The morning light shone through the open balcony door as Tyrion began to rise for the day. He looked at the girl, sprawled on the bed across the room and smiled. He hadn't dreamt it. Even if the embrace she'd given him before bed had been fabricated, the rest wasn't. She was here, in their chambers, and they were married.
Sansa was now his wife.
He milled around their quarters, still so foreign to him, and found himself wondering what time the staff usually brought breakfast to this part of the house. He didn't want to wake Sansa himself, but he didn't want to seem like he was waiting for her. He noticed his hands starting to fidget with the waistband of his small shorts and cursed himself silently. He had no reason to be nervous. Still, that didn't stop him. He crossed to his chest and retrieved a fresh tunic and pants, dressing comfortably.
He nabbed a book from the shelf and sat at the small dining table, thumbing idly through a book, but he couldn't focus on the words.
Tyrion looked up from his book as she approached, pretending for no one's benefit or belief that he hadn't noticed the moment she moved. "How did you sleep?" he asked, feigning a casual tone that made him sound even more shaky.
"Well," she answered, smiling sleepily as she stood beside him. "And you?"
"Very well," he agreed. Noticing her hesitance to speak, his ever-present need to fill the silence won out. "So, we appear to have a generous eight-week Honeymoon ahead of us. As I said, all the time in the world. I fear that you'll grow sick of my doting, so if you ever find that you'd like to be rid of me-" he rambled on while Sansa, in her own way, attempted to make her intentions known.
"Tyrion-"
Unaware of her protestation, he continued, "All you need do is say the word and I shall exile myself-"
Sansa tried again, crouching beside his chair and putting her arm out across his book, "Tyrion-"
"To the library and you won't have to see me again until I return to sleep at night. But rest assured that-"
Having long since grown frustrated with his insistence, Sansa found herself struggling for ways to stop his mouth and the only thing she could think of was to... she tried to talk herself out of it, but the idea that he already wanted to run off was unthinkable. She placed a gentle hand on the side of his neck and kissed him tenderly.
He tried to continue to talk, but Sansa caught his bottom lip between hers and rendered him frozen. After a moment, the shock wore off and he kissed her back. She smiled, pulling away, enjoying his starry-eyed stupor. "Good morning, My Husband," she said, quietly.
Reminding himself what, exactly, his lungs were for, Tyrion released a shaky breath, replying "Good morning, My Wife," in a low tone that sent an unexpected chill down Sansa's spine.
She pulled the second chair closer and raised herself into it, letting her hands rest on the table, blushing at her momentary bravery. "It's good to know that you can't seem to talk through that," she said, teasing him. He seemed to want to interrupt, but she had to finish. "No, let me say this before I lose my nerve." He looked at her with a gleam of admiration and gestured for her to continue. "That was out of character and maybe a mean little trick, I know, but I needed to get your attention. You've been very adamant about wanting me to trust you and wanting friendship, but you won't give me the opportunity. You're so eager not to intrude upon my delicate sensitivities that it seems like you're trying to push me away. That won't work," she said, finally pausing as she realized how fast she was talking. "I thought, perhaps, today we could spend some time just..." she struggled to find a word for what she meant, settling on "cohabitating. We're married and I can count on one hand the number of times I've actually spoken to you, past curt statements of fealty, most of which not even to you." She shrugged, blushing at how short she'd been with him. "That is what I'm used to. Submission. This doesn't feel the same. You asked me days ago how I feel about this. You insist that you only ask for my friendship." She slid her hand across the table to him, relieved when he took it. "I suppose, if all else fails, there are worse things than being friends with your husband. But Tyrion, I want a marriage. And there could be a chance for that here." She took a deep breath, realizing what she'd said. Tyrion could feel his pulse rush in his hand and wondered if she noticed. Sansa smiled as she slid her chair closer, looking him in the eyes gently. "Let that kiss be a gesture of my intention to really try. Please don't shut me out because you're afraid that I won't want you. Please? Let's start with today. Let's just be together and learn about one another." Tyrion tilted his head, wondering if this would be as hard for her if it sounded like it was going to be for him. She sighed, tugging him out of the chair and walking him to the settee so they could be more comfortable. "You know how you feel for me, but you don't really know me either. Let's fix that."
They started off light, talking about favorite tourney events and the like, trying to build upon similarities before treading into more personal waters.
Sansa was a little surprised to learn that Tyrion had a favorite flower. He told her the story for about they were called Daphne for a maiden of house Mudd who was being chased and tormented by men through Riverrun and prayed to the Stranger as they were closing in on her that they'd never be able to touch her. She fell to the ground and thought that she'd be ravaged by the men, and her body turned to wood and sharp green leaves with bundles of light pink flowers and rich purple berries. The men who had been chasing her grew bored of their hunt and decided to stop, tasting the deep fruit. Before long, they had all expired. As it turned out, the Stranger had granted her protection after all, as every part of the plant was highly toxic, so anyone who would come along to forage from her would meet a painful end.
When he turned the question to Sansa, she was a little bashful to admit that her reasoning wasn't quite as meaningful. "Honeywort," she said, looking down.
"I don't know that I've ever heard of that before," he admitted, prompting a description.
She smiled, remembering the bed of them she'd planted at Winterfell. "It's a Northern bloom. I haven't seen them in King's Landing," she said. She wouldn't really have begun to know where to look. "They're tiny and purple and they flower in the coldest, darkest months. The colder it gets, the more brilliant blue they turn. Dark as the midnight sky. They're truly something to see," she mused, remembering how vibrantly they'd open during a frost. It didn't seem real, but somehow, they did. "Blue is my favorite color," she said, directing the topic on.
They chatted on as the handmaidens brought in their morning meal. Sansa immediately reached for one of the lemon cakes everyone knew she loved.
Opting instead for a bitter brewed hot drink brought in from Essos, Tyrion admitted, "I don't have much of a sweet tooth."
"I believe that," Sansa said, taking instead a rosy tea for herself.
