Author's Note: This is the final regular chapter of this fic. I will be posting the epilogue on Friday.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Watching Arya leave had been one of the hardest things Sansa had ever done. Of course, she knew it was for the best. Arya deserved her own life. But it hurt just the same.
After their tearful goodbyes in the yard, Sansa had retired to her chamber for the rest of the day to sort through her emotions. She had been in no condition to make a public appearance, and so, she had left the work of running the keep fall to Tyrion again. It had been a fortnight since she'd last abandoned her duties to him, and although she hated doing so, she knew she was incapable of thinking clearly under the circumstances. She just wanted to sit in her room and cry until the ache went away.
Sansa didn't see another soul until it was almost time for the evening meal. Her maidservant entered her chamber with a message from Tyrion. "His lordship would like you to join him for dinner, my lady."
Sansa lay on her bed, wearing nothing more than her nightdress. She had no intention of going anywhere for the foreseeable future. "Please tell him that I will be dining alone this evening."
"Begging your pardon, my lady, but he insisted. He said that if you refused, he would come fetch you himself."
"I'd very much like to see him try," Sansa countered. She couldn't imagine how Tyrion intended to drag her from the room if she didn't want to go. Would he commandeer Podrick's help to carry her to the Great Hall?
"All the same, he did insist, my lady."
Sansa sighed in defeat. It was rare that Tyrion demanded anything of her. And when he did, it was always with good reason. Just that morning, she had given him her word that she would no longer hide from the world like a petulant child. And so, despite her own wishes, she got off the bed and allowed her maidservant to dress her for the evening.
Sansa would have chosen the simplest of gowns for a meal alone with her husband, but the girl chose one of her most elaborate, and Sansa couldn't help but be intrigued. "Did Lord Tyrion instruct you to pick this dress?" she asked as the girl finished fastening the ties.
"He wanted you at your most radiant, my lady. And the blue of this brocade brings out the color in your eyes."
Sansa turned toward the mirror on her dressing table. She did look particularly lovely. She wondered just what Tyrion had in store for her.
Sansa lowered herself to the bench in front of the dressing table and allowed her handmaiden to arrange her hair without further protest. By the time the girl was finished, Sansa looked like a completely different person. She looked regal and dignified, nothing like the sad little girl who had spent all afternoon crying into her pillow.
"His lordship would like you to join him in his chamber," the maidservant said as she stepped back, her work now complete.
A momentary shock passed through Sansa's heart. "In his chamber?"
"Yes, my lady. Again, he insisted."
Sansa swallowed the lump in her throat. It had been ages since she'd been alone with Tyrion. And even though it was not yet time for them to lie together again, she suddenly had no doubt of his intentions.
"Thank you," Sansa said. "That is all for this evening."
"Yes, my lady." The girl offered her a small curtsy and left the room.
Sansa sat staring at herself in the mirror, her mind whirling with possibilities. Her moonblood was already several days late, though she was reluctant to assume that she was with child since its visits had always been irregular, even before she'd been wed. Lying with Tyrion now would serve no purpose other than to give them both pleasure, and Sansa was surprised by how thrilling she found the idea. She wanted him again, had wanted him the entire time she'd been sulking about Arya. Her pride had robbed her of her time with Tyrion, and she was determined not to let it happen again. She would go to him and do whatever he asked of her. She wanted to be with him more than mere words could express. She loved him, and maybe tonight, she'd finally get to show him how much.
Sansa took one last look at herself in the mirror and then left the room. It didn't take her long to find herself at Tyrion's door. Her nerves were buzzing beneath her skin, but she wasn't afraid. All she felt was the hum of anticipation coursing through her body. She was glad that Tyrion had sent for her. She hadn't realized just how very much she'd missed him.
Sansa pulled back her shoulders and knocked soundly on the door. A moment later, it opened, and she found Tyrion standing before her, dressed in his finest red leather tunic.
Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. She didn't think he had ever looked more handsome.
"Good evening, my lady," Tyrion said as his gaze scanned the length of her. When his eyes finally met hers again, he said, "You look absolutely stunning."
"Thank you, my lord. You look quite handsome as well."
"Well, there's no accounting for taste, is there?"
Sansa gave him a censorious look. "If you intend to insult yourself all night, I will turn around right now and go back to my chamber."
"No, no," Tyrion said, taking her hand and leading her into the room. "Please, don't. I'm sorry. I do look quite handsome tonight. Thank you for noticing."
