Clandestine. 》 Tyrion Lannister 《

Untimely

She was tired and it was only mid-afternoon. The early morning meeting proved to be pointless, and the hostilities she and Jon threw at each other drained her even more. She had gotten used to having him around, and she found herself craving his presence more and more. When their conversations were short and precise, she would often search every corner of her brain to extend them. When he would touch her, even in the slightest way, her skin would tingle for what seemed like hours afterwards, and she ached for more.

She tried to concentrate on the things her Hand was telling her, but when she excused herself to be alone, to decompress, she could see in Tyrion’s eyes that he knew exactly why. He, unfortunately, witnessed the brooding King in the North storming out, muttering under his breath about how she would never understand.

She didn't want to admit how easily Jon Snow could get to her, but it was apparent to the people she was closest to. She held her head high as she made her way to her chambers, politely nodding at the servants as they walked by. The closer she got to her sanctuary, the heavier her heart grew, as if it was being weighed down by an anchor.

When she turned the corner and stepped through the doorway the heaviness only became more confusing. There he sat, appearing more distraught than ever.

She folded her hands in front of her and stood as tall as she could manage. “Jon,” she said in a surly manner, “why are you here?”

She sauntered by him, refusing herself the permittance to so much as glance at him, and made her way to the messy table in the corner of her room. She sorted through the piles of papers, hoping to conceal the sadness she truly felt, and waited for his answer.

He approached her carefully, practically tiptoeing, as if he was sneaking around in the middle of the night. He pressed one hand to the table and leaned heavily on it. When he looked at her, she angled her body away from him.

“What do you want?” she asked again, this time harsher.

Suddenly, his hands were on her waist, spinning her around to face him. The graceful maneuver sent chills over her body - something she didn't even want to admit to herself. When she allowed herself to gaze upon his face, she saw anguish where she wished to see a smile.

“I came to ask for your forgiveness,” he said as his hands slid lower down her sides. Goosebumps covered her arms, but she was certain his actions were nothing more than him simply adjusting his hold on her. “I came to beg for it.”

“What for?” she asked curtly. “For blowing up on me because I disagreed with you?” She placed her hands on his forearms and shoved him back, giving herself room to move away from him.

As she sat on the bench at the foot of her bed, she caught a small smirk on Jon’s face. For what reason did he have to do such a thing? It drove her mad, but not in a bad way.

“Yes,” he said as he sat beside her. “I was wrong and you were right.”

She nodded slightly and caught herself holding back a smile. “I know,” she affirmed. “I take it you read the letter?”

“I did,” he admitted humbly. He looked down at his lap briefly and then looked her in the eyes. “Did you?”

She furrowed her brow, shocked at his accusation. “Of course not!” she insisted. “I find it insulting that you would think such a thing of me.”

Feeling the need to move away from him again, but not wanting to insult him like he had just done to her, she walked across the room and poured herself a glass of wine.

“I'm sorry, Your Grace,” he stated firmly. “I didn't mean to insinuate anything. I just wondered if you knew what was written.” He gestured to the glass in her hand, “May I?”