He laughed, watching a soft, satisfied smile play at her eyes and thought for a moment if there was any pastry that he'd particularly enjoyed. "There is a Dornish spice cake that's delicious, though, if made right. I haven't found anyone in King's Landing who does it justice. It has dates and oranges and nuts. Very different. Very good," he said. "You seem to be partial to citrus as well," he laughed, staving off wicked thoughts as she sucked the sugar off of the candied lemon slice.
They started talking about their homes. Tyrion talked about the sound of the ocean and the library but ultimately decided that none of the parts he liked best were things he couldn't get in King's Landing at least.
For Sansa, Winterfell was a much happier topic. "There is a room just off the forge that usually held excess grain for the animals, ore, kegs of ale, that type of thing. I used to go in there to hide from the boys," she laughed, remembering how Robb used to chase her and pull her braids. "It was warm, it was secluded..." She shook her head, realizing just how foolish she had been to run from them so often. "I don't think it would be my favorite now, though. Now, it would probably be the kitchen. Still warm, but everyone else seemed drawn to it. We never ate in the hall unless there was a feast," she said, leading herself on a tangent about the differences between hosting feasts in Winterfell versus King's Landing.
Tyrion asked what had happened to her direwolf, prompting their first foray into a more serious topic. He listened carefully as she told him all about the altercation with Arya and the butcher's boy, Micah, and was horrified at how grim everything turned. She concluded, mentioning how much she wanted to have another dog, maybe not a direwolf, but something that looks like one. She asked Tyrion what his favorite animal was, trying to give herself a moment to recuperate.
"You'd expect me to say a lion, wouldn't you?" he said, moving a little closer to her. "I'm actually fascinated by sea turtles. There was a bale of them that lived at the Rock and I would watch them constantly. They always got to carry their armor with them and could hide in plain sight." Sansa gave a brief laugh, thinking that it was fitting. She'd always thought Turtles looked so wise, and Tyrion certainly was that. "I remember Jaime used to say that I reminded him of them because it may have taken me a bit longer, but I always seemed to know where I was going."
Growing stiff from inactivity, Sansa slid to the floor, taking a cushion with her for her head, laying on her back. Tyrion followed suit, sitting next to her with his back against the base. They talked about different things they'd gotten good at over the years. He talked about how Jaime had tried, very badly, to try to get him good with any weapon, but he'd found that he was better with more abstract weapons.
Sansa laughed, imagining him using something like a tea kettle to bash off attackers. "I'm good with a bow and arrow," she said, shrugging when he directed the question to her. "Really good at it. My mother is actually the one that taught me. She's terrified of blades and doesn't believe much in hand to hand combat but archery." Tyrion struggled to imagine Lady Catelyn with a bow, however Sansa made sense. Every archer he'd ever known was calm and calculating, definitely much more cerebral than sword fighting. "If things ever get hairy and you have to protect your home or your family or if you need to provide, a bow and arrow is helpful. Arya was much more showy about it, but I practiced by myself and I do miss it. It takes an extraordinary amount of focus," she said, laughing about how long it had taken her little sister to even hit the target because she'd been so insistent about being over the top about it. The only other person, save her mother, she'd ever told was Bran.
The sun began to set and they both commented about the beautiful view from their balcony at sunrise. Sansa gave a yawn, sliding closer to him, absently grabbing at his hand.
"I'm a night person by default," Tyrion added. "I think it's easier for people to accept things as they are in the dark. People don't notice the little imperfections when they're bathed in moonlight." Sansa considered him, frustrated by how poorly he saw himself, but not feeling comfortable enough to argue. He continued, "The harsh light of day makes people irritable. And I like the quiet; the stillness. The moments don't seem to slip by as readily."
As they readied for bed, Sansa mused as she looked at herself in the glass. "I wish I had the body for Southern fashion." She stepped from behind the screen in a thin, light blue shift that clung to her curves.
"Sansa-" he objected, unable to take his eyes off of her.
"I do," she persisted. "Lady Margaery's dresses are not much more conservative than this and they cling to her so and I look as though I'm just a bolt of fabric, board and all. I'm sorry, for that," she said.
Tyrion walked toward her, lacing his fingers in hers, "Now, I won't burden you with my full thoughts on the matter. But, suffice it to say," he said, backing up and looking her up and down dramatically, "I quite disagree."
Blushing, Sansa tugged him back to the bed where most of the candles were still lit. They sat across from one another, suddenly much more quiet than they'd been all day. Reaching to him, Sansa brushed his hair from his forehead and ran her thumb over his forehead, just next to the developing scar. Tyrion's heart skipped a beat, expecting her to retract in disgust, but remembered that she'd helped to nurse him back to health when it first happened. It had been much more gruesome then, to be sure. "Does it still hurt?" she asked.
"A little," he admitted. "Not nearly as much as it could have. Apparently, it's thanks to you and Podrick that I didn't lose my nose entirely," he said, letting himself rest his hand on her arm.
She gave a sad smile. "Then I'm glad Podrick came to fetch me."
"Came to fetch... How did he know to come to you?" he started, realizing that he'd never actually asked. "Why did you bother?"
"He said he couldn't read the instructions on the bottles," she said, rolling her eyes and looking at the bedside table, "and that I was the only one around who was ever anything less than horrible to you." She was beginning to see that maybe he'd been right about the last part.
Tyrion furrowed his brow, confused. "He knows how to read."
Laughing, Sansa let her hands slide down his arms to his hands. "I'd figured as much. He was quite insistent that he be the one to change the bandages on your chest and I wouldn't have dared to be immodest so," she said, rolling her eyes at how silly it all seemed at this point, "I presume now it's likely that he saw your mark, realized that it meant me, and thought you might want to come to with me by your side."
"That conniving little shit," he joked, entwining their fingers together.
Sansa smiled, loving the newness of the gesture; how much more intimate a hand felt when the touch lingered and laced as opposed to the formal greetings of court.
Still, a grim thought crossed her mind. Things could have ended so much worse that night. "Do you know..." she started, struggling to phrase the question that she wanted to ask. "This is such a strange question and I'm sorry if it troubles you. But Podrick said that it was one of the men on our side that attacked you. Have you any idea why?"
