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The one thing Tyrion hated most about bookstores were the high shelves. Especially when there wasn’t a ladder or stool in sight. Then his pride and dignity were sacrificed on the altar of trying to find someone to remove the book from the shelf.
Someone-- who thought they were being particularly clever-- would make a quip about his height and laugh until they were red in the face. He hadn’t found it particularly funny the first time and it certainly wasn’t funny the twentieth.
When he saw that the book he had been looking for was just out of his reach, he nearly walked out of the bookshop and said to hell with it. However, Tyrion was certain this was the only place that had this particular book-- a rather lengthy discourse on the changes of the seasons in Westeros. With a sigh he steeled his pride (his father would have told him it was ridiculous for a dwarf to have any sort of dignity, but Tyrion never did agree with his father) and went to seek out someone for assistance.
He made it three steps before he was interrupted by a quiet voice.
“Can I help you?”
He turned slowly. No, today was definitely not a day that his dignity would remain intact.
She was gorgeous-- because gods forbid he had an ugly woman help him-- with auburn curls and a soft smile. And she was bloody tall. Her heels made him dizzy just to look at them.
Her blue eyes sparkled with something close to mirth. Seven hells he was fucked.
“Would you mind grabbing On the Changes of the Seasons?”
“Of course.”
He caught himself staring as she grabbed the book. She seemed so damned familiar. She handed him the book with, looking at him expectantly.
“Thank you, my lady.” He gave her a half-mocking bow.
She laughed, and gave him a tiny curtsy. “You are quite welcome. I hope you enjoy it.”
It was only after he paid and was nearly at his car when he realized why she seemed so familiar.
That was Sansa Stark.
***
Sansa was as surprised as anyone when she took over the running The Chipped Cup and the Rose. She never liked reading, except for the occasional damsel-in-distress novel and some poetry. However, when the last owner thought of selling it, Sansa couldn’t let it go into the hands of someone who didn’t appreciate it.Or-- even worse-- tore it down and replaced it.
The bookstore had always been a place of refuge, even if she wasn’t buying books every day. It was a place to escape the stares and cruel whispers and she took every advantage of the safehouse Isabel had presented her.
Sansa tried to keep it like it always was. There wasn’t much she wanted to change anyway. All the customers knew her and were more than happy to see her take the helm. She was content-- if not happy-- with the routine she set up for herself.
Until Tyrion Lannister came along.
She held a fondness for him-- and quite a lot of guilt-- and she near panicked when she found him in her store. She desperately hoped he wasn’t here to tell her off, which she deserved for her behavior towards him when she was with Joffrey, some six years later.
But he hadn’t. In fact, Sansa was certain he didn’t even recognize her. Which, she guessed, made sense. He probably hadn’t thought of her much in the last few years, but she never forgot him.
***
Tyrion decided his inability to recognize Sansa came down to the fact he just wasn’t expecting her to be there. The last time he saw her, she was sporting an angry bruise in the shape if a handprint and bidding him goodbye.
He meant to never return to the bookstore, he was almost certain she didn’t want an ugly reminder of his family. Yet, he found himself in the shop a week later.
“Hello Sansa.”
“Tyrion.”
They stood in front of the door, neither speaking.
“Did you enjoy the book?” Sansa asked finally, making eye contact with him. He’s not surprised she broke the silence first. She always was brave.
“It was very informative.”
“And very dry,” she returned, taking a stray curl behind her ear.
He smiled. “Yes that too. You’ve read it, I take it?”
“I try to read anything that looks interesting.” She looked a bit shy at that, as if she was expecting criticism from him. “But I still mostly stick to poetry.”
“And what about knights in shining armor?” he quipped.
Her face turned serious and a bit sad. “No, no more knights.”
Tyrion mentally berated himself. Of course knights would be a sore subject. How many times had she called Joffrey her knight? It was practically her pet name for him.
