Cersei had wanted to spend tea time with her, wanted to talk to her of "womanly things". Sansa already knew it was about bearing Tyrion a son. And she was right. In a way. The words surprised her in how kind Cersei had been. As genuine as the day Sansa had woken up a woman.
She opened with how even if she didn't love Tyrion, she would love whatever children they had. Because they would be hers. She continued with how if she bore an heir, Tyrion would be made Lord of Winterfell and Sansa its Lady. She would be able to return home. And that's what she truly wanted, wasn't it? Sansa was informed how Tyrion's father would never allow him to inherit Casterly Rock. Winterfell would be home to both of them if only they consummated their marriage and she produced an heir.
It truly was the escape Sansa had wanted, to be returned to her home, away from Joffrey and Cersei. It wouldn't be High Garden but Sansa had already parted with that dream when marrying Tyrion. It would be the home she had taken for granted and they could rebuild those walls stronger than before. Lannisters had enough gold.
And... Tyrion was kind. Kinder than she would have thought. It made his looks less intolerable over time, seeing the man he could be (when he choose to be) instead of the Imp he was known as. She wasn't sure if she could sleep with him but she remembered Margaery's words about how many he had pleasured despite his lack of height. Cersei's words stayed with her for the rest of the day and towards the end when the sun was setting.
It was a choice Sansa would have to make sooner rather than later. Produce an heir and return to the North or remain at King's Landing as a prisoner, Lord Tywin's glare always seeking them out when they were in his presence. Sansa had never noticed how Tyrion's father could be toward his children until she was forced to sit at their table for meals some days. Her father had never been like that with any of them. And, just like that, she knew Tyrion wouldn't, either.
He was not without fault but, as he had said to her once, he was not Joffrey.
So, later that night, she waited up for him in their bedchamber, sitting on the edge of the bed that was normally his side. Red hair down and dressed in nothing but a silk robe. The stunned look on his face when he came in made her smile, nodding at him, "Tyrion." He insisted they call each other by name. She was finally becoming accustomed to it.
Father, in his usually smooth and yet judging way, had spent most of breakfast berating Tyrion for still not producing an heir. It was enough to set Tyrion's very teeth on edge, and since he was so very close to parts his dear lord father held precious, it was unbelievably tempting. In punishment for that, he had withheld Tyrion's wine for the entirety of the day. Forcing him to work with water, food, and of course, books. The books at least did not make him nauseous.
Shae was ... surprisingly intolerable today as well. It shocked him, how curt she had become with him in such a short amount of time since his marriage. Especially considering his martial bed was not at all marital. Perhaps she was jealous. Perhaps she was tired of him. Perhaps he was simply tired of her - but he loved her. Didn't he? He wasn't quite sure anymore. Perhaps he simply loved the idea of being in love, even if that person never really loved them.
Perhaps the only highlight of the day was dinner. Still no wine, for his father was cross, but he managed to make Joffrey look like an idiot on no less than two occasions. He also caught Sansa hiding a sly smile - he saw you there, Lady Wolf. When she looked up at him, it almost dared him to say something about it ... Joffrey threw a fit, Margery tried to look sweet and complacent, and Cersei looked like - well. Cersei. Angry, beauty strained over too much rage.
Too bad they just weren't clever enough enough to figure out how it had been insulting. Ah well, at least his Lady Wolf smiled at him. Small pleasures.
Then off to the library again, for a few hours of reading ... again without wine. He took tea instead, finished the volume he was reading on the fortification of castles, and picked up the next one on siege weaponry. He paused, as he passed poetry, and sighed to himself. Oh why not. Shae was being foul, and his Lady Wolf would probably appreciate him reading to her instead of him putting his hands on her instead.
Not that he would, but still. He offered her what small comforts he could, in these tense days.
Entering their bedchamber, he went to hobble over to put the books by the table and stopped. Dead. Blue and black eye widening in surprise to find Sansa sitting on his side of the bed, beautiful and virginal in her simple silk robe, her red hair tumbling all about her shoulders ... gracious, perhaps he never needed poetry at all.
He gave her a cautious nod in return, and a half smile he hoped was more charming than it was confused. "Sansa. Did you ... want something?"