Sansa smiled. She couldn't help herself.
Tyrion let go of her hand just long enough to close the door behind him. Then, he took it again and led her to the table in the center of the room. It had been laid out with a feast fit for a king. The best silver and linens had been used, and everything sparkled with candlelight. It was impossibly romantic, and Sansa was momentarily stunned by the gesture. Her feet faltered, and she just stared at the table.
"Is something wrong?" Tyrion asked. "Is it not to your liking? I can have the servants clear it away if you wish."
"No, it's beautiful," she said, barely conscious of the words escaping her lips. She reached out and idly toyed with the handle of a silver spoon. Her mother had only ever brought their finest silver out for special occasions. Sansa was happy to see it again. It had been a long time. "I . . . I wasn't expecting anything so elaborate. What's the occasion?" she asked, finally looking at Tyrion.
"Oh, nothing special," he said, moving forward to pull out a chair for her. He helped her get settled and then moved around the table and climbed into his own chair. "I just didn't want you sulking in your room all night. I was afraid if you did, I wouldn't see you again for another fortnight. I know neither one of us wants that to happen."
Tyrion busied himself pouring two glasses of wine. Sansa watched him in silence. Tyrion's bed was only a few feet to her left. She had never been in his bed before, and she couldn't help but wonder just how soon she would find herself there. She truly hoped that it wouldn't be long.
Tyrion handed her a glass, then raised his own in toast. "To the Lord and Lady of Winterfell and Casterly Rock. May we have many happy years together, from this day forward."
They both drank, their eyes never leaving each other's. When Sansa lowered her glass, she said, "That's a very different toast than the one you gave on our wedding night. I believe you toasted to a tolerable marriage."
"Well, if I did, I was right, wasn't I? Our marriage is tolerable."
Sansa laughed. "I thought I had made the biggest mistake of my life that night. Particularly after you left me."
"You know why I had to do that. But I'm sorry if it hurt you."
"I understand now, and I am grateful for it."
"Well, it's nice when my wisdom is appreciated." Tyrion took another sip of wine, then returned his glass to the table. "Now, we should probably eat something. I'll bet you haven't eaten in days, have you?"
Sansa wanted to deny it, but she couldn't. It had been ages since she'd had a decent meal. She'd lost her appetite the moment she'd learned that Arya was leaving for King's Landing. "I think I will try to eat something," Sansa replied, refusing to confirm Tyrion's suspicions.
Sansa filled her plate, and Tyrion did the same. Together, they ate their meal, talking and laughing and enjoying each other's company. It had been a long time since Sansa had felt so at ease. She was sorry that Tyrion hadn't forced her out of her self-imposed exile sooner.
When the meal was done, Tyrion pushed his chair away from the table and stood. "Would you care to sit for a while?" he asked, offering her his hand and motioning toward the high backed bench beside the hearth.
"Of course," Sansa replied. She allowed Tyrion to help her from her seat and lead her across the room.
They settled down together, sitting closer than they ever had before. They sat so close, in fact, that Sansa could feel the heat rising off Tyrion's body, and it made her flush warmly all over.
"You do look ravishing tonight," Tyrion said. "More beautiful than I've ever seen you before."
"I could say the same about you."
"Really?" Sansa could tell that he wanted to believe her, but that he found the thought almost impossible to believe.
"Yes, Tyrion. In fact, I would like it very much if you would take me to your bed tonight." Sansa was surprised by her own words. She had never expected to say anything so bold, and she was afraid Tyrion would be appalled by her brazenness.
Instead, he just looked up at her in wonder. "But it isn't time yet. There's no chance of us conceiving a child tonight."
"I know."
Tyrion caught his breath, and Sansa waited for him to reply. After a long moment, he said, "If that is what you want, that is what you will have. I will not deny you anything, Sansa. I can't deny you anything."
Tyrion took her hand and climbed down from the bench. He tried to take her toward the bed, but she wouldn't move. She had to know something first. "Tell me something, Tyrion. Although this is what I want, is it what you want? Because if it isn't, you don't have to do it just to please me."
Tyrion shook his head. "Sansa Stark, you do misunderstand me, don't you? I always want you. Every hour of every day, even when I sleep. I dream about you. I wake up in the night aching for you. You have no idea how much I want you."
Without thinking, Sansa slipped off the bench, resting on her knees in front of him. They were now face to face on an even level, and she could look directly into his eyes. The desire she saw there was unmistakable. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.
