A Holiday by Decree
~~ Day 9 ~~
After Sansa left for her room, the evening dragged on for Tyrion. Initially, he charged back to his rooms. Alone with the full force of his angst, he had cursed and dashed his wet clothes against the bathroom floor before bathing. However, as hot tears found their way from his eyes into his bathwater, self-loathing trickled in.
Some kind of "man", I am! I keep my promise to Sansa all this time - to do nothing before she was ready. But then, at the slightest advance from her, I touch her casually, just like that - and in the water, of all places!
What is wrong with me? His hands came out of the bath to tear at his wet hair, as he thought it. Unwelcome memories of his father flashed, his mind twisting with awful thoughts. I made her believe she was safe with me - I really am a beast! he thought, as his tears fell harder. He wished the bath would swallow him up alongside them.
A while later, after Tyrion was dried and dressed, he was still bitterly wiping his eyes, as he followed a maid who had been sent to announce his dinner. The sun had gone down before he had stumbled exhaustedly from the bath to barely put himself together. He had not cried so hard since Jaime's death, and it had taken every ounce of his energy to dress. He had only decided to come out to eat in the feeble hope that Sansa might be there; whether he would find her fully recovered or ready to punish him with more reproach, he would not care, if she was alright.
Upon entering the grand dining area, Tyrion found himself disappointed at the sight of a single place setting. He took the seat at the far end of the table, which had been angled out just for him, and leaned his chin on his hand to wait for the meal.
Past the overhang above the dining area, the ocean breathed in the darkness that Tyrion gazed into.
Was this his fate? He wondered not for the first time in the past several years. To be trapped alone in the dark with his own, unseen monsters? Never knowing, always fearing himself even when he thought he had managed to change?
"M'Lord –" Tyrion startled at the voice of the serving girl, who offered to pour him wine from a full carafe she would inevitably leave at the table.
Something within Tyrion ached.
How easy it would be to drink and drink, and forget all the pain, just like he used to do.
Giving up responsibility, never daring to face his monsters –
"No," he said, perhaps a bit too forcefully given the worried look on the girl's face, as he clapped a hand over his empty goblet; he could not give up - not when there was still something else he could do.
Tyrion carefully softened his voice. "It's late, but may I please see either Jesa or Hirat?" he asked.
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Note: Oh~! See you in a week with an update, dear readers! Thank you all for reading :-)