Fourteen

~ Tyrion ~

Tyrion tries to get his work done as quickly as he can, not wanting to be away from Sansa for longer than necessary. He trusts Bronn to look after her, and knows the sellsword would never let anything happen to her, but will feel more confident when he is there himself.

Unfortunately his day is filled with unwanted visitors and meetings that cannot be postponed. He doesn't get to head back to his chambers until almost suppertime.

When he turns down the hall leading to his room he sees Bronn diligently standing guard and releases the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

Bronn nods at him as he approaches, and Tyrion has a feeling he's about to be prevented from going home once more.

"We need to talk," Bronn says, glancing around.

"Well, let's take this inside, shall we?"

"No. This is something you'd should hear without your little doe-eyed wife there to distract you by batting her eyelashes."

Tyrion sighs and pulls Bronn away from the chamber door. He looks around to be sure they are alone before urging the man to continue.

"What is it?" Tyrion asks.

"I went to the garden today, with Miss Sansa—"

"Did she try to teach you needlepoint? Sorry, that was my idea," Tyrion chuckles.

"No, just listen. The Kingslayer showed up," Bronn says, and Tyrion stiffens. "I was pretending to sleep, and he showed up and led your lady off."

"Did you follow them?"

"Course I did. When I found them though, I only caught the end of what was being said. It sounded like he was trying to get her to run away with him. She said she'd think about it and then they turned back. I had to hightail it to make it back to my spot and feign sleep. I just barely made it before them. He told her to meet him outside his chambers in two days."

Bronn stands there eyes wide as saucers, his expression clearly saying he wished he weren't the one bearing this news.

"Thank you for telling me this," Tyrion says coldly, and tries to turn back towards his room.

Of course she wants Jaime you imbecile, you can hardly be surprised, part of his mind insists.

I thought she cared for me, another part supplies.

Bronn puts a hand on his arm stopping him.

"Do you want me to have some words with your rat brother?" he asks, chest puffed out.

"No, no, best leave things to me," Tyrion insists.

He storms back to the room and bangs the door open. A surprised squeak draws his eyes to the small couch, and they almost bug out at what they see.

Sansa is spread out on the couch, working on and her needlepoint. It's not that which surprises him, but the manner she's sitting and the clothing, or lack there-of, she's wearing.

She has her legs pulled up and folded beside her and she's leaning against the arm of the couch. Sansa is wearing what appears to be a nightdress, but it is unlike anything he's seen her wear before. It is a deep red, silky fabric that hangs low and comes up short, ending at mid thigh.

His mouth goes dry and he struggles to take a breath.

"You're home," she says, smiling brightly.

And you're practically naked…

Probably just trying things on to take with her and Jaime, his wandering mind suggests.

Tyrion's eyes harden and he turns away from her.

"Just for a moment. I just had to grab this book," he says reaching for a random tome. "I still have a lot of work to get done."

Tyrion quickly retreats to the door and he hears Sansa scurry to her feet.

"When will you be back?" she asks, sounding hopeful.

Probably hoping you won't be back.

"Very late," he says glancing back at her and trying not to notice how he can see the outline of her nipples through her gown. "Don't wait up."

Before he can back out he leaves and flings the door shut behind him.

~ Sansa ~

The bang of the door reverberates through her chest like a physical blow.

Maybe I was wrong… maybe he doesn't want me, she thinks, heartbroken.

After she got back from the garden and had thrown herself into bed, Sansa had done a lot of thinking. After hours of agonizing over whether she should run away and let Ser Jaime take her home she had finally reached a decision; the decision to stay.

Once she let herself admit how much she's come to care for Tyrion, Sansa realized there was no way she could just abandon him. There's no telling what he would have to face from the wrath of Tywin if she escaped. She does know that he would be blamed, ridiculed, and much worse if she were to go, and there is no way she can do that to him.

She came to another decision during all of her thinking as well. Sansa has decided she wants to share Tyrion's bed in the manner of husband and wife. She wants him to make love to her.

She's not sure she actually loves him, but Sansa does care for him a great deal, and she has grown to find him quite handsome.

Who knows if we'll both make it out of this war? There is nothing wrong with finding something to take comfort in from one's situation. Besides, if Joffrey were to succeed in his attempts… I'd much rather he not steal that special moment of becoming a woman from me.

She knows her reasons sound as if they are only born from fear and uncertainty, but Sansa doesn't see it that way. She sees it as taking full control over at least one aspect of her life. This is her decision to make, and she is choosing Tyrion.

I know he will treat me right, and will be gentle.

With this in mind, she set to work. Sansa carefully unbound her hair, letting it hang in soft curls, and did her make-up, applying a generous amount of blush. She then dallied over which outfit to choose.

In the end she decided to dress in a night shift, knowing Tyrion wouldn't be back until dinner. Most of the ones she owns are modest and positively childish… not at all the look she was going for. She did find one, though, tucked in the very back of her trunk, all but forgotten.

A wedding gift from Cersei.

The spiteful woman had showed up on Sansa's wedding day bearing the impractical, verging on scandalous, shift saying Tyrion would no doubt appreciate it if Sansa wore it on their wedding night.

Sansa had blushed profusely and barely managed to stammer her thanks. As soon as the queen had departed she shoved the frightful garment into the furthest corner of her trunk, not wanting to ever look at it again.

After deciding to seduce her husband and having no idea how to go about doing so, Sansa decided the improper shift was just what she needed.

Surely he'll see me in it and know what I want… Gods, I hope so, because I only have the vaguest idea of what I want.

After dressing, if you can call it that, she settled herself suggestively, or so she thought, onto the couch and continued working on her needlepoint. As the time passed she became so caught up in her work, eager to finish her gift for Tyrion, that when he barged in she jumped and let out a squeak of surprise.

When Tyrion turned to face her Sansa felt her heart race.

This is it…

But then his eyes had hardened and he turned his back on her, with some excuse about work.

When she starts to recover from the shock of the slammed door, Sansa wanders to the bookshelf. She checks twice to be sure and sighs sadly when she sees the book he 'needed for work' was actually her collection of fairytales.

Tears prickle her eyes as she extinguishes the candles in the room and climbs into bed alone.

Maybe he's never actually wanted me… he's just feigned it out of duty, and now that I'm interested he's retreating.

She lays there for hours the weight of rejection weighing down on her and preventing her from drifting off to sleep. Sansa's not sure what time it is when she hears the door squeak open and feels Tyrion climb into bed with her, but the sting of rejection hits her anew when he stays far on the other side away from her.

Eventually she hears him start to snore and wishes sleep would find her and carry her far away from King's Landing.

As more time passes she feels Tyrion tossing in his sleep, and hears him mumbling.

"S… Sansa…"

When she hears her name on his lips, Sansa quickly rolls over to look at him. Tyrion is laying flat on his back, and she blushes when she sees the way the covers are tented around his manhood.

Perhaps he does desire me, she thinks. But why did he rush away?

Sansa comes to the conclusion that she must not have been obvious enough, and perhaps he left in a hurry because he was trying to protect her from the indecency of the situation. She decides that her future attempts at seducing her husband have to be a lot clearer.

Tomorrow we begin, she thinks, and falls asleep with a wicked smirk on her face.

Author's Note: Another short chapter, I know, but it was a good stopping point. I'm already halfway through the next chapter and it will be up in a few days. Anyone excited about Sansa's attempts to 'seduce her husband'?

Thanks for all of the reviews! I love them!