Seemed like the only reason she would be on his side of the bed voluntarily.
It takes a few moments for her to regain her courage now, her heart beating so fast it felt as if would burst right out of her chest. One hand was in her lap, the other on the bed, fingers nervously rubbing at the fabric of their duvet.
"I--I was hoping we could..." She pauses, feeling heat come into her cheeks and looking down, a little embarrassed. How was she to ask such a thing? Further more, how could she ask it without sounding like a complete fool?
She swallows hard before looking at him once again, "I wish to consummate our marriage. To be your wife in all ways."
Adding, unsure if that would appeal to her husband, "If you will have me."
She can't remember her face ever feeling as hot as it did in that second.
It was pretty much at this moment that Tyrion realized one could be struck dumb with surprise. He hadn't put much stock in it, but here he was. In his bedroom, with his lovely young wife, emphasis on young and wife. Who wanted to consummate their marriage. With ... him.
Right, well, first things first. Assess if this was some sort of real threat to Sansa. He pushed the books up onto the table, and went over to her, holding out his hand, palm up, so he could look her in the eye. Try to sense where this was coming from, "Did my father threaten you to do this? Did Joffrey?"
That heat in his voice, dear wife, is his protective urges coming to the rise. There is no painful pressure to his fingers, but there is fire in those mis-matched eyes. "I told you ... you would never be forced by me, by anyone. I may only be half a man, but I will wholly protect you from the both of them."
Cutting Joffrey literally off at the knees did have some appeal, after all.
She felt herself smile a little at the expression on her husband's face. Until he came closer, upset. Her smile fell, brow furrowing as she shook her head. Both hands going to her lap, "No one threatened me, Tyrion." And that was true.
"I want to do this." I want to go home.
But she then grabs his hand with both of hers, "You will not need to fight or threaten anyone tonight, husband." It was a gentle tease but her heart swelled, realizing how he truly meant what he said. That he wanted to protect her. She had not encountered many men like that outside of her own family.
Hm. No threat. He would now cross his father and Joffrey off his list of 'people to deal with'. Jaime? Would never threaten Sansa, even after what he had been through at the hands of Tullys. Could Margery ... no, hers was a sweeter, smarter persuasion. He had heard the whispers that she weaved compliments about him to his lady wife, as cleverly in her ears as she twisted flowers into Sansa's red hair.
Cersei ... yes. Cersei would have done so. Why - well for an heir - of course. He might never rule Casterly Rock, but his heir would, and that would solidify the Lannister holdings for generations to come. Gods, he loathed his family.
He sighed, letting her squeeze his hand as he looked up at her. Far, far up at her, his Lady Wolf. Pure white mountain of pleasurable curves and kissable spots. He wanted her - of course he did. So why did he hesitate?
Because it should not be awkward, her first time. She wanted romance, and poor girl, she got me. Well, he could not do much for being tall, or dashing, but he had wit and he did have skills .. of many varieties. So he dipped his head, to kiss her hands, softly brushing his mouth over her fingers.
"As my lady wife wishes." He looked up at her solemnly, before he winked, then smiled. "I was going to offer to read you poetry this evening - may I still? It might be a good way to ease both of us ... into a softer mood."
It was indeed Cersei behind it all and most likely for the reasons Tyrion assumed. But the Queen had weaved a very different reason for Sansa to agree to such a union. And had done so in a way Sansa almost believed her. She knew Cersei didn't care about her happiness. But she did love her own children greatly (Joffrey was a testament to that much).
That combined with all of her thinking from today, about how Tyrion would not be like his father, of how different he was from the other lions in his family, it was what helped the smile she gave him be less forced and more genuine. He wanted to protect her, wanted to take care of her. She just prayed to the Gods, old and new, that it was no act.
Nodding, "Yes. I would enjoy that." Because while Tyrion wasn't blessed with the "Lannister looks", he was blessed with a clever way for words.
Cersei was a Lannister, through and through. She could weave her way with words, if only her temper would not get in the way. She could play the games of intrigue much better, if she could keep her temper. Luckily, she felt no need to be angry at Sansa, just manipulative and cruel. Tyrion supposed he should be grateful Cersei had never turned on him as she had turned on her own little brother.
