Sansa makes her way to the middle of the bed, giving Tyrion room to get up on his side. She leans back against the pillows, resting her head near her husband's so she can see the book as he reads. The more she pressed herself close, the more comfortable she seemed to feel with it. She was still nervous but she didn't fear him like she did other men.

Halfway through, her eyes stray to his hair, as if she is noticing how golden it is for the first time. Or maybe she's appreciating it for the first time, looking at it this closely.

His voice is also soothing like this, just listening to him read to her. She has another small epiphany in realizing she's always enjoyed the sound of his voice. She hums softly, approving of the poetry thus far.