@bird-dove-wolf wanted a jealous starter! and damn did you get one
His heart fluttered at the sight of her like an injured dove.
It was clear to him now that he’d never been more than a curse to her, an unpleasant oath she’d been made to keep. Damned Starks and their sense of obligation. He’d only ever wanted to be someone’s world, their everything, but that childish dream had been stomped upon long ago. And yet, a few flickers of it had caught fire with Sansa; but here it was, under her heel.
There was a certain entanglement between Sansa and her little Tyrell friend, and to be quite honest he could see right through every attempt she made to the contrary.
“You love Margaery Tyrell.” It was not a question, but a statement; as calm as he seemed with his fingers running over the dusty windowsill, if one looked closely they could see his jaw clenched tightly.
In truth, the green flames of jealousy blazed within him as brightly as the licks of emerald painted across Blackwater Bay - and just as painfully. He’d grown to love Sansa over the course of their marriage, and had come to believe she felt the same way. She’d certainly claimed it, but now it was quite obvious her attentions lay elsewhere.
But of course; how could a misshapen, scarred dwarf, Lannister though he was, ever hope to compare to the Rose of Highgarden?
Perhaps Sansa cared for him, or did at one point - but it was obvious that her affections were divided, and though he did not fault her for it, it had grown more and more on Tyrion’s mind like weeds around the gentle flower of his love. He did not share well.
Perhaps he’d only been a plaything for her; that certainly wasn’t Sansa’s way, but it wasn’t inconceivable to think he’d been a temporary dalliance. Romantic urges could be carried out without true attraction - yes, that could be it.
“Go to her.” His voice was stiff, but he supposed it was better than a cutting tone. He could wound her with his words, his knife-like wit; but cardboard was preferable to blades, surely?
“We shall be married by name only. Of course, you shall still be expected to share meals and a bedchamber with me - I trust I am not too repulsive to you? - but in your nighttime hours, you are free to fuck as you will.”
Tyrion turned, staring out the open window in such a way that made him appear lost in thought. This was for the best... right?
And yet, if you listened closely, you could hear the patched-together heart of one lonely, broken man shattering anew.
