Chapter 17: The Best of Them

Tyrion closed the heavy ironwood door behind him. He was now alone with Sansa. He had once again married Sansa Stark, of Winterfell. This time, their union was witnessed by a small group of friends and family. The ceremony was without pomp and circumstance but it was sweet and simple. When they were married before, there had been a wedding in the Sept of Baelor, and the affair had been more elaborate, though nothing nearly as elaborate and Joffrey's wedding. Unlike the easy comfort of their ceremony in the Godswood, the wedding in the Sept was full of rituals and prayers and candles and incense. Both Sansa, and himself had been miserable the entire night. The whole spectacle of their first wedding was tense and uncomfortable for everyone involved. Joffrey, like the little cunt that he was, had removed the stool that was to allow Tyrion to cover Sansa's shoulders in a cloak of his protection. He thought this was a great joke. Everyone saw him do it, and no one stopped him. He could still remember the whispers and chitters of laughter as Sansa stood there unaware that she needed to kneel for him. But tonight, had been a happier affair and he was glad of it.

They retired from their wedding feast without even a threat of a "bedding" ceremony, and followed each other wordlessly from the great hall. As he walked into the Lord and Lady's chambers, he thought about all of the the Lords and Ladies that had occupied these rooms before them. These had been the chambers that Ned and Catelyn Stark shared, and all of the Lords and Ladies of Winterfell in recent memory before them. Was he now, technically, the "Lord of Winterfell?"

He began to unbutton his doublet. He slipped out of it and laid it neatly on the chaise that sat next to Sansa's writing desk. Sansa. Sansa was standing across the room now, and she was standing behind her dressing screen. He could see the shadows of her long arms as she slipped off the fur capelet that she had been wearing. He could see her removing the simple gold necklace that she wore from her long, graceful neck, with her slender, elegant hands. She was unpinning her hair now, and placing each of the jeweled pins into a little box that sat on the dressing desk before her.

"Tyrion," she said softly, from behind the screen. "I need some...assistance." He stepped behind the screen that shielded her modesty to find that Sansa was now sitting on a small wooden stool, her back turned towards him. Her hair was completely loose now, and she was lifting up the back of her hair and draping it over her right shoulder. "Can you help me with these buttons?" Her hair smelled sweet and he wanted to bury his face in it. It felt like his feet were made of heavy stones as he made his way over to her.

He looked closely at the silver and gold buttons that adorned the back of her dress. They were alternating gold lions, and silver dire wolves. The buttons on the back of her dress were a thoughtful detail. Sansa was always thoughtful. He stepped closer to her, to assist her with the dress, and his fingers felt like they were made of lead.

"Sansa, it seems that your dress is made entirely of buttons," he said with a smile, as he continued to unbutton the back of her bodice. As he unbuttoned her dress he noticed that her back, which had once been as smooth and unblemished as fresh cream, was covered in cuts that had long since healed. Ramsay. One day, he thought, she would share her pain with him. He traced the lines of a particularly long scar that was near her shoulder blade, and he longed to kiss it. He wished that he could kiss it, and make it better, but he knew that this was folly. As he continued to feel more raised thin scars on her soft flesh, he began to feel like the wind had been knocked out of him. Sansa. He should have protected her. Once he was finished unbuttoning the last button, Sansa swiveled around on the stool to look at him. She crossed her arms in front of her so that the dress still draped across her body, but it lay open in the back. Tyrion thought for a moment it looked as if she had wings. Her eyes looked deep blue, like the sky after a storm, and were slightly wet, as if she might cry. She only said to him, "Thank you."

"Of course, my lady." He said, and then he left her there, to continue undressing. "Would you like me to...turn my back to you, when you are ready to slip into bed?"

"There is no need, Tyrion," she said softly. He watched as she stood now, and behind the screen in silhouette he saw that the dress that she had been wearing had now fallen to the floor.

She stepped out from behind the screen now. He saw that she was wearing a simple pearl colored silk chemise that skimmed just above her knees. Her hair was loose, and full of thick, beautiful waves, left by the braided updo that she had been wearing during the ceremony. She stood before him now, and her beauty caught him off guard.

