"The Disgraced Daughter and the Demon Monkey, we're made for each other" Lord Tyrion laughed as he said this.
"I promise you one thing my lady, I will never hurt you," That was what Tyrion told her. He took her hand into his gently and led her down a silent stone corridor. Sansa followed Lord Tyrion. She felt the heat of his hand as it cupped hers firmly and gently. The flames of the candles lining the corridor danced casting strange shadows of them against the walls as they passed through the corridor. She ran her free hand along the wall to steady herself in the darkness. The walls felt warm to the touch. Mother had always talked about the hot springs beneath the castle. When she was a girl, Sansa imagined that there were dragons deep beneath the castle warming the waters that rushed through the castle walls.
"I promise you one thing my lady, I will never hurt you," the words echoed again in her head.
She was wearing an embroidered gown of rich gold and purple. She was no longer in Winterfell. She stood in her bedchambers in King's Landing. She looked towards the floor and saw that she was wearing her wedding gown. Swirls of purple and gold brocade draped the floor at her feet. Behind her she could sense the presence of Lord Tyrion.
"I'm dreaming," Sansa said aloud.
She became aware that Tyrion was no longer holding her hand. He was now standing behind her. She looked into his eyes, one an emerald green, the other icy and blue. His expression was puzzling. She glanced around the room. The walls had changed from the grey stone of Winterfell to the bronze accents and high vaulted ceilings of the Tower of the Hand in the Red Keep. Something felt familiar. But something felt different.
Lord Tyrion had been a drunken mess on their wedding night. But now-but now he was not. He looked up at her.
"Sansa," he looked up at her face. There was something of hunger in his eyes. Through the narrow, paned windows Sansa saw the outlines of the Sept of Baelor. It towered over everything that surrounded it. She was a woman wed. Wasn't she? She would consummate this marriage.
Her wedding had been a nightmare. Joffrey had taken her father's place, and removed her maiden's cloak. She had waited foolishly for Lord Tyrion to wrap his cloak of protection around her, but he could not reach her shoulders. How humiliated he must have felt.
But she hesitated to kneel. He was a Lannister. The Lannisters had murdered her Lord father. She was a captive. She was being held prisoner. She would do anything to stay safe. Duty is stronger than love.
She thought back to her wedding. She felt him awkwardly tugging at her skirts.
Lord Tyrion stood next to a small table. On the table was an ornate silver platter, and a pitcher of fragrant Dornish wine, and two silver goblets. He poured himself a goblet of wine. She heard him pour a second cup. She began to dutifully undress for him.
On their wedding night, he had stopped her from undressing. She was too young. But now she was not young.
"This is a dream." Sansa repeated aloud.
"Is this the wedding you've always dreamed of, in your stories and songs?" Tyrion said.
Sansa stood with her back to him. She began to undress behind the screen that stood between them. When she got to her underdress, this time Lord Tyrion did not tell her to stop.
She felt her underdress fall the the floor. The flesh between her thighs felt prickly with gooseflesh. The cool air of the bedchamber made her skin feel alive and electric. She pulled back the coverlets, and climbed into the plump featherbed.
The bed had been sprinkled with rose petals,and she could smell the aroma of roses on the sheets. The sheets felt warm and inviting against her skin.
Her heart beat insistently, and she felt lightheaded.
There was a knock at the door.
"Lady Sansa," she heard the voice say. It was the voice of her Maester, Maester Wolkan.
She looked up at the ceiling.
"Yes. It was a dream," she thought to herself. The disgraced daughter and the demon monkey. Sansa felt an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach, and an odd, achy feeling that she did not quite understand.
"Please send up my lady maid Maester Wolkan." When Sansa's feet touched the ground once again she felt the comfort of the stone floor warmed by the hot springs of Winterfell beneath the soles of her feet.