Fellowship & Fairydust

December 5, 299

The morning of her fourteenth name-day dawned grey and cold. Sansa opened her eyes and closed them again almost immediately. She decided that if there was any day in the world that one should sleep away, this was it. There was the heaviness in the air of a storm brewing, and already she could feel the steady aching in her stomach that meant her red flower would soon be blooming.

The door to her room opened, and Adelaide poked her head in. A month into her service and the girl was still as skittish as the day they first met. She was a funny girl, Adelaide – shy and flighty most of the day, she had moments of boldness that truly surprised Sansa. She’d caught Sansa once, pressing the needle to her skin, and though she hadn’t said a word, the hard look in her eyes and the brusque way she had pushed Sansa’s hands away and cleaned the wound had spoken volumes. Since then Sansa found that she had to be more careful to conceal what she was doing.

“A-are you still in bed?” Adelaide asked. “Only, Lord Tyrion has arranged for you to breakfast with Lady Margaery and Lady Olenna.”

Sansa frowned, wondering why Tyrion would arrange such a thing. She thought back to the night before and decided that he must have suspected she was lying about eating dinner. Of all the ways there were to deal with it, Sansa found that this wasn’t the worst option. She liked Margaery and Olenna. Margaery was like the older sister Sansa had always dreamed of.

It was a sobering thought. If she’d had an older sister, then she’d probably be the one married to Tyrion, and where would Sansa be? Dead, probably, as Arya was presumed to be.

“Another thing, milady,” Adelaide said quietly.

Sansa raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“Lord Tyrion requests that you join him tonight for dinner,” Adelaide said.

Sansa rolled her eyes, irritated, but then she nodded. “I’ll meet him here at the dinner bell, then.”

“Very well, my lady.” Adelaide selected a dress and helped Sansa into it.

***

Tyrion entered the smithy, coins clinking against his leg. He had roused himself early that morning, deciding that one gift he could give Sansa would be a little freedom on her name day. He didn’t delude himself into thinking they were the best of friends yet, and though he intended to celebrate with her that night, he thought she might appreciate a morning away from him. He’d spoken to Lady Margaery the day before and asked her if she might like to have breakfast with Sansa. He, himself, wasn’t sure if Margaery could be trusted, but Sansa wouldn’t have lasted this long at King’s Landing without knowing the right things to say to the right people, and she needed girls her own age to talk to. She spent far too much of her time brooding. It couldn’t possibly be healthy.

The blacksmith didn’t say a word to Tyrion. He pulled a wrapped package from beneath the counter and held it out to him. “Exactly to your specifications, my Lord.”

Tyrion opened the package and examined its contents. Nodding his approval, he wrapped it again and flicked a few gold dragons at the smith. “Thank you. I trust in your… discretion?”

“Of course,” the smith said.

“Very good.” Tyrion flicked another coin at the man, turned, and left, the package tucked under one arm.

***

The gardens where the Tyrell women took their breakfast were extraordinarily beautiful, even when the clouds hung heavy in the sky and the mist made Sansa’s hair wild. She greeted them cordially, pressing a chaste kiss to Margaery’s cheek and curtsying to Lady Olenna.

“Oh, cease with the formalities, silly girl,” Lady Olenna said. “It’s only us.”

“Yes, do sit.” Margaery patted the chair beside her.

Smiling gently, Sansa sat beside Margaery. “Thank you.”

“Grandmother bought sweet biscuits.” Margaery placed a couple on a plate and slid them in front of Sansa.

“I’ve never been one for eggs and fruit,” Olenna said, lifting a cup of tea to her wrinkled lips.

Sansa smiled. “Me neither. I much prefer biscuits. My mother…,” She trailed off, frowning.

“What about your mother?” Margaery pressed.

Sansa gave a weak smile. “Nothing. I was just thinking, my mother used to say I was lucky I’m so tall, or I’d be incredibly fat.”

Olenna laughed. “She sounds like my kind of woman.”

“She’s a traitor,” Sansa replied automatically.

“Yes, yes, of course, she is.” Olenna rolled her eyes. “Have another biscuit, girl.”

Sansa’s skin itched. She didn’t care much about biscuits just now. As much as she enjoyed Margaery and Olenna, at that moment she wished to be away from them, tucked away somewhere private with her thoughts and her sewing needle.

Margaery reached out and clasped Sansa’s hand. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen you. How are you? Is Tyrion still treating you well?”

