Sansa lay awake in bed alone, the first light of day starting to stretch through the balcony curtains towards her. She turned to look over at the chaise, Tyrion seemingly still asleep under the blanket he had found last night amongst drawers. At least this time he had taken a pillow from the bed.
She was mentally prepared last night to share the bed with him, but her emotional state was still in knots. She was relieved he had wanted to wait, but also anxious because every day would mean a day longer before they could leave.
Trying to be quiet, Sansa slipped out of the bed and donned her dressing robe. She slowly approached Tyrion, wondering if she should wake him or let him continue to sleep. It would still be a while before Shae would deliver their breakfast and change the bed sheets. She turned towards the door, wondering if Ser Bronn was still awake in the hallway. Tyrion had assured her that the sell sword, being paid twice by him and his father, would stay loyal to the gold and not let Joffrey's guards come near.
They had eaten supper with some small talk, mostly Sansa asking questions about how long it would take to travel to Casterly Rock. Considering they would be traveling with a small wheelhouse, it would take about a moonturn to reach their new home. She asked if she would have a chance to ride horseback, not wanting to spend the entire trip cooped up. Tyrion seemed to think it a good idea, and mentioned he would like that as well. She must've given him a curious look because he went on to explain that he used a special saddle to allow him to ride.
What surprised her more was when he mentioned that he also designed a saddle for her brother, Bran, to be able to ride. Sadly, she wondered if he ever got the chance, since Theon had killed her younger brothers. Sensing her sadness, he had apologized profusely for making her upset, but she had shaken her head. "No," she had said, "It's good to know that you had shown him kindness. You're the only Lannister that has been kind to any of my family, it seems."
"I am a rare breed, indeed, a lion helping the wolves," he jested, and she had felt herself smile.
Sansa stepped closer to the lounge, watching his chest rise and fall as he breathed deep. She took this quiet moment to really look at him, without fear of him noticing. Margery had said he was good-looking, even with the red scar that ran across his face. She supposed it did show he had been in battle and survived. In the North, scars were proof of strength. Tyrion had certainly proven he had more courage than Joffrey had, fighting in the Battle of Blackwater.
His hair wasn't as light blonde as Joffrey's, but that was for the better, Sansa decided. It did have a nice curl to it, different from the other Lannister men whose hair fell straight. She hoped their children would have curls like him.
Their children. She once dreamed of having beautiful children with blonde hair like Joffrey's. Now she wondered if any of her children would look like her family, either with her auburn hair or her brother's dark hair.
Then there was the unspoken fear. No doubt Tyrion had it as well.
Tyrion shifted, and Sansa held her breath. She wasn't ready for him to wake up yet. At least not with her standing over him, he might wonder what she was thinking. He seemed to stay asleep, and she exhaled in relief.
The sound of voices at the door drew her away, her senses on high alert suddenly. It took a moment for her to realize the man's voice was Ser Bronn, and the other was feminine. She approached the door, pulling it open.
"My lady, I'm sorry if we woke you," Shae said, and Sansa noticed she gave a stern look at the sellsword.
"I've been awake for a little while," Sansa replied, clutching to her robe as she tried to avoid looking at Bronn. "But you are here early, is everything all right?"
Bronn snickered, and Shae stepped past him. "I was told no one came to clear away your dinner, so I wanted to get it out of your way."
Ah, yes. Sansa had told Mya and Bernadette, her other maid who was surely Cersei's spy, that she did not want to be bothered for the evening. She had planned on letting Tyrion in her bed, and did not want them to interrupt, but Tyrion had easily persuaded her to wait. At least the gossiping maids wouldn't have anything to tell their benefactors.
But Shae, despite saying to trust no one, had proven she could be trusted. "How are you feeling?" Sansa asked as the door shut behind them. "Did the Maester see you?"
"I do not need that old lech touching me. I am all right." Shae looked over at Tyrion sleeping on the lounge. "He did not touch you again?" There was a touch of relief in her voice.
"No, even though I told him he could."
Shae's head snapped back to meet Sansa's face. "My lady, what are you saying?"
Sansa grabbed Shae's arm and led her to the bedroom, away from Tyrion. "Lord Tywin has promised to send us away from King's Landing, but we have to consummate the marriage first."
"The old man could be lying," Shae replied, and Sansa appreciated her protectiveness.
"That's what Tyrion thinks as well. He wants to talk to him today." Sansa sat down at her dressing table, turned so she could look across the room at the sleeping figure on the chaise. "If he is being honest, then I will truly be a married woman tonight."
Shae must have sensed the unease in her tone. "You don't have to do this, there has to be other ways to leave."
Sansa shook her head. "This is for the best. We'll be out of reach of Joffrey, and I'll eventually be Lady of the Rock. At least I know Tyrion won't be cruel or hurt me, as Joffrey surely would have if I had married him."
As Tyrion climbed the stairs of the Tower of the Hand, he recalled the awkwardness he had awoken to. He had heard them talking softly, but of what, he couldn't decipher. They seemed to be whispering, perhaps not to disturb him. He felt some relief to hear Shae's voice; if she was here, then she wasn't hurt badly enough yesterday.
He sat up slowly, opening his eyes. They were across the room, Sansa sitting in front of her looking glass as Shae brushed out her hair. Neither of them noticed him stirring, so he cleared his throat. "Good morning, Sansa. I hope you slept well?"
