Sansa hurried along the corridors of the new Hand Tower. She had forgotten Arya's letter, that she wanted to show Rickon, in her rooms.
Sometimes she had the impression that she had spent more time in that castle than anywhere in her life, but still it didn't feel like home.
Home was a tricky concept those days.
When the Dragon Queen had invaded Westeros, she had discovered that her Lannister husband had become her Hand, going back to him was the simplest solution.
Thanks to his influence, Daenerys had restored the Starks in Winterfell, and named Rickon Lord Protector of the North. Not that it made much difference, in truth, since the North was still full of white walkers, and nobody would have been so insane as to actually live in Winterfell.
They were safe in the South, her and Rickon, while Jon fought the living dead in the North, with the help of one of the Queen's dragons, and Arya had only briefly visited her in King's Landing, to leave again for the Summer Islands. As to Bran, Rickon was sure he was alive, but nobody had seen any of him since years before.
Tyrion Lannister had claimed and obtained Casterly Rock, which was close to the fighting zone. He went there from time to time, to make sure the gold was kept being dug from his mines. As Hand of the Queen, though, he lived in King's Landing, and that was where she had found him.
He was different since the last time she had seen him: uglier, if possible, more scarred, with missing teeth, even. But there was also something else. He still waddled when he walked, but there was something about the way he carried himself that she didn't recognise. Confidence, perhaps?
She wasn't sure.
She remember the hesitant, eager way in which he used to look at her, as if he was expecting her to say or do something.
Now he didn't look at her like a starving child anymore, and he didn't seem to expect anything in particular from her.
She went back to him not for love, nor for affection. In truth, she went back to Tyrion because she was so very tired: tired to think about betrothals and plots, about worrying about who her next suitor might be or what he might be (a monster like Joffrey, or a creep like Petyr?), tired about trying to figure out what the future might hold for her.
Tyrion wasn't the man of her dreams, but at least she knew what to expect with him. Besides, she wasn't sure there was any man in her dreams lately. She had grown tired of love songs too. She preferred the silence of the Godswood or of the woods outside King's Landing lately.
He has accepted her return with a palpable relief that left her puzzled: but later she had learned that the Queen was pressing him to find himself a suitable wife to secure some alliance to the Crown, and apparently he wasn't especially eager to repeat the marriage experience.
In the end, it was the most comfortable solution for both of them.
They never spoke about it, but their former arrangement of not consummating the marriage until Sansa wanted to was still in place, although she wasn't sure that he even wanted to do it anymore, given the possibility.
He treated her with his usual ironic courtesy, but not much differently than the way he spoke to all highborn ladies, or even to the Queen.
It was difficult to consider him an enemy or even a Lannister, after he had almost single-handedly provoked the ruin of his House. In the last years, she had grown to consider him almost a member of her family, or of what was left of it, or at least a good friend.
The still slept in the same room, albeit in separate beds: it would have been unbecoming of the Lord Hand to have different quarters than his wife. Besides, the Red Keep was absolutely packed with lords, ladies, knights and minor lordlings, since half Westeros was threatened by the Others and they all sought the Queen's protection.
All in all, it was much less awkward than it used to be. They had found some sort of balance.
When Sansa entered the rooms she shared with her husband, she heard some muffled whispers and giggles coming from the bedroom. She wondered who could be there, at that time of the day.
Usually, she would leave in the late morning, while Tyrion left much earlier.
Her handmaidens, maybe?
The door was slightly ajar. She silently went closer and looked inside.
It was Tyrion, she discovered, but he wasn't alone. A woman was with him. Some lady come to ask for his advice or to plead their cause to the Queen, she thought at first.
She was about to knock on the door to let them acknowledge her presence when she realised that something was wrong.
First of all, they were sitting on the bed, and that was hardly the place to discuss state matters.
And then there was something about the way the leaned close to each other, the way they smiled and touched (her hand was on her husband's knee, and then he raised a hand to brush her hair) that left her speechless.
