Work Text:
Annoyance wasn't an emotion Tywin Lannister was unfamiliar with. He felt it frequently for various reasons: at Jaime for refusing to take up the family name, at Joffrey for refusing to not act like a child, at Tyrion for existing most of the time. However, he had yet to feel annoyed at his new lady wife, until this morning.
She had taken it upon herself to join him to break their fast a week into their marriage; and while it had been a surprise when she joined him the first time, he had come to expect her presence in his solar over the last few weeks.
That was, until today, when she didn't join him.
He had eaten alone.
He should have been used to it, having broken his fast on the regular by himself for quite some time. He should not have been thrown off when his wife didn't appear to join him, or even send a note explaining why she missed the meal. It wasn’t like they had been doing this for months, he had barely met the girl when he married her nearly a moon before.
It wasn’t as if he was developing feelings for her. He had just become used to her being there in the morning, that was all.
Tywin sat at his desk, responding to letters and issuing missives for their troops. Anything to try to distract himself from the annoyance he felt. It was useless to feel this annoyed by someone he didn’t care about let alone have feelings for.
There was a knock on the door and Ser Addam Marbrand entered. Tywin stood from his desk and greeted his commander.
He listened as Addam gave his report on the City Watch. The straightening of the Gold Cloaks had been a priority for Tywin to bring King’s Landing back to order and Addam was doing his best to bring it to order. Once Addam finished his report, Tywin sat back in his chair, satisfied by what the report contained. A thought came to him as he took the parchment containing his report from Addam.
“Have you seen my wife?” he asked Addam before his commander could turn to leave. Addam's eyebrows furrowed.
“Not today, my lord.”
Tywin frowned, setting the parchment down on his desk. Addam eyed him.
“Is there anything else, my lord?”
“No, no that was all.”
Addam nodded and retreated from the office without another word.
Tywin growled out an expletive and rose from his desk. While Sansa spent most of her time in the Tower, she wasn’t bound to it by any specific order of his. She just chose to spend her time in the Tower away from the prying eyes of court, and his grandson. For her to not be seen by one of his guards was strange.
He knew Margaery Tyrell was hosting a luncheon and believed that Sansa had mentioned, in passing, that she would be attending. He determined that he would check with the future queen before he truly became angry.
He made the trip to the gardens quickly, his guard following him at a brisk pace. The sound of giggles and merriment immediately putting him on edge. He had never appreciated laughter thanks to his father and it was doing nothing to calm him.
He searched the tables of the garden but saw no flash of his wife’s distinctive auburn hair. He turned to leave without making a scene but Lady Margaery caught him.
“My Lord Hand!” she greeted, standing from her seat. He turned back to her and inclined his head.
“Lady Margaery, I had thought my wife would be joining your luncheon, but I see she is not here so I will bid you good day.”
“Oh,” Margaery said, her brown eyes going wide, “Lady Lannister was to attend but she sent a note this morning stating that she had other commitments, my lord.”
Tywin looked at the girl, searching for a hint of dishonesty. He found none. His frown deepened and he bowed his head to the future queen before turning on his heel and exiting the solar.
His feet led him to the godswood as he assumed Sansa would have retreated here as she was wont to do. But he was surprised to find the godswood empty, no sign of his wife to be found.
He was fuming by the time he made it back to the Tower of the Hand. The slip of the girl had sent a note for a luncheon but hadn’t even deigned to advise her husband that she would miss their morning meal.
A thought crossed his mind – no one had seen her, from what he had come to learn about Sansa was that she was incredibly observant. If she had noticed any gaps in the guard rotation and noted it, she could have easily slipped by. No one would be the wiser until he made his nightly trip to her room to attempt to sire a babe on the girl.
For all he knew she could be on her way to Harrenhal by now.
He gritted his teeth and made the quick journey to the private apartments of the Tower. His wife’s chambers were situated across from his own. The two guards he had ordered on her detail for protection were stationed outside her room.
“Farman,” he addressed one of the guards, “has Lady Lannister left her chambers at all today?”
The guard shared a look with the other and shook his head.