“I’m sorry Sansa. I hadn’t thought…”
“It isn’t your fault.” She gives him a tiny, but sincere, smile. “Are you here for another book or two?” She asked, gracefully changing the subject and sparing him any further idiocy. She always was graceful though. Sansa Stark had always been a lady, even in the most dire of moments.
“What do you recommend?” Tyrion asked, as he followed her into the heavily packed shelves.
***
They had created a routine, something Sansa never expected but deeply enjoyed. Tyrion made it a habit to come to her tiny bookshop and talk. They began with just discussing books, it was a nice, safe subject, but it quickly moved on to other subjects.
They exchanged opinions on politics, books, stories of their families, and generally gossiped. Tyrion was amazed by how much she knew about the various citizens of King’s Landing. Whenever, he asked how, she just gave him and enigmatic smile, and said some things were better kept as secrets.
It was after their weekly lunch, a few weeks after their first lunch together, when Tyrion finally asked her. He was shy and nervous-- two expressions she never thought she would see on him, and it made it all more endearing.
He looked so hopeful and she liked him entirely too much to say no.
***
Sansa arrived entirely too early. She left her bookshop only because her nerves became too great to linger in her empty shop any longer. The clear skies and brisk autumn air calmed her on her work to the cafe, however her nervousness came back in a tenfold as soon as she entered the coffee shop. Tea couldn’t even calm her, so she was left with tapping fingers for forty-five minutes until their date was supposed to start.
She hoped he would be as nervous as she was and arrive early too, so she could get this all over with. The last time she ever dated was with Joffrey, and even that wasn’t really dates. Just subtle ways for him to show his power over her and his control over her life. Sansa had no idea what was expected of her and what the etiquette was. Not knowing what to do made her all the more nervous.
By the time Tyrion arrived, a good ten minutes early to their pre established time, Sansa finished her third espresso. She abandoned tea when she realized it would do nothing for her, and she was beginning realize all the caffeine probably hadn’t been a great idea. Her heart was thrumming in her throat and the room was beginning to spin a bit.
He looked surprised to see her, but still wore a giant smile, like he hadn’t really expected for her to come. That smile stayed in place until he neared her table, and then morphed into a look of worry.
“Are you okay, Sansa?”
“Yes.” She gasped. Gods it was so hot in here.
He continued to look at her. “Are you sure? You’re a bit pale.”
“Perfectly fine.” Were they turning up the heating? “Maybe we could step out for a bit?”
He watched her with concern as she stumbled out of the cafe and into the patio. She sat down heavily in one of the wrought-iron chairs, hands trembling so badly the entire table shook.
“Sansa, have you eaten today?”
“No.” Poorly done on her part to down espressos without eating.
“Have you had a lot of caffeine?” he asks gently, placing a hand on her back.
She’s quiet, more than a little embarrassed about what she’d done. “Yes. Three espressos.” She pauses. “With extra shots.”
He did very well pretending not to be amused, and called over a waiter.
“Could you get water and some fruit for the lady? She doesn’t seem to be feeling very well.”
***
“Remind me to never take you out drinking.” Tyrion teased, as Sansa laughed and tried her hardest to look offended.
“I make sure to pace myself when I drink. AND I make sure to have plenty and water and eat.” She defended, crossing her arms in front of her.
“Oh, so it’s just coffee you can’t handle then, my lady?”
She hit his chest, leaning her head against his shoulder. She didn’t bother opening the shop back up, and they sat against the far wall of bookshelves.
His stunted fingers found their way into her hair, soft auburn curls sliding like silk between them. He half-expected her to pull away and demand he leave, but, instead, she just melted farther into him, completely relaxed.
It’s then, although he has thought it before, that he realizes Sansa runs this relationship.
So it’s Sansa who presses the softest, chastest kiss against his lips.
And it’s Sansa who, years later, still laughs about the day she silenced Tyrion Lannister, the man always ready with a quip, with a kiss.