Tyrion whispered something in the woman's ear, and they both giggled again.
Sansa was sure she had never seen him smiling like that to her, in that careless, relaxed way, with a hint of something mischievous in his eyes that she couldn't recognise.
Then the woman knelt down between Tyrion's legs and unlaced his breeches. Only when she lowered her head onto him and began to move it rhythmically, she understood what was going on.
She felt her cheeks reddening in embarrassment. That was so... improper. No, more than that, it was downright disgusting, she mused. And they're were doing it in their rooms, on their bed... well, his bed, really. Her own was close but untouched.
Despite her feelings, she couldn't bring herself to stop watching the scene.
He looked so... happy, she marvelled. His eyes were closed and his face, so often bitter or aloof, expressed nothing but delight. He would sometimes let out an appreciative groan or mutter something she couldn't make out.
I have to go. If he opened his eyes now, he would see me, she thought. And yet...
His hand was tangled in the woman's hair, but it didn't look like a firm grasp... more like a caress, in truth.
Sansa's gaze lingered on the soft movements of his hand for a while longer, then saw him frown and tighten his eyes, as if in pain, and realised she had to leave.
She stepped back as silently as she could and when she was out of the solar's door she almost ran through the corridor. When she stopped, her heart as racing in her chest as if it was about to burst out.

-Now, what house has this motto- Sansa asked -"As high as honour"-
Rickon knitted his brows together:- Er...-
Tommen yawned:-I know it.-
-I know you know.- Sansa reassured him and addressed her brother again- Come on, Rickon. Mother's sister was married to the heir of this House.-
The thought of aunt Lysa and Sweetrobin made her cringe, as always, but she wanted to help Rickon, who was biting his lip in concentration.
At nine, the future lord of Winterfell knew little and less about being a noble.
When Lord Seaworth had brought him to the capital, he was barely more than a savage. He didn't recognise Sansa, but kept screaming and kicking and asking for a wildling woman that he considered something akin to a mother and from whom he had been separated.
It took Sansa weeks just to have him properly dressed and able to have supper with her and Tyrion.
His immense direwolf, Shaggydog, was still with him, and followed him everywhere. At the moment, the wolf was napping near the window.
Tommen's influence had helped a great deal. The boy, now four and ten, had changed but little from the chid Sansa remembered. He was still plump, golden-haired and good natured. He had been king for a couple of years, but he didn't seem to miss the role. He was technically married to Margaery Tyrell, although she lived in Highgarden. Sometimes he mentioned exchanging letters with her. Despite everything, he seemed sincerely fond of Margaery. He still loved kittens, although now he also appreciated hounds and horses. Tommen had managed to befriend Rickon in a way that Sansa couldn't, and helped to come out of his savage shell.
In truth, the simple lessons that Sansa and the septas gave Rickon were quite obvious notions to Tommen, but his presence helped the young boy concentrate on the subject instead of balancing himself on the two rear legs of the chair, or doodling on the corner of the parchment, or simply being restless and negligent.
But that day, it was Sansa who had trouble concentrating on what she was doing. Despite her desperate attempts to stop it, her mind kept going back to what she had just witnessed in her chambers.
It was so repulsive. The very idea that someone would perform such an act left her grossed out.
And the way Tyrion had responded to it... she couldn't stop thinking about the expression on his face, the way his breathing became faster, and how his head was thrown back, exposing his finely-chiseled jawline and the soft skin of his neck, revealing an unexpected beauty.
Beauty? Sansa shook her head. She had to remind herself of whom she was thinking of.
Of course, Tyrion wasn't a beautiful man. On the contrary, he was still the ugliest man she had ever seen. Oh, she liked him, surely. She trusted him and even felt a sort of affection for him. But beautiful? No way.
She really didn't know why seeing him like that had upset her so much.
She felt a wave of annoyance.
