Everything gets easier in time. By the end of their first turn as man and wife, Sansa and Tyrion found an ease with each other that neither had expected to reach so soon. Surely part of that was a credit to the bond of a soulmate, but sometimes, Sansa would look at Tyrion and have to stop and thank each of the seven for his existence. The world was a better place for his being in it. She knew that he didn't feel that way, but she was determined to make him see himself through her eyes.
Still, Sansa didn't think she would ever get used to waking warm and safe in his arms. On the morning that marked one month from their wedding, they woke at their own leisure. Of late, they'd fallen back into their normal bedtime habits. He, in an effort to maintain his own decorum, opted to keep to his smallshorts. Sansa had laughed at the blush on Tyrion's cheeks the first time she'd divulged that, often, she chose to sleep naked, hating the way her nightshifts tangled in the covers. It had taken some time, but she'd managed to convince him that she trusted him enough that she wouldn't think twice about it. He'd kissed her and teased that she would be the death of him. Nevertheless, on that quiet morning, Tyrion woke first. He reached for the book on his bedside table and began to leaf through it as he waited for Sansa to rise.
A few short minutes later, she began to shift and stretch. "Is that you stirring?" he asked, leaning to her and kissing her shoulder.
"Unless we've a third in the bed." She yawned and rolled over, giving him s coy smile before adding "I could always check." She ducked under the coverlet dramatically, popping her hands and feet up in her search.
Tyrion coughed out a laugh as she found her way between his legs, indeed finding a visitor. "Sansa, what is this about?" he panted, as she too began to laugh, crawling up over top of him, the blanket falling down to her hips, revealing more of herself to Tyrion than he'd ever allowed himself to see.
She lowered herself against him, whispering in his ear. "I intend to hide in this bed today and enjoy my hus-"
A cough. Unfortunately, the intruder's knock had gone unheard amongst their laughter and distraction, but Tywin Lannister was not one to be ignored. "I hope I haven't caught the happy couple at a bad time."
Tyrion blanched as Sansa rolled off of him gathering the covers up to her neck. "Father, do you mind-"
"No, not at all," he said, gesturing between them. "Lady Sansa, feel free to get up and dress. I never mind the sight of a beautiful woman."
Still a little breathless, she managed a curt, "No, thank you, My Lord."
"I wished to congratulate you on your first month as man and wife," Tywin said, walking calmly to the foot of the bed. "Another month of wedded bliss will put us just upon the eve of the Prince's wedding and the end of your honeymoon." The couple exchanged a confused glance. "Shall I be making the announcement of a new Lannister at that time, as well?"
"It would be much more likely, My Lord, if you'd not interrupted," Sansa said, tone a little sharper than she'd intended.
Tywin gave a little laugh, sounding genuinely amused by her snipe. "You are suited for him, I'll grant you," he said, nodding. He turned to leave, calling over his shoulder, "Do not keep me waiting."
After a few moments of silence to regain their thoughts, Tyrion loosed a bark of laughter. "Where did that come from?" he asked, turning to Sansa and resting his hand on the curve of her hip.
"I'm not sure," she said, blushing as she kissed him, knowing exactly where it came from, but not sure he'd believe her if she said it. "But, I think perhaps we should talk about this seriously?"
"Sansa, no," he sighed.
"Why not?" she asked, propping herself up on her elbow. "What exactly are we waiting for?"
He ran his hand back and forth across hers absently. "For you to want me."
Sansa lowered her head and scooted forward, aligning herself in his distant stare. "Have I said that I don't? I was trying," she said, rolling her eyes at her own advances, "poorly I suppose, to demonstrate that before your father barged in. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, I've had the reigns the whole time, Tyrion." She leaned forward, kissing him passionately. "I believe it might be your turn now."
"If that is the case then I most ardently say no," he insisted, sitting up and moving to extract himself from the bed.
