it was the most natural thing, and Tyrion has never seen Sansa radiate the way she did whenever the handsome knight would twirl her around and catch her just in time. She would chuckle whenever their eyes would meet afterwards and Ser Loras would beam back at her.
Tyrion was sharply reminded of his own siblings. Cersei and Jaime are so beautiful to watch especially when they would dance together. Tyrion had loved watching them when he was younger but that soon turned to envy as the years went by. Jaime, in spite of the goodness of his intentions, tried to make him dance with one of their help's children, a girl named Ashana who was about nine years of age and was therefore much shorter than him at fourteen. It went well when it was just the three of them in the balcony but when Cersei came in, she said the most cruel and demeaning of remarks. The worst part was that the child could understand what she meant and Ashana ended up laughing along at his sister's cruel japes. When Jaime tried to step in, it was far too late. Tyrion moved away from Ashana and rushed back to his chambers, ashamed that he was going to cry if he didn't hide in time.
"Well done, my lady!" Margaery Tyrell was saying. "And you too, brother. You and the lady Stark make quite a lovely pair, if I dare say so."
"Thank you, my lady," Sansa answered, still smiling. She obviously couldn't contain her joy and Tyrion should be pleased that she's finally learning to smile again. But Sansa smiled because Ser Loras made her feel happy and secure when they danced, and for that reason Tyrion felt like he was a young boy again back at Casterly Rock with a cruel sister and a wilfully ignorant brother; so unwanted that he can only look outside his own family like a stranger in the shadows (which, to be fair, is something he's presently doing now).
He decided to walk away before he saw something that would send him despairing further into the depths. While he walked off, he chuckled in a self-deprecating manner, choosing now to regard the situation with detachment and humor.
He does not doubt that Sansa does love him. They have endured enough trials to know that their feelings can withstand anything. Their friendship had also given them hope especially when hope seemed like the last thing they could inspire in each other. And yet Tyrion feels…inadequate somehow. But why? After all, Sansa expressed that she desired him as well last night. It was disturbing, to say the least, for a woman of Sansa's demeanor and integrity to want someone as—what, Tyrion? As ugly and unwanted as you, dwarf man?
Tyrion scoffed as he pushed the door leading to the chambers where Podrick abruptly stood up from the chair, awaiting for his command.
"Some wine, my lord?" the boy asked with a goblet ready. Tyrion took it and made himself comfortable by the window as he waited for Pod to fetch him his fill.
Bronn stepped in a moment later, grinning. Tyrion glared at him. "I don't recall sending for you." He paused. "And what in the god of cunts' name are you wearing?"
"I was fitted yesterday afternoon for new robes," For effect, the sellsword turned around to accentuate his brand new armor that had a sigil of a burning chain with green flames (in honor of his contribution to the Blackwater battle). Tyrion almost wanted to make another comment, but he doesn't want to come off envious because he clearly isn't.
"Do you like it, Tyrion?" Bronn wasn't exactly the type of man to look for validation, especially a superficial one at that so Tyrion knew he was merely testing his patience.
"Fine garments and fine armor," Tyrion answered, "for a less than noble scourge of a man." He gulped down his wine and asked Pod for another fill.
"I think the green brings out the dark in my eyes, no?"
"Yes, like pools of ink and death."
"What's with the face?" Bronn finally stopped admiring himself so he could give Tyrion a lingering gaze as he went on. "You look like you haven't had a good fuck in centuries. And I assume I'm right on that regard, all things considered. You and Shae are avoiding each other. And the Stark girl is a child you claim you would not caress."
"What I do in my marriage bed is not something you are free to openly mock." Tyrion gestured for Podrick for another fill. "You forget your place."
Bronn stepped to the left to block Podrick. The squire could only stand helplessly as Bronn took the bottle of wine away from his hands. "Oh, I know my place. I'm standing between you and your wasteful indulgence of a poison which could dull that crafty head of yours. I didn't know Cersei already died and made you the royal drunk of this place."
"Your concern is deeply moving my bowels, Bronn."
