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She runs her finger along the dusty tomes, each volume calling to her. She was aware of the eyes that watched her, following her as she wanders about the chamber. Those eyes wait with baited breath and Sansa can feel a memory tickling at the back of her mind. It's reminding her of that time long ago, the time when she was naught but a child who believed in the stories behind silly little songs. She remembers how she used to spend hours in Winterfell with a book in her lap, so rapt in stories that she sometimes missed supper.
A voice is beckoning her from her reverie. She has almost forgotten the presence of her dwarf husband who had so graciously shown her this place. She tears her eyes away from the many tomes to address Lord Tyrion.
“This is a sanctuary of sorts for me,” he's saying. He has that look of fondness in his eyes again, glancing about the books before gazing upon his lovely wife once more. Sansa remains uncomfortable under his scrutiny but she does well to hide it. “I thought you might like to come here to escape it all. It's not quite as big as the one in Winterfell...”
“It's perfect,” she says unexpectedly. She's meeting his eyes with nothing but genuine emotion for the first time in a long time and she cannot recall the last time anything was perfect to her. Tyrion expects his heart to burst out of his chest when she smiles. A very subtle quirk of the lips, but a smile nonetheless. It is a rare occurrence from his young wife and he is happy to have witnessed such a beautiful sight.
“I am glad you approve, my lady,” he tells her with a nod of his head.
“Thank you,” she says in a voice so low he can barely hear it. He rewards her with a smile. He turns and leaves her to peruse the many shelves. Sansa Stark is content for the time being.
Sansa spends most of her days in the library. It is only among the books that she feels like herself. She never fails to return to her chambers with a crick in her neck from being bent over a book for most of the day. If Tyrion is there he gives her one of his all-knowing smiles and continues with whatever it is that keeps him occupied.
Some days her husband joins her in the library. They do not exchange more than a few pleasantries. They sit in the silence reading together. Her with a large book opened on the table and him with the book sitting comfortably in his lap. They find themselves here after having supped with any member of the Lannister family. It brings them both a sense of peace to do away with unpleasant things in favor of losing oneself in a book.
Tyrion finds this the opportune time to really observe Sansa Stark in her element. Occasionally he'll glance up from his book to look at her. Her brow is puckered and her eyes move quickly over the words. Nothing he can say or do at this moment will bring her attention away from what she's reading. Her fingers are poised to flip the page and she's biting down hard on her lip.
It must be a fascinating tale he thinks to himself. But any story would be a far better story than hers.
There is only one time Tyrion finds her here without a book in front of her. She's sitting in her usual spot staring straight ahead, eyes unseeing. Her cheeks are puffy and red, her eyes wet from recent tears shed. He knows she must want to be left alone, but he cannot help himself.
“Sansa?” he inquires in a cautious tone. She tenses but does not say anything. It takes some time for her to finally look at him, but he's glad that she does.
“My lord?” she questions as if there is nothing wrong. She dabs at her wet cheeks with a handkerchief, a vain attempt to hide evidence of her vulnerability.
He takes her hand in his and looks into her eyes. Words aren't needed. There are no words that would be enough to make up for whatever Joffrey has said to her this time. He's surprised to feel Sansa squeeze his hand. She had always been indifferent to his touch before.
It's a start.
The more time spent together in the library, the more their budding friendship began to flourish. Before it was stolen glances when they thought the other wasn't looking. Now it had developed into conversation. Sansa and Tyrion talked about everything from politics to dragons. He loved the way her eyes would light up when she talked about her latest literary endeavors.
Her eyes, he realizes, are something he can gaze upon forever. The bright shade of blue is alarming at times, but they hold so much. One glance into their infinite depths can tell him everything he needs to know. There are days when they burn brighter than others. Those are the days when she is not obligated to be in the presence of a Lannister. Then there are days when that blue is muted and he knows she will not speak with him under any circumstance.
It is understandable. Although he is the demon monkey Lannister outcast, he is a Lannister nonetheless.
His love for her grows without him realizing it, and it leaves a subtle ache in his heart when she's gone.