“No, my lord, but we’ve only been on watch for a few hours now.”
He frowned, his forehead creasing. He gestured for the guards to open the doors and they moved to follow his orders.
He entered the chambers and immediately took a step back due to the warmth emanating from it. The fire was roaring in the hearth and while winter was coming, King’s Landing was not cold enough for that just yet. He looked around the room, the bed was made and it appeared that no one had slept in it – though he knew he had left her in her bed the night before.
His eyes fell on the chairs beside the fireplace and he noticed his wife’s long pale legs laying over the side of the chair facing away from him. He felt himself relax at the sight and walked over to her.
She still wore her shift like she had just awoken. Her eyes were closed, her hands rested on her stomach. She didn’t open her eyes as he approached, but her breathing wasn’t deep as if she was asleep. Sweat dotted her hairline from the heat of the room.
He could feel sweat already beginning to form on his forehead and wiped at it with the back of his hand. He walked past Sansa to douse the fire.
“Please don’t,” her voice came from the chair, smaller than normal, as if she was in pain. He stopped in front of her.
“It’s roasting in here,” he said, pointing out the obvious. She nodded.
“I know, it’s the only thing bringing me relief.”
“Relief from what?”
A blush rose up her already red cheeks. Her eyes opened and she gazed up at him, her blue eyes hazy.
“It’s my moonblood, my lord.”
He shifted uncomfortably. Moonblood meant she wasn’t with child, which meant he would have to continue to visit her at night. That wasn’t a total chore, laying with her was pleasurable enough, but he was sure she was eager to end their nightly duty.
“I see,” he said finally, her blue eyes watching him carefully, “and you need to practically set the room on fire because of that?”
“It helps alleviate the pain.”
He frowned. He wondered if hers were as bad as Joanna’s had been. His first wife had often retreated from him once a moon, not wanting him to be near her; though the week that led up to the event often was just as bad with her emotions being all over the place. He had learned, very early in that first marriage, to just do as Joanna asked when she showed signs of being near her moonblood. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed Sansa display similar behavior that might have advised him that she was nearing her time.
Or maybe he just hadn’t paid enough attention to her to notice.
He would have to remedy that in the future.
“And you do this every time?”
“Only when I need to… Winterfell had natural hot springs that… assisted with any discomfort one might experience.”
They stared at each other in silence, her eyebrow raised. He chose not to address her referencing her former home.
“Did you ever visit Winterfell, my lord?” she asked quietly after a few moments of neither of them speaking.
He frowned and looked away, deciding if he should entertain her with answers. Winterfell was a ruin now – and she was already miserable enough – he supposed it wouldn't hurt to answer some of her questions.
“No, Aerys largely ignored the North during my time as his Hand, and after, at least until…”
He trailed off, his lips pressed in a thin line.
“Until Rhaegar abducted my aunt and Aerys murdered my uncle and grandfather,” Sansa filled in for him.
Tywin frowned but said nothing. It was a different time, a different king, a different dynasty. He chose to ignore the fact that, traitor or not, the current king had killed her father as well.
“Yes,” he confirmed and her lips thinned, a fire raging behind her eyes – a rare sight from her. He wondered for a moment why it made him want to press his lips to hers and extinguish it.
“No wonder it was so easy for the North to claim independence, the North has always operated on its own, even before this war.”
“Careful,” he growled. Sansa shrugged, not conceding her point.
She wasn't wrong, though he would never acknowledge it, the North largely stayed out of Southron politics. And in turn the South would leave them be.
That couldn’t happen any longer.
He thought of the letters on his desk. The letters he had left unanswered from Sybell Spicer. The missives from Roose Bolton. The letter he himself had sent to Robb Stark that had not been answered yet.
His hands were in so many different pots trying to bring the North to heel, he didn’t know what would come to pass first. Whether it would be Robb Stark’s own goodparents that delivered him or Robb Stark’s own agreement to negotiate peace; this war would be over soon. He would be the one to end it.
Sansa stood from her chair, causing him to shake from his thoughts. The same fire was still alight behind her eyes but it had been tempered.