Sansa and Shae both turned his way, and Sansa gave him a small smile. "Better than the night before, I must admit. But still restless. I am relieved that Ser Bronn is guarding us at night."
He thought about telling her Bronn had been there the night before but knowing that Joffrey had sent his new lapdog would only worry her more, so he kept silent about it.
Shae sat the brush down and awkwardly curtsied. "Since your lord husband is awake, I will fetch your breakfast, my lady." She walked past Tyrion, Sansa unable to see the dark look she gave him. Had Sansa told her about his father's arrangement?
He was going to have to do something about Shae. He loved her, but he did not want to dishonor Sansa by keeping a mistress. She had already been publicly shamed because of her father's execution and her brother leading a rebellion. He would not cause more gossip about her. Perhaps it was best to send Shae away, back to the Free Cities with enough gold to live a comfortable life. Over time, their feelings for each other would fade into fond memories.
Tyrion reached the top of the stairs and pushed the door open. Podrick had already been sent to request an audience with Lord Lannister and had returned to tell Tyrion he would be waiting for him. His father seemed to enjoy that everyone must climb to meet with him. Especially his youngest son, who made the trip longer due to his short stature. But he would not give his father the satisfaction of knowing how his legs ached by the end of the climb.
"Is it done?" his father's asked, not even looking up from his desk.
"No," Tyrion replied, approaching the desk.
Tywin put down his ink pen and looked up from his papers. He seemed surprised and angry. "I did not take you for a fool."
"That is why I am here," he replied, sitting in the chair across from him. "How do I know that what you told my wife will come to pass? That this isn't an attempt to control our married life?"
Tywin sneered at him. "I could have taken a page out of Joffrey's book and forced a bedding ceremony to ensure a consummation." He shuffled through the papers on his desk, stopping on a specific one and extending it to Tyrion. "But what I told Sansa is true."
Tyrion reached across and took the paper. It was a written order for an armed escort to take him and Sansa to Casterly Rock. There were details about a small wheelhouse, supplies, and funds for inns along the way.
"You have yet to sign it," Tyrion noted, reaching the bottom of the parchment.
"I am not a fool, either" Tywin retorted, leaning back in his seat. "As you can see, I will keep my word to your wife. Now you must do your duty. The sooner it is done, the sooner I can start the arrangements for you to leave."
"And what of Joffrey? Won't he try to stop this?"
"You let me worry about the king," his father sighed. "Sansa is not the only pretty girl that can be a plaything."
Tyrion frowned. "Is it a wise idea to subject more girls to his twisted games?"
"I'm not the one who gave him whores."
Tyrion turned away, angry and feeling guilty. If he had known Joffrey was going to abuse the women, he never would have taken Bronn's suggestion. No one knew Joffrey had a thirst for inflicting pain.
"What matters," Tywin continued, "is that our family name will be untainted, and your children will be born at the Rock. Your first son will be the heir to Winterfell, and possibly Casterly Rock."
"Yes, we must protect the family name," Tyrion echoed, sarcasm dripping from his tone.
Tywin glared at him, "Is there anything else you needed?"
He shifted in the seat, trying to get comfortable. "Who will replace me as Master of Coin? I have several cases of ledgers to give him."
Tywin sighed. "Seeing as how his daughter is about to be our queen, I was planning on Mace Tyrell."
"Shame his mother couldn't be offered the position. She's a shrewd woman with quite a mind."
"Yes," Tywin smirked, "no doubt she'll have a hand in aiding him. But the small council is no place for a woman."
Tyrion's eyebrow raised slightly. "Yet Cersei is there."
"She is the acting queen, but she won't be for much longer."
He scoffed. "No doubt she won't be pleased to be dismissed from the council."
"She will do her duty and marry Loras Tyrell and move to Highgarden," Tywin replied coldly, "just as you will do yours."
Tyrion decided it was time to leave. He did not want to start in on this conversation again. "You should know," he said, as he slid down from the chair, "as I studied Little Finger's ledgers, I noted that he borrowed millions from the Iron Bank, as well as from you."
His father didn't seem to look worried about this. "In times of war, much gold is spent. But the war will be over eventually."
"I just wanted you to know before Mace Tyrell notices. It wouldn't do well for the Iron Bank to call in the debt and fund our enemies."
There was a light in Tywin's eyes, and Tyrion felt a tug of concern. "Our enemies will soon be a problem no longer," he said. "Now, go bed your wife."
Tyrion frowned at him as he turned to leave. His father had something planned, he could sense it. But what? He couldn't let go of the feeling his father had something planned for his wife's family that he would not like. He decided to seek out the one person who may have some insight into his suspicions.
He found Varys walking along the ramparts overlooking Blackwater Bay. He stood in his usual stance, his hands tucked hidden under the sleeves of his robe. He seemed to be in deep thought, or perhaps just enjoying the breeze.
"Good day, Lord Varys," Tyrion called out as he approached.
"Ah, Lord Tyrion. I'm surprised to see you so soon after your wedding. Has your young bride tired of you already?"
Tyrion recognized the teasing in the older man's voice. "No doubt your little birds have already informed you on my married life so far," he replied, coming to stand next to him. "But I'm curious to know what they have heard about her family."
Varys's expression seemed to soften. "How noble of you to care for your wife's mother and brother, despite their open rebellion against the crown."
