Chapter 9: The Only Thing Between Us

Tyrion could still taste the sweetness of lemoncakes, and smell the perfumed oil that Sansa always wore in her hair. As he walked through the halls of Winterfell, he tightly gripped the silk scarf that Sansa had given to him. He ran his fingers idly across the intricate silver direwolf, feeling its smoothness. He remembered how sweetly she had brought the scarf to her lips and gently kissed it.

With eyes cast downwards, he walked into his chambers, welcoming the quiet and solitude. At one time, he wanted nothing more than to be out of the cold, and now he dreaded leaving the feelings of warmth that seemed to envelop him inside this castle. He wasn't sure if it was the place itself that had changed, or if it was he himself. In returning to Winterfell, he had been reunited with Sansa Stark. Sansa had grown into a formidable woman, and she had been welcoming to him. But soon that would be over. Soon he would be a thousand miles away from Sansa Stark.

When Sansa was at her most vulnerable, he longed to protect her. When they married, he thought that they had formed a sort of friendship. But the red wedding, killed any attempts at closeness in their marriage in its crib. He made attempts to reach out to Sansa, and to comfort her, but she pushed him away. She built a wall of ice around the most tender parts of herself, and he-he was on the outside of that wall.

During his trial, his sweet wife disappeared. For a while he even thought her dead. He imagined that he might never see her again. He consoled himself that they had only been married for convenience, and that she was probably glad to be rid of him. His father had forced them together to secure a Lannister dynasty, and she had surely felt like a hostage. Their marriage had never been consummated. He drank himself into a stupor on their wedding night to numb the pain of disappointment that he saw in her eyes, and he slept on a chaise lounge across from her bed the entire night. During their time together, he became quite fond of his wife, although she seemed to hate him. He could see the revulsion in her eyes as she looked at him. How could he blame her. His family had all but destroyed hers. Joffrey was a monster and had tortured her the entire time that she was in King's Landing, and when she thought she was finally free, she was wed to a monster.

As soon as Tyrion walked into his rooms he had closed the heavy ironwood door behind him. Now he strode towards the windows, and pulled the tapestries that accented his windows closed. He wanted to sit in darkness. He needed to be alone with his thoughts.

He could not figure out what Lady Sansa wanted from him now. Lady Sansa had invited him into her room when she was only half dressed. He wondered if half the castle would be talking about it before nightfall. Servants love to gossip. He wondered if his queen had spies watching him in the shadows, or if Varys had little birds flitting all over the castle watching his movements.

He sat down on the feather bed, still holding the scarf that Sansa had given him in both hands. His body was tired. He kicked off his slippers and laid down on the bed in earnest. The bed felt cold. He had been walking the castle for a long time when Sansa encountered him. He had just come from the library, and had spent most of the night reading scrolls. The Starks had an impressive library. He fingered the scarf again idly. It was so soft. He brought it up to his face, and inhaled the scent of it. It smelled like her. He lay on the bed still inhaling the scent of jasmine placing the scarf against his cheek. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

Why would Sansa Stark invite him into her room, alone? What did she want? He thought back to their wedding night. He was sure it was a nightmare for her. He didn't have the most pleasant memories of it either. He felt anger at his family. He felt like a prisoner. Yet, he had desperately wanted her. He remembered the hunger that arose inside him as he watched her undress. She was scared and shy, and a literal hostage, and he would not take advantage of her unspoilt beauty. He remembered the way that her hands had trembled as she fiddled with the laces and buttons on her gown, and how he watched her hungrily as the cloak, gown, and girdle that she wore slid to the floor in a puddle at her feet. He wanted her desperately. Yes. But he wanted her to want him back. He thought that they could make the best of their marriage. But she would never love him. He saw the fear in her eyes as she turned her back towards him. He knew that she feared that he might ravish and overtake her, but their wedding night was chaste and respectful. He was not the lecherous monster that everyone feared him to be.

He felt a sharp stab of pain anew as he remembered her words to him, and the look of her countenance when she told him that he would never share her bed.

If only they had consummated their marriage-she would not have become a Bolton prisoner.

As he ran his fingers along the silk scarf once more he imagined that it was her skin. He wanted to feel the softness of her-feel the warmth. He wanted to taste the salt on her skin, and smell the fragrance of her hair. He felt something stir inside him.

You are a monster. She will never love you. He repeated this in his head. She was too good for him.

The castle was now bustling with activity. He knew that he couldn't stay in bed. He knew that he had to prepare himself for his trip South. A thousand miles lay between Winterfell and King's Landing, and it would be a journey of several weeks, on unpredictable roads.

There was a soft knock at his door.

Sansa's voice came through the door. "Tyrion."

Yes, he thought. The servants will be talking. "Come in my lady."

Sansa pushed open the heavy door. She walked inside, and closed it behind her. She walked over to him, smoothing her skirts. Tyrion sat up, propping himself up on his elbows on the feather bed.

"Some might say that this is not a proper way to meet a lady. Pardon me." He started to sit upright.

Sansa sat on the bed next to him. She placed her hand on his.

"I would like to speak honestly with you," she said, her vivid blue eyes searching his face.

"Yes, my lady. I would ask nothing less of you."

"I feel that you might think badly of me," she blushed.

"I could never," he said softly.

"I want to confess something to you. I have not been completely honest with you. I do not want you to be my counselor," she sighed. "Though I do value your council."

He sat up now, completely straight.

Sansa continued, "I want to apologize for some of the things that I may have said to you-in my youth."

"You've always been a vision of courtesy my lady." He moved now to sit next to her. They sat side by side now on the featherbed.

She turned towards him incredulously, "Are you sure? I do keenly remember our wedding night. I remember how gentlemanly you were, and how you told me that you would never share my bed,unless I wanted you to. I remember saying something to the effect of 'what if I never want you to?'-"

"My lady. My pride may have been wounded, but you were a girl. I wouldn't dwell on it."

"I understand," Sansa smoothed her skirts with both hands. "Did you mean what you said to me, when you said that we should have stayed married?"

"My lady…" Tyrion looked at her face, and saw no sign of this being a joke.

"I've enjoyed you being here. I worry what may happen to you when you leave for the South. I have told you that you were the best of them, and I mean that. There is only one thing standing between us."

"What is that?"

"Your queen. Your queen is the only thing that stands between us right now."

He cupped her face in his hands. Her skin felt warm, and smooth, and as soft as the silk scarf that she had given him. He moved closer to her. He was struck with an overwhelming desire to kiss her. He cupped her face in both his hands, and ran both of his thumbs along the side of her face. He moved in close to caress the soft skin of her long, graceful neck with his lips, and taste the salt on her skin. His cheek brushed against hers and he inhaled the fragrance of her perfumed hair. As he kissed her along her neck, he heard a sharp intake of her breath. He began to run his hands up the center of her back and then down her shoulders. He was soon aware that she was making a soft little sound as he caressed her back to pull her closer to him. He could feel the heat radiating from her skin. He pulled back, "Sansa…"when he pulled away from her, her cheeks were flushed.

He watched as she slid back further onto his feather bed and began to unhook the bodice of her dress.