The Masseuse
For asoiafkinkmeme--these characters belong to GRRM
The one thing Tyrion hates about the North are the distances he has to ride. He returns home to Winterfell with a stiff back, a sore bottom and cramps in his legs. He staggers up to his bedroom, refusing dinner and demanding a drink and a hot bath in his chambers, now. When he gets to his room, he flops onto the bed in all his dirt, too tired and in too much pain to care. He would feel sorry for himself and weep into the pillow, if he had any energy left. He drops off into a tired doze...
Until he wakes up suddenly, to a woman undressing him gently. He wonders if it is a dream--he thinks he can hear her humming softly. And then, there is that lovely flowery perfume she wears. He can feel her tugging off his boots, taking off his breeches and doublet and smallclothes. And then, she tenderly lays him on his stomach on a large towel, taking care to lay his head sideways on the pillow, so he can breathe.
Then he feels her pouring warm oil--perfumed, he thinks, with the plants of the North--onto his back and legs. And then, he feels her clever fingers knead away the cramps in his legs, the soreness of his bottom (he nearly yells when she pinches him there!) and the stiffness in his back and neck.
He keeps his eyes closed when she slowly rolls him over onto his back, and begins massaging his arms and legs and stomach. She even massages his feet and hands--she leaves him feeling relaxed and soothed and pampered, as if he were a king or a lord in Essos, being coddled by an adoring handmaid, instead of being a very hardworked noble of Westeros. And then she ends the massage with a kiss on his lips; the taste reminds him of the rare sweet amber wine from the Summer Isles that he had once carried all the way from Casterly Rock almost to the Wall. He opens his eyes and says, happily, "Sansa."
She bends down once again and kisses him again. "My lord husband, your bath awaits. Have a nice long soak, and when you're done, ring the bell. I'll come in and help you dress. And you will have dinner--a nice hot soup with some lovely fresh oat bread--and then you will have a glass of wine to help you sleep." And then she gives him yet another kiss. She does not give him a chance to say no. That is how she makes the winter and his life in the north bearable.
The one thing Tyrion hates about the North are the distances he has to ride. He returns home to Winterfell with a stiff back, a sore bottom and cramps in his legs. He staggers up to his bedroom, refusing dinner and demanding a drink and a hot bath in his chambers, now. When he gets to his room, he flops onto the bed in all his dirt, too tired and in too much pain to care. He would feel sorry for himself and weep into the pillow, if he had any energy left. He drops off into a tired doze...
Until he wakes up suddenly, to a woman undressing him gently. He wonders if it is a dream--he thinks he can hear her humming softly. And then, there is that lovely flowery perfume she wears. He can feel her tugging off his boots, taking off his breeches and doublet and smallclothes. And then, she tenderly lays him on his stomach on a large towel, taking care to lay his head sideways on the pillow, so he can breathe.
Then he feels her pouring warm oil--perfumed, he thinks, with the plants of the North--onto his back and legs. And then, he feels her clever fingers knead away the cramps in his legs, the soreness of his bottom (he nearly yells when she pinches him there!) and the stiffness in his back and neck.
He keeps his eyes closed when she slowly rolls him over onto his back, and begins massaging his arms and legs and stomach. She even massages his feet and hands--she leaves him feeling relaxed and soothed and pampered, as if he were a king or a lord in Essos, being coddled by an adoring handmaid, instead of being a very hardworked noble of Westeros. And then she ends the massage with a kiss on his lips; the taste reminds him of the rare sweet amber wine from the Summer Isles that he had once carried all the way from Casterly Rock almost to the Wall. He opens his eyes and says, happily, "Sansa."
She bends down once again and kisses him again. "My lord husband, your bath awaits. Have a nice long soak, and when you're done, ring the bell. I'll come in and help you dress. And you will have dinner--a nice hot soup with some lovely fresh oat bread--and then you will have a glass of wine to help you sleep." And then she gives him yet another kiss. She does not give him a chance to say no. That is how she makes the winter and his life in the north bearable.