Sansa insisted, reaching again to still him. "Tyrion, I trust you. I'm amenable to the action," she said, trying to avoid using more graphic terms. "I've always wanted children and there's no other way to achieve that than to lie together." She crawled across the bed and kneeled behind him, wrapping him in her arms tightly. "I believe with my whole heart that you would never let any sort of nefarious deeds befall our child or me. Are you really saying that we will not consummate our marriage until, what?" She tugged at his shoulder to get him to turn to face her. "Until I'm twenty-one and you know for sure that I'm not lying to you when I say that I have feelings for you? Will you need to see the words 'My Lady, I am sorry for your loss' somewhere on my flesh before you believe me?" she asked. He hung his head, realizing that that was probably the case, shameful though it may be. "I don't know what those feelings are or what they may grow to be but they're there. I care for you. I enjoy your company. I appreciate you. I desire you. I can't promise much else, but you are important to me." Sansa moved to a seated position beside him.
"Has it crossed your mind that that's not a reason?"
She sighed, "It has. But, Tyrion, it is inevitable," she said. Taking his hands in hers, she started again. "I want this. With you. Why put it off?" When he didn't seem particularly moved, she rested her hand atop his mark and lowered her voice. "Please, at least think about it. You heard him. We have one more month of this honeymoon before you'll have to go back to your small counsel duties. We've one more month to be wrapped in each other's company before you suddenly become wrapped in ledgers and debts and small council meetings and we scarcely have time to talk, let alone move closer to whatever we may become."
Tyrion nodded, his pledge to at least think about it. "And you are not just saying all of this because you're afraid or because you think you have to?"
"No. I want this with you," she said, moving closer to him and caressing his thigh lightly. "I've told you all along that there could be something here."
"I'll think about it. But, Sansa, I don't want you to be disappointed." He worried his hands a bit, turning to her. "Kindness is not a habit among Lannisters, I fear, but I know I have some somewhere. I could be good to you."
She leaned against him and lowered her voice. "You have been nothing but good and kind to me, Tyrion Lannister."
"I want this to be enjoyable for you," he said, eyes glistening with emotion. "I want, more than anything else, for you to be happy."
Sansa smiled genuinely, taking his face in her hands. "You are the only reason I've had to be happy in quite some long time." She brought herself to him and kissed him deeply. She brought his hands to her body, wordlessly granting him permission to explore as he'd never allowed himself to do. He gave a low moan as his fingers trailed the underside of her breast. She pulled him back to follow her further into the bed, trailing her fingers up and down his back. They continued on in this way for quite some time. Moments, hours, who knows. It was an eternity and not long enough. Still, they knew at some point it had to stop. Breathless, Sansa asked, finally pulling away, "Was that okay?"
"Perfect," he whispered, kissing her once more before finally leaving the bed to dress for the day.
Feeling quite proud of himself, Tyrion responded to the call of a certain sharp-tongued sellsword who found himself in the city and in need of entertainment, taking along Podrick as well.
Sansa laughed at the sight of the three men together as they headed down the hall out of the residence, deciding that her husband and his old friend would likely corrupt poor, sweet Ser Podrick in short order. There was insistence upon a visit to a brothel and she felt a little sting at the suggestion. Tyrion seemed quite disinterested, though, insisting that he had all the woman he could ever want at home. "Who, by the way, explains your fondness for Lady Stark," Bronn had remarked, placing the girl's face without despite her having been introduced as 'My wife, Lady Sansa.' She blushed and hung her head, not having heard such an offhand connection to her mother made with anything but ire from anyone but Tyrion in quite some time. As the men finally made their way out of earshot, Podrick and Bronn both chiding Tyrion for having hidden that Sansa was his soulmate for so long, Sansa made her way back into their chamber.
Although one month of marriage wasn't necessarily a cause for celebration, Sansa wanted to mark the occasion in a way that would be special for them both. She'd known for some time that she wanted her husband in a more intimate capacity, but between that morning's dalliances and the way her stomach wrenched at the thought of him visiting a brothel or touching another woman at all, for that matter, she felt the urgency growing. He'd said that he would think about it, but she didn't want to think anymore.
Since she didn't know quite how long he'd be gone, Sansa decided to make a quick trip to the library. She asked the Maester for as many books on the Lannister histories as she could carry. The old man smiled, commending her on her interest in her husband's family.
