Chapter 14
Though the sounds drifting through the corridors tell her the feast is still in full swing, Catelyn makes for Lord Tywin's chambers. They are her chambers too now she supposes – at least until her husband decrees otherwise – and though she dreads what will surely come, done it must be to seal the bargain of this marriage.
She prays to find him already asleep but as soon as she opens the door she can see that is now so. Still, she has been spared the humiliation of the bedding ceremony, which is one blessing, and she has not had to beg entrance to the room, which is another.
"Has your daughter recovered?"
Catelyn near laughs. If Tywin thinks Sansa is recovered after everything his family have put her through, he is much mistaken. "She is settling, my lord," she replies tersely. "And she is safe. It is enough for now."
Tywin sets down the papers he had been leafing through and indicates the chair across from him. As Catelyn sits he pours her a generous glass of wine, which she accepts gratefully; she will need the fortification of Dornish red is she is to make it through tonight without breaking.
He frowns a little at the speed and size of her gulps and though he says nothing, Catelyn sets down the goblet. "I am sorry for missing the rest of the feast," she manages to say, made rather uncomfortable by his silence.
He eyes her closely. "Are you?" He sounds almost amused by the concept. "I doubt that."
Silence settles, so Catelyn tries again. "Lord Tywin-"
"Just Tywin," he corrects her. "We are wed now."
Catelyn frowns. "Lord Tywin," she repeats firmly. "I know what sort of marriage we have made for ourselves. Let's not pretend otherwise when it is just us together."
He considers her words for a moment, before standing and offering her his hand. "Very well then," he says, and as he helps her up she can sense the rapport between them has changed; become harsher, perhaps, but more honest. She knows what must come next.
He gestures for her to turn so her back is to him, and while he unhooks the fastenings of her grey dress she tugs her long braid over her shoulder and unties the ribbon at the end. The curls unravel as her gown slides to the ground, and she thanks the gods the room is dark so he cannot see how much she is trembling.
They do not talk; they do not kiss; just continue to strip until both are laid bare before one another, the sharp sea breeze shivering across their skin. Catelyn stares straight ahead, focusing on a spot of light on the far wall as Tywin's fingers sweep over her hip, waist and up to her breasts as she wills herself not to jerk away from his touch.
"Look at me," he commands, and she turns to face him again, forcing herself to look him in the eye. She cannot let her will fail her now, not when so much depends on their marriage. There's a sudden coldness at her side and she inhales sharply. Her gaze falls to where his hand rests on her shoulder, his thumb brushing idly over her skin, and the icy metal band around his finger that so startled her. He follows her gaze, and his brow furrows slightly.
"You've not been with any man but Eddard Stark, have you?" he asks after a moment.
Though he does not mean it unkindly, a lump still forms in Catelyn's throat at the mention of Ned. She wants to push Tywin away but she's frozen to the spot, even without his hands keeping her there. She shuts her eyes to force back the maelstrom of grief that threatens to sink her and closes her mind to the past, at least for tonight; there is little else she can do now she has made her bed, though it pains her to do so.
She raises her hands to take his and looks him earnestly in the eyes. "My lord," she begins, and is almost gratified at how in-control she sounds. "There are enough ghosts in this marriage as it is. Let's not let them haunt our bed as well."
Her husband arches an eyebrow, as if questioning whether she is certain. Catelyn nods her head and takes his hand.
I am Lady Lannister now, she thinks, and when Tywin leans in to kiss her, this time she kisses him back.