“Quite well,” Sansa said.

“And how is bedding him?” Olenna asked brazenly. “Enjoyable?”

Sansa flushed and looked away.

“Stop, grandmother,” Margaery said. “They’re not as open about such matters where she’s from. You’re embarrassing her.”

Sansa nodded, willing to take Margaery’s excuse. Quietly she added, “A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“Of course,” Olenna said. “Do you think it’s been productive, though? It’s been nearly a month….”

“Not yet,” Sansa answered honestly. “I’m flowering even today.”

Margaery gazed at her with sympathetic eyes.

“It’ll happen soon,” Olenna said confidently. “Sometimes it takes a year. Sometimes more.”

Sansa nodded. Internally she was thinking that it would take a lot more than a year for her to get pregnant, considering that she had no intention of laying with her husband.

***

Tyrion had gone to great lengths to lay out the table. As the dinner bell drew nearer, he lit the two candles in the center of the table. He listened to the bells toll, and a moment later, the chamber doors opened, and Sansa stepped in. Her day with Margaery and Olenna seemed to have done her some good: Her cheeks were pink, and there was some life in her eyes.

Sansa’s eyes stopped for a moment when she saw the spread on the table. “My Lord. Is this an occasion?”

“I should think so,” Tyrion said. “It’s your fourteenth name day.”

Sansa’s face fell. “Oh. That.”

Tyrion frowned. When Adelaide told him about Sansa’s name day, she hadn’t mentioned Sansa having any particular aversion to it. Still mulling it over, he pulled a chair out for her and, once she had seated herself, pushed it back in for her. He rounded the table to sit across from her.

“I wonder. Is there a reason you didn’t mention your name day to me? I am your husband.”

“You are my husband,” Sansa repeated. “And you will do your duty by me. I know that.”

Tyrion stared at her, not comprehending.

“A name day is supposed to be a celebration,” Sansa told him. “Half the castle could care less if I have one, and you… well. You will do your duty.”

Tyrion winced. He didn’t try to correct her. Instead, he said, “I know that dinner with me is not the sort of name day you might have enjoyed at Winterfell. Is it really better for the day to pass without any acknowledgement?”

Sansa shrugged. “It just seemed foolish to bring it up. Children care about their name days.”

Tyrion snorted. “I’ve had twenty-seven name days, and I’ve celebrated all but the first ten.”

“Ten?” Sansa leaned forward, interest touching her eyes. “You left home when you were ten?”

“No.” Tyrion took a drink of wine. He inclined his head. “My father left Casterly Rock when I was ten, to come here to the capital.”

“Oh.” Sansa took a bite of her chicken and a gulp of water. “So how did you celebrate your name days?”

Tyrion frowned. “Mostly with a group of exotic companions, actually.”

Sansa snorted.

“You weren’t wrong when you called me a pervert,” Tyrion said apologetically with a shrug. “I haven’t been to a… place like that, since we were wed, though.”

“Nearly a month,” Sansa said dryly. “A record.”

Tyrion flushed.

“I’m sorry.” Sansa looked down at the table. “That was spiteful. I know you’re doing what you can to make this marriage… manageable.”

Tyrion winced at her choice in wording, but he did not attempt to correct her. They continued their meal as they had most of their meals together: In silence. Only when Tyrion was sure that she had eaten most of what was on her plate did he stand, calling for Adelaide to take their plates away.

“My Lord?” Sansa looked at him in surprise.

“I have a gift for you,” Tyrion told her.

Sansa’s eyebrows raised into her brow line.

“Two, actually,” Tyrion corrected, inclining his head.

“Two gifts?” Sansa repeated. Not knowing what else to say, she mumbled, “You’ll spoil me.”

“I very much doubt it.” As Adelaide left the room, their dishes in her hands, Tyrion crouched beside the chaise longue and pulled two packages out. He set them on the table in front of Sansa.

Sansa stared at them. They were wrapped simply in brown paper, with twine holding the paper in place. It was the sort of practical wrapping that her father would have used. For a moment she toyed with the twine, thinking about what these packages might hold. Nothing within them, she was sure, could make up for the name day she should have enjoyed, had things been different.

Tyrion sat down across from her. “They won’t bite, Sansa.”