“If it pleases you, my lord, I would retreat to my bed,” she said. He nodded and stood himself.
“I should return to my office,” he added. She nodded in return and stepped around him, heading for her bed. She walked slowly, her head held high, but he could see the tight way she held her shoulders that she was in pain.
Such pain was senseless. There was no reason for her to go through it. He would return to his office to finish up his work for the day, but then he would return to see if he could alleviate some of that pain.
Without a word, he left the room, not looking back as Sansa climbed into the bed.
When he returned, his wife was asleep in her bed. He watched her for a moment to see if she would wake up from his presence, but she did not, she just clutched her pillow tighter to her as she dreamed.
He wondered for a minute if her dreams included killing him and escaping back to her traitorous family.
He shook his head, pushing those thoughts away. There was no reason to have them. Lady Sansa had been a dutiful wife in the few weeks they had been married. She didn't deserve him thinking so lowly of her.
He moved and placed the platter of lemon cakes he had ordered from the kitchen on the table in front of the fire. The basalt rock slab he had liberated from Pycelle’s stores he placed into the fire to heat. He would douse the fire once it was warm enough to wrap in the cloth he had brought with him. There was no reason for Sansa to overheat just to find some relief.
He sat down beside the fire, facing the bed to see if Sansa stirred from her slumber.
He didn’t know what had led him to go out of his way to see to Sansa’s comfort. What it was about her that seemed to bring out his softer side that had been shut away for near thirty years. His marriage was political, he had no real affection for the girl, but she didn’t deserve his ire when she had done nothing to raise it.
He didn’t know how long he had sat there before she finally began to wake up, her groaning evidence to her waking state. He used the cloth and liberated the slab of basalt from the fire before moving over to the bed. He sat beside her on the bed.
“Sansa,” he said softly, gently shaking her. She peered up at him, bleary eyed.
“Wha–” she started to ask. He placed the slab on her lower abdomen and she grunted from the unexpected weight.
“That should help with the pain,” he said. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, holding the rock to her. It took a moment but her face soon settled into a peaceful expression, he imagined the pain was fading away.
He moved from the bed, walking over to the table where he had placed the lemon cakes and brought them back over to her. Her eyes widened as she saw the tray ladened with her favorite treat. She pulled herself up into a more seated position, still caressing the basalt to her stomach.
“What’s this?” she asked as he placed the tray on the table next to her.
“Having your favorite things can help, so I’ve been told,” he grumbled. Her eyes widened and her hand twitched towards him before pulling back. She leaned over and took a cake off the tray and took a bite. Her eyes closed and she hummed as she chewed, he looked away, giving her a moment to herself.
They fell into silence as she finished eating the cake.
“I'm sorry,” she murmured, after a few moments of silence, almost to herself. His frown deepened.
“Sorry for what?” he asked, raising his eyebrow.
She pursed her lips, he could see her collecting her thoughts and considering her words.
“For… not being with child yet, my lord.”
He almost laughed, would have laughed if he was a man like Tyrion. He shook his head, looking away from her.
“These things can take time,” he said, his voice softening, then he added almost as an afterthought, “it took three years for Joanna and I.”
He didn't know what exactly had prompted him to say that, to admit to a failing in his previous marriage.
Sansa seemed surprised by his honesty, her eyes going wide after he finished speaking. She looked down at her hands.
“It only took my lady mother once…” she trailed off, still looking away from him.
He reached for her hand impulsively, his thumb rubbed soothing circles on the back of it.
“And if I recall correctly, it took your mother’s sister even longer, you cannot predict when these things will happen.”
Her eyes made contact with his and he felt something, a feeling he could not – did not want to – identify. He had spent the last few weeks memorizing her face, her body, her expressions but there was something in the way she looked at him in this moment that was different from normal. Her lips were parted and her icy blue eyes soft.
His hand rose of its own accord, his thumb traced her bottom lip before cupping her cheek. She leaned into his touch instantly before freezing. She looked up at him, her eyes wary – it was the same look she got whenever Joffrey was nearby – and pulled away. His hand fell and rested on her thigh.
