Fellowship & Fairydust

December 22, 299

Tyrion had taken Podrick’s horse so that he could ride at the front of the caravan beside Bronn. Adelaide sat in the carriage with Sansa, and Podrick walked beside the carriage with strict instructions to interfere if necessary. It allowed Tyrion the opportunity to talk to Bronn, a man whose opinion he trusted. They spoke in low tones at the front of the caravan, far ahead of the guards. Tyrion told Bronn of the past couple evenings, and Bronn listened carefully.

“It sounds like she could use a sound spanking,” Bronn muttered when Tyrion had finished talking.

“Bronn!”

“It does,” Bronn said with a shrug. “It’s a safer way for her to get the pain she says she needs. Plus, it does wonders for a woman’s attitude.”

“She’s grieving.”

“Half the world is grieving,” Bronn said. “We’re in the middle of a war.”

Tyrion shook his head. “I promised her I wouldn’t hurt her.”

“I didn’t say you should beat her,” Bronn said. “Children are spanked by their fathers every day.”

“I’m not her father,” Tyrion pointed out.

“And if you were?”

Tyrion scowled.

“It’s not like you’re properly her lover,” Bronn pointed out. “You may as well act as a father to her. Clearly, someone needs to.”

“Stop,” Tyrion said.

Bronn rolled his eyes. “Well, what the hell were you hoping I’d say?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Tyrion muttered. He took a swig from the flask of ale attached to his hip and urged his horse faster, ahead of the caravan.

***

That night Sansa ate her dinner without complaint, but she did it slowly, wordlessly. Across from her, Tyrion was lost in thought. It was hard to believe that just a few short nights ago, they had engaged in pleasant conversation, like a proper husband and wife. Now here they sat as jailor and jailed. He hated it.

Tyrion cleared his throat. “How was your day?”

Sansa’s eyes were like glass. “Very good, my Lord.”

Tyrion winced, closing his eyes. Her speech had taken on the same meaningless timbre that it’d had in King’s Landing. He couldn’t stand for her to talk like that, but he simply didn’t know how to make her stop.

***

December 29, 299

She was drifting. In the week since she’d heard about her family’s fate, she had lost herself entirely. Every day she would rise with Tyrion, climb into the carriage, and sit perfectly still and silent until the caravan stopped. She ate her meals without comment, and at night she crawled into bed with him, though she didn’t sleep anymore. Every time she closed her eyes, she pictured them – Robb with his direwolf’s head stitched to his strung-up body, and her mother bleeding out on the floor. She felt cold, always.

Cutting would help, she knew it would. If she could just get that bit of pain, she was sure that she could reawaken. But Tyrion had been true to his word, and the few times that he was not by her side, she was guarded by someone else from his vanguard.

They arrived at Casterly Rock at noon. It was a formidable fortress – larger than Winterfell and nestled between the mountains and the sea. In her mind, Sansa knew it was a gorgeous place, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. It felt as if she saw only a painting of the castle, dulled with age and hanging in some gallery somewhere.

She felt Tyrion’s eyes on her again and heard him sigh softly. They rode to the front gates, and Sansa barely noticed as Tyrion greeted the castle guards or the caravan wheels rumbling as they were ushered inside. She felt Tyrion take her arm and guide her from the carriage, but it barely registered.

“Lady Sansa and I have had a long journey.” Tyrion’s voice was clipped as he spoke to the head servant of the castle. “We’ll be retiring to our chambers. I want the entire wing cleared for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the man said.

Tyrion continued to lead her by the arm, through large, looming doors, down formidable stone corridors, and up winding flights of stairs. Sansa didn’t try to remember the route – she didn’t care. She was only glad that he had asked for the afternoon. She planned to spend it sleeping.

Eventually, he opened the door to a suite of rooms in the Lannister colors. Some part of Sansa’s brain registered that it was a grand room – a room clearly intended for a true lord and his lady. The rest of her brain didn’t care.

Tyrion sat Sansa at a small table. He sat across from her and poured them each a glass of wine. Sansa took hers out of habit, not because she actually cared to drink.

“I need to talk to you,” Tyrion told her.

Sansa blinked at him, unseeing.

“The night you hurt yourself,” Tyrion said. “You told me you just wanted to feel something again.”

Sansa pressed her lips together. Those words rang true in her head.

“I promised you, when I took you as my wife, that I would not hurt you,” Tyrion said. “I’m afraid that by treating you the way I have this past week, I have inadvertently hurt you a great deal. I’ve forced you to feel that nothingness you were trying so hard to avoid.”

Sansa stared at him, not comprehending for a moment. When his words at last registered in her foggy mind, she said, “Do you mean to give my comb back, then?”

Tyrion snorted humorlessly. “No.”

Sansa frowned.

