When Joffrey summoned the dwarves for the mock war reenactment, Sansa felt her stomach roll. Bile rose in the back of her throat, threatening to give her away. She swallowed it back and took a deep breath, forcing herself to keep her eyes fixed on the distasteful display in front of her.
Then when all had fallen but faux-Joffrey and faux-Robb, Sansa could feel the scream swelling in her chest. The pain and the sorrow she was trying so hard to quell was fighting to get out. She was losing the battle; her eyes were stinging until… until she felt a warm, reassuring hand, cover her white-knuckle grip on the table.
Sansa glanced down to see Tyrion had grasped her hand, reminding her that she was not alone. His offer of comfort steadied her. Tethered her in the moment, and prevented her from drowning in the sea of her swirling emotions.
Sansa let out a small breath and, like a release valve, the pressure eased. She slackened her grip on the table, and Tyrion patted her hand, the only sign of encouragement he could offer under the circumstances.
It was enough. It was a reminder.
I am not alone.
~ X X X ~
Humiliation has always been a constant state of being for Tyrion, and is something he has come to accept. He wears it as an armor, refusing to let it define him. Somehow, though, today it is almost too much to bear.
When Joffrey poured the wine over his head, Tyrion tried to shake it off, metaphorically speaking, and say something witty. This was not allowed. Tyrion would not be spared today, not on the King's wedding day when all the cruel bastard wanted was to strut and show who was in charge.
Still, Tyrion couldn't help trying to ease his own discomfort and save face when he was called on to be the royal cupbearer. This earned him more embarrassment and humiliation. The goblet dropped and kicked from Tyrion's reach.
Tyrion had crawled under the table, wishing the ground would swallow him up, and wondered why he should expect anything more. No one cared about him. Maybe Jaime did a little, but not enough to help him. Not enough to deny a king.
Then he saw it. Saw her. His wife.
Sansa was in front of the table, bending to pick up the goblet. Tyrion had froze momentarily, unable to do anything but look upon her in awe.
Tyrion climbed from beneath the table, and walked to her. Sansa held the cup out to him, a look of understanding, and just a flash of defiance in her eyes. Their fingers grazed as he took the goblet from her, and he met her gaze, trying to convey his gratitude. She did more than just help him.
She made him see.
I am not alone.
Author's Note: I couldn't resist writing this after the interactions in The Lion and The Rose (S4E2) last night. It was such a crucial scene to their relationship. Untied by cruelty and finally realizing they are more alike than they ever imagined. Let me know what you think! Also, come check me out on tumblr: allons-ymrholmes I post a lot of Sanrion (though I am a multifandom blog)