Now that was a smile, a warmer one. One that made it easier for his own mouth to retain its easy smile. Dropping her hands, he went over to the pile of slim volumes, plucked up one of them, and moved back to the bed. "Slide over, my dear Sansa, and we will see where poetry takes us."
He climbed up, beside her, no closer than their arms touching, and cracked open the volume. "Let us see ... ah yes, this should do it." He leaned back against the pillows, keeping his voice low-pitched, smooth with a touch of burr.
"Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honoring thee As giving it a hope that there It could not wither'd be; But thou thereon didst only breathe And sent'st it back to me; Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself, but thee..."
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.
And so, there was his pretty wife, curled up against him, her breath stirring his curls as he read. He tried not to swallow, to give into his sometimes more baser nature. This after all, was a seduction -- not a ravaging.
So he looked over at her, giving her a crooked smile, as he flipped the page. "That seems to have gone over well enough, so let us try another one."
He flipped through the pages, until he found a likely one. A little sad, but she did like the dramatics of poetry. Funnily enough, he found himself enjoying it himself.
"When I summon my sighs to call for you, with the name love inscribed upon my heart, And Laudable sound at the beginning of the sweet accents of that word comes forth. Your Regal state which I encounter next doubles my strength for the high enterprise, that “Tacitly the end cries, “for her honor These better shoulders for support than yours.” And so, to Laud and to Revere the word itself instructs whenever someone calls you, A lady worthy of all praise and honor – Unless, perhaps, the Lady be offended A mortal tongue be so presumptuous to speak of his eternally green boughs. Praise you, praise you!"
"Me? Gods no." He gave her a little smirk, as he turned the page once more. "Can you imagine all the inappropriate imagery I would bring to poetry? Tis better to keep the word safe from me."
He paused, then ventured quietly, "I have ... considered, time to time, writing my own accounts on the wonders of our country."
She was absolutely delightful when she laughed. He was going to have to make her laugh more often, he decided.
He gave her a faintly ironic eyebrow, before drawling out, "Would you be satisfied with a scribe for a husband, instead of a warrior lord? I'll admit, I like the life of the intellectual more. Fewer people trying to kill me."
"Why not both? You're already a warrior and intellectual." At least, as far as she was concerned, he was capable of being both. If he wanted to. She was still surprised he could handle himself on the battlefield but also grateful for it.
As for his mind, he was one of the smartest she had ever encountered. Also wise, when the mood took him.
"You know, you think more of my skills than my family does - outside of Jaime." He looked over at her, his look softening. "I suppose that's wifely affection for you - blinding you to obvious flaws."
She lays her head back on the pillow, still looking at him, "Everyone has flaws. But you have also proven you can hold your own on the battlefield. And that you have a sharp mind and even sharper tongue."
"I think you could be better than them." And that's not flattery. It's bold sincerity. Mostly because she already thought he was better than them.
Sansa can't remember the last time her heart raced so much. A time when it wasn't from fear as much as excitement. The fear was definitely present. They could get caught so easily, at any moment. But they were also escaping. Both had been held prisoner at King's Landing for much too long now (before being made actual prisoners for a crime neither of them committed).
She kept hold of the bag of goods as they ran through the streets, this way and that, making their way to the docks. She would slow only long enough for Tyrion to catch up, eventually taking his hand to pull him along with her.
Breathlessly, "Almost there! I can see it!"
Until she's suddenly grabbed by the arm and pulled into a hut, mouth covering her screams as she is pulled further into the darkness. She only stops struggling when she hears a very familiar voice in her ear, "Calm yourself, Lady Stark. We must not draw anymore attention to ourselves."
It felt oddly exhilarating, to be running full-tilt down the darkened streets of Kings Landing, a crossbow slung over one shoulder and a satchel filled with all the gold he could carry with the other. Not exactly the way he had seen himself leaving - and yet ...
Facing Jaime in the tunnels, with the harsh truth about his first wife and then, ye gods, then to face off with Shae and then his father. If not for getting Sansa to safety -- he doesn't know what would have happened. He might have killed them both. As it was, Sansa handled Shae like the wolf she was, and Tyrion ... well. Tyrion had the distinct pleasure of knocking his father silly and letting him shit all over himself before robbing the old bastard blind.