Sansa caressed his right cheek, gently running her fingers along his scar. She was so desperately in love with him, and her heart felt like it might burst for want of telling him. She had kept the truth from him for far too long. It was time that he knew just how much he meant to her. She couldn't wait a moment longer.
"Tyrion," she said, "there's something I need to tell you."
"Yes, Sansa?"
"You may not believe this. And I may regret saying it. It may someday leave me with a broken heart. But I'm tired of being a coward. I've been one for far too long."
"Not you, Sansa. Never you."
"I love you, Tyrion Lannister. I love you."
The look of shock in Tyrion's eyes was heartbreaking. Sansa didn't know if he believed her or not. The truth was, she didn't know how Tyrion felt about her. Not really. She knew that he desired her, but that didn't mean that he loved her. But even if he didn't return her feelings, it didn't matter. She loved him, and he needed to know it.
It took Tyrion a moment to recover, but when he finally did, he said, "Sansa, I . . . I . . ."
"It's all right," she said softly. "You don't have to say it in return. I didn't expect you to. I just wanted you to know how I feel. I wanted to be honest with you before going to your bed."
"Oh, my dear, sweet, Sansa." Tyrion reached for her other hand, clutching both of them against his chest. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?"
Sansa was startled by the question. "You needn't say so if it isn't true."
"But it is true," he said, squeezing her hands for emphasis. "I have loved you for so long, I can scarcely remember a time when I didn't. Sometimes, I think I loved you all the way back in King's Landing. I think that's why I was so afraid to marry you. I knew you already had my heart, and I couldn't bear for it to be trampled again."
"I would never hurt you, Tyrion."
"I know that now. But now, things are different, aren't they? We're not the same people we were in King's Landing. We're different. Stronger, but more damaged. Kinder, but less trusting."
"But we trust each other, don't we?"
"Yes, yes, we do."
Sansa leaned forward and kissed him softly. Her whole body was warm with fever, and she just wanted Tyrion to take her to bed. When she broke away, she said, "Make love to me, Tyrion. Please."
Tyrion's eyes searched hers as if looking for any proof of guile. But she knew he would find none. She loved him, and she wanted him, as she had never loved or wanted anyone before.
"I love you, Sansa Stark. You are the most beautiful, wonderful woman I have ever known. And I do not deserve you."
"Yes, you do, Tyrion. Because you are wonderful too. You are handsome and kind, brave and gentle and strong. You are everything I've ever wanted in a husband, and I couldn't be happier to call you my own. I love you, Tyrion. Please, take me to bed."
Tyrion made no further argument. He helped Sansa to her feet and then led her across the room.
Tyrion climbed the small set of steps beside the bed, stopping at the very top. Then, he turned toward Sansa and began to help her undress. He took his time with her, kissing each new inch of exposed flesh until she stood naked before him. Then, Sansa took her turn. She had never undressed a man before, but she was determined to do so without any shame or embarrassment. She divested Tyrion of his tunic, and then his breeches, finally leaving him in nothing more than his linen shift.
Sansa reached for the hem, but Tyrion's hands on her wrists stopped her. "You needn't do that," he said. "I am certainly nothing to look at."
"You are everything to me, and I'd like to see you as you are, if it's all the same to you."
Tyrion nodded, releasing Sansa's hands. She held her breath as she lifted his shirt up over his head and discarded it on the floor. When she looked at Tyrion again, he was completely naked.
Sansa's cheeks flamed red despite her efforts to be brave. Tyrion was shorter than most men, yes, but she found him no less desirable. Although he wasn't muscular, there wasn't an ounce of fat on him either. His chest was covered in a light sprinkling of delicate golden curls, and Sansa's fingers itched to run through them. When she lowered her gaze and caught sight of his manhood, her heart nearly stopped. They had only just undressed each other, and already he was primed for her, his shaft thick and hard with need. Without allowing herself a moment to overthink, Sansa reached out and gently ran her fingers up the length of him.
Tyrion inhaled a sharp breath, and Sansa fought the urge to pull away. She knew she hadn't hurt him, despite his reaction. She had caressed him intimately once before, and although, that time, he had asked her to stop, she knew he had enjoyed the experience very much.
Sansa held her breath and traced the length of him again, from the base to the very tip. Tyrion moaned softly, and a secret smile tugged at Sansa's lips.