Was she supposed to feel angry about his infidelity, when she had abundantly let him know that she didn't desire him and most likely never would?
She surely couldn't expect him to spend the rest of his life celibate. That would have been cruel. Besides, he had let her know on their very wedding night how he would have made up for the lack of love in his marriage.
This is why the gods made whores for imps like me.
A part of her knew that he would have sought... companions elsewhere, and implicitly accepted it. She just never really thought about it.
Well, now she knew. She cleared her throat. No reason to make a big deal out of it. If she'd come back to her rooms unexpectedly again, she'll make sure to knock and alert any possible visitor of her presence to prevent any awkward discovery, she decided.
She smoothened her skirts, trying to recompose herself.
-Sansa, what's wrong?- Tommen asked.
-Nothing, of course.-
-Your face is all red.- Rickon noticed.
She pressed her palms on her cheek, feeling them burning.
-It's very warm in here, don't you think?-
-Not really.- Tommen answered, perplexed.
Thank you very much, Tommen, she thought. She should remind him about courtesies and polite conversations sometimes.
-Now, what we were saying? "As high as honour"...- she resumed.

She didn't see Tyrion for a couple of days, until she found him in the solar one evening, reading some scrolls, as he often did.
In truth, late at night she had heard him coming to bed, listening to his sounds as he undressed and climbed onto the bed. He had always been a bad sleeper, so they seldom went to bed or woke up at the same time. The few times she had actually seen him in bed, he was wearing a sleeping shift.
That night, she had suddenly recalled how he used to sleep naked in the early days of their marriage, many years before.
She tried, unsuccessfully, to remember the details of what he looked like underneath the clothes. So much time had passed. She could only remember thinking that he was very ugly.
This is so stupid, she thought. Why was she suddenly preoccupied of what Tyrion looked like naked? It was always him. He had been sleeping next to her for the past two years, and she never cared.
That evening, Tyrion greeted her distractedly, barely lifting his gaze from the book.
She felt that pang of annoyance again. She didn't know why, since neither of them usually went into raptures every time their paths crossed. But still.
She tried to say something smart to catch his attention.
-Will you be supping here, my lord?- she asked, after spending a good half minute observing his fingers drumming nervously on the table. He didn't have elegant hands: his fingers were thick and blunt... but she couldn't stop thinking about how delicate his touch looked...
Get yourself together, Sansa! she commanded herself.
Tyrion raised an eyebrow and looked at her with a mixture of amusement and puzzlement:- Are we back to "my lord" again?-
Damn.
She chuckled, suddenly shy:-No, of course. I meant Tyrion. Will you be supping here, Tyrion? Tonight, I mean. This evening. Now, in truth.-
I sound like Podrick Payne, she realised, mortified.
He looked uncertain:-Why, yes, if that's no trouble...-
In the meantime, Rickon and Shaggywolf stormed in, followed by Tommen. The two boys went and sit next to the hearth, deep in their conversation.
-Obviously not! It's a pleasure to have you here. With us. To sup!- she replied, a little more enthusiastically than the situation required.
Tyrion knitted his eyebrows together:-Sansa, is something amiss?-
-No, my l...Tyrion.-
-Were you planning to be alone tonight? Because I have to revise some letters and I can also go to the Council's room...-
-No, no... please don't. I don't know why I'm so nervous. I don't feel myself these days.- she admitted.
-Are you constipated?- Rickon asked abruptly.
She felt her cheeks burning:-What...?-
-Because when I didn't have a shit for a week...-
-Rickon!- she gasped, and Tyrion chuckled.
-When I didn't... er...-
-"Visit the privy".- Tommen suggested.
-When I didn't "visit the privy" for a week, I felt just like you, but then Maester Alleras gave me this potion and...- he smiled broadly -problem solved!-
-That's a delightful anecdote Rickon, but it's very impolite to ask...- muttered Sansa.