"It was a member of the Kingsguard," he said, trying to make it sound less menacing than it probably was. "There are only two people who can give a command to the Kingsguard. When I asked Cersei if it was her..." he trailed off, trying to put it delicately. He desperately wanted to avoid the topic of Joffrey for as long as he could, but it seemed unavoidable, "let's just say, for all the terror that she is, she holds family as a paramount priority. As you well know, my dear nephew needn't have a reason. But it wouldn't surprise me if it had something to do with my interrupting his torment of you just prior to our departure." Sansa's expression fell, pulling herself a little closer. "And you needn't look that way. I'd do it a thousand times over." He reached up and brushed her hair behind her ear. "Your happiness is most important to me, Sansa. I need you to know that. From the time I first laid eyes on you, I knew that all I wanted was to keep you safe."
"Is that why you bolted from the feast at Winterfell and didn't bother to speak to me?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, recalling the first time she laid eyes on him.
"You-"
Sansa laughed as he stammered, eyes wide and mouth open. "Noticed? Of course. I noticed you from the time you arrived," she confessed, remembering how he had run when her engagement was announced. "I was afraid you were going to take the black and I'd never get the chance to actually know you. Then, things got difficult and I wasn't sure I wanted to know any Lannister at all."
That was an understandable position, all things considered. Half the time, he didn't want to know the Lannisters. That said, though he'd enjoyed knowing the Starks he'd encountered. "Prior to our eventual meeting, there were two separate instances that you should hear about from me," he said, earning him a curious glance. She shifted onto her side, getting more comfortable. "First, I designed a special saddle and brought the sketches to Winterfell on my way back from The Wall." Sansa smiled broadly, imagining her little brother riding fast through the woods around Winterfell. "I don't know if it ever got made, but if it did, your brother Bran may well be on horseback as we speak. Shortly thereafter, I was captured."
"Captured?" she asked
He gave a short laugh at her deep concern, despite being able to see that he was just fine, especially considering the captor. "By your mother, actually," he added, giving her a nudge.
"By..." she stammered, trying to wrap her mind around what he was saying.
Tyrion nodded. "She insisted that I made the attempts on your brother's life. Apparently, she was told that a dagger dropped by the assassin belonged to me."
A wave of shock took over Sansa's face. Suddenly, a comment almost forgotten from the night of the Battle of the Blackwater came back to haunt her.
Mistaking her bewilderment for concern, he continued with urgency, "It didn't. I had never seen the blade before. But, I knew the story she'd been fed, and knew whose part she'd been told I played." He rolled his eyes, propping himself up on his elbows, stretching.
Sansa slid further up the bed to be next to him. "It was Joffrey," she said plainly. "I don't know to which events you speak, but what I do know is that the KIng mentioned to me that he had a Valyrian steel blade that 'couldn't even cut down a direwolf pup.' What did he do to my brother?"
Carefully regarding her, taken aback by her comment to the King's cruelty, he explained, "A catspaw assassin was sent shortly after your party left for King's Landing and mine for the Wall to slit your brother's throat." Sansa clenched her jaw and nodded for him to continue, but he didn't know much more than that. "Are you sure? I'd presumed it was Robert as the dagger was technically his."
"I'm absolutely sure," she said, explaining the encounter in detail. "But I suppose none of that matters. Bran's alive and so are you, rendering it not particularly important at the moment."
"You're right about that," Tyrion mused, looking down, troubled by this new information and what it could imply going forward. He pushed it aside, for the moment, continuing his tale. "Before long, we were attacked and," the girl's eyes widened, afraid of what he was going to say. He rolled onto his side, taking her hand and kissing it gently, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles as he spoke. "Sansa, your mother is fine. She was very brave and our party fought off the ruffians."
"You protected her?"
"I wouldn't go that far," Tyrion answered, looking down at their coupled hands, thinking back to that moment. Whether or not that was true, he had also witnessed a side of himself he'd never thought was possible.
Sansa shook his hand lightly, urging him to continue. "Then, you fought at her side,"
Tyrion sighed. "I did. And, Sansa, she let me go," he said, trying to reach the point he'd been ambling toward. "I looked in her eyes and saw your eyes. I was honest with her and she believed me." She smiled, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She imagined that was her mother's way of giving her blessing, whether she knew or not. "It gave me some hope that, perhaps, there was a chance after all."
"You would have done it anyway," she said, resting her cheek against his hand.
Brow furrowed, looking at her intently, he admitted, "I don't understand."
Sucking her lips in momentarily, Sansa nodded. I believe that you would have done both of those things whether they were my mother and brother or not," she said, inching closer to him, bringing her free hand up to his shoulder. "You're a good man. You've never been anything but kind to me. I have no reason to believe that you wouldn't have done that anyway. I know it was months ago, but..." The conversations trailed into Sansa asking questions about her mother and brothers, since he'd seen them more recently. It was a bittersweet moment, but Sansa thanked the Gods for any information she could get.
Sansa began to nod first and, after watching her quietly for a few minutes, Tyrion began to extract himself from the bed carefully, trying not to disturb his sleeping wife. Sansa reached her hand out and said sleepily, "Please stay. I feel awful having you sleep all the way over there," she gestured weakly in the direction of the settee and grabbed his hand, keeping him still. "It's not fair to you. This is our bed, after all," she said, putting heavy emphasis on the word our. Even if her eyes had been open all the way, Tyrion would have had a hard time believing that she was conscious and saying these things to him. "There's more than enough room. We can be worlds apart here," she said, gesturing with her free hand, "or not. But if you didn't want me to, I probably couldn't reach you if I tried." The girl scooted back and stretched, demonstrating the vast expanse of the bed. "See?"
"Are you sure?" He asked, not wanting ever to push.
"I am." Sansa nodded, opening her tired eyes once to find him staring at her with trepidation. She moved closer to the center of the bed and placed her hand gently on his knee. "Please?"
Hesitantly, he obliged, crawling toward the pillows and settling himself in. Sansa was out cold quick enough. He thought to move to the settee but didn't wish to offend. He watched her even breathing and wondered what she dreamt of. As he blew out the candle, Tyrion granted himself one tender thought that, maybe, she dreamt of him.