"What would you like me to do, Tyrion?"

"What would you like to do, my lady?" He wasn't sure what her comfort level was, He would follow wherever she wanted to lead.

This question seemed to take her aback. As she considered his question, he untied his breeches, slipped out of them, and laid them neatly on the chaise, along with his doublet. He was left now wearing only a simple sleeping tunic

He could tell that she wasn't exactly sure what she wanted to happen. "Sansa, I would very much like to hold you," he said.

"I would like that as well," she said, and she began to relax her shoulders.

Tyrion walked over towards the left side of the featherbed. He had noticed that Sansa seemed to prefer the right side of the bed. She sat on the right side now, glancing at him, and anxiously tapping her feet for a few moments, before slipping underneath the furs, and pulling them up to her chin. As Tyrion approached the left side of the bed, he found that there was a small set of steps there for him. Thoughtful Sansa. He climbed into bed next to her, and propped himself up on one elbow as he turned himself to face her.

"Come here Sansa," he whispered. She seemed to be shivering. "Are you afraid?"

"No, my lor-, No...Tyrion." She was now close enough to him that he could feel the warmth emanating from her skin, and smell the sweet fragrance of her skin and hair. She squirmed beneath the covers and soon, she was close enough that he could wrap his right arm around her. As he put his arm around her she felt soft, and warm. Absentmindedly he ran one hand down the length of her body, and back up to her shoulders. She was staring at his face.

"What are you thinking Sansa?" He asked her.

"I was thinking...that I'd very much like you to kiss me."

"Is that so?" He ran his hand through her hair. Her hair felt thick, and soft as silk. He caressed her face. His hands grazed her cheek, and he felt her tremble beneath his fingertips. He leaned in now, close enough to taste her lips. When he kissed her, she parted her lips softly, and he could feel the sweet warmth of her mouth welcoming him. He pulled away to look at her. Her breathing was shallow and he could feel her heart beating fast against his chest. Gods she was soft. Tyrion wanted to feel her skin against his. He ran his free hand down along her body until he reached the hem of her chemise. He placed his hand just beneath the hem, and looked into her eyes.

"Is this okay?" He said.

Sansa nodded a "yes." Tyrion let his hand slip beneath the chemise, to lightly caress her bare thigh. As he caressed her upper thigh he became aware that she was not wearing any smallclothes. He felt small criss-crossed scars across her left thigh, they felt like little raised lines. He wanted to kiss each one. It had been years since he had lain with a woman, had touched a woman and now he was lying in bed with Sansa Stark. Sansa Stark, young, and beautiful and sweet, and his. He wanted her very much. But he didn't want to frighten her. Gods knows she had been through enough.

As he lay there, facing her, he felt the softness of her breasts pressing against him, and he could feel a throbbing in his groin. He had to be careful. He had to be gentle. He continued to caress her thigh, and then slipped his hands around her slender waist. He ran his hand up the center of her back, and then down towards the small of her back before grazing lower to cup the soft flesh of her buttocks in his palm. She was staring at him, her eyes heavily lidded and full of desire, and he felt as if he could burst open from the want of her.

"Sansa," he said, "may I look at you?"

"You are looking at me now, my lord," she said playfully, a smile at the corner of her mouth.

"Would you like to slip out of that chemise? I'd like to gaze upon your loveliness." He smiled mischievously.

"My loveliness...you say?" She began to wiggle pulling the chemise up from its hem, until finally she slipped it off, over her head, unceremoniously, her hair falling about both her shoulders.

Sansa sat up now on the bed watching him. She was now completely naked before him. He knew that there was no way that the sleeping tunic that he wore could possibly hide his excitement. She was beautiful. His eyes caressed every part of her body from the tops of her temples to her feet before lingering on her lovely breasts. Her breasts were small, and firm, and perfect and he wanted to suckle each one until he felt dizzy.

"Are you satisfied with my loveliness my lord?" She said, a wicked smile forming on her face. For once in his life, Tyrion was speechless.