A Holiday by Decree
~~Day 12~~
A long moment passed - perhaps one of the longest moments of Sansa's life. She tried to focus on the burbling of the fresh water making its descent down the rocks rather than the uncertain feeling of the air directly on the skin of her bare back, upper arms and the backs of her thighs.
In the morning, when Hirat had dressed her, it had been hard for Sansa to set aside the lace poncho she could have put over Daenerys' swimwear, the lovely blue one with the voluminous bow at the back. She had reminded herself though: What would have been the point of that? She did not want to hide from Tyrion. To move their relationship forward, she felt she had to let him see, but she wanted it to be clear it was her choice to show him as much as it was his choice whether he could actually really live with what had happened to her body.
But now, the silence was deafening. Could she handle if he found it too unsightly, the marks that another man had left on her, ugly signs of how badly she had already been used and abused? She could understand the repulsion. She herself felt sickened enough that she habitually avoided the sight of her bare body in mirrors…
Still, she had rather thought that Tyrion might be able to accept it – accept her – after the affection he had shown her in the past days.
Yet, while Sansa knew she could be wrong about that, she did not know quite what she would do if faced with the reality of a rejection from him now…
It was overcome with these thoughts that she almost missed the quiet gust of Tyrion's exhalation over the nervous thundering of her heart: "Sansa -"
Sansa turned her head slightly. It was the barest glance she could manage over her shoulder past her hair, to acknowledge he had spoken but without having to really see his feelings yet, afraid for what they could be.
Fortunately, he spoke again. This time she heard clearly, as he swallowed deeply before saying in the softest voice, "Sansa, I know that this must have taken courage for you to show me this."
Again, Sansa waited. She opened her mouth, about to meet his silence to say that she understood well how unbearable looking the twisting, dark scars were –
"Please come here," he then asked simply, and she had no more reason not to turn and really face him.
She had purposely shown him her back first, as even with the coverage from the bow, it was clear how much area the damage covered, from the backs of her arms, down her whole back, to the backs of her thighs. Still it was hard to know if the back was worse than the front, which bore similar evidence of past lacerations, including on her lower bust, sides, and thighs. Nonetheless, she tried to breathe, as she forced herself to turn.