When she awoke the next morning, Sansa had fully expected him to retreat from the bed but was pleasantly surprised to find Tyrion snoring gently beside her. She moved into the room and sat at the table, knowing the room would be visited by any number of handmaidens in short time. There were usually three that came to her first thing in the morning, even still. She had grown accustomed to the girls and quite liked their company, but at the moment, she was a little annoyed by the prospect of intruders into their happy little bubble. Nevertheless, they came bearing breakfast and supplies to make her ready for the day. She bathed rather quickly and had the girl only do back the upper half of her hair, leaving long tendrils around her shoulders. Her dress was a simple and thin, not particularly suitable for wear around the castle, but she didn't have much of an inclination to leave their rooms that day either unless Tyrion had a strong desire to. The girls left platters of fresh fruit and pastries but didn't have much in the way of more savory items, as Sansa didn't usually take them. She bade one of the girls to fetch some eggs, sausages, and toast for her husband, as well as refreshing the water in the bath for him. The handmaidens shared a secretive giggle that certainly didn't go unnoticed by Sansa, who merely gave them a playful glare, reminding herself of the way she used to do the same when Jeyne mooned over Robb when they were little.
Truly, she felt different now, safer, and it felt good to be lighter. Everything in her world had felt so dark and heavy with the threat of Joffrey overhead and she was determined for that to not follow her into her marriage. She knew that, someday, she'd have to broach the topics, but for now, she was just happy and that was enough.
The jostling of the girls coming back in with her additional requests seemed to rouse Tyrion. "Good morning," she said warmly as he came to her side, astounded by her effortless beauty so early. He presumed he must have looked the sight, hair mussed, sleep clothes disheveled, groggy expression. Secretly, Sansa admitted to no one but her own mind that she quite enjoyed it. "I took the liberty of having one of my handmaidens draw a bath for you as well. And they've brought up quite the luxurious setting for our breakfast." Sansa gestured to the platter in the center, and Tyrion nodded, snagging a piece of sausage for himself. His eyes flicked away from her for a moment in the direction of the poorly hushed chatter of the handmaidens on their way out. "I suppose we are the talk of the Red Keep by now," Sansa noted.
"Does that bother you?" Tyrion asked, voice low and gruff in a way that intrigued Sansa.
Drawing her lips in a little, she shook her head. "Not at all. I suppose it should, but for now at least, while we're within this room, they don't exist," she smiled, taking a sip of her tea. "They can gossip to the High Heavens for all I care." She gauged his reaction carefully. Of course, he didn't seem to mind the talk and laughter. Why would he? She turned to face him straight on and added, "Although, I do have a question." Tyrion nodded for her to continue. "When we're eventually met with the gossip face to face, do you suppose we should be honest or let them talk?"
He hesitated for a moment, considering all the options. He knew that his father would have much to say if he suspected for a moment that they had yet to consummate their union and that it would get back to him one way or another if anyone was given reason to allege it. "I suppose it would be safer, for the both of us, if we didn't give them a reason to jab at our tenuous comfort."
"So if anyone asks," Sansa said, a devious mask of deceit falling over her eyes, as she reached a hand out to him, letting it fall wherever it may "we've been wildly passionate and with any luck, there'll be a new lion in short order?" She tilted her head slightly, mocking the suggestive expressions of many highborn ladies who found themselves discussing such matters in mixed company.
Tyrion nearly choked on the last bite of the link. "Let's not get carried away," he laughed, breaking her into a similar laugh as well. He moved toward her, rubbing the arm she'd extended to him fondly. "Gods, Sansa. Where did that come from?"
She rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Everything around here seems to go to extremes with no regard for middle grounds. I thought I'd start strong and we could work backward."
Taking her hand, as he would a court acquaintance, he played at a haughty, affected tone. "We're discovering each other and how marriage works best for us." He turned, addressing an imaginary figure to her left, playfully. "Of course, we're enjoying the process, Lady So-and-So." He patted her hand and turned to address another phantom visitor. "I wouldn't deign to embarrass my lady wife with such obscene talk, Lord Huff-And-Puff," he said, punctuating it with a glance that very much said 'we'll talk about it later, good ser' that made her laugh.
"So don't lie, but don't deny?" she concluded.
"Exactly," he said with a coy smile. "So, how are you finding married life, Lady Sansa? All it's cracked up to be?"
Playing right back, Sansa avoided his eyes innocently for a moment, thinking. "I'd say so. Right now, though," she said, settling her gaze back on him, "there is a kind, brilliant, charming man staring at me with such affection that I feel that my heart may burst and I get the pleasure to get to know him."
"What does your husband have to say about that?" he laughed.
Sansa moved her hand to brush his wild curls from in front of his eyes. "I'd hope that he would be pleased enough to know that his wife has seen no one but him in days," she assured, resting her hand on his shoulder finally, "and still wants to see no one but him."
"You're going to be sick of me soon enough," he said quietly.
Eyes twinkling fondly, Sansa shook her head. "I doubt that very much. In fact, I'd like to repeat yesterday, if you don't mind. You fascinate me," she said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs, retrieving her teacup once again.
"Fascinate?"
"There's so much going on in that head of yours. I wonder, though..." she said, voice turning a little more serious as he retreated to ready for his bath. "Last night, as the hours grew smaller, we started broaching some more serious topics. Could we pick up from there?"
Tossing his towel over his shoulder, he turned back to her, leaning against the wall. "If you're comfortable with it, I don't see why not."
Tyrion readied for the day in record time, the rumbling in his belly worsened by the single piece of sausage and the smells from the rest of the food. He hadn't expected Sansa to pick up on his own preferences so quickly, but it was clear that she had been trained well in the same way all highborn ladies are trained by their Ladymothers. It had nothing to do with her caring for him, he insisted to himself. No matter how desperately he wished it. He rejoined her at the table and began fixing himself a plate. "So, did you have anything particular in mind that you'd like to discuss?" he asked.
"I miss my father very much," Sansa said, having been working on how she wanted to breach this topic all morning. Tyrion nearly dropped his fork, not expecting her to want to delve into that so soon. Still, she continued evenly. "I worry about the safety of the rest of my family. I feel comfortable telling you that," she confessed, sensing his surprise. "I don't think you'll use it against me. The first thing you ever said to me was a kindness about my father and you stood up for my emotions on the matter, which I realize now that I've never thanked you for." She reached her hand for him across the table.