"You know I'm right." To make his point, Bronn gulped down the rest of his wine.
"You puny, insolent—" Tyrion tried to stand up but felt instantly dizzy. Pod rushed to his side to keep him steady. Angrily, Tyrion pushed him slightly away. He looked up at Bronn who was grinning wide. Sighing, Tyrion remarked. "Dare I ask again, why are you here?"
Bronn chuckled. "No reason. Maybe I was just thirsty." He shook the bottle for effect.
Despite himself, Tyrion chuckled back. "You do realize that one day you will outlive all usefulness to me and I might have you hanged just for being disrespectful."
"One day," Bronn poured what was left of the bottle into Tyrion's goblet which the other man raised up immediately. "But not today."
The wine had lulled him to sleep much sooner than he thought, and Tyrion found himself waking up to the scent of freshly cooked meat and the night-sky outside as he perched on the nearby large window. He could hear hushed voices and recognized his squire and lady wife conversing. He rubbed his eyes and turned towards them. Sansa immediately caught his gaze and offered a smile. He returned it in all sheepishness as he fully sat up.
"Dinner is almost served, my lord." Podrick spoke up first.
"That's quite all right," Tyrion steadied himself as he tried to stand. He didn't want to repeat another embarrassing situation from earlier. When he managed to keep himself upright, he slowly walked towards the table where Sansa waited.
Without even a second thought, Podrick was already pouring his goblet. When the goblet touched his lips, he almost choked. He glanced at Pod, half-scolding him. "Water?"
"Apologies, my lord, but…" the squire trailed off.
"What, Podrick?" Tyrion wasn't pleased at all.
"Ser Bronn stole all the wine bottles."
"All of them?" Tyrion was almost enraged if it wasn't a little funny.
"Just the ones in your own personal storage, my lord."
From across the table, Sansa was laughing softly. "I suppose Ser Bronn was merely trying to discourage you from drinking too much, Tyrion."
He looked at Sansa for a while, not sure what his response should be. When he found it, he answered. "You mistake Bronn for a caring man. He is not. I'm not paying him for his personal opinion or gesture of kindness as you seem to think he is capable of. Besides, I can handle my drink. I'm not my sister after all. It's not like I'm already pissing wine or anything!"
Sansa looked amused. "Would you wait until that happens then, my lord?"
"Yes!" Tyrion almost proclaimed aloud. "I can drink as much as I want."
Frowning, Sansa reached for her own goblet. "Then I shall join you. Podrick, please fetch some wine from the other cellar, if you could."
Podrick looked at Tyrion first as if waiting for that request to be approved first but Sansa was quick to reprimand him. "This lady commands you, faithful squire."
"Yes, apologies, Lady Sansa." Podrick hurried off then.
Tyrion watched Sansa before saying anything in response. He had never seen her in this light before. She looked almost otherworldly with her newfound confidence, and Tyrion wasn't sure he liked it but he couldn't exactly disapprove. For the longest time Sansa Stark was the saddest and most pitiful young girl he has ever met and now she looked as regal as she was always meant to be as a noble lady who belonged to a major house. Kissed by fire as ever, her hair was luminous even when braided to her side in a modest manner. Her eyes which used to be filled with so much apprehension, if not with tears, are glowing now. She was looking at him as if she could easily read his soul from where she sat.
Recovering from his reverie, Tyrion finally answered. "You can't drink with me, Sansa."
"Oh?" Sansa's voice was soft but the slyness behind it was unmistakable. "I only want to experience the joys that my lord husband seems to find from his drink which I believe are also able to slake more than his thirst. " She paused, smiled wider and asked. "Would he deny this pleasure from me?" She said nothing afterwards but her gaze might as well have added: As he denied the pleasure of bedding me last night?
Tyrion frowned darkly. "Do not test me on this, my lady."
"I am a woman grown, Tyrion," Sansa answered back.
Podrick emerged, carrying the bottle. He looked back and forth from the two of them, waiting for any commands but neither of them spoke up.
Finally, Tyrion waved a hand in surrender and Pod understood. He poured the wine in both their goblets and then stood there between them as he waited for any other orders.