Sansa blinked at him, and then she nodded. She tugged one of the packages closer to herself and pulled on the twine. The paper fell away, and she found herself looking at a simple necklace with a small pendant. The pendant had a stone in the center of it, a small red stone. It was a simple necklace – an everyday sort of necklace. Sansa licked her lower lip. “It’s beautiful, Tyrion. Thank you.”

“Hold it up to the light,” Tyrion said.

Sansa frowned at him.

“Hold it to the light and look directly into that stone,” Tyrion pressed.

Sansa did as she was bid, holding the pendant up and staring at the stone. She realized that there was a picture carved at the bottom of the pendant, magnified by the stone. Squinting, she brought the stone closer to her eye. The picture, in intricate detail, was of a direwolf. Sansa gasped.

“It’s traditional for a lady to get a symbol of her house on her fourteenth name day,” Tyrion said. “I had to be… creative… as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“I love it,” Sansa said quietly. “It’s perfect.”

Tyrion offered her a small smile.

“Thank you, truly,” Sansa said.

“It’s the least I could offer you,” Tyrion said, “after everything you’ve been through.”

Sansa unclasped the necklace and placed it around her neck. It was a pretty piece of jewelry in its own right – simple, but pretty. Sansa suspected that it was simple on purpose: It was stylish, but not so extravagant that people would ask for a closer look at it. She could wear the direwolf against her breast without anyone any the wiser.

“You’ve one more present,” Tyrion reminded her.

Sansa shook her head. “You’ve already given me plenty.”

“Should I take it back then?” Tyrion asked, nodding at the remaining parcel on the table.

Sansa chuckled.

“Go on.”

She smiled at him and once again untied the parcel. When the paper fell away this time, it was to reveal a simple black hair comb; the sort that she would usually wear. Sansa frowned as she looked at it. She had a dozen like it. Next to the necklace, it was almost a letdown. Still, she didn’t want to seem ungrateful.

“Thank you, Tyrion. I shall wear it proudly.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes. He reached across the table, held the tines of the comb in his hands, and pushed on the back. A small, sharp knife slipped out, the blade about the size of Sansa’s thumb. Sansa stared at it; disbelief evident on her face.

“A lady should always be able to defend herself,” Tyrion said. “You can’t kill anyone with a blade this size, of course, but you could hurt someone or disable them for long enough to run if the need for it should ever arise… I thought it might make you feel safer during these troubling times.”

Sansa carefully sheathed the knife again. “It does. Thank you.”

Tyrion inclined his head. “Happy name day, Sansa.”

“Thank you, Tyrion.” She touched her hand once more to the necklace around her throat. Duty alone, she realized, would not have provided her with gifts this thoughtful.

***

Sometime later, when lemon cakes had been eaten, and Sansa had placed her new necklace and comb on the dresser, Tyrion announced that he would retire to bed. Sansa swallowed, watching as he walked towards the chaise lounge.

“That seat is terribly uncomfortable, Tyrion,” Sansa said quietly. “You could… that is, we could…”

Tyrion watched her struggle through her words.

“Do you think we could share a bed,” Sansa said, her face heating, “without sharing a bed?”

Tyrion gave her a searching look. “Only if you’re okay with it, Sansa. I’m fine on the chaise. I don’t take up much room.”

Sansa’s face still felt hot, and part of her did want to take the offer back, but instead, she shook her head. “I think… I think sharing the bed is a… good step.”

“Okay,” Tyrion said quietly.

They changed into their nightclothes on opposite sides of a privacy divider. When they were both dressed, Tyrion let Sansa make the first move. She took the side of the bed furthest from the door, sliding under the covers and holding herself stiff as a board. Tyrion frowned, plucking a book from a shelf and carrying it with him as he approached the bed. He hoped that if he didn’t try to cuddle up to her right away, she might be more comfortable with the arrangement.

As he read, he could feel her holding her body stiffly. Every once in a while, she’d turn and then turn again. Every time he glanced over it was to find her eyes still open.

When he’d read a chapter without change, Tyrion sighed. “I can go back to the chaise longue, Sansa. I don’t mind.”

“No,” Sansa said. She gave him a nervous look. “I… If it doesn’t work tonight, I’m afraid I’ll lose the nerve to try again.”

Tyrion bit back a sigh. She was so very young. He turned back to his book.

Sansa rolled over again.

“I could read to you,” Tyrion offered.

“What?”

Tyrion glanced at her, and then he flipped to the front of the book and began to read aloud. “Once upon a time, in a land far from Westeros, there lived a boy who dreamed of being a king….”

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