Chapter Text
The line to see Father Christmas at Lannister’s Department Store was nearly out the door. Sansa Stark checked her phone for the fourteenth time, trying to clock just how long she’d been waiting in line with her little brother Rickon. Although her brother Bran had contented himself with putting a letter in the post, five-year-old Rickon had insisted upon sitting on Santa’s knee and reciting his wish list aloud. Sansa had heard the whole thing a dozen times already—a new bike, a new tablet, a house for his direwolf, Shaggydog—it went on and on and on, all the way down to gifts for their mother and father. Sansa knew a department store Santa was not going to be able to fulfill any of her little brother’s wishes—their parents had already finished all their holiday shopping anyway—but seeing Santa would make Rickon happy, and so Sansa had agreed to take him.
Forty-five minutes.
Sansa sighed and tucked her phone back into her purse. She looked down at Rickon. His head was bent over the portable gaming system in his hands, and he was thoroughly engrossed in whatever video game he was playing. Sansa supposed it was for the best, really. Rickon could prattle on quite a bit once he got started. He was the youngest of the five Stark children, and the most spoiled. Sansa loved him dearly, but sometimes he was a handful.
Sansa reached down and ruffled the curls on top of Rickon’s head, but he shrugged away with a dissatisfied grunt, clearly annoyed by the attention.
Sansa lifted her head and looked around the department store. In the far distance, she saw the makeup counter and a sign pointing up the escalator, leading to the Women’s Wear Department. Sansa would have much preferred to be at either of those places at the moment. Her sister Arya was running around the store somewhere with her new boyfriend, Gendry Baratheon, probably making out in some dark corner or under a clothing rack. Sansa had already walked in on the two of them having sex more than once, and it wasn’t an experience she ever wanted to have again. Unlike Sansa, Arya Stark simply had no shame.
The line inched along, and Sansa took a few steps forward, Rickon somehow knowing it was time to move even though his eyes were still glued to the screen in his hands. They rounded a bend in the line, and Sansa finally got her first glimpse of Father Christmas. The hearty laugh, the round face, and even rounder belly, told her in an instant who had stepped into Santa’s shoes this year. Her father’s oldest friend, Robert Baratheon, had donned a white wig and powdered his beard so that he could play Father Christmas. Sansa was sure that his wife, Cersei Lannister, was none too pleased to see her husband taking on such a menial role, but Robert seemed to be enjoying meeting the children, and Sansa couldn’t help but smile at her own childhood memories of him visiting Winterfell dressed as Father Christmas.
Sansa’s eyes lingered on Robert for a moment longer, waiting to see if she could catch his eye, but he was too focused on the little boy in his lap to notice her, and Sansa knew she would have to wait her turn for Santa’s attention just like everyone else.
Sansa looked away, her gaze falling to Santa’s right, where she was more than a little surprised to find Robert’s brother-in-law, Tyrion Lannister, standing beside him, wearing an elf costume. Tyrion had been born with achondroplasia, a form of dwarfism, and apparently, someone in his family had decided to exploit that this holiday season. He was dressed in a green tunic with red and green striped tights, a matching green hat atop his head with a single jingle bell hanging from the end. On anyone else, the costume would have looked festive, but on Tyrion Lannister, it just looked wrong.
Tyrion was a notorious womanizer with a seat on the board of directors at Lanniscorp. Although Sansa didn’t know him all that well, she knew that he valued his dignity above all else. And at that moment, there was very little about him that seemed dignified. His arms were crossed over his chest, a fistful of candy canes clutched in one hand. He was scowling darkly and looked pretty much like the angriest elf Sansa had ever seen. She understood, of course, why he looked so surly, but she hated the idea of the children seeing him in such a state. They had come to visit Santa in the hopes of having all their Christmas dreams come true, not to be greeted by a disgruntled elf. Sansa decided that when she and Rickon finally reached the front of the line, she was going to tell Tyrion Lannister just that.
It was another forty-five minutes before it was finally Rickon’s turn to sit on Santa’s lap. He tucked his video game away in his backpack and then ran straight to Santa.