Sansa reached for the goblet and pressed the rim to her lips, watching Tyrion as she did. Tyrion did the same but with a more solemn manner. What is she trying to prove?
They drank in silence. Sansa gracefully sipped her share while Tyrion finished everything in one gulp. Before he could ask Podrick for more, Sansa spoke up first and said, "You may leave us, Podrick. I wish to discuss a sensitive matter with my husband." She gave him a smile, "I will send for you later. And by then you will know what to do."
"Yes, my lady," Podrick didn't look at Tyrion at all as he practically ran out of the room.
"Well," Tyrion adjusted in his seat which was so uncomfortable all of a sudden. He looked at his plate mournfully in spite of the appetizing dish laid on it. "What are you conspiring with my squire all of a sudden? Are you throwing me a small nameday celebration tonight?" He picked up the fork and stabbed the meat before him, almost sullenly.
Sansa just sighed before she answered. "Are you certain nothing is bothering you, my love?" She placed down the goblet she had been holding for a while now. "You seem more preoccupied than usual and I'm very worried. I hope you don't find me saying this disrespectful but it feels as though you refuse to confide in me whatever it is that ails you."
Oh, for fuck's sake. Tyrion knew he was being incorrigible, he really was. His sweet lady wife is not to blame for his strange, dark moods. It's that damnable Shae and her cryptic last words to him the night before. It's Ser Loras for being able to make Sansa so jubilant earlier this afternoon, all because of his perfect curly brown locks and the rest of his audaciously good looks and breeding. And seven hells, it's also Cersei's fault. It's always her fault.
"Sansa," Tyrion began but could not continue for a few seconds. When he summoned enough sense and clarity, he added. "I'm just exhausted from…being a Master of coin. Of being the great Tywin Lannister's son. About…everything, really," he chuckled but it came out too grimly. "And I'm very sorry for last night. I knew I wasn't very attentive at all, and right after you felt the need to confess about what happened with Clegane for whatever imagined slight you think I may take offense of." He pushed himself off the table. That took some effort, considering his legs are even wobblier than usual. But Tyrion persisted and he walked towards the end of the table where his wife sat, waiting for him with that anxious expression in her face. It was awful to look at. With a trembling hand, he touched her shoulder.
"I don't know what else to tell you to assure you I'm not hiding anything," The words tasted bitter in his mouth. "I vowed to be honest with you and I intend to honor that promise. However," he sighed again and then continued, "there are a few things about me that I would like to keep private, but not because I don't trust you. Perhaps it has more to do with the fact that I don't trust myself to share it yet," he gazed into her eyes, "even if it meant creating some distance between us."
Sansa raised her chin up slightly, her eyes narrowing. "And you're willing to risk that?"
"Risk what?"
"Creating a distance between us?" Sansa moved her hand to touch his cheek. Her fingers were so warm. Tyrion felt instantly ashamed. "There is nothing more than I need from you," she almost whispered, "than your guarantee that we will never be driven apart. Not by anyone, not by the gods themselves, not even by each other."
"I cannot," Tyrion swallowed, "—guarantee that, Sansa."
I am often the architect of my own destruction.
She closed her eyes and sighed. Her hand dropped from his face and then she moved away. For a moment he was afraid she will leave him there but then she only stood up and stretched her hand towards him. He looked down at it, puzzled.
Instead of addressing him, Sansa called for Podrick's name instead.
The squire arrived quickly. Tyrion glanced at him and saw that he was holding a lyre. Before he could inquire where he got that damn thing, let alone be able to play it as Podrick began striking the strings with his fingers, Sansa was saying something to Tyrion.
"My lord and my love," she said, "Will you dance with me?"
"Wh—?" Tyrion almost took a step back away from her.
Sansa insisted though. "Please. I've been learning. Ser Loras was kind enough to show me during my sessions with the septas."
I was there. I knew that.
"I asked Lady Margaery in passing about dancing and she was so generous to offer her help. I wanted to...dance with you, Tyrion."
