A Holiday by Decree
Please note, this chapter includes a brief but distressing description related to abuse. As folks like to say, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning. A set of three asterisks *** proceeds the description and a second set of three asterisks *** follows it. Again, it's brief, but please read with care - Thank you!
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~~Day 10~~
Sansa steadied herself against the door as soon as she closed it. The calm of her bedchamber was at odds with her frenzied pulse after the nigh world changing kiss she had just shared with Tyrion.
Gods. Sansa had certainly heard things over the years about Tyrion. Like they surely did with her, they said all kinds of things. When she had been a girl, it had bothered her to hear much of it. So many of the rumors had been cruel and outlandish about her older husband, who was then a stranger to her. Nestled among these of course had also been the accusations as to his towering intellect and inclination toward all things carnal and sensual. Even back then, these had not been lost on her, but where she had once been put off, it was so funny how the same things now intrigued and allured her.
And here, it all simultaneously scared and thrilled her at this, her first taste of him.
Their kiss had been essentially chaste. Their hands had not even traveled, but the heated exchange of movement between their lips already hinted at passion. Sansa surprised herself at how immediately willing she was to be drawn into Tyrion's warmth. It had been so hard to tear away!
"Thank you so much," she had said breathily, once her mind had a moment to clear.
"You're thanking me? I'm quite sure I should be thanking you!" he breathed back, looking at her with obvious adoration.
She smiled shyly. "I wanted to give my hero a kiss for his kindness today, but I fear if I don't wish you a good night now, I may fail entirely," she managed. While her head told her to let him go, her heart definitely said otherwise.
"And I may fail entirely to leave!" he agreed, tugging on his collar in a way that confirmed he too had felt the passion between them. "Good night, Sansa," he said with a hot squeeze of her hand that sent a needy jolt through Sansa, before they unwillingly parted.
It was not that Sansa had not seriously thought of asking him to stay. The fact was, cognitively, she felt ready, but there was unfortunately now the episode in the pool to consider…
It was not hard for her to realize that her impulsive reaction to Tyrion's touch to her back made terrible sense.
As proof, Sansa's stomach clenched at an intrusive memory...
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*** He had always come at her from behind. The sickening tear of fabric, the booted kick to her back. Lying on her stomach while either whip or knife carved out her back or thighs - ***
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Sansa forced her eyes open and calmed her breath. The quiet safety of the room bathed in the dusky light came back into focus.
After a moment, when she was well enough to move again, it was then that she noticed the grey wax sealed letter, resting on the writing desk adjacent to the bed.