Robert caught Rickon just as he was about to jump into his lap. He hoisted the boy up and balanced him on his knee with a hearty laugh. “Rickon Stark!” he exclaimed. “And how have you been, my boy?”
Rickon immediately began regaling “Santa” with stories of just how good he had been all year. As he rambled on, Robert looked up at Sansa and gave her a little wink of acknowledgment. Sansa smiled at him, remembering a time when she too had believed that he was Father Christmas.
Sansa stepped aside, allowing Rickon and Robert some time alone. Instead, she focused her attention on Tyrion Lannister, his scowl even deeper now than it had been almost an hour ago.
“Merry Christmas,” Sansa said in her lightest, most cheerful tone. She was going to get Tyrion Lannister to smile, even if it killed her.
Tyrion looked up, noticing her for the first time. He paused for a moment, as if she were the last person he had ever expected to see waiting in line for Santa. Then he grumbled, “Merry Christmas.”
“You don’t sound very merry.”
“And why should I be merry, Miss Stark? It’s three days before Christmas, and instead of being in Dorne, getting drunk on a sandy beach like I’d planned, I’m here, dressed in this ridiculous costume, making a fool of myself in front of all of King’s Landing. What do I have to be merry about?”
Sansa looked around, taking in the faces of all the happy children who were waiting with hopeful hearts to meet Father Christmas and one of his elves. When she looked at Tyrion again, she said, “It seems to me, you have a lot to be merry about. Just look at all the children who’ve come to see you and Father Christmas. Look at their smiles, at the joy in their eyes. It’s almost magical.”
“Magic is for children. And so is Christmas. I’m only here because my father forced me to be here. Something about needing to experience the business from all angles, from the ground up. Do you know what my brother is doing right now? He’s taking the other board members out to lunch at the fanciest restaurant in town, wining and dining them while I stand here like the world’s biggest fool.”
“I don’t think you’re a fool,” Sansa replied. “I think you’re actually a very lucky man.”
“Lucky? And what, pray tell, is so lucky about any of this?”
“Christmas is only three days away, and look at you. Here you are, in the heart of the action, surrounded by hopeful children, the spirit of Christmas all around you. I’m certain no fancy luncheon could ever compare to the pure magic of being surrounded by so much joy and merriment just a few days before Christmas.”
Tyrion’s eyes narrowed, and he stared at her as if he thought she was just a little bit mad. Even though he had every right to be angry, the truth was, he was actually in a very enviable position. He was just too upset to see it.
“Are you sure you shouldn’t be waiting in line to see Santa yourself?” Tyrion asked. “That sounds like something a child would say. When I look around, I don’t see Christmas spirit. I see greed and avarice. I see frustrated parents trying to keep their kids from whining by throwing toys at them. I see class-conscious consumers trying to outdo each other by seeing who can buy the most expensive designer label. I’m not quite sure where you see the magic in all of that. As far as I’m concerned, it’s all actually a bit of a nightmare.”
Sansa shook her head, horrified by Tyrion’s grim worldview. He really was the most jaded, cynical person she had ever met, and she suddenly felt sorry for him. “If you truly believe that, Tyrion Lannister, then I pity you. What a wretched world you must live in, if you truly believe that.”
Tyrion’s cheeks darkened a shade, and Sansa was glad to see that he at least had the decency to look embarrassed. He obviously had some human feeling in him after all.
Tyrion looked away without answering, staring blankly out at the crowd. Sansa turned her head to check on Rickon. He was still sitting on Robert’s lap, rambling through his list. He’d gotten about three-fourths of the way through, and Sansa hoped he would hurry up so that she could bid Scrooge good day.
Sansa turned toward Tyrion again. He was still staring off into the crowd, a scowl on his face. She wished there were some way she could lighten his heart and get him into the Christmas spirit, if not for his own sake, then for the sake of the children who had come to see Santa and his elf. She decided to try a different tack.
“Tyrion,” she said, finally drawing his attention back to her.
Tyrion looked up at Sansa with deep, soulful eyes, and she could see his pain as clearly as if he had confessed it. He was hurt by what his father had done to him, hurt by what he saw around him. He had trained himself to only see the bad in the world, and she needed to help him see the good.