"It's more that I'm worried that my father is planning something sinister, and I need to know if I'm to brace myself for a heartbroken wife."
"Well, the song I've heard is that the young wolf has arranged for his uncle to marry one of the Frey girls to keep their agreement. The ceremony is set to take place just under a moonturn from now. Rain has delayed their trip towards The Twins."
"And what of my father?"
"I have heard nothing so far of any new plans."
Tyrion sighed, feeling slightly frustrated. "If you haven't heard of anything, then he's been very discreet about it."
Varys turned back towards the sea, taking a step closer to the low wall. "Your father has always done things for the sake of his family," he stated. "No doubt he has been planning something ever since we learned your brother was released and is now missing."
Tyrion felt a familiar ache in his chest. He loved Jaime, and knowing that he was missing, or worse, dead, was constant torture.
"However, there is a song from the East that we should be listening to more fervently."
Tyrion's curiosity was now piqued. "The Targaryen girl? The last time we were here together, you told me she had three baby dragons."
"Yes, and you told me 'One war at a time.' But now those dragons are growing, as is Daenerys Targaryen's armies." Varys turned around, as if to ensure no one was nearby, and leaned down toward Tyrion. "She has an army of Unsullied following her, as well as her Dothraki tribesman."
"You make no mention of ships. I do not see an issue yet."
Varys smirked. "Just one of her dragons burned the slave city of Astapor. It won't be long until she's able to claim the ships she'll need, whether through gold or through conquering."
"Have you told my father this?"
Varys straightened back up, a knowing look on his face. "As I said, your father's ambitions lie with his family name. You, however, seem to care for the realm, despite your family name."
"But I no longer hold a position of power."
"Your power is in your mind and words," Varys quickly replied. "There may soon come a time that your words could save thousands."
Tyrion looked up at Varys, slightly puzzled. "I didn't know losing your balls makes one philosophical."
Bronn shifted his weight to his left leg, scrutinizing Shae as she watched down the path to where Sansa was praying. The young girl insisted on coming out here, no doubt feeling stir crazy sitting in her room all morning. He'd left Podrick to stand watch as he took a short rest, having been up all night. Then he returned and escorted Sansa and Shae out to the gardens. Shae and Bronn kept their distance as Sansa approached the oak heart tree.
"Do you think she's praying that tonight goes quick and easy?" he mused, hoping to get a reaction from Shae.
She ignored him, her gaze never leaving her young mistress.
"You know this means he'll be done with you, of course," he continued, looking at his hand as he picked at a thumbnail. "Once he's been in her unused cunt, he'll have no use for yours."
That got a rise out of her. She turned towards him, slapping him hard in the face. "Don't speak about her like that, she is a lady."
"Yes, a young, beautiful, lady who is the key to the North, so I've heard. She can give him everything you cannot."
She made to hit him again, but he snatched her wrist in mid-swing. "I know you are jealous, but it's time to think about what you need to do for yourself."
"He's told me before he would buy me a house and provide for any children we have," she spat angrily.
"But that's not what you want," he responded, his tone softening. "You're not the type to sit around a fancy house all day, waiting for your lover to visit – if he ever does." Bronn could see the pain beneath her angry eyes. "He's a high lord, and she's his wife now. You'll be nothing more than a chamber maid to both. Are you really going to stay and watch them have children? Listen to her cry out as he fucks her instead of you?"
"Stop this," she growled low, trying to pull her arm away from him.
"You're a smart woman, you know he'll throw you out sooner or later. If you're lucky, he'll send you off with enough gold to start a new life." Shae turned her face away from him, trying to hide her pain. But he knew it was there. "Better for you to break it off than to wait for him to do it."
"Sansa needs me," she firmly replied, staring down the path to her young charge.
"To do what?"
She turned back to glare at him. "She's still so naïve. She needs protecting."
Bronn released her arm, and she snapped it back to her side. "Protection from her husband's whore. I don't know how the young wolf would feel about that."
Before she could retort, they heard fast footsteps approaching from down the garden path. They looked to see Podrick approaching. "Ah, if it isn't the magic cock himself," Bronn chuckled, making Pod blush.
"Lord Tyrion sent me to ask if Lady Sansa could join him for a walk."
"I will go fetch my lady," Shae replied, walking away from the men.
Bronn nudged Podrick, giving him a leering look. "I've heard whispers going around the maids and minor ladies about you, better watch out. Don't want to leave a string of broken hearts when we leave for Casterly Rock."
Pod looked around nervously, making sure no one could hear them. "That's supposed to be kept quiet, Lord Tyrion told us in confidence."
Bronn huffed at him. "There ain't no one near here. Very few pray at the Godswood anymore. Most people here worship The Seven." He watched as Shae approached the Stark girl—no, Lady Lannister, now. "You think his young wife will let us steal our little lord away to Lannisport? I hear the pleasure houses are much finer than this stinking city."
Podrick didn't answer him, but he didn't care. Tyrion Lannister owed him a large debt, and he for sure planned on spending part of it sampling the whores of Lannisport.
The morning had seemed to move slowly. Sansa had tried to busy herself, searching through her new rooms. Tyrion had books everywhere, but they mostly seemed to be ledgers and historical texts on finances. They were appropriate for the Master of Coin, but rather boring for a young woman who was looking to pass the time.
