Happy Valentine's Day! This ficlet is set after Sansa and Tyrion's wedding, before the Red Wedding. There will be a couple more installments after this one. I hope you enjoy!

Sansa noticed that Shae seemed quieter than usual as she went through their morning ritual. Sansa sipped at a strange tea concoction that was supposed to be for her fertility while Shae ran the brush through her hair. She had no need of tea, but she could hardly tell anyone that. As far as the Lannisters knew, she and Tyrion were doing their duty to conceive a child; she would rather them think that a child simply would not come than that they were not fulfilling their marital obligations.

"Ouch!" Sansa cried as Shae ran the brush roughly through a snag.

"Sorry, m'lady," Shae said, not sounding sorry at all.

Sansa composed herself, though she did throw a dirty look toward her handmaiden when the woman's back was turned. Something seemed to have gotten into her lately, since the wedding. She was not her usual self. Shae placed the brush down on the table and disappeared for a moment without excusing herself first. The redhead remained in her chair, waiting. When Shae returned, she carried a winter rose that she laid in Sansa's lap. Sansa placed her teacup down and reached with tentative fingers to examine the offering.

"A gift from an admirer," the handmaiden explained.

As Sansa looked at the flower, she felt a sense of dread in her stomach. "Some sort of joke by Joffrey, you mean." One of the petals flaked off on her dress. It looked like the flower had been beaten up, but whether that had happened from its origin or in transit, she could not be sure.

"It is no joke, m'lady."

Thinking about it more, she supposed a flower would not be Joffrey's style. He'd be more likely to send her a dead animal or a severed head as a "gift." She picked up the flower by its stem and examined it more. This was no petty imitation. She recognized it as one of the winter roses that grew in Winterfell. Sansa's father had told her about how her Aunt Lyanna loved the flowers, but he'd always seemed sad when he talked about that. Bringing the flower to her nose, it smelled just like she remembered: a cold, clean scent that reminded her of heavy, falling snow. Many in the South did not believe that snow had a scent, but true Northerners knew better.

Shae resumed brushing her lady's hair, and Sansa could tell she was going to great lengths to be gentler. "Who could have sent it?" Sansa asked her. "Where did you get it from?"

"M'lord wished to stay anonymous. He believes you do not feel the same way about him, but he wanted you to know you are cared for."

"Oh." Sansa did not know what to say to that. She no longer admired anyone in King's Landing, and anyway, she was married. Whoever had sent the rose could get into trouble if anyone aside from Shae knew about it, and Varys had little birds everywhere. Shae had once cautioned her to trust no one. "Well, if you see him again, tell him he should not send me gifts. I am a married woman."

"Yes, m'lady."

Sadly, Sansa placed the flower down on the table beside her, knowing it wise not to be seen with it or to care for it in any way. It was a piece of her home, and yet, she could not accept it. "I think we ought to get rid of it before Tyrion sees it."

"Mmm." Shae began to do Sansa's braids. "Perhaps m'lord won't mind much."

"Of course he would, especially if he knows what this is. It seems that someone took great care to get it to me."

Shae pursed her lips and said nothing.

"I'm speaking to you, you know." It wasn't often anymore that Sansa had to remind Shae of what to do or how to conduct herself. She'd started to think they were going to get on, but perhaps she'd been wrong – it certainly would not be the first time she had misjudged someone. Sansa frowned and tried to relax to allow Shae to finish her duties, suddenly feeling anxious to send her away as soon as possible.

"I'm sorry, m'lady. I can tell this is really bothering you. I will get rid of it for you as soon as we are finished here."

"Thank you."

The last thing Sansa wanted was to upset her lord husband. It was true, she held no great love for him, at least not beyond friendship, but their marriage had been a peaceful one. Even Joffrey had backed off, and Sansa could walk about the Red Keep or the gardens relatively unbothered. If Tyrion thought she had a liaison with someone, she did not know what he would do. Generally, she liked to avoid the unknown. She liked to be safe… and she was starting to believe that there was such a thing as safety again.

Later that morning, Sansa watched Shae start a fire and throw the rose into it. Sansa did not like the symbolism of the gesture. It made her think of her home burning, but there was nothing to be done about it. She did not think much about who her admirer could be, but she only hoped he would back off and not make himself more obvious.