Leaning forward, Tyrion clasped her outstretched hand assuringly. "You needn't thank me for that." He leaned back, and Sansa frowned at the loss of contact. "Your father was a good man. There is nothing traitorous in the truth," he said. He nudged some egg around with his toast absently, still bothered by the whole matter. By all accounts, Ned Stark's death was absolutely uncalled for. It was the way of things in this world, though, and he hated it. Death was so final.
Sansa sighed a little. That hadn't necessarily been her point. "In any case, I gather that my affection for my family is clear. As far as your family is concerned, I believe I've only ever heard you speak fondly of Ser Jaime." Tyrion nodded, as that was likely the case. "Are you close?"
Tyrion considered the thought for a moment. Was he close to any of his family? "Jaime and I are as close as, I think, we can be. When we were young, I idolized him. The knight of lore," he mused, watching Sansa as she studied him. "Everyone loved him, even after they labeled him Kingslayer. They say it with such ire, as though they all loved the Mad King and would have preferred he burned the city to the ground." He heaved a sigh, knowing how much his brother was tortured by the circumstances surrounding Aerys Targaryen's death, and how he wished he could have told Ned and Robert the full extent, how there was honor in what he'd done. Still, Jaime would never get that chance now. "Cersei and Father both blamed me for my mother's death. They saw me as a monster. In fact, I'm sure they still do." He focused his gaze on his plate, knowing that if he really saw how gently Sansa was staring at him, he'd break. "Jaime always stood up for me. I owe him much. I'm afraid for him." He shook his head, never having admitted that to anyone. Truthfully, he wasn't sure what made him admit it then. Jaime could take care of himself. "Of course, Tommen and Myrcella are innocent. For whatever reason, they don't share their mother and brother's opinions of me."
"Myrcella is unwaveringly kind," she said, laughing a little. "It's almost unnerving." And just like that, the topic was open. They spent the better part of the morning learning stories of each other's families. He asked what she'd said to Tommen on the day they'd all seen Myrcella off. She gawked, unaware that anyone had noticed and filled him in on the way Joffrey had lambasted his brother for showing emotion and that she'd reminded him, quietly, that he'd cried in front of her before and shouldn't be so quick to dismiss softness. He was impressed. She mused about how she hadn't actually felt confident enough to stand up to him for quite some time until that moment. She remarked that it was like something had shifted and she knew that, no matter what Joffrey did to her for it, she'd be alright, one way or another. It had felt nihilistic at the time, but now she wasn't so sure.
As they grew stiff from the chairs, they moved to setee again, as they had the day before. This time, though, they sat a little closer, Sansa's knee pulled up as she faced him, his legs stretched out alongside hers. They joked about how, when their lunch was brought to them, the ladies maids would be all agog with the closeness.
She asked Tyrion if he was accustomed to this type of thing and he laughed, wondering if she was aware of how chaste it truly was. Yes, it wasn't necessarily appropriate for a lord and lady to sit so closely together, but surely there had been such moments in her own life. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he, actually, didn't know. So, he asked, "Sansa, was there ever anyone you courted when you were in Winterfell."
"Not in any serious capacity," she blushed.
"Sansa, if I've overstepped-"
She shook her head, "No, no. It's not that. It's just..." she knew what he was asking. He was asking about how experienced she was in matters of love. Love was as foreign a concept as any she could imagine to her. Even if... She cleared the darkest of thoughts from her head, not ready to talk about all of that yet. Stick to Winterfell, she coached herself. "I always knew that I was going to be brokered off so I didn't really bother. Like anyone, though, I grew curious as to what to expect and practiced a bit with a boy my father had taken in as a ward but there was nothing extreme. Some kissing," she said, noting the daring question in his eyes. She knew he probably wouldn't mind if she'd lied and said that she'd made love to Theon back then, especially considering that it would spare any awkward conversation surrounding her maidenhead, but she knew it wasn't right to lie. They'd talk about all of that eventually, but not yet. Noticing how long she'd paused, lost in her own thoughts, she continued, "but It didn't feel right, so we didn't bother. It turned out when he turned twenty-one just before I left Winterfell, that he had a fair bit of reasoning for it to not feel right with me."
"Why is that?" he asked curiously.
Another reason it wouldn't have been right to lie, she laughed. "I suppose for a similar reason to why Ser Loras may have been relieved to find his sister matched to Lord Renly," she said, delicately skirting the topic.
"Oh."
"Indeed," she nodded. "But, for me, it wasn't unpleasant with Theon so much as just empty whereas Joffrey was brutal," she suggested, planting the idea in his head so that, perhaps, the topic wouldn't be such a shock when it did get discussed. "I'm sure you can piece together that he's not one to dote or be particularly caring or gentle in any capacity."
Tyrion seemed to tense but carried on his original line of questioning. "But you're not uncomfortable with affection or any such notions?"
"No," she assured. "That is to say I'm not particularly experienced, but it's not something I'm opposed to."
"And the pace we've been keeping hasn't been too much?" he asked, trying not to make it seem like he was asking for more. He hadn't expected as much as soon, but he still wanted to make sure she was comfortable with everything.
"Not at all. Tyrion, let me be clear," she said, reaching out and taking his hand where it lay between them. "Hold my hand when you'd like. Small touches don't scare me, especially alone, in our room. Have I been too forward with you?" She asked, trying very hard not to say that she wanted to be more forward, but was holding back. Tyrion shook his head quickly. "Then, perhaps we should see just how comfortable we are with each other, in these matters as well."
His tongue grew thick at the suggestion. "How do you mean?"
She sat up straight again, trying to suss out how best to demonstrate what she meant. She moved closer to him and took a deep, steadying breath. "If, as we talk, you wish to touch me," she said, letting his hand fall to rest on her thigh as she traced hers up his side, "do it. I know you said you wouldn't bed me until I want you to, but that doesn't mean you should deny yourself otherwise. I promise, I'll tell you if it makes me uncomfortable," she said, never once breaking eye contact. "We'll never get anywhere with each other if we don't know where we're building from."