She had convinced Ser Bronn to escort her to the Godswood, but only after he had time to rest that morning. She couldn't deny him that, since he was up all night guarding their door. Still feeling idle, she had stared at Tyrion's drawers and debated looking for garments that may need mended. She wished she had some fabric to start a new garment instead, but there was none on hand. Perhaps she could ask him to order some so she could start on a new wardrobe for herself now that she would be a Lady Lannister once they arrived at Casterly Rock. She was certain she would be expected to wear the Lannister colors, and currently she only had her golden wedding dress.
While at the Godswood, she enjoyed the fresh air and sun shining through the leaves of the oak tree. It wasn't a weirwood like those of the North, but it was the closest thing to home she had now. She prayed for Arya's safety, despite that many around her believed she was dead. Arya wasn't like other little girls—she was a wolf, and always had been a fighter. If Sansa had survived, Arya certainly had. She prayed for her mother, who she knew would be upset once news of her marriage reached her. She prayed for the souls of her little brothers, and that justice would be brought against Theon for his betrayal.
And Robb… she prayed Robb could still give her Joffrey's head on a pike.
"Excuse me, my lady."
Sansa almost gasped, as if Shae's voice was a reminder that her thoughts were considered treasonous. She turned away from the oaken heart tree, but not rising from her kneeling position.
"Your lord husband has asked if you would join him for a walk in the public gardens."
"Of course," Sansa simply replied, standing from her praying position. They rejoined Ser Bronn and Tyrion's squire, Podrick, at the entrance of the Godswood.
With Podrick leading the way, Sansa followed him to the busier gardens where Tyrion waited. She knew they needed to be seen in public together, since they were now married. Hopefully they wouldn't need to attend any meals with her new family. She hadn't known Tyrion to be called to any while she was at King's Landing.
Tyrion smiled as they approached. He told his squire and sellsword knight to wait for them there, while Shae followed behind them on their walk.
Sansa walked with her hands clasped, Tyrion to the right of her. They passed minor lords and ladies, other maidservants, all giving them curious glances and snickering after they passed them.
"Ser Eldrick Sarsfield and Lord Desmond Crakehall," she heard Tyrion repeating in a low voice.
"What are you doing?" she asked, looking down at him as they continued passed two snickering men.
"I have a list," he simply answered, continuing his pace.
"A list of people you mean to kill?"
"For laughing at me?" He turned to look up at her. "Do I look like Joffrey to you?" He turned his face back towards the path. "No, death seems a bit extreme. Fear of death, on the other hand…"
Sansa sighed, looking forward as well. "You should learn to ignore them."
"My lady, people have been laughing at me far longer than they have been laughing at you." Sansa looked back at him, feeling some sympathy for him. "I'm the Halfman, the Demon Monkey, the Imp."
She wished he wouldn't repeat all those awful names. "You're a Lannister," she interrupted. "I am the disgraced daughter of the traitor Ned Stark."
"The Disgraced Daughter and the Demon Monkey. We're perfect for each other."
She could hear the humor in his tone and softly chuckled. She felt her guard relaxing, finding it easy to talk with him. "So, how should we punish them?" she asked, dropping her hands to her side.
"Who? Whom?" Tyrion seemed to be thrown off by her question.
"Ser Eldrick Sarsfield and Lord Desmond Crakehall."
"Ah, I could speak to Lord Varys and learn their perversions. Anyone named Desmond Crakehall must be a pervert."
"I hear that you're a pervert," Sansa replied, hoping he could sense she was teasing him. She knew he wouldn't strike at her like Joffrey would have.
"I am the Imp. I have certain standards to maintain."
Sansa chuckled again, and picked her skirts up, hurrying to sit down on a nearby bench. She was now eye level with him, better to conspire with her husband. "We could sheep shift Lord Desmond's bed." Tyrion looked at her, a puzzled expression on his scarred face. "You cut a little hole in his mattress and you stuff sheep dung inside. Then you sew up the hole and make his bed again. His room will stink, but he won't know where it's coming from."
"Lady Sansa!" Tyrion responded, his tone thick with feigned shock. She smiled, relieved he was amused.
"My sister used to do that when she was angry with me. And she was always angry with me."
He shared her smile as she remembered Arya, wishing she could have even an angry Arya back with her.
"But why 'sheep shift'?" he asked.
"That's the vulgar word for dung," she answered, feeling a thrill at sharing a not so lady like word with her new husband.
She thought she heard Shae lightly laugh and saw Tyrion glance at her. "My lady," he half chuckled, both seemingly shocked she would say such a word.
"Well, you asked me," Sansa scoffed, unable to hide her smile.
Tyrion smirked, looking first down the path they had come, and then back to her. "Perhaps we should send Podrick to 'sheep shift' the bed. It would be much easier for him to sneak in and out of the halls, although he doesn't have your practiced hand at stitching."
"Oh! Speaking of stitching," Sansa straightened up a little, not needing to lean in for secrecy, "might I have some fabric to make a new dress?"
"A new one?"
Yes, I believe I should start on a more color appropriate wardrobe for the Rock, I have nothing suitable."
He nodded slightly, understanding what she meant. "You're right about that, but you don't need to trouble yourself. We'll send word to the seamstresses at Casterly Rock with your measurements, and they'll have many suitable dresses ready on our arrival."
Sansa shifted uneasily, "but I would like to at least make one for myself. It will give me something to do while we wait for the arrangements to be made."