They sat in silence, his hand remained on her thigh as they looked at each other. They only broke their gaze when Sansa reached for another lemon cake. She popped the pastry into her mouth and closed her eyes in satisfaction, a smile twitching at her lips.
It was an expression he had become very familiar with from her. It was the same face she made after she had peaked and was coming down from her high.
It was the same face he had nearly kissed a dozen times as they lay together.
He cleared his throat and looked away, removing his hand from her leg he moved to stand from the bed. He stretched his long legs, looking away from Sansa as he stood. He was sure he had worn out his welcome and Sansa would like to have some time to herself now that she was free from his nightly visits for a few days.
“If you are feeling better, my lady, I'll take my leave.” He began to turn away from her, beginning to walk towards the door when she spoke and caused him to turn towards her.
“You don’t–” she paused, looking at her lap before looking back up at him, “you don’t have to leave.”
He blinked at her, his mind clouded for a moment as he processed her words. Surely, she didn’t want him to stay with her. She looked back down at her lap before he could respond.
“I don’t feel as lonely when you’re around.”
If you asked Kevan or Genna they would have said that his heart died when Joanna died, but hearing those words fall from Sansa’s lips, he considered that he might just still have one because the pang in his chest was not a common feeling for him.
“Obviously, you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, and we can’t lie with one another…” her cheeks were emblazoned – nearly as red as her hair, even as she failed to look at him, “but I think I would like it if you stayed.”
He didn’t say a word as he began discarding layers, he didn’t have sleepclothes in here so he would have to lay in his breeches. He let his clothes fall to the floor. Sansa moved from the center of the bed to the left, making room for him to join her. He slid in beside her, his chest bare and his breeches loose around his hips.
He couldn’t remember the last time he slept in his breeches that he wasn’t on a campaign.
He looked over at her, she was looking back at him, her eyes wide.
“Don’t look so surprised, it’s not an unreasonable request,” he muttered sourly. She nodded back at him as he settled into the bed. He saw Sansa watch him from the corner of his eye, her eyes taking in his body, twice he saw her nearly reach out to touch him before pulling back. Eventually she turned over onto her side, facing away from him.
They laid like this for several minutes. Neither speaking or moving until Sansa moaned in pain, curling slightly in on herself. Tywin’s hand reached for her of its own accord, pressing in on her back as she groaned. An idea came to him, a memory of Joanna going through the same exact ordeal and how he’d helped her through that. She straightened herself out, laying back against the pillows as the pain receded.
“I know one other thing that might help,” he murmured to her. She opened one eye, staring at him appraisingly before nodding. He maneuvered her onto her back, brushed her hair over her shoulder and placed his hands on her.
He traced the curve of her lower back, pressing in softly. A breathy moan escaped Sansa’s lips and he found himself wanting to hear that sound from her again. He pressed in again, kneading her flesh softly. Soft sounds continued to fall from her lips as he massaged her.
They were similar to the sounds she made when they laid together. He couldn’t see her face but he could see in his mind’s eyes exactly how her lips were parted, he knew from the cadence of her moans that her eyes were closed. He continued to rub his hands against her, working the muscles of her back under his touch.
Her muscles twitched and settled as he loosened them. Her moans slowed and tapered off as he slowed his own movements, content he had gotten all of the knots out.
“Thank you,” she murmured sleepily, her face buried in the pillow beneath her. She turned her head to look at him, her eyes hazy and a lazy smile on her lips.
It struck him how much he wanted to kiss her. They hadn’t shared a kiss since they took their vows in the Sept, he had avoided his own desires to do so when they laid together – brushing the urge aside as a passing fancy in the cloud of pleasure.
He looked away from her, pushing aside his desires.
“We should turn out the lights,” he said instead, gesturing to the candlesticks burning on the tables. He heard Sansa hum in agreement and reached over to extinguish the one on the table next to him while she took the candles next to her.
The room was soon shrouded in darkness.