Enough of this. To the ship, to freedom and some day, to revenge. Oh ... he would be avenged on his family. That much he could promise them, as he struggled to keep up with Sansa, their fingers finally clasped together as they ran.
He hears her, "Almost there! I can see it!" just before she is yanked away from him and into a hut. He enters the hut with a snarl, his crossbow already up and pointed at --
"Gods be damned, Spider. You nearly had yourself shot for the trouble!" He huffed, mis-matched eyes glowering as he lowered the weapon, and his voice. "Which ship?"
Varys lets Sansa go after he knows she won't try to scream and closes the door shut behind Tyrion. He then lights the lantern near the door. There's a large wooden crate, the top not on it.
He points to the crate, "You, my small but noticeable friend, will need to get inside."
Then the Sansa, he indicates the clothes behind, "And you, my Lady, need to change your clothes and cut your hair quite short." Sansa whips her head back towards Varys after he says to cut her hair, mouth opening to protest such a request, "But I can't--"
He holds a hand up, "You must. Neither of you can be recognizable or the whole plan will fall apart."
Tyrion made a face, but at least he wasn't going to be going into it drunk. He started to shove their well-justified gains into the crate with him, knowing it would be safer in there with him then out on the ship proper with Sansa.
He turned towards her at Varys's statement, before he frowned and shook his head, "No, it won't. It's not the length of the hair - it's the color. Tully-red is the most recognizable shade outside of Lannister gold. Remember, that's why I'm getting shoved into a crate."
He tilted his head, before he snapped his fingers, "What kind of oil do you have in that lantern, and are you attached to that ridiculous scarf?"
Varys makes a face at Tyrion, "How ridiculous is it if it covers the red? And you want me to pour hot oil on your young wife's head now?"
Sansa looks between the both of them and rolls her own eyes. She's still running on adrenaline and the last thing she wants is for them to get caught when they are so close to freedom. After what she's been through at King's Landing and then the imprisonment and trial... If all it takes to escape is cutting her hair, she'll do it. It'll grow back.
She pulls her hair over one shoulder before taking the nearby knife and cut it off just just below her ear. She ties up the remaining hair and tosses it to Tyrion.
"I don't imagine we can leave it behind." It would be evidence. She then motions for Varys to give her the scarf.
"No, I want to use the grease to change the color -- or at least dirty it until we can get some ... " He trails off, as Sansa cut off her hair with one swipe, and then tossed it to him. Simple and practical.
He gave Varys a dry look. "Well, it appears we were both correct, and my wife has shown us how." He tucked the tail of auburn hair into his tunic, carefully, before he looked back at Sansa. His express was grave, as he walked over to her.
"None of this is going to be easy, Sansa. In fact ... this may get a great deal harder before we find someplace to settle."
She proceeds to wrap the scarf around her head, tucking her hair up into it, Varys nodding in approval after handing it off, "Starks are known for their stubbornness, Lord Tyrion. I think she has what it takes to weather the coming storm."
Sansa smiles a little to herself, pleased to hear such a thing from Lord Varys, maybe even blushing a little.
But she nods to Tyrion, tying off the scarf tightly so it will stay in place, the ends of it hanging down past her shoulders, "After what I have been through since my father died... I think I can handle it, husband." She's still hurt by the betrayal of Shae and that he had been lovers with her but if he says he had not been with her since they married, she will believe him. Give him further chance to prove himself.
Tyrion gave Sansa a long and thoughtful look, before he turned his head and nodded once at Varys. "As I've said before, Lord Varys, she might just survive the Lannisters yet."
With a tiny, pleased smirk on his face, he moved into the crate, pulling their gold and other wealth in with him. "Now, I am not going to be able to drink - again - for quite some time. Do not be surprised if I'm a tad bit ... cross when I emerge from my wooden slumber."
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( the north remembers )
Cersei had wanted to spend tea time with her, wanted to talk to her of "womanly things". Sansa already knew it was about bearing Tyrion a son. And she was right. In a way. The words surprised her in how kind Cersei had been. As genuine as the day Sansa had woken up a woman.