He watched her for a moment, then smiled. "As my lady wishes." He turned toward Shae, "Could you go back to Podrick? Tell him you and he will go down to the cloth market to fetch the finest silk for Sansa, both in gold and crimson."
"That's too much!" Sansa gasped.
"Sansa," Tyrion laughed, but it was not malicious, "You are married to a Lannister now, nothing is too much for the future Lady of the Rock." He turned back to Shae. "And if you see Ser Bronn, tell him to enjoy the afternoon. I will escort my lady back to our chambers after our walk."
Shae curtsied, leaving without saying a word. Sansa watched as a group of ladies passed them, and when they were out of ear shot, she leaned back in towards Tyrion. "Did your meeting with your father go well?" she asked, feeling her face warm.
She noticed he turned a little pink as well. "Ah, yes. We shall talk on that more this evening, my lady."
Sansa understood that it wasn't safe to talk with so many around. She had learned that Lord Varys had spies everywhere, as well as Cersei. It would not do well for Joffrey to learn of their upcoming departure from King's Landing.
"Why don't we continue our walk, and you can tell me about more antics from your childhood. Perhaps I'll share some of mine." His eyes sparkled mischievously, and Sansa smiled, nodding as she stood.
When they had returned to their chambers, Tyrion began working on organizing the ledgers for packing. Sansa seemed to try to busy herself, first having Mya and Beatrice help take her measurements. Then she seemed to be sorting through her clothes, spreading them out on the bed and staring at them for long moments before finding another.
Tyrion's curiosity started to peak. "Is this a game that ladies play with their gowns?"
"I'm trying to decide on a style to pattern for my new dress," she replied. "But I don't know what the styles are in the Westerlands. What is the air like there?"
"Ah," Tyrion nodded in understanding. "I suppose the styles are very similar to your current ones, since my sister is the Queen and a Lannister. Her influence has been strong over the lady's fashion." He closed the book he had been looking through, turning his full focus to his young wife. "As for the weather, it is about the same during the day as it is here. However, the nights will be colder, given The Rock's great height. And the sea water is also colder, which was most refreshing on hot summer days."
"But winter is coming," Sansa said, her tone suddenly turning sad as she no doubt realized she had spoken her house's words.
Tyrion tried to think how to break the awkward silence that had fallen. Thankfully, the door opened, revealing Shae and Podrick, as well as a servant boy, his arms laden with a wrapped bundle.
"Ah, wonderful!" he stated, walking towards Podrick. "Lay the package on the bed. Give the boy a gold dragon for his service, Pod." His loyal squire nodded, taking a golden coin from the pouch on his belt and handing it to the lad after he deposited the bundle on the bed. The boy smiled from ear to ear and bowed, rushing out the door.
"That was very generous of you," Sansa said, approaching Tyrion.
"Times are hard on the townspeople, hopefully he'll be able to feed his family for a while on it."
Shae was already unwrapping the large package, and Sansa walked over to the bed. Tyrion watched as she touched the silken red fabric on top, and he wondered what she was thinking. She seemed happy about having silk to work with, but perhaps the colors were reminding her of her new family name. He made a mental note to request that some of her new gowns be in other colors. Especially blue, to bring out her eyes.
"Will these be efficient, Sansa?" Tyrion asked, drawing her attention back to him.
"Yes, Tyrion," she replied, and he smiled at her using his name.
"Then I shall return to my ledgers." As he dismissed Pod, Sansa guided her ladies to clear the table so she could begin planning out her patterns. The afternoon passed easily enough, with Tyrion buried in books and Sansa busy cutting and stitching. If this was to be their domestic life, it seemed easy enough.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Sansa sent her handmaidens to fetch supper, leaving only Shae with them to help her put her project away. During supper, they casually chattered while eating their meal, and Tyrion was relieved to see Sansa relaxing more with him. He did note the looks from Shae, which was making him feel guilty. He knew that their relationship would need to come to an end, especially for Sansa's sake. Sansa was his wife, and he would not dishonor her, she had already been treated so badly by his family these past years.
As it grew darker outside, his stomach began to twist with anxiety. He knew Sansa was expecting to be bedded tonight, the sooner to escape Joffrey's reach. But he still felt uncomfortable, knowing she did not want him. She wanted someone like Ser Loras: younger, handsome…. tall.
"Please clear the table and then you are dismissed for the night," Sansa said, standing from the table and acting every part the highborn lady she was raised to be.
"But my lady, you'll need help-"
"Shae! I said you are dismissed," Sansa scolded, "I will not need any assistance with my dress tonight."
Shae looked back and forth between Sansa and Tyrion, and he turned away, hoping Sansa would not notice the pain in her eyes. Shae turned sharply and left, leaving Mya and Bernadette to clear the table. Once they were gone, Sansa turned towards Tyrion.
"I'm sorry about Shae," she said, "she's so protective of me. But we have a duty to do." She poured herself another cup of wine and began to drink it fully.
"Sansa…."
She ignored the pleading in his voice and set her empty cup down. She began to undo the pins on her dress, the delicate looking dragonflies glittering in the candlelight as she placed them on the table. He knew she loved the story of Jenny of Oldstones, who married the Prince of Dragonflies after he set aside his royal birthright for love of her.