Why? His chest felt like it was murdering him.
He was suddenly enraged. "Did you tell them?"
"Tell them what, my lord?" Sansa looked defeated as she lowered her hand when it was obvious he wouldn't take it. "Are you all—"
"Did you tell the lady Margaery and her brother that you intend to have me dance with you?" Tyrion knew he was asking that question with a loud voice. Podrick immediately stopped playing the tune, nervously darting his eyes from him to Sansa.
"Why are you raising your voice at me?" she sounded angry herself.
"I will do as I like," Tyrion clenched his fists.
Sansa didn't back down, however. "As will I!"
She stepped forward then and took both his clenched fists. The moment she made contact, Tyrion felt his resolve crumbling. He looked away from her face and hated her then for trying to appease his temper by soothing him with her tender touch.
"Please," Sansa whispered as she knelt down to reach his height. Before Tyrion could react to the indignity of her stooping so low just to reach him, she had pressed her forehead against his. All he could see now are the ears that are starting to form against her eyelashes.
"Tyrion," she whispered again and he felt her breath touch his lips. "I beg of you, don't you hide from me. Don't…put up walls like I did with you before. That's not fair."
Tyrion closed his eyes and felt so hollow.
"We have come so far," Sansa pulled back now and she blinked her tears away as she tried to smile. "And we have always found a way. Together."
"I'm sorry," Tyrion took her hands and squeezed them. "I'm so sorry for being a wretched fool. I almost hurt you there, didn't I?"
Sansa shook her head and raised their hands so she could kiss his.
"Sansa, I adore you," Tyrion could hardly hear himself because of how loud his heartbeat pounded against his ears. "But I just…sometimes I still don't feel I deserve you."
"Why not?" Sansa was beginning to tear up again which was the last thing he wanted. That's why he didn't want to talk about this. "What else do you need to stop thinking of such horrible things?" She encircled her arms around him in a protective embrace.
"There are things I could never give you…" he squeezed his eyes shut as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. The scent of her hair—the warmth of her skin—he felt dizzy and frightened; overwhelmed by the realization that she really did want to belong to him. Why would you want me? Watch how you need to kneel just to reach me.
"Sansa, I cannot dance with you," he finally admitted. "Think of how ridiculous that would look! Even in our private chambers, let alone out there in court."
Sansa slowly disentangled herself from him to watch him speak. He went on. "And I saw you with Ser Loras earlier. You looked radiant and he was just perfect for you. You fit so well in his arms. And you…giggle whenever he would turn you and catch you by the waist as you fall back into him…" Tyrion shut his eyes again then blinked wildly so the tears won't come. "I could never do that. Look at how stunted my legs are! How short the width of my arms!" He moved them to demonstrate his point. "Look at the scar that almost took out my nose. Look at how malformed and ill-made the rest of my body is!"
He could hear Podrick walking out of the chamber and closing the doors behind him to give them the privacy. Tyrion started to wheeze a little, feeling curiously out of breath.
His lady wife said nothing. She just watched him with tear-stained cheeks.
"This isn't the fairy tale you wanted, Sansa," he said. "And you deserve that."
With a gentle smile now, Sansa wiped her tears away. As their gazes locked on each other, she lowered herself further on the ground, almost sitting. Tyrion was about to command her to stand upright again but then she started to speak.
"Long ago," she said, "before Cersei had him taken away, my father made a promise to find someone worthy of me who is brave, gentle and strong."
Her voice quivered as she reached out a careful hand to touch his chest. "And for a time since he died, I almost gave up hope." She winced when she tried to smile and her eyes began to water again. Tyrion didn't fight his own tears as he listened.
"But there you are one day in the throne room," she continued, "when Joffrey and his knights had me beaten—and you reached out." She paused to sigh and cry for a little bit before she pressed on again, "Tyrion, you saved my life! And you kept reaching out to me since, and I'm sorry—my love, I am so sorry that it took me a while to reach back."
Pulling herself from the ground now so she could place both hands to cup his cheeks, Sansa said with a clearer voice matching the conviction of her words, "but I'm here now."