They laid together in silence, his eyes adjusted to the darkness as neither spoke. He felt Sansa adjust a few times, finding a position that wouldn’t cause her too much discomfort. She had discarded the slab of rock he had brought her so she could sleep.
“Can I ask you a question, my lord?” she asked quietly into the dark after a few minutes. Tywin raised an eyebrow, though she couldn’t see. She was loquacious today, his wife, he had heard her speak more today than in the previous two moons.
“Depends on what the question is,” he grunted finally.
“Why didn’t you want me to know it was you that I was marrying? It’s not like I could have gotten out of it…”
He paused as he processed her question. What could she possibly mean? He had ordered Cersei to tell her. He turned over to face her; her blue eyes were shining in the darkness as they met his eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“The Queen didn’t tell me who I was marrying, just that I was going to marry a Lannister, she never said which one.”
He raised his eyebrow again to hide his surprise before growling out an answer.
“You were supposed to have been told.”
Her eyes widened but she remained silent. She turned over onto her back, facing away from him. He pursed his lips before sighing.
“I had wondered why you didn’t seek me out before the wedding, even if it was to protest the match.”
“There wouldn’t have been a point, I was a ward of the Crown, my marriage–” she stopped speaking abruptly, cutting herself off. He was curious as to where she was going to go with her speech.
“No, continue,” he insisted. Sansa shook her head next to him.
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“Doesn’t it?”
She sighed and he wondered briefly if pushing her was the right idea. They laid there in silence until she finally spoke again.
“My marriage was never going to be my choice.”
The tone of her voice was resigned but he could almost hear the bitterness dripping from it.
“No, it wouldn't have,” he conceded, he turned his head away from her, looking up at the canopy of her bed.
“In another life, if King Robert hadn't come to Winterfell, my father would have married me to the son of one of his bannermen. Maybe Harrion Karstark, or Smalljon Umber. He would have kept me close to…”
“To what?” he prompted. He was gaining new insights into his wife that not even Cersei had been able to provide to Tywin and his curiosity was growing as she spoke.
“Home.”
He frowned.
“That would have been your father's mistake, daughters should advance the prospects of a house. Marrying you to the North would have done nothing for that.”
“My father wasn’t an ambitious man,” she paused, an expression crossed her face that he hadn’t seen on her before for a fleeting moment before disappearing. She continued, “he just wanted his children to be safe.”
Tywin almost snorted. Honorable Ned Stark would have wasted her value in the North, at the least he should have considered marrying her off to her cousin and making her Lady of the Vale. Her beauty, and the brains she was desperately trying to keep concealed from him, would be wasted as the lady of a lesser house. He considered her words for a moment and narrowed his eyes as he considered her implication.
“Are you saying I didn’t want my children to be safe?” he asked, his tone leaving no room for argument. Sansa looked back at him, her eyes wide. He could see the fear in them and considered taking back his words for a moment, wanting to erase that fear from her eyes. He thinned his lips instead, waiting for her to respond.
“No! That’s not what I meant,” she said fervently, shaking her head. She sat up next to him, pushing herself back against the headboard of the bed. “You and my father had different ideas for your children, that’s all.”
She paused for a moment before reaching for his hand. She cradled it in her own, he kept himself from flinching when her thumb rubbed over the back of his hand. She looked down at their joined hands, keeping her eyes away from him.
“I’m sure it was an insult to you every time King Robert would disrespect the Queen. I can’t imagine how much that hurt you.”
Her eyes returned to his and he considered her words. He nodded curtly and looked away, but didn’t drop his hand from hers.
It had been insulting. Every bastard Robert sired, every time he hit her (he knew it had happened more than Cersei would ever admit to), every transgression was a spit in the face. Robert had gained the throne through his efforts, not just for slaying Rhaegar Targaryen at the Trident, and Robert’s treatment of his children – the ungratefulness of it all – had always been a sore point. He had never really thought about how it hurt, his anger clouding every other emotion he could have possibly felt.
He wondered how she had known that.
He looked back at her, this woman who was now his wife. She was looking back at him, her icy blue eyes soft. They held each other’s gaze until she finally looked away, dropping his hand in her lap.