It appeared, the ground up was never an option. There was an air of comfort between the two of them that was irrepressible and Tyrion wanted to breathe it in forever. Something in this Sansa was different. He could see hints of a strong woman in the girl who'd been so tormented by Joffrey but this was faster than he'd thought possible. Maybe, just maybe, he thought, her quick development was something to do with the potential of his being her soulmate. He'd heard stories of how people felt about their soulmates that they'd known before their twenty-first nameday, how quickly things developed, a sort of undeniable pull; but he couldn't fathom being Sansa's soulmate. The Gods were cruel beings, he'd always been told, so why would they ever be so kind to someone as unworthy as him.
When he made a similar statement aloud, a demeaning joke about himself when Sansa asked if something was shortsighted, she admonished him for it, reminding him that that was her husband he was talking about.
More than a little grateful that the conversation had led there, Sansa finally allowed herself to wonder if his dwarfism affected him in any way but his size. "Apart from the way people treat you, I mean," she added.
Tyrion was more than a little taken aback. "No one has ever asked me that," he admitted, furrowing his brow a little, thinking about it carefully.
"Well, now you can't say that anymore, can you?" she said.
"No, apparently not," he laughed, then sighed. "My body aches, my joints, my bones, but nothing I can't manage.
Sansa brought her hands to his legs, gently rubbing her thumbs over his ankles. "Is there anything that helps? Salves, hot baths... this?"
"Some," he admitted, wanting nothing more than to kiss her for even caring to ask but resisting, opting instead to reach out and take both of her hands in his, lacing their fingers together, "but I believe I've just grown used to it, so I ignore it mostly." Sansa's eyes narrowed, almost imperceptively, but Tyrion caught it. It almost looked like frustration, which amused him a little. "What?"
"Nothing," she said, "It's just something that I wonder, I guess. I'd like to be able to help you if I can, but you seem so set against it."
He rested back against the corner of the settee. "I've dealt with it my whole life, Sansa. Twenty-eight years. I'm capable of coping by myself at this point."
"My point is that you don't have to," Sansa said, moving closer and propping herself on her hand across him. You're not by yourself anymore.
"Doesn't it bother you?" he asked, pushing her hair back over her shoulder and tracing his thumb gently over the line of her neck.
"No. Should it?"
Tyrion laughed. "If my memory of everyone who's ever mentioned it serves? Yes."
Sansa thought about it for a moment. She supposed that would be the case. But she didn't see it that way. He was more of a man than any she'd ever met, so why should it? "It bothers me that you think it would. It's a part of what makes you who you are," she said. "It also bothers me that it bothers you, I think."
They sat in silence for a while and Tyrion almost said something he knew would ruin everything. He almost told her he loved her. Of course, he did. She'd even mentioned it casually as fact. But saying it himself felt like too much too soon. But he did. He loved her.
Through the evening they talked some more, but Sansa also asked that he read to her. They wound up on the floor, cushions, and blankets around them. He'd picked up a book of poetry and chose a few of his favorites, bound and determined not to bore her with the types of things he normally read; histories and strategies.
She smiled as he finished one about the color of a lady's hair as he ran his hands through hers, glad she'd decided to rest her head in his lap. "When I was young, I was so taken with the idea of soulmates. I'd heard the stories of how my parents resented each other. How my mother was so sure that my uncle was her soulmate and how she didn't even see fit to be in the same room as my father for months after their match had been arranged." She laughed, thinking about how strange the idea sounded to her even now, but she could definitely see where her mother would be that stubborn. "She was hiding in some far corner room she'd made her own sanctuary in and he finally found her. He said 'I thought I might find you here.' He told her all about his day. He told her how he wished she would give him a chance and that it might not be as bad as all that. She turned to him and said 'Do you want to bet?' and my father's eyes went wide with shock and he bolted from the room. When they finally wedded and bedded, she saw the phrase 'Do you want to bet?' on his ribs and knew that at least there was a chance." Tyrion snorted a laugh. 'Do you want to bet?' certainly sounded like the appropriate tone of Lady Catelyn. To be sure, there was some of that fire in Sansa's words that lived on his own chest. In reality, there were some further echoes to their first words that he didn't want to explore the similarities of, though it was clear that Sansa had. "She turned twenty-one just after she found out she was expecting me and used it as a way to tell my father. It was all so romantic and fated." She shook her head a little, wincing as she jarred her still tender side. "After everything that's happened, I think I'll be happy to be safe," she said, letting her hand rest against his stomach, near to her face.
"You deserve to be in love," he said, staring her in wonder. She did. She certainly looked the part well enough, the young besotted bride, but that's not what this was. She'd just said it. She was happy to be safe. And he was more than happy to be able to provide that, but gods, he wanted her love, too.
Sansa's belly did another nervous little flip, the same as it had a few days prior in the garden. She arched her neck and smiled up at him. "That could still happen," she said, trying to quell the urge to kiss him. She'd already startled him with that once and it wouldn't be fair, she thought to do it again.
After a little while longer, they readied once again for bed, chatting together as they did. "So, what should we do tomorrow?" Tyrion asked.
"The days are starting to grow colder," Sansa said, "I'd like to visit the sea at least once more before it gets too cold."
Tyrion nodded, impressed that his Northern wife had any interest in it at all. "I think we can manage that," he said. Sansa climbed into bed and reached a hand out to him, not giving him the option to leave this time. "Sansa, thank you. For everything. For trying." He was still amazed that she was willing to give him a chance.
"Thank you for letting me." As they started to fall asleep, they kept drifting closer and closer to one another. Tyrion apologized every time and she shushed him likewise.
Her draw to him was a curious one. She'd spent so much of the last year dreading bedtime, even succumbing to frequent nightmares as Joffrey's torments grew more and more severe, but the nearer Tyrion was, the more comfortable she felt. Her mother had told her when she was younger about how her father was the only one who had been able to talk her out of heightened emotions, but now, she wondered if that wasn't, perhaps, something to do with the bond of a soulmate. She'd heard people mention the way their soulmates made their blood sing. It had always struck her as silly, but now, the more she thought about it, she could see how that description would fit the way Tyrion made her feel. She couldn't tell him yet, especially since he still seemed so scared of being hurt by it, but she was growing more and more sure that he was hers.
