Tyrion rolled over and scrunched his face as the early morning sun poured through the windows of the bedroom. It had been a long time since he had woken naturally with the light and not by the hand or mouth of his wife on his hard morning cock. The 'just-from-sleep' erection was present today as well. He ran a hand over it and looked over at his wife. He considered waking her by throwing his face down between her legs as he so often did in the morning, but she was sleeping so soundly he didn't want to disturb her.
Linnea was always lovely but she positivity glowed in the morning sunlight. Her light blonde hair curled perfectly across her forehead, her cheeks, and then down her bare back. The soft, white skin begged to be caressed, but again Tyrion held back remembering that she had gone to bed early last night. They had supped together before Tyrion took up a book by the fire. Linnea usually joined him with a book of her own or some needlework. She would patiently read or embroider until the sun left the sky completely when she would put her things down and come kneel by Tyrion's legs and caress him through his trousers. Sometimes she would take him in her mouth and he would finish there and that would be it. Other times she'd climb into his lap there on the divan or still other times it would lead to hours of carnal pleasure for both of them.
But last night, Linnea had picked at her food. The chef had prepared a dessert from her homeland that she usually loved, but she had turned down even a small bowl of the creamy rice pudding. After dinner she has gone right to bed. Tyrion read late into the night without Linnea to call him to bed and yet he awoke and she still slumbered soundly.
He gingerly slipped out of bed and to the chamber pot in hopes of quelling his morning wood.
Erection handled, Tyrion pulled his clothing on. He started for the door and remembered that he and Linnea were expected to dine with Bronn and his wife Lollys that evening. He stopped at the desk and wrote out a quick note of reminder. He slipped it on to her vanity table and left the room. He passed down the stairs where he nearly ran right into Wenderly.
"Lord Tyrion!" He started. "I'm sorry sir, I had not heard you awaken-that is to say I usually hear- eh, I mean that her highness is sometimes- oh, um-"
Tyrion held up a hand to his squire who was bright red and getting redder by the moment.
"Yes, Wenderly. I understand that my wife is rather vocal in the morning," Tyrion had to smile at his wife's reputation. "Her Highness is still asleep this morning and was not feeling well last night. Please make sure her breakfast is brought in and maybe something special as well."
"Yes, sir."
Tyrion continued out of the Tower of the Hand and across the yard to his office in the keep. He went to work looking over the budget for the proposed tournament honoring the king's name day. He knew King Bran had little interest in tourneys and pageants but keeping the morale of the kingdom was important.
Half way through the day, a young maid knocked at the door and Tyrion beckoned her in.
"This was just delivered from the Tower of the Hand my Lord" she curtsied politely and handed him a small folded paper.
Tyrion opened the note and saw his wife's sweet curled writing.
Tyrion,
Please send my regrets to Ser Bronn and Lollys. I am unwell and unable to attend dinner this evening.
~Linnea
He folded the letter back up and dismissed the waiting maid. It was unlike Linnea to cancel a social engagement. She usually loved to escape the tower and grounds of the keep and she loved to make new friends and she always spent time playing with Bronn's young children when she saw them.
Tyrion wrote a quick note to Bronn to let me know they would not be joining him and his wife that evening and he sent if off with another young page. He knew Bronn wouldn't mind the excuse to not go home to his wife and Lollys didn't have the sense to be offended by a broken social commitment. Tyrion completed signing the contracts for the tourney and decided to head out early for the day. Before heading back to the Tower of the Hand he wandered toward the royal gardens. The knight standing guard at the stone arches nodded politely as he passed by, unobstructed.
Tyrion walked to the section of exotic flowers that were planted and maintained by a group of young maesters. There were dragons tongues from Braavos and weeping lilies from Asshai and three different variations of Valiryian roses. Tyrion carefully picked an assortment, keeping an eye open for any passing maesters who would disapprove of their special flowers being so hastily plucked. When he had a handful of bright red, fiery orange, and sunny yellow blooms he headed toward home. He climbed the single flight of stone stairs to the living quarters and slowly pushed the door open. The afternoon sun didn't' come directly into the room and the evening fire had not yet been lit leaving the room feeling dark and cold.
Linnea sat on a large velvet chair in the corner nearest the window with her legs pulled up into the chair and tucked underneath her with a large book in her lap. Her long hair was pulled back into a single thick braid and it seemed that her skin was pale. She looked up slowly at his entry and she gave a weak smile.
Tyrion walked to her with the flowers behind his back. He noticed that she wore a plain muslin nightgown cinched with a simple purple ribbon. He wasn't certain that he had never seen her wear something so unadorned, though upon further consideration he wasn't sure he had seen her in a nightgown more than a handful of times, preferring to sleep naked.
"Hello dear," he said as he approached her.
"Hello," was her soft response.
"I'm sorry you're still not feeling well, dearest," Tyrion drew the flowers from behind his back presenting them to her. Linnea smiled, but her eyes didn't smile like they usually did. He leaned to her placing a soft kiss on her cheek. "Should I call for a maester?"
Linnea took the flowers and examined each flower in turn, "I am not ill." She said it dully without offering up any further explanation.
Tyrion stood, awaiting something else from his bride, who was not usually short on words, but she did not continue.
"Is there something else wrong?" he finally asked.
He saw her lip quiver before she bit it resolving herself not to cry.
"I have my moon blood," she said matter-of-factly.
Tyrion looked at his feet and Linnea continued, "It was two weeks late, so I had hoped..." She trailed off.
Tyrion nodded slowly, understanding what she had implied.
"I'm sorry, Linnea," he took her hand in his.
"Tyrion..." she looked into his face. "I promised myself that I would never ask but I now I have to know." She paused as if waiting for permission to continue. "I know what your reputation used to be. I know what they said about you. Did any of them-any of those women ever have your child?"
"Linnea..." Tyrion dropped her hand and walked to the pitcher of wine sitting next to Linnea's uneaten dinner tray. She watched him pour the wine and take a long, deep sip all the while her eyes pleading for his answer.
"Linnea, you don't want me to answer that," he said drinking again.
Linnea stood and padded to him softly, sitting next to him on the divan.
"I do," she said firmly, her eyes filling with tears.
Tyrion placed a hand on her arm and inhaled.
"To my knowledge, I have never sired a child," he spoke.
A sharp sob escaped Linnea's mouth as the tears streamed down her pale cheeks. Tyrion took another large gulp of wine before continuing.
"I thought that would be what you wanted. You wouldn't want to know that your husband had dozens of bastard children running around Flea Bottom would you? My sister knew about Robert's bastards and she hated them. And she hated him even more."