Every afternoon, provided the weather was nice (and it usually was), Tyrion took tea with his lady wife in the gardens. Sansa waited for him at their usual spot, ready to play their game for the benefit of the little birds. She knew that if their union remained stable in the eyes of the court, Lord Tywin would not allow his grandson to do anything that might upset or humiliate their key to the North. Despite their disastrous wedding, in the eyes of all at King's Landing, Tyrion and Sansa got on swimmingly.

Not all of it was an act. He really did make her laugh, and even if she did not believe all of his promises, so far, he had kept his promise not to hurt her or intentionally make her life miserable. Sansa had come to look forward to their time spent together every afternoon.

Right on time, Tyrion emerged from the hedges that surrounded the entrance to their spot and made his way down the stone path to where Sansa waited. "Good afternoon, lady wife," he greeted her. He climbed into his chair, and she filled his cup with wine as that was his preferred type of "tea." He usually did not eat much, which made Sansa shy to eat as many lemon cakes as she truly wanted. Once he caught on to that, he made a point of picking them up and putting them on her plate until she begged him, giggling all the while, to stop.

"How is work today, my lord husband?" she asked pleasantly.

"The King shits, and the Master of Coin must find a way to pay for the resources to wipe him." Tyrion never missed a beat or laughed at his own jokes. He picked up a piece of bread and buttered it. "The King thinks the best way is to raise taxes, of course, despite how often I've tried to talk him out of it. But as far as today goes, it is not so different from any other, and I suppose sometimes dull days are better than eventful ones."

He chewed, and Sansa nodded. "Yes, you're right. I used to think boredom was the worst thing in the world. But there is something comforting about it now."

"Come now, don't speak of our marriage that way," he teased. "I take it, then, that nothing exciting happened this morning?"

Sansa started to shake her head but thought of the blue rose, its petals breaking off into her lap. She thought of watching it burn and thinking of Winterfell, knowing in her heart that Winterfell was and would be all right, but still having that eerie feeling. "No, nothing," she lied. "I worked on a new dress, and I walked about the gardens. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Hmm." He looked troubled. Sansa did not like to see that look on him, for she wasn't sure what it meant. "I hope the day has been good, at least, even if not very exciting. If there is ever anything I can do to make your days better, you know you need only ask."

"Of course." She had been slowly working on a lemon cake but found the reminder of her admirer lessened her appetite. She placed it down on her plate and folded her hands in her lap, watching him. "More wine?" she asked, as he had nearly emptied his cup.

"Yes. I'll pour it." He reached quickly for the flagon before she could. Sansa noticed he always seemed reluctant to allow her to serve him, but was that not her duty as his wife? She sometimes felt a little frustrated that he would not at least let her do something small, when she could not – would not – take on her bigger duties with him. He nodded toward her half-eaten cake. "You should eat more. You might be eating for two, after all." It had become a private joke between them, but today it hit a little differently. Sansa frowned down at her lap and tried to compose herself.

Winterfell is all right. Shae has probably told your admirer off by now. Everything is going to be fine, she assured herself. She wondered if she would bleed soon; she always felt more sensitive at her time.

"Is everything all right, lady wife?" Tyrion reached across the table and held out his hand.

All her movements feather-light, Sansa obediently placed her own hand in his. "Everything is fine, lord husband," she answered. "I believe I am coming down with a headache, is all."

He could have made some joke that connected her ailment to her imaginary pregnancy, but he did not. He knew better. That was one of the things Sansa enjoyed most about him: Tyrion always knew where the boundaries lay, and he never crossed them. "Perhaps you ought to rest in our chambers for a while," he suggested. He ran his thumb over the back of her palm before he let her go and resumed drinking his wine and eating his bread. "Is there anything I can get you from Maester Pycelle?"

"No. That is very kind of you, my lord, but I think you are worrying too much." She forced a smile and resumed her lemon cake so that he would not fuss over her anymore.

Sansa noticed that he did not smile as genuinely or make as many jokes through the rest of their time together. She wrote it off as nothing more than stress over his work and tried to carry on as usual, though she could not push the image of fallen blue petals from her mind.