Even though they'd fallen asleep holding hands with his head on her shoulder, somehow, as they'd slept, their positions drifted. When they awoke the following morning, to Sansa's handmaidens' chatter, they found themselves utterly entwined, her leg hooked around to rest between his, his arm around her neck cradling her head to his chest, her arm rested over him entirely. Sansa thought nothing of it, not even of the way his body had so obviously reacted to her nearness. Tyrion, on the other hand, was thoroughly rattled by it. He excused himself to the privy.
Sansa enlisted the help of one of her handmaidens in transporting their breakfast into a large basket along with a blanket while the other two helped her ready herself. They found a dress that could easily have the skirts drawn up higher for her to play in the water and wouldn't be ruined if it got wet. After she was done dressing, the couple set off, hand in hand, for the sea.
They laughed as Tyrion guided them down halls Sansa had never seen before, through twisting staircases and lower and lower until she was sure they were underground. "Where are we going?" she asked, eventually, as they ran through a room with a map painted on the floor.
"Exactly where you asked," he said, guiding her through an archway and down yet another set of spiral stairs.
Finally, they were in an unlit tunnel and their pace slowed. "I've never been to this part of the keep."
Tyrion gave a short laugh. "Oh, we've plenty of time to explore all of that. I thought, perhaps, we might want to keep away from prying eyes and busybodies and little birds and whisperers still for today," he said, taking the basket from Sansa and carrying it.
"Are there many secret tunnels like this?" she asked, beginning to see sunlight as they followed the path's curve one final time.
"Very many," he nodded. "They were part of Aerys' design, ensuring that he'd be able to escape with his children if the need should arise." Sansa nodded, always interested in his boundless knowledge. "It may not have worked so well for him, but his children did get out, so I suppose he had the right idea."
As the tunnel ran out, they found themselves on a secluded rocky beach on the sea. "Oh, Tyrion, this is..." Sansa was at a loss. She'd expected the white sands and dunes she'd seen from the garden cliffs, crowded with lords and ladies enjoying the last strains of Summer. This was different. It was serene and they were well and truly alone. "It's beautiful here," she said, pulling him nearer to the water's edge. She stood for a moment, awestruck by the sight.
"It certainly is," he said, regarding only his wife. The sea had nothing on Sansa.
They lay out their blanket on a patch of smooth stones. They ate and they talked. After a while, Sansa stood up, hitching up her skirts and affixing them to her waist. She turned back to him, noticing he hadn't moved. "Are you coming in?"
Transfixed by her, he simply shook his head, trying to dislodge the memory of how near to him those legs had been this morning. "I think not, My Lady."
"My Lady?" she scoffed, the absurdity of it causing her to laugh. She crouched beside him, playfully tugging at his wrist. "Are we back there again?"
He smiled, correcting himself. "Sansa. As much as I do love to be by the sea," he said, crossing his legs bashfully to hide the reaction she was eliciting. "I believe I may just enjoy the view."
"Spoken like a true husband," she admonished, trying once more to tug him to his feet. When he didn't budge, she gave up for the time being and danced her way into the water, kicking and splashing as she did. Tyrion watched, trying desperately to ignore the stirring in his groin. Maybe the cold water would be good for him... he rolled up his breeches and headed in after her.
They played and splashed, laughing like children for quite some time, discussing summertime memories.
As it grew colder, they retreated back to their blanket and stayed that way, eating the remaining fruits and bread from their basket resting against each other. Sansa let herself imagine what it would be like if, maybe in a few years time, Tywin were to pass away, leaving Casterly Rock to Tyrion and they could live there instead of King's Landing and spend their days there. They wouldn't be like this every day, obviously, but she'd like to imagine that, maybe, they'd be able to sneak away sometimes and teach their children to swim and skip rocks. Tyrion's mind wandered to much nearer fancies; Things he hadn't thought about in such vivid detail since the words on his chest had a face and name attached but he hadn't been able to stave off since this morning.
They stayed through the afternoon and watched the first stars of the night appear. Tyrion bunched the corner of the blanket up and lay back on it, guiding Sansa to lay back against him. "How much did you learn about the stars in your lessons?"
Sansa reached for his hand and grasped it, staring at his their entwined hands happily. "Not much," she admitted. "We're not seafaring, so there wasn't much need for it. We learned more about plant life and wildlife."
"So," he said, gesturing to a cluster of stars with their hands, "You don't know the story of Aelysh and Phyllor?"
Shaking her head, Sansa merely hummed a no, smiling at Tyrion's seemingly endless wealth of stories.
Tyrion shifted, wrapping Sansa in his arms, suddenly thrilled to realize that she was more than willing to listen to his lore and fables. "Well, so the story goes, Aelysh was the daughter of Gyedal and Daehlrys. Daehlrys was a jealous and vain woman. When Aelysh grew to be more beautiful than her mother, the woman decided to sacrifice her to have her own status as the most beautiful woman in the land sealed. They chained her to a bluff and left, expecting the sea dragon, Nagga, to claim her," he growled, accenting the danger by playfully jarring Sansa. She swatted at him playfully. "Days passed and Aelysh was left, sunburnt, parched, and starved but still hanging on. One day, Phyllor heard the poor girl's screams and rescued her. He rowed to the bluff and broke open the chains. Even in her weakened state, he could see that she was the most beautiful woman in the world. He fell instantly and madly in love, nursed her back to health, and marched back to where Gyedal and Daehlrys were heard to be staying until there was confirmation of the girl's death. He reached the Inn and made his case to ask for the girl's hand, but Aelysh was promised to another, her uncle Vyhertis, and if she was still alive, she'd be going back to be wed." Sansa furrowed her brow and snuggled against him, hearing some unfortunate echoes to this story. However, most of these stories didn't end quite as satisfactorily as hers had. "Phyllor had heard of Vyhertis's cruelty and couldn't stand to see more harm come to the girl. He gathered his belongings and his Lady and made haste for the Lord's castle to challenge him for her honor. What the poor bastard didn't think about was the repercussions. Vyhertis struck Phyllor a fatal blow and did likewise to Aelysh for expressing her anguish." Sansa let out a little gasp despite herself. Tyrion kissed the back of her hand, his lips curling upward into a smile against her soft flesh. "The Gods, however, were so moved by his devotion, that they granted them eternal life together in the skies, so now they lay entwined, see?" He took their coupled hands, extending his index finger, and gestured toward two clusters of stars in the sky. "Phyllor," he demonstrated, tracing out the silhouette of a man holding a sword, "and Aelysh," he added, moving his hand down to the right, a figure reaching for the first, "still together to this day."
