Sansa Stark loved museums.
What she loved less was going to museums while wearing heels.
She cursed herself and her decision to wear these particular shoes this morning as she desperately looked for a vacant chair, but school holidays had started a week ago and it seemed every well-meaning parent had decided to take their kids out to the National Gallery today of all days. She had been standing for two hours now, first to just enter the place, and then getting in line to buy tickets for the Rembrandt transfer exposition.
She had finally given up on that as the pain in her soles grew more and more difficult to ignore and she saw the price for the exposition, far more than what a simple student who had already spent too much on very beautiful impractical shoes could afford.
Of course, Ned Stark's daughter would not have to even think about the money, but then Father would want to make this a "family outing". She could already practically hear Arya snickering and comparing Rembrandt's models to hobos and drunkards, while Bran and Rickon would bravely try to bear the long torture of waiting until the adults were finished. Jon and Robb would surely have found a way to avoid it altogether, but if not Jon then would completely overshadow her own meager knowledge of the paintings with historical facts and dates about the period of the artist. Father would then spend the rest of the visit talking about some boring war or another with him while Mother tried to keep Rickon calm, people would look at them, and it would just end up being a complete disaster.
Sansa dearly loved her family, but there were some things that she'd rather appreciate without them.
In the meantime her feet hurt like hell.
She passed through many rooms trying to find a place to sit, not even looking at the paintings, before finally seeing a bench whose only occupant was an old man in a suit. In fact, the whole room was otherwise deserted, apart from two guards near the door.
Internally screaming in victory, she sat down with a sigh of relief and closed her eyes.
First rule of the Louboutin Gospel : always have a spare ballerina pair on you if you are to wear heels. Only true suffering awaits those would dareth to forget this.
A few moments passed before Sansa remembered that she was in a museum, sitting (slouching) in a completely undignified manner. Straightening herself, she opened her eyes.
And found herself momentarily breathless.
Ice. Broken shards ripping through the infinite blue of the sky like cruel blades, it looked like chaos made eerie still on canvas, the cold white of the Artic in the horizon only disturbed by strange tormented shapes of blue ice. Looking at this, she could feel the deathly cold, and the silence, the terrible silence. Then she saw the sinking ship in the corner.
The ice was a tomb.
"Oh, it's beautiful", she sighed with delight, forgetting her poor feet to look at the painting with rapture.
"Caspar David Friedrich, The Sea of Ice."
The voice came from the old man sitting next to her. Lost in her admiration of the scene, she had almost forgotten that the rest of the world existed and had ears to listen. The man was sharply dressed in a dark coat that looked very expensive in Sansa's expert eyes, and was sitting straight, his severe profile turned towards the painting. There was something strangely familiar about the sharp angles of his face, about his grey-blond hair and the shape of his short beard, but she was unable to say why. Distantly, she thought that he looked very distinguished, in that austere sort of way that cannot be bought with money.
"Is that the name of the painting ?"
"Obviously."
Well, he had a point. This was the only painting on the wall facing them.
"Oh."
She internally cringed. Could she sound more stupid if she tried ?
He was evidently thinking the same, judging by the not-terribly-impressed look he quickly shot her.
"Well, I think it's beautiful", she said defiantly, crossing her arms.
"Indeed." His voice was cold.
"Why, don't you like it ?"
For a long moment there was only silence, and Sansa thought to herself that she could almost feel the aura of unpleasantness surrounding this man. No wonder he was the only one sitting here before she came.
"I don't 'like it', nor dislike it, I suppose", he finally answered, sounding almost like he was talking to himself. "I certainly admire the masterpiece, and relate to the force of nature represented here, I can even appreciate the symbolism, but like it ? No. The same way no one would 'like' a tiger baring its fangs at you."
"Well, I like tigers"
How to sound like a pre-schooler, by Sansa Stark. The man now turned fully from the painting and gave her a long, incredulous stare. He had very green eyes.
"More seriously" she cleared her throat,"I think the reason I like this painting (and tigers but let's not dwell on that) is that... Well, maybe 'like' is not the right word, if you take it that way. It's just, I find it fascinating because it is frightening ? This is the depiction of a scene of ruin and death, and yet, the ship is almost forgotten in the corner, while the focus of the composition stays on the ice, completely indifferent to its victims, unmovable. It makes the whole scene both more horrifying and more beautiful, you know ? Because we, as humans" she exclaimed with an encompassing gesture, moving unconsciously closer to the man, "automatically relate to the occupants of the ship first, and to see it represented as so insignificant in the grand scheme of things... That can apply to every man's death, really. So I see my own death there, in a way. But you also see the rest of the world keeping on existing, uncaring, and... Okay, I think I get why you don't really like it."
"Why, do you think that because of my age I should be particularly sensitive to the topic of death ?", he said dryly.
Horrified, Sansa hid her mouth behind her hand.
"Oh, no, I'd never ! Anyway, you're not so old, and..."
That's when she finally saw the faint amused glint in his green (were there gold speckles in there ?) eyes.
"You're messing with me !", she accused him loudly, torn between outrage and amusement herself. At the noise, a woman passing by shot them a dirty glare.
"Only a little", he admitted, "but then, there are some temptations a man should not resist"
She couldn't help but laugh, quickly covering her mouth for the second time.