He moved his hand to rest on her thigh.
“My point though was that I was never meant to have a choice in my life, if Cersei had told me who I was to marry, I would have accepted it.”
“Would you have? Truly?”
She frowned.
“The Tyrells wanted me to marry Willas, I thought it would save me from the capital so I agreed, but even that was not my choice.”
She looked at him then, her eyes fiery.
“This was just another decision made for me that I had no say in.”
“You are bold this evening,” he said, impressed by her honesty. He hadn’t been impressed by someone in quite some time, but Sansa was a surprise. He wondered if she realized how much of a prize she was. Not just for her name and title, anyone could have those, but for the sheer force of will she appeared to have.
She blushed and he could see her folding in on herself, the fire in her eyes growing dimmer.
“I never said I didn’t like it,” he added. Her blush rose higher up her cheeks and he had lain with her enough to know that it was spreading throughout her body. If he undressed her, the tops of her breasts would be a delicious shade of pink that he would love to put his mouth on. He pushed those desires away, now was not the time for that.
She laid back down, rolling onto her side, facing him. He brushed her hair back from her face, a curl wrapping around his finger. He held still, wondering if now was the moment, if he should lean forward and press his mouth to hers.
He didn’t.
“Besides, being married to you hasn’t been all that terrible,” she murmured, a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.
“You wound me, wife.”
She rolled her eyes.
“You've been… good to me, better than I expected,” she smiled fully and he felt something twitch in his chest, “thank you for that.”
He moved to reach for her hand before holding himself back. Sighing, he rolled over onto his back, looking away from her.
“You're the daughter of a great house,” he said finally, “certain respects are owed to you.”
“My family are traitors, my lord.”
He scoffed.
“You don't need to parrot that nonsense to me, I know you don't really feel that way.”
She hummed in response. Neither confirming nor denying. He knew he was right though; and after everything she had been through, he found that he couldn’t blame her. Regardless of her feelings though, she was his wife now, and short of his death there was nothing that could change that.
She moved closer to him, reaching out and placing her hand on his chest. He followed the journey of her hand with his eyes and considered for a moment stopping her, but allowed her this contact.
“Thank you for staying with me,” she murmured. He turned his head to look at her, her eyes were closed, a peaceful expression on her face.
“It’s my pleasure,” he murmured back. She moved closer to him again and placed her head on his chest. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her to him.
How long had it been since he had held a sleeping woman in his arms? How had he forgotten how wonderful it felt to have a woman in his arms?
He had long since pushed the memories and emotions associated with Joanna away. But now with Sansa he found those emotions creeping into the forefront of his mind. He wanted to push them away, to push her away. He didn’t appreciate that she was compromising him, she wasn’t supposed to compromise him.
And yet, her smile had made him feel something. He had listened to her feelings without complaint, something he didn’t even afford his own children. Had gone out of his way to bring her comfort. She brought out a side of himself that he hadn’t seen for a long time and he wasn’t sure he wanted to hide it away again when he was with her.
He carded his fingers through her hair as she drifted off to sleep against him. He listened as her breathing slowed, her fingers unconsciously clenching against his chest. She drifted off into slumber while his mind churned over and over, endless thoughts about the woman who was in his arms now.
He knew that now that she was asleep, he should get out of the girl's bed and go to his own chambers, but the idea of slipping out from under her was unappealing. She buried her head into his chest, her hand resting above his heart, her breathing soft and steady.
If he was honest with himself then he could acknowledge that it was nice. Nice to have someone who didn’t have any ulterior motives in their dealings, someone who just wanted his company. He wondered why that was, she had no love for his family, but she didn’t shy away from his touch or presence. In fact, she seemed to welcome it at times.
It made him wonder exactly what had Cersei and Joffrey done to the girl to make her crave the attention of someone she should hate.
He shifted, adjusting his body to hold her more securely. He would have to ponder his young wife at another time, when he had more time to himself. In the meantime, he closed his eyes, his hand tangled in her hair, and allowed himself to drift off to sleep.