Sansa rolled over to her stomach, face perilously close to Tyrion's. "Ill-fated lovers who protect and watch over star-gazing lovers and make sure they don't meet the same fate?"
"I hadn't thought of it that way," Tyrion said, pushing a fallen curl behind her ear, giving him a better view of her eyes, "but yes, I suppose you're right. We could easily have ended much the same way." Truthfully, Tyrion was more than well aware of how lucky he had been that Joffrey hadn't decided to take a more direct course of action.
In short order, the couple began packing up their basket and returned through the twisting halls of the red keep, sun-kissed and pleased with themselves for successfully avoiding people the whole way. When they reached their rooms, they began to ready for bed. Sansa's whole body felt like it was humming. She was blissfully tired but couldn't imagine being able to sleep. "I can't remember the last time I've had such a good day," she said, unpinning the last of her hair as she walked toward Tyrion, who sat at the table, skimming through a book on Essosi laws. She knelt by his side, placing her hand atop his. "Thank you, Tyrion. Truly."
"The pleasure is all mine," he assured, gazing upon his wife fondly. "You look exhausted. Get some sleep," he said, returning to his book.
Sansa lay in bed for an hour or so before she realized that Tyrion had raised from the table and was moving to the settee. She called out to him. "Tyrion? Come to bed."
He let out a sigh. "Sansa..." he said, voice hesitant. After the way they'd awoken that morning and the near madness it had driven him to all day, just watching her legs for Gods sakes, he didn't want to push his luck. Everything had been going so well and he didn't want to cock it all up.
"Tyrion..." Sansa replied, matching his intonation spot on, reaching out a hand and crooking her finger to beckon him forward. He gave no further argument, unable to fight his beautiful wife calling him to their bed. She smiled at him as he settled in. "Good night, Tyrion," she said, nestling into him the same way she'd awoken that morning.
With his heart hammering so hard Sansa must have been able to hear it from where she lay on his chest, Tyrion wrapped her in his arms willing himself to calm. "Good night, Sansa," he answered, resting his cheek atop her head and trying to recall every word the lawbook had on what types of justice the Great Masters of Meereen doled out. Surely the mental images would be jarring and unpleasant enough to stave off any unwanted thoughts.
A messenger had knocked early the next morning and asked that he be present at a mandatory meeting of the Small Counsel at his earliest convenience. He began to ready himself immediately, before remembering that he was no longer alone and, perhaps, he should wake his wife to tell her of his absence. He crossed to her side of the bed and watched her for just a moment, cursing himself for having to wake her, then took her hand gently, kissing it. "Sansa," he spoke gently. She began to stir and he rubbed her arm lightly, hoping the motion would continue to rouse her. "Good morning," he said as her eyes began to flutter open. "I just thought you should know that I'm heading out for part of the morning." She frowned a little, tugging at the frayed edge of his doublet, making a mental note to herself that she should take a look at the rest of his wardrobe, just to see if anything needed mending. "Apparently, there's some sort of briefing I'm meant to attend today. It shouldn't be long, Sansa," he said, caressing her jaw with his fingers, tilting her chin to face him. "It must be important if they're interrupting a man on his honeymoon." She nodded, understanding. She may not have liked it, but it had to be done. "I'll return before the mid-day meal."
"I'll see you then," she said, almost leaning up to kiss him in her sleep clouded state, but stopped, instead resting her hand on his chest.
Not knowing what else to do with herself after finding nothing pressing to repair, Sansa took leave in search of Lady Margaery. The grounds were crowded with gold cloaks that morning, much to Sansa's surprise. There must have been some cause for threat again. As she stood out in the mid-morning sun, she caught glimpse of the remaining traces of the bruises on her arms from King Joffrey's name day and laughed to herself thinking about how truly bizarre the past week had been. That night, she'd been resigned to the fact that she'd be married to a monster and now, here she was, finding herself counting down the minutes until her wonderful, sweet husband would return and they could be together once more. She felt her cheeks sting at the thought, never having expected to go head over heels this fast, and for a Lannister, no-less.
A warm voice came from the garden behind her. "My, my! If it isn't the blushing bride!" Margaery circled around her friend appraisingly before hugging her. "I daresay, I thought I'd lost you to that husband of yours for good."
Sansa laughed, "We were just trying to avoid the gossip a little while longer." She took her arm and leaned in confidentially. "Truthfully, I'd still gladly be in our room if he hadn't been called away on some pressing matter or other."
"Yes, I'd heard. All very hush-hush, isn't it?" Margaery nodded, lightly mocking the distance at which wives were often kept from such matters. "Now, tell me. Is he as good as they say?" she asked, raising an eyebrow suggestively.
With a suggestive smile, realizing this was her first shot at the 'let them think what they want' method of gossip avoidance they had decided on, she whispered only a single word: "Better." It was the truth. Tyrion was, in all capacities she had seen thus far, so much better. Perhaps it wasn't the answer to the question she was asked, but it wasn't wrong.
Margaery beamed, pulling her friend in tighter. "Oh, Sansa, I'm so happy for you," she said, leading them up a path toward a cluster of benches. "You must tell me everything."
"Lady Lannister?"
Neither of the women reacted, at first, but seeing that the approaching figure was, indeed, speaking to them, Margaery gave her a pinch to the elbow. "That's you, dear."
Sansa blushed. The thought hadn't exactly crossed her mind yet. Lady Lannister. She didn't hate it. Not when it linked her so prominently to the man who had changed her life. "My apologies! I'm not used to hearing that yet," she confessed, addressing the man, a member of the Kingsguard. "May I help you?"