Walking the halls of the Lannister Ballet company for the second time still felt like dreaming to Sansa. This time, though, the corridors were alive with dancers: stretching, rushing into the studios; walking out of them slowly, covered in sweat. It was no secret that the perfection achieved here was payed for by long hours of training and subsequent weariness. She found the office she was looking for without difficulty. She knocked and, hearing a rushed "come in," entered, glad to see a friendly, familiar face.
"Yes, and tell Sandor not to scare them away like he did last time…" Tyrion Lannister was talking on the phone and, offering her a warm smile, motioned for her to sit. "Listen, I have to go now, but I'll call you back. Yes, yes, I will. All right, bye!" He hung up and turned to her, still smiling.
"Well, Sansa, it's good to have you back. Are you excited for the new season?"
Excited? She was barely containing herself from jumping with joy and squealing.
"Of course, I am! Thank you for this opportunity!"
"Very glad to hear it, very glad! Well, I will come straight to the point, then. All new dancers who join the company are required to go through a year of training first. Depending on how good you are coming in, this term may be shortened," he raised his eyebrows at her, "or prolonged," he sighed, motioning his large head into the direction of the corridor.
"I hope I will not disappoint," Sansa said. She was disappointed: she had assumed she would start performing (or at least preparing for a performance) right away.
"Of course not!" Tyrion exclaimed, indicating with his assurance that he had every confidence she would leave the "preparatory ranks," as they were referred to, very soon. "Now, have you already moved in?" She nodded. "And your roommate is?.."
"Tyene… Tyene Sand, I believe?" she was not certain. A bubbling, laughing girl had met her excitedly when she was moving in and provided a welcome contrast to Catelyn's frowning face. Ned, after a long battle between the spouses, acquiesced to remaining at home in order to avoid unnecessary confrontations with Sansa's superiors. Tyrion's voice returned her to the present.
"Ah! Wonderful! Jolly girl! She's the daughter of two of our leading dancers — Oberyn Martell and Elaria Sand, who will also be your teachers. I'm sure you'll get along." He paused. "Sansa," he resumed in a more serious, gentle tone, "I know that our families do not have the strongest ties…" She let a small, nervous giggle escape her and almost regretted it before finding an answering grin on his face. "Oh, well," he continued more gaily, "let's be frank: there is a lot of bad blood between the Lannisters and the Starks." And again, more seriously: "However, I and the other members of this company value and admire the dedication and courage it took you to get here. Everyone — and I do mean everyone — will give you the respect you deserve." Pausing, he added: "Otherwise, send them to me, and I will remind them about the rules of hospitality and politeness. All right?"
Sansa gave him a grateful smile:
"Thank you, sir."
He waved his little hands at her in horror:
"Oh, by the Seven, do not call me 'sir!' It sounds so important, I will be tempted to look around to see whom you're addressing! Ah, you're laughing, very good." His phone rang. "Unless you have any questions?.."
"No, Mr. Lannister, thank you!"
"Call me Tyrion, please, or I might think my father's here and call for my bodyguard, Bronn!" he laughed, picking up his phone, winking her goodbye.
Sansa left the office smiling. It was good to see Tyrion again.