-It's apparently very common during the changing of the season.- Tyrion said softly -Nothing to worry about.-
-Yes, Sansa, it happens to everyone. -Tommen chimed in -When was the last time you emptied your bowels?-
-I am not constipated!- she exclaimed in frustration.
The three of them laughed.
-Excuse us, my lady- said Tyrion, still grinning- We were just making a bit of fun of your delicate sensitivity.-
-You are a very bad influence, you know!-.
Tyrion nodded in agreement and went back reading.
Perfect, just what I needed. I wanted to impress Tyrion and we end up discussing my bowel movements. That was so unladylike!
She shook her head. Why should she care about what Tyrion thought?
They had dinner altogether, and for the first time she pondered about how the conversation was more interesting and fun when Tyrion was there. Even Rickon and Shaggydog seemed to feel it, because they behaved more wildly than ever, forgetting everything about their manners.
Not that Tyrion cared, anyway: on the contrary, when Tommen started to throw raisins at Rickon, that caught them in mid-air in his open mouth, he even joined in, tossing him some nuts too.
Actually she thought that the last thing that Rickon needed was encouragement, but they really seemed to be having a good time.
She had managed to keep her upsetting thoughts at bay until, at the end of the meal, Tyrion started eating an apricot. There was nothing particularly strange about it. How many times had she seen him eating? Countless.
And yet, she realized she couldn't stop staring at his lips. They looked very soft, despite the scar on his upper lip. She watched the way they parted, and touched the fruit. She wondered how they would feel on her own, or on her neck, or...
-Do you want one?-
Tyrion's voice interrupted her reverie.
-Excuse me?-
-Do you want an apricot?- he repeated -You've been looking at them for the past minutes as if they were the most desirable food in the world. I confess, I can't eat with you staring at me like that.- he said, with his usual hint of mockery in his voice.
-Oh.- she couldn't believe she was behaving so awkwardly -No, thank you, I'm fine.-
-Come on, just go ahead and take it. There are plenty!-
Ignoring her protests, he put one on her plate, so she ate it.
It was very good, she had to admit.
-I know.- Tyrion said -Rickon, catch this!- he threw half an apricot to the boy, who caught it in mid-air and snapped at it, then uncovered his teeth to show it to them.
Tommen and Tyrion laughed. Sansa thought she should have said it was such an impolite thing to do at the table, but she didn't have the heart to spoil all the fun.
Rickon adored Tyrion. He thought he was the most wonderful person in King's Landing, except for Tommen. It had been so easy for him to like him and trust him.
But of course, he hadn't been in the capital when Cersei and Joffrey were around.
She shivered. She still didn't like thinking about them, even if they were long gone.
Then Tyrion said he had to see the Queen for something involving the Others, as usual, and he left.
For the first time, she wondered if that was true.
Suddenly, a thought made her heart sink: what if he was going to see his lover?
Yes, what? It wasn't like she cared, anyway.
All in all, it was probably a good thing that he had whores, so she could be spared her spousal duties.
But... what if she wasn't a whore at all? What if they were in love?
What if he had both, lovers and whores? And why was he spending all that time with the Queen?
She massaged her temple.
Stop it, Sansa. It wasn't like suddenly all King's Landing was trying to get into Tyrion's bed.
That was ridiculous.
She remembered her aunt's words: What woman would bed such a creature, but for gold?
Exactly, just so, she repeated to herself. Nothing to worry about.
Not that she worried, of course! Except for... why, for her reputation, obviously.
Yes, if the whole castle knew about her husband's extra marital affairs, that would have been improper. That was her only worry. Of course it was.
She had to make sure that he contained all his insatiable lust.
That night, she lied awake in her bed until she heard him coming back.
She spied him, opening her eyes as little as possible, at the faint moonlight that crept through the shutters.
He didn't look particularly lustful, to be honest. He was wearing a sleeping shift and was yawning. He rubbed his legs as if they were hurting, then climbed onto the bed.