As she walked back to the keep, books tied together with an old leather strap, she made one stop. She visited the wine cellar and procured a flagon each of a Smokeberry wine for herself and a deep Dornish red for Tyrion. When she finally reached their quarters, she left the books and wine on the balcony, then returned inside. She took some pillows and cushions from all around the room and arranged them into a comfortable seating area, then realized that it would soon be dark and returned for some candles in preparation. As she settled in, she began to leaf through one of the books and waited for her husband.
It was still a few hours before Tyrion returned. Sansa had lit all of the candles and permitted herself a sample of the wine as she scanned for any mention of her husband in the more recent histories. His siblings were praised often enough, but there was scant mention of him, merely his birth added seemingly as an afterthought. Her heart ached at the cruelty of it.
When Tyrion did finally make his way to their chambers, he was disappointed to find them empty and dark, before noting the flickering lights outside the open door. He removed his vest, tossing it aside haphazardly, and pushed up his sleeves, making his way to investigate. He kicked out of his boots with a thud before finally reaching the patio. "You've gotten into the wine..." he remarked, noting the flagons on the table, then took in the scene on the floor, "and the books. Without me?" he pouted, sidling in next to her under the furs.
"There's more than enough of both," she said, reaching up to the Dornish red and pouring him a goblet, "And it was done entirely with you in mind."
"Maybe you were right. We are perfect for each other." Tyrion appraised her curiously. "What's behind this?"
The woman shrugged. "A wise man once said that everything's better with some wine in the belly." She clinked her goblet against his and smiled.
He laughed, not sure when she would have heard him say that, but appreciating the sentiment either way. "What are we reading?"
"Lannister histories," she said, flipping the cover to a position that he could read it.
"Oh," he groaned, marking her taste in reading materials as much less agreeable than her taste in wine. "So, nothing good."
Sansa shook her head. "I wouldn't say that. Tell me about this man." She reached for a book left propped open to her left and pointed to a singular sentence.
"Tytos Lannister?" he asked, more than a little surprised at that being the name she chose from all of the Lannisters. "Why do you want to know about my grandfather?"
"This book is the only one that mentions him, exactly once," she said, turning to face him and scanning the page, "and it's only in relation to your father and the Reynes. Just that he was 'weak-willed and oft-mocked, with a fondness for drink.'" She quirked an eyebrow at him, as though to ask if the description sounded familiar, then gestured to the five other volumes scattered around her. "The rest don't mention him at all."
Tyrion nodded with a sigh, then took a deep drink of his wine. "That would be my father and uncle Kevan's doing, I've gathered. Lord Tytos was, from what I gather, a friendly man who, if you ask most Lannisters, nearly drove our house to ruin." Ha gave a dark laugh, thinking about how truly bizarre it was to think that someone's charity when they had more than enough was ruinous. "From the best I can surmise, mainly by my Aunt Genna's accounts, his fatal flaw was how he chose to see only the good in people. He loaned coin to his bannermen and his lords freely and never sought to the return." Suddenly, his mind made another connection. Surely, his father wouldn't have appointed him Master of Coin expecting him to fail based on Tytos's monetary failings. He shook the thought from his head and continued. "He was a kind man, by all accounts. Jovial, even. I would liked to have known him, I think. Unfortunately, I don't have many stories of him." Sansa shivered a little and he pulled her tighter to himself, wrapping them in the furs. "That's the thing with the Lannister family; when they say that the histories won't remember you, they mean it. Many of my relatives, you'll find, fit the narrative you've been shown by the ones you know."
"You don't," she said, nuzzling into his neck.
