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“Ask me again tomorrow” she said when he had asked her the first time without really thinking about what he was saying. He had just finished showing her the sights of Casterly Rock, his childhood home that he had thought on occasion in his travels he would never live to see again. She had given him a forced smile, the strain on her face reminiscent of the first days of their marriage before excusing herself from his presence. He had hoped that since she had made the choice to return to him that it wouldn’t be like the last time, but it wouldn’t be the first time he was wrong.
“Ask me again tomorrow” she answered the next time he had asked her. They had been sharing an enjoyable evening of cyvasse and warm wine and it just tumbled out of his mouth as easily as any phrase might. She had given him her sad smile that had grown to torture and please him at the same time and retired to their bedchamber without another word. He reminded himself for the hundredth time to let things happen on their own, the fact that she willingly spent time with him was a vast improvement in their relationship.
“Ask me again tomorrow” she whispered, twisting her long fingers around his stunted ones for a moment before gathering her skirts and leaving him in his library. They had been enjoying a quiet afternoon of him reading aloud the news of the kingdom to her as she sat at his feet and did her embroidery. When she had graced him with the sound of her musical laughter, her perfect auburn head coming to rest on his knee after he had tried to imitate the Dragon Queen’s foreign accent, he let the question slip. She had quickly turned to him and he had seen the old flash of fear cross her eyes before an emotion he couldn’t quite name replaced it. He felt it, and he had thought she might too.
“Ask me again tomorrow” she replied with a slight edge to her voice, wiping the front of her ruined gown before stalking out of the room. He had been to his cups again, more than he had been in months when she found him. He had felt himself slipping into one of his more introspective moods and in an attempt to avoid it he fell into the figurative arms of his first mistress. His wife had looked at him with such tenderness, a look that made him wonder if there was more than pity behind them. He honestly hadn’t meant to ask, he wouldn’t have if he had his wits about him. It was when she had come so close, the scent of lemon on her ivory skin had distracted him as she wove her arms around his to help him stand, making him knock the flagon of sweet Dornish red onto her gown. The steely look she had given him before leaving had sobered him on the spot. He couldn’t let her walk away from him again.
The morning sun glittered on his face as he awoke among a sea of auburn hair and long delicate limbs wrapped around him. He blinked against the light trying to remember the turn of events that lead them to this point. There had been yelling, from both of them. Tears, again from both of them, and somehow that had all turned into something completely indescribable. He felt her stirring against his chest and was soon met with her intense blue eyes. He had to know, especially after last night. “It’s tomorrow Sansa.” She smiled and positioned herself above him, enveloping him in her auburn curtain. “Yes Tyrion. I can safely say that for the first time in a very long time, I am actually happy.” He could not remember a kiss ever tasting sweeter.