“I gave you that comb to protect yourself,” Tyrion told her. “Although the irony is not lost on me, I won’t give it back until I’m sure that its presence won’t prevent the occurrence of your next name day.”

Sansa shook her head, trying to clear it. He was stringing too many words together, and the meaning felt unclear. “What do you mean, then.”

Tyrion cleared his throat. “I… this is awkward.”

Sansa stared at him.

Tyrion sighed. “You know I’ve been with women before?”

Sansa nodded, though she wasn’t sure where this conversation could possibly be heading.

“I try to please women,” Tyrion told her. “I’m careful about it – I’m never just after my own pleasure.”

Sansa licked her lower lip.

“I was a young man when I realized that what pleases some women, does nothing at all for other women,” Tyrion said. “And some things that seemed certain not to please women were, in fact, exactly what the women wanted.”

“Tyrion,” Sansa said dully. “I have no idea what you’re saying.”

“Of course, you don’t.” Tyrion sighed. He dragged a hand through his hair. “Sansa. There are ways I can help you… feel, without any blood leaving your body.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. She pushed the chair back from the table. “You want to beat me?!”

“No!” Tyrion’s voice was sharper than he’d intended.

Sansa stared at him, her eyes issuing a silent challenge.

Tyrion tugged at the collar of his tunic. “Some women, erm, enjoy, being spanked.”

“Spanked.” She said the word flatly.

Tyrion shook his head. “I told you I would never hurt you, my Lady. I have no desire to hurt you – you must believe me when I tell you that. But, as I said, some women enjoy being spanked. I only thought… well, you’re young… you might not know what you like yet… and you said it was hard for you to feel, so….”

Sansa swallowed. He was speaking complete madness, she was sure, and yet… Margaery had mentioned that women were complicated. She’d also said that many women didn’t know what they wanted until they experienced it. Sansa remembered the hot pain when the knife would touch her skin and the absolute relief she always felt by the time that it was done. Slowly, without really knowing she was doing it, she found herself nodding her head.

***

The faraway look was still in her eyes, but Tyrion watched, completely baffled, as her head bobbed up and down. His heart hammered inside his chest. He hadn’t actually expected her to consent to it. Now that she had, he didn’t know what to do. He’d only offered the bizarre remedy because she’d been distant for so long. Bronn’s words had been rattling around in his head and, at a loss for what else to try, Tyrion had offered it.

The truth was that, pervert though he was said to be, Tyrion had never once spanked a woman. Oh, he understood the general idea of it. It had just never struck him as something that he particularly wanted to do to another human being. He’d always been far more interested in giving pleasure than pain.

Sansa lifted her chin. “I don’t… I don’t know what you want me to do. I’ve never… ” she mumbled in a quiet voice.

Tyrion nodded. He needed to lead here. He had to be sure of himself, and clear with his intentions if this was going to work. After what she’d suffered at Joffrey’s hands, it was vital that he draw the boundaries clearly for both of them.

“I’m going to smack your bottom,” Tyrion said, speaking with more confidence than he felt. “With my hand.” He clarified.

Sansa nodded shakily.

Tyrion swallowed. “Okay. Stand then, and walk over to the bed.”

Sansa was afraid. She’d received a few spankings from her father as a child, but nothing like this. This was the imp, a Lannister… her husband. Nervously, she stood, pushing away from the table, and walked over to the bed.

“Lean over.” Tyrion’s voice was a ship, guiding her movements. “Stretch out across the coverlet and grab the other side of the bed with your hands.”

Sansa did as she was bid, although stretched out across the bed in this way, she felt utterly ridiculous. Heat touched her face, and she wondered if the embarrassment alone could pull her from the stupor she’d been in the past few days. She could hear Tyrion bolting the door and moving behind her, and then she felt his hands touching her dress and lifting it. Sansa froze, not breathing as he tucked the dress up around her stomach, leaving her naked rear on display. Shame stung at her eyes. He hadn’t seen her body before, and now he was doing so with hew in this undignified position, prostrate on the bed and feeling horribly vulnerable.

Tyrion placed a hand gently on her rear, and Sansa sucked in a breath of air at the contact, her eyes closing.

“If you want me to stop, I will,” Tyrion said. “You only have to say the word.”

Sansa swallowed. “No. I… it’s fine.”

Tyrion stared at his wife’s exposed skin, wondering if he actually had the nerve to go through with it. Sansa was the single most innocent woman he’d ever encountered. He’d never so much as seen her undress before now, though she’d helped him with his clothes most nights since that first tentative time. Now, as he looked at his small hand against her pale flesh, and he wondered at what he’d gotten himself into.

“If you want me to stop, I will. You only have to say the word,” he’d said, and in truth, part of him still hoped that she would ask him to stop.