She opened with how even if she didn't love Tyrion, she would love whatever children they had. Because they would be hers. She continued with how if she bore an heir, Tyrion would be made Lord of Winterfell and Sansa its Lady. She would be able to return home. And that's what she truly wanted, wasn't it? Sansa was informed how Tyrion's father would never allow him to inherit Casterly Rock. Winterfell would be home to both of them if only they consummated their marriage and she produced an heir.
It truly was the escape Sansa had wanted, to be returned to her home, away from Joffrey and Cersei. It wouldn't be High Garden but Sansa had already parted with that dream when marrying Tyrion. It would be the home she had taken for granted and they could rebuild those walls stronger than before. Lannisters had enough gold.
And... Tyrion was kind. Kinder than she would have thought. It made his looks less intolerable over time, seeing the man he could be (when he choose to be) instead of the Imp he was known as. She wasn't sure if she could sleep with him but she remembered Margaery's words about how many he had pleasured despite his lack of height. Cersei's words stayed with her for the rest of the day and towards the end when the sun was setting.
It was a choice Sansa would have to make sooner rather than later. Produce an heir and return to the North or remain at King's Landing as a prisoner, Lord Tywin's glare always seeking them out when they were in his presence. Sansa had never noticed how Tyrion's father could be toward his children until she was forced to sit at their table for meals some days. Her father had never been like that with any of them. And, just like that, she knew Tyrion wouldn't, either.
He was not without fault but, as he had said to her once, he was not Joffrey.
So, later that night, she waited up for him in their bedchamber, sitting on the edge of the bed that was normally his side. Red hair down and dressed in nothing but a silk robe. The stunned look on his face when he came in made her smile, nodding at him, "Tyrion." He insisted they call each other by name. She was finally becoming accustomed to it.
Re: ( the north remembers )
Father, in his usually smooth and yet judging way, had spent most of breakfast berating Tyrion for still not producing an heir. It was enough to set Tyrion's very teeth on edge, and since he was so very close to parts his dear lord father held precious, it was unbelievably tempting. In punishment for that, he had withheld Tyrion's wine for the entirety of the day. Forcing him to work with water, food, and of course, books. The books at least did not make him nauseous.
Shae was ... surprisingly intolerable today as well. It shocked him, how curt she had become with him in such a short amount of time since his marriage. Especially considering his martial bed was not at all marital. Perhaps she was jealous. Perhaps she was tired of him. Perhaps he was simply tired of her - but he loved her. Didn't he? He wasn't quite sure anymore. Perhaps he simply loved the idea of being in love, even if that person never really loved them.
Perhaps the only highlight of the day was dinner. Still no wine, for his father was cross, but he managed to make Joffrey look like an idiot on no less than two occasions. He also caught Sansa hiding a sly smile - he saw you there, Lady Wolf. When she looked up at him, it almost dared him to say something about it ... Joffrey threw a fit, Margery tried to look sweet and complacent, and Cersei looked like - well. Cersei. Angry, beauty strained over too much rage.
Too bad they just weren't clever enough enough to figure out how it had been insulting. Ah well, at least his Lady Wolf smiled at him. Small pleasures.
Then off to the library again, for a few hours of reading ... again without wine. He took tea instead, finished the volume he was reading on the fortification of castles, and picked up the next one on siege weaponry. He paused, as he passed poetry, and sighed to himself. Oh why not. Shae was being foul, and his Lady Wolf would probably appreciate him reading to her instead of him putting his hands on her instead.
Not that he would, but still. He offered her what small comforts he could, in these tense days.
Entering their bedchamber, he went to hobble over to put the books by the table and stopped. Dead. Blue and black eye widening in surprise to find Sansa sitting on his side of the bed, beautiful and virginal in her simple silk robe, her red hair tumbling all about her shoulders ... gracious, perhaps he never needed poetry at all.
He gave her a cautious nod in return, and a half smile he hoped was more charming than it was confused. "Sansa. Did you ... want something?"
Seemed like the only reason she would be on his side of the bed voluntarily.