Tyrion nodded as he laid his hands on top of hers.
"And I want you, only you, because you are a thousand times more of a man than anyone I've ever met." She kissed him hard on the mouth then, holding nothing back.
Before Tyrion could respond properly, she pulled away again and muttered against his lips, "You were everything that my father had promised—and so—much—more."
She kept kissing his lips between the last three words.
"Sansa…" Tyrion managed to gasp out her name the second she allowed him some breathing space, but not for long. Winding her arms tightly around his frame, Sansa slowly pushed him down the ground and Tyrion didn't dare resist her invitation this time. He pulled at her dress and ripped through the fabric with his deft but trembling fingers. Her eyes widened in shock but she didn't let him go. Tyrion buried his face in her bosom as he struggled to pull at the laces behind her back, and Sansa obliged him, hastening the unravelling of her flesh with an agility and confidence he was continued to be surprised by.
When she stood up to pull down her gown, looking as if she doesn't care either that it's almost completely ruined, Tyrion took her hand and walked her towards the door. When he pushed it open, Podrick stood there with a ready smile which dispersed as soon as he saw the state of his lady wife's undress. He turned away without being told to and then started to pick up the trail of clothes that Tyrion and Sansa left behind as they walked together, not even bothering to stop and properly pull their garments off from one another. Their bedchambers are close by anyway, and Podrick was half-running behind them, carrying the pile of discarded clothes on his arms. Sansa used her back to push the doors open and then she tugged at Tyrion who is now shirtless and preoccupied on unbuckling his belt.
Wearing only her thin smallclothes, Sansa sat on the bed with her thighs slightly parted, and watched in glee as Tyrion crawled on top of her and kissed her neck. He nibbled and licked at the spot she never realized could make her toes curl as his hands cupped the swell of her breasts, thumbs circling around her now erect nipples. She opened her eyes only to see Podrick still picking up their garments from the floor.
"My lord," she tried not to burst out laughing as Tyrion turned his head to see the squire awkwardly trying to fold everything without looking at either of them.
"In the name of R'hllor's cock, Podrick!" he shouted and tried to throw a pillow at him but the boy in question was already running out. He shut the doors behind him.
Sansa collapsed on the sheets with a thankful sigh as she pulled her husband's face with both hands to kiss him senseless. The kiss went on and on and on until both their heads are spinning and their lips are going numb. Tyrion sat up and urged her to turn around so he could properly remove the laces. She protested, asking him to just tear at them like he did with the rest but he laughed and tickled her on the side so she would lie on her stomach.
As soon as she did, Tyrion went for the lace, smirking, until he noticed…
…the scars.
Sensing his hesitation, Sansa spoke up, "What is it, my love?"
"Oh, it's—"
She must have realized what he was looking at because she tried to turn around but then Tyrion hushed her and massaged her shoulder blades. "Sweet Sansa, it's okay."
He could feel her shaking underneath his palms.
"How—" she cleared her throat and asked again. "How do they look?"
Tyrion traced a furtive finger on the slashes, his throat clogging as he felt the depth of each cruel laceration; all of these long and harsh abominations embedded permanently on the flesh of his beloved. The little shit Joffrey had marked her with so many wounds that scarred forever an otherwise luminescent pale skin.
But it didn't matter now.
"Like you, they are testaments of strength," Tyrion kissed one. And then another. And another one. Sansa whimpered with every caress of his lips on them. "And they are beautiful."
Sansa turned around to meet the heat of his gaze.
He grinned at her, brushing away a strand of fire-kissed hair from her face.
"And you are beautiful, Sansa Stark," he pressed his forehead against hers. "The most beautiful person in the ugliest of worlds."
He kissed her forehead and then withdrew. Sansa laughed the most melodious laugh, and reached with one hand to touch the scar on his nose. He tried not to wince which was easy after all when she replied, "And so are you, my brave and gentle Tyrion. So are you."
"You saved my heart. You don't even know me. My lost soul was saved by a stranger. You saved my life. You saved my life."