He smiled at the thought. "That's very kind of you to say." He kissed the top of her head and tried very hard to come up with any sort of story about his family that might explain the Lannisters to her. "When I was very young, maybe five-years-old, I asked my aunt Genna why my father didn't love me." Sansa worried her brows and he laughed. "I know, I know, I've always been a sad little man, I know. Instead of giving me a reason which I would have been too young to understand, or blaming it all on me being a dwarf, she simply swept me in her arms and told me a story of my Grandfather that you'd never find in any of the histories." Sansa smiled, twisting herself around so that she could watch him as he told his story. "Apparently, after my Grandmother died, shortly after my uncle Gerion's birth, he became a changed man. Not bad, not mean, but just different than he had been." He ran his hand over her legs idly as he spoke. "Where Father rejected me, Grandfather had doted and fawned on Uncle Gerion. They were close and he brought fun back to my Grandfather. Apparently, my Father and Uncle Kevan were largely undone by this. They were jealous of the bond and would have done anything for their Father's approval." He released a puff of breath watching his derision turn to steam in the air. "When it came down to it, though, nothing they could do would help. My Grandfather wasn't interested in wars or blood. And that infuriated my Father." He shook his head sadly, trying to imagine how anyone could undervalue a person who appreciated peace. "I think, perhaps, what she was getting at was that he saw enough of himself and Uncle Kevan in Jaime and Cersei, but saw too much of Gerion in me, aided by his own hatred of me for being a dwarf and for killing my mother." Sansa tutted a little and wrapped her arms around him, wishing desperately for him to one day see that his mother's death was not his fault and that his size was not a viable reason for people to have hurt him so. The fact that so many tragedies of his life stemmed back to those two facts so far out of his control made her heart ache for him. "Not wanting to hurt them as he'd been hurt, he took it all out on me. But I was so young," he sighed, trying not to let his too-sad story get in the way of what Sansa had intended to be a lovely night. "All I heard in that story was that my Grandfather would have loved me. I knew my Uncle Gerion did."
"It says that your Uncle Gerion was on a quest looking for a sword?" she prompted, trying to keep him talking.
"Something like that, yes," he affirmed. Truthfully, his uncle's last trip was somewhat of a mystery to him. The chances that the heirloom he sought hadn't been forged into other manners of Valyrian steel were slim to none. Everyone knew that, including Gerion. Tyrion had never understood how that would be the driving force behind his search. In reality, the man had crossed the narrow sea for love. The words that laid on his shoulder were in Dothraki and he had grown tired of waiting for her appear in Westeros, so he made frequent trips to Essos in search of her. No one knew for sure, but Tyrion had heard a story in a brothel, once, of a Golden Lion who'd been slain by a Stallion for trying to unburden the wife of a dead Khal on her way to Vaes Dothrak to emerge as a member of the Dosh Khaleen. He liked to imagine that it was a little more romantic than that, but he could certainly accept that as an answer to his death much more readily than over a sword.
"He sounds like someone Arya would have idolized," Sansa said, recalling how fondly she used to speak of the Targaryen women who fought battles alongside their men.
Tyrion nodded. He recalled very little of his wife's sister, save that she was a fiery lass. "That wouldn't surprise me. He was smart. And funny." He stopped for a moment, remembering a story of another little girl tying on her brother's armor and pretending to be him so she could learn to fight, too, even though she likely needn't have done so. Gerion would have taught Cersei to fight no matter what. "He saw people for who they truly were and not what the rest of the world thought they should be."
She watched as he worked his mind over memories long-since packed away. "How old were you?"
"Nineteen, I think. Old enough to remember him well." Tyrion wasn't actually sure how old he was when the man died, but he knew that he'd been in his late teens when he received his last letter from him.
Sansa tilted her head up to kiss him gently. "Thank you for telling me about them."
He leaned down, returning the gesture. "Thank you for asking. It is beautiful out here tonight," he said, not once looking away from her eyes.
Pressing herself against him tighter, Sansa kissed him again, quickly picking up where they'd left off that morning. She hitched up her skirts and brought one leg over him, remembering how much nicer it had been when he'd been over her earlier.
"What are you thinking?" he whispered, still so astounded by the worlds she kept locked away.
"Honestly?" she asked, deciding to just let herself go and tell him exactly what she was feeling in that moment. "How nice your arms feel around me. How much I like listening to you speak. How attractive your voice is." He laughed a little, not expecting that. He leaned up and kissed her. Still, she wasn't done with her list. "How good it feels to be near you." She placed a kiss on his exposed neck. "How desperately I want to keep kissing you," she said, doing so at once. She pulled back and trailed her fingers gently down his chest. "How lucky I am that I'm married to you." Tyrion gave a small, sideways grin, resting his hands on her waist. Sansa arched her back into his touch but couldn't look away from him. "How handsome you are," she said, blushing as she leaned down. "How I want you," she said, voice nearly a purr.