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"I--I was hoping we could..." She pauses, feeling heat come into her cheeks and looking down, a little embarrassed. How was she to ask such a thing? Further more, how could she ask it without sounding like a complete fool?
She swallows hard before looking at him once again, "I wish to consummate our marriage. To be your wife in all ways."
Adding, unsure if that would appeal to her husband, "If you will have me."
She can't remember her face ever feeling as hot as it did in that second.
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Right, well, first things first. Assess if this was some sort of real threat to Sansa. He pushed the books up onto the table, and went over to her, holding out his hand, palm up, so he could look her in the eye. Try to sense where this was coming from, "Did my father threaten you to do this? Did Joffrey?"
That heat in his voice, dear wife, is his protective urges coming to the rise. There is no painful pressure to his fingers, but there is fire in those mis-matched eyes. "I told you ... you would never be forced by me, by anyone. I may only be half a man, but I will wholly protect you from the both of them."
Cutting Joffrey literally off at the knees did have some appeal, after all.
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"I want to do this." I want to go home.
But she then grabs his hand with both of hers, "You will not need to fight or threaten anyone tonight, husband." It was a gentle tease but her heart swelled, realizing how he truly meant what he said. That he wanted to protect her. She had not encountered many men like that outside of her own family.
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Cersei ... yes. Cersei would have done so. Why - well for an heir - of course. He might never rule Casterly Rock, but his heir would, and that would solidify the Lannister holdings for generations to come. Gods, he loathed his family.
He sighed, letting her squeeze his hand as he looked up at her. Far, far up at her, his Lady Wolf. Pure white mountain of pleasurable curves and kissable spots. He wanted her - of course he did. So why did he hesitate?
Because it should not be awkward, her first time. She wanted romance, and poor girl, she got me. Well, he could not do much for being tall, or dashing, but he had wit and he did have skills .. of many varieties. So he dipped his head, to kiss her hands, softly brushing his mouth over her fingers.
"As my lady wife wishes." He looked up at her solemnly, before he winked, then smiled. "I was going to offer to read you poetry this evening - may I still? It might be a good way to ease both of us ... into a softer mood."
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That combined with all of her thinking from today, about how Tyrion would not be like his father, of how different he was from the other lions in his family, it was what helped the smile she gave him be less forced and more genuine. He wanted to protect her, wanted to take care of her. She just prayed to the Gods, old and new, that it was no act.
Nodding, "Yes. I would enjoy that." Because while Tyrion wasn't blessed with the "Lannister looks", he was blessed with a clever way for words.
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Now that was a smile, a warmer one. One that made it easier for his own mouth to retain its easy smile. Dropping her hands, he went over to the pile of slim volumes, plucked up one of them, and moved back to the bed. "Slide over, my dear Sansa, and we will see where poetry takes us."
He climbed up, beside her, no closer than their arms touching, and cracked open the volume. "Let us see ... ah yes, this should do it." He leaned back against the pillows, keeping his voice low-pitched, smooth with a touch of burr.
"Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup
And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honoring thee
As giving it a hope that there
It could not wither'd be;
But thou thereon didst only breathe
And sent'st it back to me;
Since when it grows,
and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee..."
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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.
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So he looked over at her, giving her a crooked smile, as he flipped the page. "That seems to have gone over well enough, so let us try another one."
He flipped through the pages, until he found a likely one. A little sad, but she did like the dramatics of poetry. Funnily enough, he found himself enjoying it himself.
"When I summon my sighs to call for you,
with the name love inscribed upon my heart,
And Laudable sound at the beginning
of the sweet accents of that word comes forth.
Your Regal state which I encounter next
doubles my strength for the high enterprise,
that “Tacitly the end cries, “for her honor
These better shoulders for support than yours.”
And so, to Laud and to Revere the word
itself instructs whenever someone calls you,
A lady worthy of all praise and honor –
Unless, perhaps, the Lady be offended
A mortal tongue be so presumptuous
to speak of his eternally green boughs.
Praise you, praise you!"
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He paused, then ventured quietly, "I have ... considered, time to time, writing my own accounts on the wonders of our country."
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The latter, however, has her lifting her head up, "I think you should."