She let her dress puddle to the floor, standing in her shift. This felt like déjà vu, watching her undress, except this time she was facing him. He could see the brave mask she was wearing, but her eyes would not meet his, certainly an attempt not to crack her armor.
"Sansa, stop," he said, stepping towards her as she started to pull the strap of her shift down.
"It's all right," Sansa replied, her voice starting to shake. "I know you won't hurt me."
He sighed, reaching out for her hand. Thankfully, she lowered her hand from her shoulder, and let him take hold of it. He kissed the top of it lightly. "No, I will not. But I don't want you to be scared, either. I may look like a monster, but I'm not going to act like one." He led her over to the lounger, motioning for her to sit. "Perhaps we could talk a little more, and you could let me undo your hair?"
She looked surprised. "My hair?"
He smiled at her. "Yes, hopefully it will help you to relax a little."
Sansa nodded and watched him move towards her dressing table to grab her brush. He smiled nervously at her before walking around to stand on the stepstool behind her. She kept her eyes toward the balcony, the moon shining lightly through the drawn curtains. When his hands began untwisting her braids, she closed her eyes.
His fingers were gentle as they loosened her hair, and she surprisingly found herself relaxing. She wondered if the wine she had drank in a rush was starting to help her mood as well. As the brush moved through her hair, Sansa pondered if he was enjoying the action as she was starting to. Even when Shae or her past lady's maids brushed her hair, it never felt like this. So personal.
She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but when Tyrion set the brush down on the settee next to her, she felt a little disappointed he was done. But then she felt his fingers run through her hair, lightly touching her neck.
"What have you been told happens?" he asked softly, his hands still weaving their way through her loose hair.
Sansa felt her cheeks grow warm and was glad he stood behind her. "I know that the first time will hurt. My septa said that I am to lie down, and my husband will take his pleasure and his seed will grow a child in me."
She heard him chuckle, and he brushed her hair away from the left side of her neck. "Leave it to a celibate woman to be vague and boring in her explanation." His fingertips started tracing their way down the side of her neck, sending a shiver down her back. It wasn't unpleasant, but unexpected. "Did your mother talk to you about it?"
The mention of her mother saddened her suddenly. She missed her mother. She wondered if she had learned about her marriage into the lion's den yet. If only she could let her know that Tyrion was good to her, nothing like Joffrey.
Tyrion seemed to sense her change of mood. "I'm sorry," he started, withdrawing his hands from her neck and hair.
Sansa shook her head. "No, don't stop, please. I just miss my mother." She fidgeted with her thumb, suddenly feeling nervous about other things. "Do you think once we're at Casterly Rock, I can send word to my mother that I am safe?"
"I don't see why we couldn't, especially since we'll be free from my father and Joffrey's interference." Tyrion's hands returned to his early task, this time gently massaging the base of her neck.
Sansa closed her eyes, relaxing under his touch. "My mother never told me, but I could tell she enjoyed being with my father. There were five of us, so I doubt she would have so many children if she didn't like my father's touch."
"Women can still have children despite not liking the father, sadly."
"Yes, but my father was a good man. He never hurt my mother. He wouldn't force her. Just like you didn't force me."
His hands stopped again, and she heard him sigh. "Except it's my father forcing you to be with me despite your feelings."
Sansa reached across her shoulder, taking his left hand in her right. She turned in her seat to face him, finding a surprised look on his face. "Despite the offer he made me, it is still my choice to do this." She brought her other hand around, holding his one in her pair. "This is my chance to finally get away from this awful place."
"I could find another way…"
She shook her head. "No. This is the safest way. Besides," she felt her face reddening again, and dropped her gaze. "I know you will not hurt me. If I'm to be married to a Lannister, you are the best one."
His laugh sounded strained, and she looked back up at him. "I guess that is a compliment," he smiled. "But you are right, I will not hurt you." His free hand gently cupped her cheek, and Sansa was surprised she felt comfortable with the touch.
"I know I am not what you dreamed of, I'm not a handsome knight, or a noble prince. But even in the dark, I can be what your mind sees." He stepped down from the stool, his hand still clasped between hers. "Come, sit on the bed."
She stood up and let him lead her towards the edge of the bed. Her stomach was starting to feel tight from her nervousness. As she sat down on the mattress, he kissed her knuckles and slid his hand out from between hers. Tyrion started moving around the room, blowing out the candles he could reach. The room began to darken some, which she realized he was doing for her comfort. He approached the bed again, untying the curtains opposite where she sat, and it cast her side of the room into shadows.
Sansa could hear Tyrion taking off his shoes, and she realized her own slippers and stocking, as well as her shift, were still on. "Shall I finish undressing?" she asked, her voice denying the brave mask she tried to wear.
"Whatever makes you feel comfortable, my lady," he replied softly, still on the opposite side of the bed.
She didn't feel comfortable either way, so she decided to leave them on, if he didn't mind. An awkward silence filled the room for what seemed an eternity before she finally heard him softly step towards her side of the bed. She could clearly see his silhouette in the dim light, and she was relieved to see he also remained in his shift.
"My dear," he spoke, stepping towards her, "I will do all I can to make this as pleasant for you as I can."
"Lady Margery said you are experienced, and that it was a good thing."