She lied there for a long time, trying to listen to his breath.

The most difficult part of the week was holding court.
The Queen couldn't possibly spend all her time listening to the noblemen from all the Seven Kingdoms that had poured in the capital after the Others' attacks.
So, even though most of them were in King's Landing, she had established that every Warden should hold court in a part of the palace and that every noble whose lands were in their scope should plea to them instead that to the Queen.
Unfortunately for Sansa, this meant Rickon.
As lord of Winterfell it was his duty to settle the disputes of the Northernmen.
And many disputes they were, as all of them seemed to spend all of their time quarrelling about whose lands were being rescued from the White Walkers first, or how their interests were defended now that they were all in the South.
If that wasn't enough, there was also Rickon's restlessness.
They tried to make the court sessions as short as possible, because after a few minutes the young lord would start moving on his chair, getting distracted or assuming bad postures.
On the first days, he would go as far as picking his nose or scratching his bottom in public.
Sansa wanted to scream of frustration.
Thankfully, Tyrion had taken Rickon aside and explained him that he was the leader of the pack now, and it wasn't fitting for a leader to scratch his arse in front of his pack.
-Shaggydog scratches his arse all the time.- Rickon had stubbornly objected.
-Yes- Tyrion had sighed- but for human packs...well, noblemen packs, as I'm quite sure that for some smallfolk it's considered very manly, doing that is a sign of weakness, and the leader can't be weak, or he will lose his leadership.-
That had helped a lot, although every court session was still a struggle.
In truth, it was Sansa who ended up taking all the decisions, but at least Rickon had learned to nod solemnly and say that he needed to reflect on the matter before telling them what Sansa told him to say, which seemed to be enough for the Northernmen.
At first Sansa, too, was unsure of what she should do to settle all the infinite quarrels that were presented to her day after day. But she needed to be confident and act sure for Rickon.
In the end she had realised that the problems started to sound more or less the same, and she started to actually feel sure of what she was doing.
All in all, she was doing a good job. The Queen seemed to think so, as she had often praised her wiseness.
Her favourite bannerman, bannerwoman in truth, was Lyanna Mormont, the youngest daughter or lady Maege Mormont. Her mother and her sisters were fighting in the North alongside Jon, but they had send at least a representative of their family in the South, of which Sansa was very happy.
Lyanna reminded her of a less scary version of Arya.
Oh, she loved her sister, and she had been overwhelmed with joy when they had reunited.
But Arya was so different from the little girl that she remembered: now she often had a very blank, unreadable expression on her face, and would often stop to watch her with empty, scary eyes for a longtime in the middle of a conversation.
And she wasn't interested in the slightest of restoring her position as a lady. After little more than a month in the capital, she announced that she was leaving for the Summer Islands.
Lyanna was five and ten and, like all the Mormont women, had a bit of a wild side, but she was also very friendly and direct, especially compared to the over-polite Southern ladies. After years of trying to be like them, Sansa found that she had missed the spontaneous ways that she remembered from her childhood.
The young she-bear definitely didn't let anyone step over her house's interests.
She would often accompany herself with Wylla Umber, the daughter of Lord Wylis Manderly of White Arbour, who had wed the heir of House Umber a couple of years before.
The two of them always managed to put a smile on Sansa's face. It was good to have someone she could take off her armour of courtesies with and allow herself to left the guard down.
After the court, Sansa joined them in the garden near Maidenvault.
-It's good to see you Sansa!- exclaimed Lyanna -How did the court session go?-
-Very well, thank you.- Sansa said. In truth, she was exhausted. She had just listened to the Norreys and the Liddles fighting for over two hours over the ownership of a handful of houses between their valleys. -You two seem very merry today.- she said.
Lyanna giggled:- It's so stupid, but I can't stop laughing.-
-I'll tell her.- sayd Wylla -Do you know what Drogon said when he saw the Freys leading the attack in their shining armours?- she rolled her eyes and pulled an exasperated face -"Oh no, not tinned food again!"-
It was so silly that Sansa couldn't help joining them in their laughter.