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He gave her a faintly ironic eyebrow, before drawling out, "Would you be satisfied with a scribe for a husband, instead of a warrior lord? I'll admit, I like the life of the intellectual more. Fewer people trying to kill me."
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As for his mind, he was one of the smartest she had ever encountered. Also wise, when the mood took him.
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"I think you could be better than them." And that's not flattery. It's bold sincerity. Mostly because she already thought he was better than them.
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( strangers in another land )
She kept hold of the bag of goods as they ran through the streets, this way and that, making their way to the docks. She would slow only long enough for Tyrion to catch up, eventually taking his hand to pull him along with her.
Breathlessly, "Almost there! I can see it!"
Until she's suddenly grabbed by the arm and pulled into a hut, mouth covering her screams as she is pulled further into the darkness. She only stops struggling when she hears a very familiar voice in her ear, "Calm yourself, Lady Stark. We must not draw anymore attention to ourselves."
Lord Varys.
Re: ( strangers in another land )
Facing Jaime in the tunnels, with the harsh truth about his first wife and then, ye gods, then to face off with Shae and then his father. If not for getting Sansa to safety -- he doesn't know what would have happened. He might have killed them both. As it was, Sansa handled Shae like the wolf she was, and Tyrion ... well. Tyrion had the distinct pleasure of knocking his father silly and letting him shit all over himself before robbing the old bastard blind.
Enough of this. To the ship, to freedom and some day, to revenge. Oh ... he would be avenged on his family. That much he could promise them, as he struggled to keep up with Sansa, their fingers finally clasped together as they ran.
He hears her, "Almost there! I can see it!" just before she is yanked away from him and into a hut. He enters the hut with a snarl, his crossbow already up and pointed at --
"Gods be damned, Spider. You nearly had yourself shot for the trouble!" He huffed, mis-matched eyes glowering as he lowered the weapon, and his voice. "Which ship?"
no subject
He points to the crate, "You, my small but noticeable friend, will need to get inside."
Then the Sansa, he indicates the clothes behind, "And you, my Lady, need to change your clothes and cut your hair quite short." Sansa whips her head back towards Varys after he says to cut her hair, mouth opening to protest such a request, "But I can't--"
He holds a hand up, "You must. Neither of you can be recognizable or the whole plan will fall apart."
no subject
He turned towards her at Varys's statement, before he frowned and shook his head, "No, it won't. It's not the length of the hair - it's the color. Tully-red is the most recognizable shade outside of Lannister gold. Remember, that's why I'm getting shoved into a crate."
He tilted his head, before he snapped his fingers, "What kind of oil do you have in that lantern, and are you attached to that ridiculous scarf?"
no subject
Sansa looks between the both of them and rolls her own eyes. She's still running on adrenaline and the last thing she wants is for them to get caught when they are so close to freedom. After what she's been through at King's Landing and then the imprisonment and trial... If all it takes to escape is cutting her hair, she'll do it. It'll grow back.
She pulls her hair over one shoulder before taking the nearby knife and cut it off just just below her ear. She ties up the remaining hair and tosses it to Tyrion.
"I don't imagine we can leave it behind." It would be evidence. She then motions for Varys to give her the scarf.
no subject
He gave Varys a dry look. "Well, it appears we were both correct, and my wife has shown us how." He tucked the tail of auburn hair into his tunic, carefully, before he looked back at Sansa. His express was grave, as he walked over to her.
"None of this is going to be easy, Sansa. In fact ... this may get a great deal harder before we find someplace to settle."
no subject
Sansa smiles a little to herself, pleased to hear such a thing from Lord Varys, maybe even blushing a little.
But she nods to Tyrion, tying off the scarf tightly so it will stay in place, the ends of it hanging down past her shoulders, "After what I have been through since my father died... I think I can handle it, husband." She's still hurt by the betrayal of Shae and that he had been lovers with her but if he says he had not been with her since they married, she will believe him. Give him further chance to prove himself.
no subject
With a tiny, pleased smirk on his face, he moved into the crate, pulling their gold and other wealth in with him. "Now, I am not going to be able to drink - again - for quite some time. Do not be surprised if I'm a tad bit ... cross when I emerge from my wooden slumber."