She thought she could see him smile in amusement. "Oh, did she? Well, I know I have a reputation as a lusty imp, but I never hurt any woman I have lain with." Sansa could feel her cheeks burn as he spoke. His hands gently touched her covered knees, and he began to rub small circles around them. "I will not be offended if you wish to think I am someone else, I know I am no Knight of Flowers. It will be easier if you lay back and close your eyes."
She started to shift so she could bring her legs up on to the bed, but his hands pushed back firmly on her knees. "No," he said, his voice suddenly low, "lay back as you are."
She didn't question him, but thought it an odd position, given his small stature. But she decided to trust his experience and Margery's words and leaned back on the bed. She stared up at the canopy for a few seconds before closing her eyes.
His fingers traced their way around her knees before moving to focus on her right leg. They slid up her thigh, and his fingers hooked through her stocking, gently pulling it down towards her ankle. She was surprised to feel something soft trailing after his hands, realizing he was placing gentle kisses on her bared skin. The actions made her chest and stomach feel tight, not understanding the feeling. Perhaps if she took his advice and thought of Ser Loras being here, kneeling on the floor and placing chaste kisses on her leg.
As he reached her ankle, he gently slid her slipper off, followed shortly by her stocking. She subconsciously wiggled her toes as they were set free, and then she felt him move to her other leg to repeat the same process. When her remaining stocking and slipper were removed, his hands glided slowly up each leg, back up towards her knees.
She could feel the hem of her shift pushed upwards, and his chaste kisses were starting to become firmer as he moved up her thigh. Her skin felt warm at each contact, and her curiosity at his actions were starting to nag at her morals. Should she be enjoying his touch when she did not love him? He was her husband, though, so that shouldn't make her wanton, as the ladies would gossip about.
Just then, his lips had moved closer to her sex, and it startled her. She suddenly sat up, her hands pushing on his shoulders. "Is this…is this proper?"
Tyrion chuckled, not releasing his gentle hold on her thighs. "I'm of a mind that as long as it pleases my wife, it is proper." He looked up at her face, and even with the shadows falling on them, he must've seen her concern. "But if you do not like it, you must tell me, and I will stop."
Sansa was puzzled. She had been told so many things by different women in her life; her mother, her septa, Cersei, and even Margery. Their advice all seemed to contradict the others'. Perhaps it was time to start listening to her instinct more. She was used to the gossip about herself, being the traitor's daughter. No doubt the court and servants were already whispering their assumptions about her marriage.
She laid back on the mattress, resting her arms beside her. She didn't know what she should say, but he must have acknowledged her silence as permission to continue. Sansa tried to imagine it was the handsome Loras kissing her thighs again, but she was well aware it was Tyrion, his blonde, soft curls tickling her skin as his head turned to her other leg.
His mouth trailed a path upwards again, and Sansa felt her breath catch. His hands snaked their way under her knees, her thighs, and then just above her hips. She gasped as he firmly took hold of her and pulled her closer, her knees now over his shoulders. She quickly realized it was to bring her closer to his reach, as his mouth now closed over her. The warmth of his lips lightly suckling on her sex made Sansa feel very flustered.
Then, what must be his tongue, started pressing through her folds, and she couldn't help the low sound that came from her throat. Was this what Margery referred to about pleasing women? The feeling he was creating was making her body flush, her heart start to race. It was a rather enjoyable sensation, and when he changed the motion his tongue made, she found herself gripping the bed sheets, as if she needed to hold on to something.
After a moment of exploring her womanhood with his mouth, Tyrion began to focus on a small area at the top. As his tongue swirled around it and suckled it in between, Sansa's breathing became erratic. She could no longer fight the urge to squirm against him, and this seemed to encourage him on. She didn't want to seem wanton, but gods, her body was starting to feel on fire! Every time he switched between his warm tongue licking the sensitive skin to his lips sucking it in, it drew a moan from Sansa.
Her body was starting to feel tight, as if a pressure was building up, and she felt a bit apprehensive about what would happen if she gave in to it. Her eyes were clenched tight, her fingers digging deeper into the sheets as Tyrion's mouth pressed even firmer.
Suddenly, it felt like her whole body was exploding—her muscles tensed and then released all at once, and Sansa cried out. Her back arched up as her body shook from the reaction, and she barely felt Tyrion's hands tighten their hold on her hips, as if to keep her from moving away. She gasped for air, feeling like her breath had been taken away, and her skin tingled, especially where his still touched her.
"What…. What was…. that…." she finally spoke, still trying to regulate her breathing.
Tyrion slowly released his hold on her, pressing a kiss against her skin before lifting his head. "That, my dear wife, was one of the ways to pleasure a woman. Have you never explored your own body?"
Sansa didn't think she could blush any more than she already was. "That's not lady-like!" she responded, still laying back in recovery.
Tyrion chuckled, "I'm sure that's what your septa told you. But now you are a married woman. If it pleases you, I can show you other ways to obtain the height of passion." His hands released their hold on her hips, brushing lightly as he moved them to her sex. His fingers slid against her sex, and she was surprised how wet she felt down there. Was that normal? Sansa felt her body shuddering as his fingers rubbed slowly up and down her. Tyrion was her husband, and he was proving that he knew how to make her body feel good.
"Sansa," he said, hesitation suddenly present in his tone. "I know you said you would do this to get away from King's Landing, but I want to ask one more time. It's not too late to change your mind."