Over and over again, she ran her fingers along his silken flesh, eliciting the most delicious sounds from his throat. Soon, she became bolder, wrapping her hand firmly around him and moving up and down his length.
"Oh, Sansa," he whispered, and it was nearly her undoing.
She wanted to be on the bed with him, she wanted him inside her right then and there. But he was enjoying her touch too much for her to pull away.
Sansa leaned forward and started placing small kisses against his chest while she continued to pleasure him. It wasn't until Tyrion's hand wrapped around her wrist that she was finally forced to stop.
"That's enough, Sansa," he said hoarsely, the words barely discernable.
"Did I do something wrong?"
"No, my dearest, no. But if you continue doing that, this little endeavor will have ended long before I get you in this bed. Do you understand?"
She did understand. She was doing too good a job of pleasing him. He wanted her to stop so that when he did find his release, he would be inside her.
Reluctantly, Sansa moved her hand away. She raised it to Tyrion's cheek and drew him closer, kissing him soundly. Tyrion pulled her back onto the bed so that she was lying on top of him. As much as Sansa had enjoyed being in that position once before, tonight she wanted him to be the one to take control. She wanted him to show her just how much he loved her.
Sansa kissed Tyrion a few more times before trailing a row of kisses down his throat and across his chest. She wasn't brave enough to go any lower. Not yet. Next time, perhaps. But not tonight.
When she'd had her fill of him, she turned over onto her back and encouraged him to lie on top of her.
"Are you sure this is what you want?" Tyrion asked as he hovered above her. "All the power is on top."
"I don't want power. I just want you."
Tyrion smiled. It was the sweetest smile Sansa had ever seen. She knew, in that moment, that he truly believed that she loved him and wanted him, and that was more than she could have ever hoped for.
Tyrion leaned down and kissed her deeply, his tongue delving into her mouth. Sansa sighed contently, entwining her fingers in his hair and pulling him closer. She loved him so much, she never wanted to let him go.
It wasn't long before Tyrion was inside her. Even though she knew he had wanted to take his time with her, his need was just too strong. He drove into her with startling urgency, and Sansa met him thrust for thrust. She had never wanted him more.
They made love as if they had been separated, not for a fortnight, but for years, and far too soon, Sansa was tumbling over the precipice, calling out his name again and again. Tyrion soon followed her, words of love and devotion pouring from his lips as he found his own release.
When Sansa finally opened her eyes again, Tyrion was lying on the bed beside her. She was only half on the bed herself, as they'd made love exactly as they'd landed on the mattress. Sansa turned to look at Tyrion, barely able to catch her breath.
He was staring at her with wonder in his eyes, and Sansa felt like such a fool for not having realized how he felt about her sooner. No one had ever looked at her with such love and admiration. But Tyrion always had.
He leaned forward and kissed her bare shoulder. "Are you satisfied, dear wife?"
A small smile tugged at her lips as she shook her head. "No, dear husband."
Tyrion propped himself up on one elbow, a look of mock-indignation furrowing his brow. "No?"
"No. You have taken me to bed, but my feet are still on the floor, so you've only done half of what I've asked of you."
Tyrion looked down the length of her to see her knees bent over the side of the mattress. When his eyes met hers again, he said, "Will you please get on the bed? I'm afraid I don't have the strength to pick you up and carry you."
"Well, since you asked so nicely." Sansa pulled her legs up onto the mattress and turned her whole body so that she could now lie with her head on the pillow.
Tyrion lay down beside her.
"You know what this means, don't you?" she asked.
Tyrion picked up a stray lock of hair that had curled around her breast. He watched idly as it slipped through his fingers over and over again. "What does it mean?"
"That if you wish to satisfy me, you will have to bed me again properly."
Tyrion looked up at Sansa, but he did not release the lock of hair. "Oh, does it now?"
"Yes, it does. And you do want to satisfy me, don't you? You do want to make me happy?"
"I want nothing more in this world."
"Then you shall have to make love to me again, my Lord Lannister."
Tyrion smirked. "Oh, I will, my Lady Stark. Many, many, many times." He let the lock of hair slip through his fingers once more before leaning down and kissing her.
Sansa sighed contentedly as she curled her fingers into his hair. She loved Tyrion Lannister with all her heart and all her soul, and she knew now that he would never leave her of his own accord. Tyrion loved her as much as she loved him, and she would never again doubt his devotion. Their life together was just beginning, and she knew, without a doubt, that it was going to be a happy one.
