A Holiday by Decree
~~ Day 7 ~~
"Is this a small rebellion?" Tyrion asked, craning his head up to look at her.
Sansa smirked down at him before looking at the book spines she was now eye level with. "Arya always thinks she is the only one with a rebellious streak, but as you know, I've developed my own over the years."
Sansa fingered one of the books, and coughed lightly, as dust emerged. "Well, these aren't dusted, but it's volumes of a Valyrian political treatise."
"Potentially a valuable read, but not for its inherent entertainment value?" Tyrion suggested.
"I think so, likely the reason it's up so high," Sansa agreed, as she turned to descend back down to the chair, which Tyrion reached out to steady out of impulse; he was too happy at the moment, and if Sansa fell and killed herself in a freak library accident, he thought he would likely have to follow her by doing the same.
That was how Tyrion found himself positioned for Sansa to step down from the chair with a little stumble - directly into his grasp.
There would never be anything to truly alleviate the height disparity between them. However, he was at the perfect height to place steadying hands on her waist. Sansa's delicate hands meanwhile came to his shoulders.
Sansa's blue-eyed gaze lowered to him, as her loose, fiery hair fell over her shoulders. For a long moment they only seemed to look at each other. As Tyrion's hands grew warm where they rested above her hips, he realized and gently let go.
"Out of reaction, I'm sorry." Tyrion quickly moved away once Sansa's hands lifted from his shoulders. A reaction though it may have been, it had been a fairly intimate touch he was not at all certain Sansa would be comfortable with. For all the time they had spent together in the past days, touching was not something they had intentionally done yet.
"No, thank you," she said softly, as she followed him toward their seats. He didn't miss how she fidgeted with her hands, as she went though.
Perhaps, she's just as uncertain as I am, he noted.
Fortunately, the odd air between them passed. They were soon engrossed in their respective reads, as the sweet ocean air from the veranda mixed with the aroma of coffee.
Sansa and Tyrion read through lunch and ate in the library. When the draft picked up from approaching rainstorms, they withdrew to the lemony yellow haven of the sitting room. Excitedly, Tyrion produced a cyvasse set from his luggage, and they played several rounds, Sansa slowly improving, as she had only played once or twice in the past.
They had just come to a draw in a game after dinner, when Tyrion leaned back in his chair with a smile, "That was more fun than I have had in years. You are a quick learner, Sansa. I wonder, would you next like to take a go at swimming, and join me at the pool tomorrow?"