They decided to go and have some refreshments in Sansa's solar. As they crossed the garden, she saw the woman that she had seen with Tyrion. Her heart skipped a beat. She was leaning on some southerner lord's arm and looking at him with admiration, as if he had just said the most charming thing ever.
-Who is that lady?- she asked.
Wylla followed her gaze:-Oh that? She's Dancy Waters, a famous courtesan.-
Sansa raised an eyebrow:-A courtesan?-. Of course, a prostitute. So, at least, she wasn't Tyrion's lover. She didn't know if that made her feel better.
-She's extremely popular among the noblemen- said Wylla, as they entered Sansa's quarters, then lowered her voice to a whisper:- I've heard that she is so flexible that she can perform a triple fold on herself.-
Sansa was puzzled:-And how is that supposed to help in the... lovemaking?-
Wylla chuckled:-I have no idea!- she confessed. -Maybe it's not something that has a practical function-.
-Aye, maybe it's just an entertaining thing to see, you know, to put people in the mood.- said Lyanna. -Like this, look.- She took three walnuts from the table and juggled them in the air with surprising deftness, then caught them again -Ta-da!- she grinned.
Sansa clapped:- But how can that put anyone in the mood?-.
-I don't know!- replied Lyanna, shrugging.
All three of them were roaring with laughter by then. But then Sansa thought about that woman's leg complicatedly wrapped around Tyrion, and suddenly the idea wasn't so funny anymore.
She tried to push the thought away, distracting herself with Lyanna and Wylla, but there always some part of her that kept thinking about Tyrion's escapade and made her heart sink.

She was lying on her bed, naked.
When Tyrion walked in the room, he stopped on the doorstep and looked at her with his mouth open.
-I want you to make love to me.- she said.
He didn't need to be told twice: suddenly he was on the bed, and he was naked too. His mouth was hungry on her own, then on her neck, and on her breasts.
-I want you so much, Sansa.- he whispered against her ear in a voice hoarse for desire.
-So do I, my lord husband.- she said. She couldn't wait anymore.
She wrapped her legs around his body, urging him to push himself inside her.
She felt his manhood hard against her, and spread her legs further. When he entered her, she felt she had to scream in pleasure...
...and then Sansa woke up.
She was really on her bed, but alone, as always. She was breathing heavily, and realised she was covered in sweat. It was a very warm night.
She propped herself up against the cushions, trying to make some sense of what she had just dreamed.
-Are you awake?- whispered Tyrion.
Oh no. He was the last person he wanted to see in that moment, but she couldn't pretend to be asleep.
-Aye...-she answered, discovering that she sounded breathless -Did I wake you up?-
-Why yes, you were...- he sounded perplexed -... moaning.-
Gentle Mother, font of mercy she thought, burying her face in the pillow. It was beyond embarrassing.
-Are you feeling unwell?- he asked. He stepped out of the bed and covered the short distance between their beds with his distinctive waddling step.
In the moonlight, she found that his hair was sticking up on one side, which she briefly thought was absolutely adorable.
She saw that he was not wearing the usual sleeping shift, but only a pair of cotton breeches. No doubt he had took it off during the night, bothered by the temperature. She could feel the heat emanating from his body, and some attractive scent, half sweet and half musky.
She realised that his chest, his arms and what she could see of his legs were covered by blonde hair.
He really is a little lion, she thought. It made her want to touch it, to see if it really was as soft as it looked. She could still feel his caresses from her dream...
Tyrion followed her gaze and backed off, looking uneasy.
-I'll get you some water.- he said. He waddled back to his bed and hastily put the nightshirt back on, then poured something in a cup.- I'm afraid I only have wine, here.-
Sansa nodded:-Wine will do, thank you.-
She sipped the wine, which was red and strong. Yes, that was better.
