A Holiday by Decree
~~Day 11~~
Tyrion paced around at the top of the drive just outside the manor's entry by the horse-drawn wheelhouse that waited for them. He himself had been ready early. Charged with energy after his and Sansa's kiss, he had already picked out his outfit the night before. An appropriately airy ensemble, he had always felt confident in the cream silk chemise, cuffed with gold links, and silk olive-green quilted long jerkin, which was leather belted over his sand colored trousers and leather boots.
With anxious excitement at what a day traveling around with Sansa Stark (a Sansa Stark whom he had now kissed!) might hold, he toyed with his golden ring and the new garnet and gold neckerchief that he had found spread out with his clothes after his morning bath.
He was about to pace again, when her voice spoke his name, "Tyrion."
He turned, jaw dropping. A vision in garnet silk that matched his new neckerchief, Sansa drifted out in a gown that came in flatteringly at her slender waist before flaring into a dramatic almost floor-length pleated skirt that ended in golden, intricate floral embroidery. More embroidery encircled the rounded neckline and flowed down the three-quarter length sleeves, while over her braided hair was garnet gauze, edges stitched with golden geometrics that matched those on Tyrion's neckerchief. Just above her temples, two golden sunburst pins held the veil.
"Hirat suggested I try some local clothing. It's pretty but a bit unusual for me. What do you think?" Sansa blushed past the light but lovely makeup around her eyes and cheek bones.
"You are so beautiful," Tyrion said, speaking the first thing that came to mind without any hesitation, as he put out his hand, and she took it. He needed to feel her again after their night apart. Thoughts of how he would survive without her after they left the island could be damned –
Suddenly, she leaned toward him, the fine embroidery of her veil fell forward, delicate just like her. Tyrion's heart squeezed with the memory of their lips together, as Sansa lowered, soft silk skirt pooling. "Your neckerchief," she breathed, reaching out to touch the fabric at his neck, sending sparks through him.
Tyrion felt his eyes dance, as he tried to take in every detail of her this close to him. Unlike last night, where the immediacy of the kiss had been a surprise, he found himself now able to pick up on her soft fragrance - hair oil or perhaps her perfume? He longed to know. "Yes, it appears we match, I wondered why they wanted me to have a new one," he swallowed, grinning dazedly.
"My Lord, my Lady, your carriage is ready with your breakfast served inside," a young male servant had approached to tell them, bittersweetly drawing their attention back to the present moment.
With the help of a set of steps thoughtfully placed by the wheelhouse door, Tyrion followed Sansa up and inside for their trip to begin.