A Holiday by Decree

~~ Day 3 ~~

After Sansa persuaded Tyrion to stay for dinner, they ate together and wisely switched to drinking water. She noticed how uncharacteristically quiet Tyrion was for the duration of the meal though, and once they finished, he eagerly bid her goodnight.

Actually quite tired herself after so many hours talking and drinking, Sansa retired to bed. Perhaps it was the lingering effects of the wine, but she slipped off quickly to sleep. She then awoke from a dreamless sleep to find the light of dawn already washing past the bedroom curtains.

Laying still, comfortable beneath the crisp bedcovers, she traced the cracks in the ceiling with her eyes once again, as she had the day before. Thankfully, now her thoughts and feelings were rather different.

The afternoon and evening before had been surreal. To have had Tyrion Lannister, of all people, stumble into her vacation still had not quite processed in her mind. She had at first been unwanting of attention when she realized someone else was there. She had been crying at the table, weighed down by her loneliness caused by years of traumatic events, which when she thought about it, was likely part of the healing process she had been sent there for and was nothing to feel bad about. Therefore, when she realized it was Tyrion there, sent to the island to rest very much as she had been, a strange sort of relief had sort of settled in with her.

Tyrion had only ever been nice to her, in spite of her failures to properly recognize his gestures. And above all, Sansa realized that finding herself trying to face a pivotal moment in her life that she very much wanted to run and hide from, she wanted very much not to be alone. So when Tyrion tried to suggest his departure, Sansa supposed that was how her reactions, bolstered by the wine, had become rather… adamant.

Involuntarily, a little sweat had prickled out on her neck against the pillow, at the thought.

She had been adamant about her ex-husband - a man whom I barely ever tried to know even in the time we had cohabitated, but who's always respected me and treated me kindly. A man whom I've actually treated with scorn, because of how badly I was hurting in my darkest hours.

It was no wonder he was now very much behaving like he was sure that she could not possibly want anything to do with him.

And in truth what he believed about her feelings made sense given in their shared past.

But - Her father's old adage about the real function of "but" in a sentence instantly ricocheted around the insides of Sansa's mind.

- But as Tyrion had stood there in front of her, wild curls and vest dripping, linen shirt speckled with rain drops that made the fabric cling to his shoulders, scarred and dwarven as ever, Sansa had to acknowledge she felt anything but the desire to have him out her sight.