It was just a dream. People do dream the strangest things, she thought.
-Are you sure you're feeling well?- asked Tyrion, looking at her with a raised eyebrow -You look feverish.-
He moved towards her, and lifted his hand. She thought he was going to feel her brow. Her heart beat faster. Sansa close her eyes, waiting for his warm touch... but it never came.
When she opened her eyes again, his arm was again along his body and he looked uneasily.
-Get some rest.- he suggested -Those Northernmen quarrels are exhausting you. Maybe you could take the morning for yourself tomorrow.-
-Yes... I'll do that.- she said, feeling slightly disappointed and not knowing why.
He smiled, uncertain: -Goodnight, then.-

When Sansa woke up in the morning, the sun was already up and she felt like taking Tyrion's advice, after all.
She really could do with some time for herself. She didn't have any lessons with Rickon, meeting with the Queen or with any other noble.
She still felt blushing in embarrassment thinking about her queer dream.
But it wasn't the only thing she felt... she was suddenly aware of the feeling of the fabric of her sleeping shift on her body, of the heat of the covers and the clean smell of the linen.
Her mind was still half asleep, but her body was very awake.
She hadn't felt that way since... so many years before, when she was swooning after Loras Tyrell (Loras Tyrell, of all people!).
She slipped a hand under her nightshirt.
It wasn't like she was a maiden anymore. She had seen to that years before.
Sansa had been so tired of people fussing about her maidenhead. Since she had flowered, it seemed like it was what everyone couldn't stop thinking about: first the queen, then Tywin Lannister, then Petyr, then her aunt Lysa, then Harry the Heir, then...
She had got to the point where she wanted to puke every time someone asked about it.
Why did all these people care so much about what was between her legs? It should have been private.
She had then realised that it would never be her choice. Her maidenhead would have been sold like a loaf of bread at the market. That's why, when the Hound helped her escape from the Vale and Petyr, she had decided to take control of the matter.
Afterwards, she had felt liberated. It felt like it was the first time she took a decision for herself. It was exhilarating.
It had been completely different from what she had imagined. It didn't hurt, neither did she bleed and that had surprised her a lot (later she learned that it was very common for high born ladies who had virtually spent half their life on horseback).
The Hound was a surprisingly gentle man: he had held her, and called her little bird with his raspy, low voice. It all happened so quickly, though. Camped in the forest, they didn't even bother to undress properly.
All in all, it seemed to her that everyone was make a bigger deal about sex than it was necessary.
She had cared for the Hound though. When he died for the wounds that ser Robert Strong inflicted him before being defeated, she had wept for him.
But now she didn't want to feel nostalgic and think about him.
Sansa had always dreamed about a knight in shining armour that would come to her rescue and sweep her off her feet. She would imagine his features: he looked very much like Loras Tyrell, but taller, stronger, and fair of hair.
She would have married that very night, and she liked to imagine the wedding night in every detail.
But that day, somehow nor her caresses or her fantasy managed to sort its effect.
Almost without realising what was happened, she let another face take the knight's place, and imagined another body holding hers. Not a handsome body, she knew. Small, scarred, even misshapen maybe... but...but...
She felt a stir in her belly, as she pictured his mismatched eyes looking at her with hunger.
She thought about kissing him on his chest, tracing the lines of his scar at the juncture of his shoulder and arm with her lips. He would like that, she guessed. She could picture the look of rapture that would be on his face. The thought made her body fill with a pleasant warmth.
She wondered if he would look at her with the same desire and expectation as she let her mouth gently nudge the skin of his belly, then move forward towards his breeches.
She remembered the way he had groaned when she had spied him. Would he make the same sound, she wondered, if she kissed him right there and wrapped her lips around him and...
Sansa sighed heavily as her body trembled in pleasure.
As she lied on the bed, catching her breath, she realised that there was no point in denying the truth anymore.
She was in complete and utter lust for Tyrion Lannister.