Tyrion snatched his hands back and shook his head, folding his arms. "That's not funny, Sansa." He tried to wriggle himself free.
"I'm not laughing," she said, raising herself to allow him to pull away and then sitting on her heels. "What's wrong?" she asked, suddenly very concerned at his reaction.
"I don't appreciate being toyed with," he answered, taking a candle from the table and retreating inside their room.
Sansa's jaw dropped and she followed him in. "Excuse me?"
"That was uncalled for," he said sadly, gesturing to the patio door.
Unable to believe what she was hearing, Sansa went immediately to his side. "You asked what I was thinking. I told you. You've been nothing but exceedingly honest with me, as best I can tell. The least I can do is afford you the same courtesy." When he remained unmoved, she tried to emphasize her honesty. "That is what I was thinking."
He shook his head, looking only at the floor. "Then, it's what the wine was thinking." There was no possible way that she could truly want him.
"I've always been told that a drunken man's words are a sober man's thoughts," Sansa said, reaching her hand out for his.
Lips turned into a distinct frown, Tyrion pulled away, knowing that if she let him touch her, he'd feel that familiar warmth and it would make it even harder to turn her down. "That's an exceedingly naive point of view. I have more than enough experience to know that's not the case," he said.
"Do you need to see how much wine is out of that flagon?" she sighed, pointing to where they'd previously come from before bringing up the number on her hand. "3 goblets. And that's over the course of an entire afternoon and evening. I'm not nearly as drunk as you seem to think," she said, growing frustrated with his inability to accept that she would never just say these things. "Just enough to not be afraid to tell you that I think I'm falling for you," she said softly, realizing that that was the one thought she hadn't yet shared. She didn't know if it was love, but she certainly cared for him and felt... something. But she was growing increasingly concerned that she'd never get to know what that was if he didn't at least let her try. In the silence after her admission, a spark of hope lit in Tyrion's eyes that warmed Sansa completely. She was getting through to him. She took a step closer, reaching for him again. "You spent the day away and all I wanted was for you to come back so I went to the library and brought back as much literature on your family as I could to learn just a little bit more about you."
Tyrion's expression turned sad again. "There's nothing in there about me.
"So I found which, believe it or not, told me quite a bit on its own and your stories about your grandfather confirmed it." She laced her fingers into his and looked at him tenderly. "The stories omit people from their lineage on the grounds of, what, good-will and gentleness in favor of brawn and ferocity? I'd imagine that that's the type of company I'd prefer to keep." He let out a breathy laugh, unable to believe that anyone would choose to keep his company knowing that people like Jaime existed. She could see the doubt creeping back in and lowered herself to her knees. "Why can't you believe that I want this? That I want you." He finally met her eyes and felt weak. She had said it again. I want you. He could hardly believe that she said it. "I know you're afraid to get hurt. But just as you've promised me that you won't hurt me, I won't hurt you." She brought herself flush against him, pushing the neck of his tunic to the side and ran her palm flat across his chest across her words. "I won't hurt you, Tyrion," she assured, kissing him again, urgently. She slid her hands to the bottom of his shirt and lifted it off.
"Sansa-" he sighed against her mouth.
"I want you," she said, running her hands up to his neck resting her forehead against his. "And I don't want to wait anymore."
Groaning in want of her, Tyrion kissed her hungrily before pacing around her once. Busying himself on the laces, Sansa felt herself startle as he brushed against a scar on her shoulder, but eased as he spoke, "May I?" Just a simple word and she could remember just who was touching her now and it made it all okay. She nodded as he released the fabric and it fell to the floor around her. He kissed her shoulder as he passed back to her front, aiding her to her feet.
As they reached the bed, she sat first, leaning forward and kissing the base of his neck. He hummed deep in his throat, closing his eyes as she entwined her nimble fingers into the waistband of his pants, sliding them off, seeing him in his entirety for the first time. Sansa's breath caught in her chest as she took in the sight.
Tyrion found himself feeling very vulnerable, regretting having brought the candles inside. As much as it pleased him to be able to see all of her, the realization that she was in the same position and could see all there was to of him. He fought off the urge to snuff the lights and retreat to his unseen safety, but since she had already seen, there was no undoing it.
