A Holiday by Decree
Note: As it's obligatory for this ship - there always needs to be at least one chapter focusing on SanRion and a library ✅
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~~ Day 7 ~~
Though it shouldn't have bothered him, Tyrion had noticed how the feelings of inadequacy in situations like this never fully went away. At least it was Sansa with him, which made it automatically better in this case. He also tried to busy himself with preparing their morning coffees the way he now knew each of them liked; Sansa took more milk in hers but less sugar, while every now and then he liked his fairly sweet, like a treat to himself.
"So what is up there of interest that I haven't been able to get my hands on yet?" he asked, as he stirred the sugar into their cups. He currently worked over the tray the staff had placed in the sitting area, arranged in front of the open veranda doors, the only source of natural light in the library.
In the sitting area was a low table for refreshments and stacking books. Around the table were arranged a couple conventional arms chairs that looked far too cozy for the hot weather. Adjacent to them were what looked like more suitable locally designed chairs. Wooden frames provided a deep, swooping already reclined airy seat of woven rushes and distinctively long, flat wooden arms. A few water stain rings in the lacquer indicated that users habitually kept drinks at close reach on the arms.
"Hm, this one looks like an in depth description of what Summerhall was like, such as the architecture and background of the designers… Oh, and this one is an anthology of lesser known old Valyrian heroes and their dragons?" she said, glancing his way.
"Both of those sound good to me too," he nodded, finishing stirring in the milk. "Especially the Summerhall one - this place was apparently Aerys' attempt to remake Summerhall," he gestured with his free hand.
"Possibly the only good thing he did," Sansa commented. "You know, it really is silly that no one's put a ladder in here yet," Sansa added, gazing up at the highest shelf. It was too high for even her to see the smallest text on the spines let alone reach. "I suppose Daenerys and Jon really aren't the reading types. "
Tyrion approached and took the two books she brought down for them. "That's a bit unfair - Daenerys reads," he chuckled.
Sansa play-scoffed, "As Jon surely doesn't, then she is the one we'll blame then." Tyrion rumbled another laugh, with his back to her, when he heard a loud scraping sound.
He had set the books down by their coffee in time to see Sansa had pushed the leather topped table against the bookshelves. With a quick peek and feel underneath the tabletop, she was up on a chair and then the leather top in her bare feet.
Coming over, he hoped her check of the strength of the table was thorough enough. Tyrion noticed her bare feet again, and his eyes lingered on the crisscrossing pale lines in her skin, the beginning of tan lines from her sandals.