By the time he felt comfortable leaving Jaime, the halls were dark and cold. The sun kept them all warm enough during the day, but now that it had crept below the horizon, a chill gripped the Red Keep. But Tyrion's chambers were not far and he had a fire in his belly to carry him thanks to the wine he had drunk with his brother. Still, he hustled through the abandoned pathways until he came upon he and Sansa's rooms. He greeted the Lannister guards at his door courteously before slipping inside. He shuffled in quietly, knowing that Sansa had probably gone to sleep hours ago and hoping to not disturb her-it really was quite late. He willed his eyes to adjust to the darkness quickly so he could shed his heavy overcoat and slip into the warm bed to catch a few hours of sleep before his duties demanded his attention. He turned the of the solar towards the bed when he noticed it wasn't quite as dark here as he had feared. At once, the chill that had begun to set in his bones evaporated as he caught sight of his wife. Sansa lay asleep, curled up on herself in her chaise by the fire, which although slowly dying, was still licking at the logs placed relatively recently. It fared better than the candle near her, which had sputtered out.
His stunning wife was dressed for bed. He could see the white lace of her nightgown poking out beneath the heavy robe thrown over her shoulders. Her thick red locks were pulled back from her face in a delicate plait over her shoulder, and although the ghastly bruise was all the more highlighted by the flickering shadows from the fire, her pale skin shone like moonlight in the dark room.
He stepped closer, hoping not to wake her quite yet, and took in her peaceful face. He had not seen her look so tranquil in all the weeks they had been married and he loved the sight. Such a beauty, his wife. Even with her bruise, his lady put all others to shame. He took this moment to appreciate her. The silkiness of her hair, the pale unblemished skin, the long neck and the delicate little nose. She was perfect. A true winter princess, graced with not just beauty, but grace and poise as well. And she was his. He could not believe that this goddess returned even a semblance of his affection for her, but she did. And it made his heart soar.
Before his mind could catch up with him, his hand reached to skim the edge of her cheek. A sigh escaped his lips as his fingers brushed the petal softness of her skin. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open as came to. After blinking confused for a moment, she noticed him and a sleepy smile came over her features, causing Tyrion's heart to beat faster.
"You're late," she whispered, bringing a hand up to grasp his where it had stalled at her cheek. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes and yawning. A more endearing sight there never was.
"Forgive me, my lady, for keeping you waiting." She grinned, eyes still closed. "Come, it's cold and if you stay in the chair, your back will be killing you come tomorrow. Trust me, I know from experience." She groaned playfully before untangling her legs from her perch and standing to stretch. He wished more than ever that he would be able to sweep her up into his arms and carry her to their bed, but he had to satisfy himself with taking her hand and leading her instead. He stood behind her to catch the heavy robe as she shrugged it off her shoulders and had to actively stop himself from raising it to his face to inhale her warmth and sweet smell. Too much wine tonight….
After helping her, he moved around to tuck himself in as well. Before he had even truly settled, she rolled into his arms, snuggling closer in her sleepiness. His heart pounding, he held her closer. He had never considered himself blessed by the Gods before, but thinking of how his beautiful, favored siblings were this evening, he thought perhaps his luck was changing.