Later, during the slackness after the climax, Sansa brought the subject of Jorah.
"How small the world is, isn't it?"
"No one would say that after having went across thousands of leagues," jested him, smiling over her hair. "But you're right. Life is full of coincidences. And of runaway Westerosi people."
"I never came to meet him in person before. Once I heard my father talking about him with my mother. I wondered what is it that drives a man of honour to commit a crime so serious. At that time I didn't understand to what extent a person can lose its good sense for love."
"Your crazy husband has made you understand it, hasn't he?" He rubbed her cheek lazily with his nose.
"Too well." She closed her eyes and moved her face so he could kiss her neck.
He moaned against her skin and the vibration of the sound reverberated over her bosom.
"But I'd never force you to break the law. I would never force you to dishonour yourself," stated Sansa, with a hard voice. "That woman didn't love Ser Jorah."
Tyrion placed himself upon her and proceeded to leave a trail of kisses over her breast. Her breath sped up again.
"Most marriages are not intended for love," whispered him, without stopping his caresess. Sansa noticed that the sound of his low voice increased the delightful sensation.
"But he did love her." She began to lose her train of thought.
"Yes. He did love her." His mouth was tasting her sweet belly.
Sansa suddenly got tense. He sensed it and looked her in the eye, inquiring.
"Tyrion... If I didn't have rights over Winterfell, if you were told that you'll never be the Warden of the North... Would you love me the same?," asked her, with her insecurity placing a cloud over the blue of her irides.
He felt deeply moved. He held her face with his hands. He knew that gesture calmed her down.
"To hell with Winterfell and the Warden of the North. That means nothing to me without you. It only matters to me to the same extent it matters to you and affects you. If any day you wanted to fight to get back your house, I would support you. If you don't, I don't mind. With or without Winterfell, I only love you. A castle cannot give me what you give to me," he said smiling, to lighten the intensity of their emotion. But it was important that she knew the truth once and for all. "You're what I've always dreamt of, Sansa. Everything else was a mere replacement to make my life more bearable. Whores, drinking, intrigues, pissing off my father and sister... I resigned myself to the idea that those things would be all I could obtain from life," he said, with bitterness.
"And now?," asked her, stroking his hair.
"I keep wishing to piss off my father and sister," confessed him, looking at her with a fake guilt that made her laugh. "And I like the game of thrones. I have quite vanity and a very much restless mind. I feel attracted to refute and beat others with my cunning." He kept quiet for some moments. "But above all and with great difference, I love you."
"Do I have to resign myself to share you, then?," needled her, amused.
"Only from time to time and out of this bed. Above this mattress I am entirely yours."
"Only above the mattress? And what if I want you to fuck me above other places?"
"You're getting very brazen, my lady. I should punish you." He returned back to rubbing himself against her belly, nibbling playfully.
"How are you going to do it?," teased her.
Tyrion penetrated her without preamble. "How do you think?"
She wrapped him with her legs and pressed him against herself, as if wishing to absorbe him once and for all.
They got ready to depart and met the others in the corridor which connected their rooms. Jorah displayed a better aspect that morning. He had washed himself, was sober and a few hours of rest in a bed suited him. Pod and Leena were fresh and glowing, and they obviously had not dedicated simply to sleep, like Tyrion and Sansa. Both couples looked at each other with wide grins. Their night activites did not go unnoticed.
Jorah watched them with some envious disdain. Tyrion glanced at his expression, amused. What this man needs desperately is to have Daenerys Targaryen in his arms. He felt pity for him, precisely for having been himself an expert in unrequited love.
Tyrion said goodbye to his unforgettable nights in Tolos (that was why he remembered vividly the cities where they had been), and the five of them head for the port. Captain Gilean's merchant vessel was named The morning star (there was not a single ship that matched in aspect the ostentatious resonant beauty of her name), was smaller than the Pearl of Ghis and carried scarce passengers. There were already few people who ventured to go to Meereen.
Gilean invited them aboard and Tyrion exchanged some words with him. The captain's temper was more restrained and less stormy than that of his friend Letho, but he instilled respect all the same. His look was cautious and his smile did not usually ascend to his eyes. But whenever Letho was mentioned, he softened.
"He's a tough dude whose heart doesn't fit his chest." Tyrion thought it was strange that both qualities combined in the same person.
Everything got ready for the departure and they cut the wind in the direction of the millenary city taken by a young woman who was called, among other things, the Breaker of Chains.