A Holiday by Decree
~~ Day 2 ~~
A moment later, she straightened up. With a quick sniff, Sansa arched a brow, "So Daenerys had to literally send you to an island to get you to stop working then?"
Tyrion was surprised at the seeming humor in her question. "Yes, I suppose I returned to the capital a rather different man than when I last left it. It's been a dutiful civil servant's life - and hopefully, a comparatively uneventful one, for me." However, he noticed he sounded sadder about it than he probably should have. I should be so lucky to still be alive, I supposeā¦
While he spoke, he had watched Sansa reach for the wine and the extra cup. "You still drink, don't you?" she asked, poised to pour.
It was his turn to stare at her like she was the dwarf in the room and not he.
"I do, but I - well, I won't take your wine," Tyrion fumbled nervously. The thought that he could run into her by accident in this most extravagant way, and also, be invited to stay for a glass of wine with her was still beyond his imagination.
"It was your wine to start with though, wasn't it?" Her tone was unmistakably droll. The wine burbled from the carafe to the cup. "Here," she leaned across to hand it to him.
Tyrion thanked her before taking a careful sip. He tried to stay quiet, to avoid nervously emitting some witty quip. Over the years, he had slowly learned his chatty nature didn't always add anything to certain moments.
The rain continued to fall on either side of the low roof over the dining area. They exchanged a few words, mostly a few obvious seeming observations about their locale. The views from the house are great. The weather is awfully hot.
Sansa killed off her first cup of wine and then another, and Tyrion felt obliged to keep up. His companion did not seem as visibly upset as she had at first; however, she still looked to be in a strange, pensive mood, only facing or looking at him directly in the moments they spoke. Otherwise, they both seemed to be wiling the afternoon away, watching the rain, somewhat separately but together.
At some point, Sansa had kicked her shoes off. At the head of the table, she had her knees pulled up to her chest on the chair. She was flushed from the wine, but otherwise her tolerance seemed well enough.
Tyrion had also managed to relax somewhat. His tolerance lowered from not drinking in a while, he felt glad to let the alcohol wash over him. Their meeting was so improbable that he had ceased to have expectations of it. At least, I'm not getting drunk alone, he thought.
Sansa reached for the wine and topped them off again. Then, she carefully cleared her throat.
Tyrion readied a comment about the weather in reply to more small talk, but what Sansa had to say was not what Tyrion expected.