Sansa found her eyes immediately drawn to the cut of his hips, strong and muscled. She looked him up and down, slowly bringing her eyes to rest on parts of him she'd yet to see. Unsurprisingly, as she'd heard whispers in the halls, he was particularly well endowed. Tension pooled in the lowest parts of her belly and she wanted nothing more in that moment than her husband. She chewed at her lip and beckoned him to her.
"Is this okay?" he asked, sliding his hands up her thighs lightly, grazing light kisses as he did.
Sansa let out a breathy "Yes," as she ran her own hands up his muscular arms to his shoulders, trembling lightly in excitement.
He stood between her legs and found himself momentarily overwhelmed, something that hadn't happened with a woman since he was a boy. This wasn't just any woman. This was Sansa; the Maiden made flesh but so much more. She was real and here in front of him, wanting him. And he loved her. He reached to caress her, moving his hand up her side to her pert, rounded breast. He guided her back onto the bed and eased himself in beside her. He trailed featherlight kisses up her arm, across her chest, down her abdomen, discovering her most sensitive areas with pleasure. "It seems..." he drawled, sucking down a little harder as he reached her ribs, "that this pleases you greatly."
Moaning her response, she dug her nails into his back possessively. Her mouth opened and closed instinctively a few times, needing to do the same. Sansa rolled them both over so that they were on their sides. She kissed him hard, her body moving to his instinctively. "My turn," she said, voice thick with need. She kissed his jaw, his neck, finally hesitating for a moment to suck at the area where his mark sat, curious as to how his body would react to the stimulation.
Tyrion's hips hitched at her motions, warmth flowing through him immediately, feeling his cock throb hard.
Sansa smiled against his flesh, feeling him stir to life. That was exactly the reaction she had hoped for. Her soft hand closed delicately around his velvety length and she began pumping gently. She smiled as his eyes fluttered closed and he began to thrust against her hand.
"Harder," he breathed, closing her hand tighter with his, demonstrating. He leaned toward her and kissed her, his free hand tangling in her hair, tugging it lightly. Sansa gasped in surprise. Tyrion opened his eyes, making sure that she was still enjoying. When he saw her smile, he couldn't help himself. He moved his own hand from hers and trailed it around the entrance to her sex. He ventured in a finger and found her already slick with want. He swirled it around until he found the sensitive bundle of nerves near the top and began encircling it slowly.
Reveling in the new sensation, Sansa's back arched and she found herself bucking against his hand. Her breath grew jagged. Her heart rate quickened. She moaned. "Tyrion." A cry. She wanted him. She needed him nearer.
The sound of his name dripping from her lips in such a sensuous tone drove him wild. "Are you sure?" he asked, panting. "If you want to stop-"
She kissed him hard, rolling on to her back and guiding him with her. "Please," she said, urging him on with her voice more air than tone, leaning forward to kiss him again, brushing his hair from in front of his eyes. She swallowed thickly, chest heaving as she tried to keep from pulling him in herself. He was being so patient with her, so kind, and she didn't know how to respond.
Bracing himself against her thigh, he gently glided the tip of his member inside of her, filling her slowly with his manhood. Sansa moved to him pleasure filled noises caught in her throat. He began thrusting slowly, taking care not to hurt her, but she showed no signs of pain. Building speed, he took a sharp intake of breath as she sat up, snaking her legs up around his hips and clinging to him. He straightened his legs under her and let his hands wander up from her legs to the lift of her ass.
Sansa began to move rhythmically with Tyrion. Her eyes fluttered closed and her mouth relaxed. Her blood sang in ecstasy. She felt as though she was chasing something unknown and exciting and just out of reach. Sweat beaded on her chest and her movements became much more deliberate.
Sensing her urgency, and knowing he, too, couldn't hold out much longer, Tyrion began to thrust harder.
Her mouth searched for his as she pressed him back against the bed. Her kisses were much more frantic as she began to lose herself in the moment, her body working together with his almost without her control.
His hand found its way back to her center, working at her pleasure until she began to cry out in broken pants. Hearing her so riled up for him drove Tyrion over the edge, spilling his seed inside of her in the heat of the moment. Sansa was right behind, moaning his name as she finished.
