A Holiday by Decree
~~ Day 5 ~~
After lunch, the two of them had parted ways again to wash up, as they had both walked in the sea, and Tyrion had been swimming. After a long soak in the huge tub in his rooms' resplendent washroom, he had dried and put on a clean cotton tunic and under breeches.
Having only gotten that far, he had intended to lay down on the bed for a moment, but instead fell into a deep sleep. The sky outside his windows had turned a dusky lavender by the time his eyes gently drifted open again.
He had no idea how long he had slept. A fresh pitcher of citrus water and a woven blanket covering him told him that the staff had been by to look in though. He also noticed a folded and sealed piece of parchment placed so it stood up on the dressing table.
Having risen, and stepped down from the bed, he went and took the parchment in hand. Gently, he smoothed his fingers over the grey wax seal, a silhouette of a dire wolf, and unsealed it to read.
Tyrion,
I was not surprised to hear from the servants that you had fallen asleep. I asked that part of dinner be kept for you in the kitchen - a type of lamb stew, it was very good. I won't expect to see you tonight. After last night and waking early today, I hope you rest well instead, but please don't hesitate to send word around if you wish to do something on the morrow.
Yours,
Sansa
Tyrion smiled to himself, wondering if he was imagining the scent of her perfume on the parchment. Pulling the service bell for the mentioned stew, he settled at the dressing table with the blanket around his shoulders to wait. As he did, he could not help studying the way their given names, without titles or preamble, looked penned in Sansa's feminine hand; she had asked earlier that afternoon if they could dispense with their titles.
His heart stuttered with feeling.
:
After dinner in his rooms with a book, Tyrion sat in bed propped on his pillows against the huge wooden headboard. He supposed that, after the past few days, while they had been like a dream, he desired some extra comfort; in spite of this though, he was not quite tired, having slept away most of the afternoon. Instead, he sat with a book of blank parchment he had bound open on his lap. With a cup of wine by his left hand on the table, he sketched with a piece of charcoal in his right.
Tyrion had always liked to sketch. Sketching gave him ample time for free thoughts and introspection, some of Tyrion's other favored activities and another two things that had served him well given the cerebral vocations he had held.
Tonight, holding the charcoal felt good, as he really needed to think. So as he watched the lines flow, he felt his mind do the same.