She was craving more, almost as much as she yearned to escape the Red Keep. Using her elbows to help prop her up, she sat up on the edge of the bed. Despite the darkness taking over the room, she could see Tyrion's green eyes gazing up at hers. They were both gentle and yet dangerous, like a lion watching its prey. Was this the passion she heard whispers about? "Won't you join me in the bed?"
She could see his mouth curl up in a smile. "As my lady wishes."
Sansa scooted back, dragging her legs up onto the bed as Tyrion climbed up his stepstool by the side. Settling against the pillows, she began to feel nervous again. But it wasn't from fear of the unknown; it was anticipation now. Would her body react the same way, or would it be different?
As he approached her, his hands started their delicate dance up her legs again. Settling on his knees, he drew closer to her, pushing her shift up to her waistline. He was still wearing his, which she was starting to wonder if that was for his own comfort or for hers. But she was starting to be curious about what he looked like under it.
Tyrion's hand quickly found that sensitive spot again, and Sansa let her head fall back as she sighed blissfully. The feelings he was drawing out of her were pleasant, indeed, and she hoped that it would always be like this. His fingers twirled and stroked at her, making her yearn for that rush she had experienced just moments ago. He seemed to sense how she felt, his agile fingers moving faster, and she felt that pleasurable sensation wash over her. She cried out, every inch of her skin tingling in ecstasy.
His fingers persisted, sliding down her womanhood and gently pressing against her opening. His touch was foreign as she felt a finger slide slowly into her, but she moaned delightedly. "I promised to make this as pleasurable for you as I could," he whispered, his voice low and thick with an unfamiliar tone. "Hopefully it will help reduce the pain about to come."
Sansa's eyes opened then, remembering what she had been told about the breaking of her maidenhead. "I trust you," she responded, surprised at the truth behind it.
His hand moved away from her, and she groaned in response. She was still feeling elated from her recent peak but craved more. By the seven, was she wanton? No, this was her husband. Her husband who was inching closer to her, one hand grasping her hip as the other seemed to be guiding something to where his fingers had previously been.
His cock. That's what men called it. The women around her used other words, but they all seemed silly in this moment. At their wedding feast, he had said to all that his was small and that she may not even know he was there. But as his cock slowly pressed inside her, she knew that it was, realizing he had told yet another lie to dissuade Joffrey's wrath.
Tyrion seemed to hesitate, but before Sansa could ask what was wrong, he thrust forward, and she felt a sharp pinch-like pain where they met. Gasping from surprise, her eyes met his, and even the shadows could not hide the question in them. "I'm sorry, Sansa."
She found herself shaking her head. "The pain was quick, it's fading now." He saw some relief in his eyes. "Now what?"
Tyrion chortled. "Now we hopefully find pleasure together." He slowly moved back, and then pushed further into her, setting a slow, tantalizing rhythm that made Sansa whimper. The feelings were different than what his mouth and fingers had drawn out of her, and she was starting to feel eager for more. Her hands rested atop his, which were holding her firmly above her hips. He must have taken this as some sort of signal, because his speed increased, and she felt like he was moving deeper inside her. Her head fell back, letting herself enjoy these new sensations.
He shifted his position, his left hand sliding onto the bed, his right snaking down to touch her in that sensitive spot that she was quickly learning would bring her to a peak. His thrusts became more fervent, and Sansa grasped at the sheets again as she felt her muscles tightening, even those inside her around his cock. As she cried out in pleasure, she heard him groan as well, sensing a pulsing inside her. He fell forward, still bracing himself on his arm, his forehead resting against her stomach. "Fuck!" she heard him mutter.
They spent a long moment not moving, their breathing finally falling back into a somewhat normal pattern. "Is everything all right?" she finally asked.
Tyrion pushed himself back up, sitting back on his knees. "Very much so," he replied, adjusting his tunic. "What makes you ask?"
"You said 'fuck'."
He laughed lightly, patting her on the thigh as he climbed over her to rest beside her. "Ah, yes, usually a vulgar word for when things go wrong. But…" he laid down on his side, so that he could face her, "in other cases, such as this… it is meant as a pleasant expression."
"Oh," she replied, hoping he couldn't see her blush in the darkening room. As her body started relaxing, she became aware of how wet and sticky she felt between her legs. "I should go clean myself," she thought aloud, but realized how exhausted she suddenly felt.
Tyrion touched her arm, as if to stop her from moving. "It would be best to wait until morning. That way your handmaidens will see, and those who are spies for my father can confirm our consummation." She felt embarrassed by that thought but nodded in agreement. "Now, get some sleep. I shall return to the chaise—"
"No!" Sansa interrupted, grabbing his hand. "There's no need now. And it would look odd if they found you there."
He nodded as well and sat up to reach for the blankets. "You are right, my dear wife." Pulling the covers over her, he took her hand once more and placed a lingering kiss on it that set her skin tingling pleasantly. "Good night, Sansa."
Her eyes started to feel heavy as her body continued to relax. "Good night, Tyrion."
Author Note: I wrote the last scene from Sansa's POV, so I was trying to make it from a naïve virgin's perspective. Also, I always hate that girl's and women are told that your hymen breaking is always painful. It isn't always true. And knowing Sansa rode horses (didn't really show in the series, but was mentioned in the books), and that Tyrion took the time to prepare her body physically, that helps with the breaking. Also (TMI) from my own experience, it didn't hurt. Further proof for me that an attentive partner can make all the difference 😉