"I'm sorry, I'm not usually this rude. "
"Rude ?"
"I mean, I know it's impolite, being so loud in a museum..." And the man looked and spoke like he ate good manners for breakfast. So. There was that.
"Don't worry about that. This place could do with a few more laughs."
"I don't think the museum conservator would quite agree with you. Or the guards, for that matter", she said, giving a quick look to the place where they stood near the room entrance.
Strange. The one sitting looked like he was trying very hard to not look at them, while the second was now talking in urgent hushed tones with the woman who had glared at Sansa just seconds ago. It was impossible to hear what he was saying to her, but she seemed remarkably paler than she had a minute ago.
"Now, my observation of my grandchildren led me to believe that teenagers travel everywhere in herds these days. And yet, here you are, alone and harassing strangers with your ludicrous love for tigers."
When exactly had they gone from polite coldness to somewhat amiable banter ? Not amiable really, she corrected herself, narrowing her eyes slightly, for the man's voice was still impeccably polite and almost devoid of intonations. Yet it was completely different, in a way that she couldn't exactly define.
"First, I'll have you know that tigers are beautiful creatures. Secondly, I'm twenty-three. Also, you have grandchildren ?"
Somehow, she couldn't imagine the man sitting next to her as a grandfather. In her mind, grandfathers were supposed to be like Grandpa Hoster, frail, wrinkled and always with a smile. Not like... This.
"Three. None of them with any artistic talent, I'm relieved to say." He didn't sound particularly relieved to her.
"Why, would that be such a bad thing ?"
"While artists are a necessary part of society, and even sometimes useful, in the right place and occasion, they are ultimately dependant on the good will of their public and patrons, doomed to parasite those stronger and more powerful than themselves. I think I am justified in having higher expectations for any member of my family."
He said this with this emotionless voice of his, as if it was an evidence, an indisputable truth.
Sansa thought of her own dream of becoming an artist, and felt a wave of burning irritation rising in her.
"Should you not wish for their happiness, first of all ? And how dare you call a whole group of people parasites, just because they're not as rich or strong as you ? Who are you, to insult people in this way ?", she exclaimed with a slightly trembling voice.
Now, maybe that was a little rude, but she didn't really care. She felt justified in her indignation. Age and rank notwithstanding, the nerve of this man ! Yet as the silence grew more and more suffocating, she found herself sweating under the weight of his calm stare, all of her usual timidity returning to her.
"Happiness", he finally murmured, just as she was about to leave, "Such a subjective notion. You could pursue it all your life along, causing long-term misery and ruin to others, and for what ? It's an impalpable, fleeting thing, gone the moment you think it is in your grasp. Should that really be the foundation of a life, the ultimate goal ? I have seen where expectations of happiness can lead men, and it is a bleak perspective. Gladly will I leave happiness to the dreamers and fools, for the good it will do to them."
She stared at him, waiting for more, while he looked at her almost expectantly.
"That's all ?", she said, incredulous.
"What's more to say ?", he answered, imperturbable.
There it was again, that almost imperceptible amusement in his eyes, while his mouth remained unsmiling.
"Well, will you not acknowledge that calling people 'parasites' is wrong ?",
"I never apologize, especially not when I'm right."
If ego was a brick, this man would be the Great Wall of China. For a moment she just watched him with something like wonder, speechless. Then she rose from her seat, wincing a little at the sudden pressure on her feet. Damn those shoes. She was definitely never wearing them again.
"Okay, I... I must really go now. I'm sorry for disturbing you, sir.", she said, nervously adjusting the hem of her dress, "Have a nice day."
She turned away to leave.
"Wait."
Does he really expect me to obey ? This was definitely the voice of a man being used to people obeying his every order. How about no.
She just kept on walking, pretending not to hear, not seeing the worried looks the museums guards sent in her direction, and feeling stupidly victorious all the way.
That was until she realized, less than one minute later, that she had forgotten her handbag on the bench. This time, her audible groan of despair made more than one visitor raise their eyebrows.
He was still there, of course ,and though he was not even smiling, his eyes were still laughing at her. Definitely.
"I tried to warn you."
"Yes, thank you very much, sir. Good day."
"You are going to the Rembrandt exposition ?"
She stopped right in her tracks
How would you even know that ? She nearly asked aloud, wondering stupidly for a moment if the man was a telepath, before seeing the prospectus for the collection, visible in her bag.
"I would have", she said, staring at him right in the eye,"if it was less expensive. As it is, I guess I'll have to parasite someone to even have a chance of seeing it."
"I see"
He then rose from the bench and she was surprised by how tall he was. He stood very straight, and suddenly he was giving her a white little visit card.
"Give this to the collection register, and this shouldn't pose a problem."
There was definitely gold in his green eyes.
Numbly, she took the card, and watched him leave.
Then she read the name on the card.
If she was not well-mannered and in a museum, she would have screamed.
Hey everyone !
I am French and English is a language that I mostly learnt by myself, so. Grammar. Definitely not my forte.
I would be grateful for any correction. Also any feed-back or advice.
If you love it, hate it, are indifferent to it ? Please tell me !
(Also, I absolutely do not regret this pairing. If Sansan is my absolute OTP, Tywin/Sansa is this pairing that answers so much of my kinks that I don't even regret shipping it, AU-style. Deal with it.)