“No. I… It’s fine.” She’d replied instead, and there was nothing more to be done. Tyrion lifted his hand, and before he could lose his nerve, he lowered it again. There was a cracking sound and Sansa sucked in a breath of air. Again, he raised and lowered his hand. The sound was sharp, echoing through the small room. Each time, Sansa would let out a small gasp, and each time he watched as her hands tightened against the coverlet and then released. He wasn’t sure if what he was doing was working, or how long he should continue before allowing himself to stop. At last, a small, tight voice choked out, “Stop!”

Tyrion’s hand dropped immediately to his side. He stared at her, uncertainty racing through his veins.

Sansa’s hands released the coverlet. She brushed her skirts down and rolled around to face him, hot tears evident on her face.

“My lady,” he whispered, as shame rose within him. “I….”

“Please,” she stopped the flow of his words with that single word.

Tyrion stared at her, unsure of her intent.

Sansa leaned forward. Nervousness shining bright in her eyes as she reached a hand out and lightly touched the jagged scar that marked his face. She bit her lower lip gently, trailing the scar with her fingertips, and then she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.

Tyrion couldn’t help the small moan that escaped his lips. Her kiss was soft and gentle, and Tyrion widened his mouth, brushing his tongue against her lower lip. Her eyes closed and her left hand rose to tangle in his hair. She pulled him to her, and he let himself be pulled.

They lay next to each other on the bed, at first content only to explore each other’s kisses. And then Sansa pulled back and tugged on the bottom of his shirt.

“My Lady…,” he bit the words out, need filling him.

“Please,” Sansa whispered. “I just want to feel good for a little while.”

Tyrion allowed her to disrobe him, watching her expression as she took in his body. To his surprise, she didn’t pull away in revulsion. Her fingers fumbled with the clasp on the front of her own dress.

Tyrion helped her out of her dress, and, for the first time, he took in the beauty of his wife’s body. With the dress away from her, it was easier to make out her outline. Her hips were broad, her chest small but feminine. Her stomach was not flat, a lingering reminder of a lifetime full of hearty meals. Like Tyrion, she had scars across her chest and back – he didn’t need to ask where she’d gotten them; his nephew was the obvious culprit. Tyrion leaned forward and kissed them all, one by one.

***

Sansa stilled as Tyrion kissed her scars. She felt nervous in front of him, her body exposed so obviously. He’d been with so many women. How could she hope to compare, with her scarred body and lack of knowledge? 

Tyrion didn’t seem to care though, his kisses trailed down her body, from her jaw to her neck and then lower. He took his time. 

A moan escaped, unbidden, from Sansa’s lips. “Tyrion….”

His kisses continued down her stomach, and continued lower, pressing kisses to her legs, to the healing wounds on her thigh. He raised his head, amusement shining in his mismatched eyes.

“Tyrion!” She moaned, pushing herself up on her elbows, surprised at the intensity of the sensation as she was made ready to receive him. Her arms gave out, and she sank back onto the bed.

In a gentle voice, he warned, “This will hurt.” 

Eyes wide, Sansa nodded her understanding. 

He pushed forward in one sudden motion, and Sansa cried out. When she had adjusted to the strange sensation of being joined so intimately, he began to move and her breathing quickened. At last, she cried out, the feeling of pleasure so intense that she almost couldn’t stand it. His warmth filled her and she felt his hands tighten on her waist. 

Gasping, she dropped back against the bed. It felt as if every muscle in her body had relaxed all at once. She felt Tyrion move to lie beside her, his arm draping across her middle.

“Wow,” Sansa whispered. “That was… wow.”

Her husband chuckled gently.

“My mother warned me about the pain,” Sansa said. “She never mentioned… everything else.”

“I suppose it’s considered indecent to talk about,” Tyrion muttered. “There is a reason that men visit brothels.”

Sansa didn’t bother to say that she’d already known it was pleasurable for the man. In truth, though, she wasn’t sure how pleasurable that had been for Tyrion. He had been so experienced and gentle, and all she had done was lay still and take it all.

“I’m sorry,” Sansa whispered, feeling suddenly ashamed.

Tyrion propped himself on one elbow. “What for?”

“I didn’t…,” Sansa swallowed. “You… you know. My whole body. And I just sort of….”

He shook his head, not bothering to wait for her to stammer out the words. “Lovemaking is not a game of tit-for-tat, Sansa. It’s about doing what feels good.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to feel good for you as well,” Sansa said. In truth, she was sure it was supposed to be better for him than it was for her. Didn’t that align with all the stories she’d overheard over the years?

Tyrion snorted. “Trust me. I’m well sated.”

Sansa wasn’t sure how that could be true, but she felt too good to push the matter. Instead, she sighed, resting her cheek against the top of Tyrion’s head.

“I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?” Tyrion asked. “I tried to be gentle, but it’s never entirely pleasant for a lady on the first go.”

“I’m okay,” Sansa assured him.

“Good.” A smile twitched across his face.

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