Sansa's breathing began to calm and she rolled to his side, kissing him again and again, breaking the kiss to really look at him, sweat-drenched and bathed in the afterglow. She made herself comfortable in his arms, sleepy and calm and satisfied in a way she didn't know existed. Dancing her fingers through the coarse curls on his chest, she drifted off to sleep, safe in the arms of a man who loved her.
As she slept, Tyrion's mind began to race. He'd really just done that. He'd consummated his marriage to his soulmate. She'd seemed to enjoy it, but oh, gods, what if she hadn't. What if it never happened again? What if she'd wake in the morning and hate him for what he'd done? He'd promised not to touch her until she was ready Had he pushed? Had he taken advantage? His mind swirled with all the ways he'd just wronged this woman he loved so desperately. They'd been fighting. She'd been drunk. She had to have been more drunk than she let on, otherwise, why would she have been so adamant about wanting him? She had to get herself drunk. She was scared of his father's intrusion that morning. Had he forgotten that fast? She was just trying to do what had to be done. She didn't want him. She couldn't want him. "What have I done?" he whispered to no one. He knew that Sansa was a grown woman, but after everything she'd been through, she deserved, at least, to be able to trust that her husband wouldn't take advantage of a situation. "Oh Gods, what have I done?" he asked again, knowing no one would hear. Still, he held her as she slept, the fear of what would happen when she awoke and realized threatening to suffocate him.
The morning was a fair one. Warm winds blew in through the still opened door to the balcony. The sun shone brightly. Still, something felt off when Sansa began to stir. "Good morning," she said, voice still heavy with sleep. Tyrion looked haggard, as though he'd scarcely slept or moved all night. "What's wrong?" she asked, suddenly worried that something dire had happened.
"Sansa, I'm sorry," he said, looking at her with tears stuck in his eyes. "I shouldn't have..."
She moved closer to him, propping herself on her elbow. "Shouldn't have what?" She placed her hand on his chest but he recoiled guiltily. "Tyrion, talk to me," she urged, reaching instead to clasp his hand.
"I took advantage of you," he said, unable to meet her eyes.
Struggling to follow his thought process, she began to repeat his words, "Took-" even that didn't seem to help. "How?"
Tyrion excused himself from the bed, grabbing his pants from the floor. "We were fighting and drunk and..." he trailed off, trying not to mention how he'd failed her. "That's not how that was supposed to go."
"Last night was incredible, Tyrion," she said, sliding off the bed after him, wrapping herself in her dressing gown. "If you wait for everything to go the way it's supposed to, it'll never go at all." She followed him as he collected their clothing from around the room and continued talking, despite his distance. "If that was what you consider a fight, I'll need to tell you about the row my Mother and Father had the first time he took Bran out on a hunt. The walls shook. All of my siblings and I spent the night in the same room because we figured that if they decided to turn on one another there was strength in numbers." She gave a short laugh, beginning to see just how set in his insistence he was. He donned his shirt and vest, seeking his discarded boots. "That was a fight. Last night was a discussion. A passionate one, I'll grant you, but that was not a fight." She reached for his arm and stopped him, finally managing to get him to look her in the eye, hoping it would help. "And I was more than willing. You did not take advantage. If anyone took advantage, it was me. I was adamant." She folded her arms, digging her heels in, suddenly unsure of whether it had been as good for him as she'd hoped. "If you weren't comfortable with the way it happened... Was it me? Was I not what you'd hoped I would be?"
He looked up at her, floored that she could ever think that. "Sansa, no. No, that's not it at all," he insisted, taking her hand gently and leading her to the settee.
"Then, why?" she asked, sitting as he suggested, but growing concerned when he didn't do the same.
Pacing the room, he spoke to dead air. "You don't love me. It's not fair to you." Tyrion found his shoes, stepping into them and groaned a little, frustrated with himself.
"I let how I feel for you get in the way of what is right. I'm sorry, Sansa."
"Where is this coming from?" she asked, rising to follow him as he made his way to the door. "Tyrion, talk to me," she called after him, trying to will him to hear in her voice that it wasn't that. "Wait!"
Despite the warm air, Sansa couldn't help but think to herself that Winter was indeed coming.