Disclaimer: George R.R. Martin owns them.

In the morning, she sings.

Sometimes it was just a soft humming that would wake him. It would drift into his dreams and he would open his eyes to find her at her vanity. She would smile at him through the mirror, never missing a note as she brushed her hair.

Other times, Tyrion would be at his desk and the breeze would carry her song up from the gardens below. Sometimes he would leave his work and wander onto the balcony just to watch her. Sansa would walk along the paths singing as she picked flowers that she would later arrange in their bedroom.

The songs were mostly of love…ones she'd learned as a child. Tyrion knew most of them. Some brought back memories he'd long since buried. But they took on new meaning when she sang them. Whether she was singing for herself or for him- he didn't care. The sound of her voice was enough.

It was like coming home.

In the evening, he reads.

Sometimes she would join him in the library. She would bring her sewing and they would sit by the fire together- the only sound that of each turned page.

Other times, when sleep evaded them, he would read aloud. He would sit on the settee at the foot of the bed and soon the room would be filled with the gentle rumble of his voice. Sansa would listen as she lay staring up at the ceiling, her head at the foot of the bed and one arm stretched out above her, her fingers laced through Tyrion's.

The stories were mostly adventures. Sansa was surprised to find she preferred these. They reminded her of Arya and her brothers in a way that didn't make her heart ache. It was comforting to think of her family now…whether they were far away or resting at peace. And the sound of Tyrion's voice, gentle and steady, made her feel safe.

Like she was finally home.