“I’m sorry, Tyrion. I shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t my place.”
Tyrion shook his head. “No, you’re right. I’m the one who’s sorry, Sansa. I don’t mean to sound like an old grinch, but I’m the last person on earth who wants to be here right now. Forcing me to dress like an elf was the worst thing my father ever could have done to me. He knows how I feel about my condition, and yet, he forced me to do this anyway. He’s not a kind man, my father. In fact, he can be quite cruel when he wants to be, and this was his Christmas gift to me. Public humiliation.”
Sansa’s heart ached for Tyrion. She had heard that Tywin Lannister was a ruthless businessman, but she had never imagined that he could be so ruthless to one of his own children. Sansa was happy that Tyrion had opened up to her, and she wished there was something she could do to make things better for him.
“I’m sorry that your father has been so purposefully cruel,” Sansa said. “But you know, if you stand here being miserable, you’re just letting him win, don’t you?”
Tyrion cocked his head to the side, eyeing her curiously, the bell on the end of his hat chiming with the movement.
“I’m sure this place is crawling with security cameras,” Sansa explained. “For all you know, your father is watching you right now, enjoying every last scowl and eye roll. Do you really want to give him that satisfaction?”
Tyrion stared at her for a long moment, clearly contemplating every last word she had said. Finally, he shook his head, the jingle bell ringing again. “No,” he answered. “That’s the last thing I want.”
“Then show him that he hasn’t broken your spirit. Embrace the costume. Embrace the chance you’ve been given. Put a smile on your face and a song in your heart, and start enjoying all the joy and merriment around you. It isn’t hard, Tyrion, if you just try. This truly is the most magical time of the year, and if you just let it into your heart, you’ll see that Christmas can be magic for you too.”
The slightest smile cracked Tyrion’s lips, and Sansa almost laughed in relief. She was finally getting through to him, and she was glad. Rickon was almost done reciting his list, and she knew they only had a few more moments together, and she wanted to make them count.
“You really are an extraordinary woman, aren’t you?” Tyrion said, a hint of wonder in his voice.
A rush of heat flooded Sansa’s cheeks. She had never expected such a compliment, and it made her feel warm all over. “I . . . I don’t know what’s quite so extraordinary about me.”
“I’m sorry that I accused you of acting like a child before,” Tyrion replied. “I was being petty and mean, just like my father. The truth is, just because you can enjoy Christmas with childlike wonder doesn’t mean that you’re a child at all. In fact, you’ve grown into quite the poised and accomplished young woman. If anything I’ve said has offended you, Sansa Stark, I am truly sorry.”
Sansa smiled brightly at Tyrion, wanting to reassure him that she was in no way offended. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m just glad I could help spread a little Christmas cheer, that’s all.”
“Well, you have.” Tyrion dropped his arms to his sides, relaxing for the first time since Sansa had laid eyes on him that afternoon. “And it is much appreciated.”
Sansa opened her mouth to reply, but she never got the chance. An instant later, Rickon was off Robert’s lap and barreling toward her.
“Sansa, Sansa! I saw Father Christmas!”
Sansa turned to look at Rickon just as he grabbed her hand. She hunkered down next to him so that they were closer in height. “And did you tell Father Christmas what a good boy you’ve been?”
“Yes,” Rickon said proudly. “And he said he’s going to bring me a very special present this year because I’ve been so good.”
“That’s wonderful!” Sansa replied, pulling Rickon to her for a quick hug. When she finally let him go, she stood up again, turning back to Tyrion. She found him watching them both thoughtfully, something warm and appreciative reflected in his eyes.
A moment later, Tyrion held out a candy cane toward Rickon. “This is for you.”
Rickon took the candy with greedy fingers, his eyes focused on Tyrion with keen interest. “I’ve never seen a real elf before,” he said, his voice filled with awe, and Sansa could see Tyrion fighting back his embarrassment.
Tyrion glanced up at her, and she offered him a reassuring smile, encouraging him to make the most of the moment. When he looked at Rickon again, he somehow managed to smile. “Well, that’s because we live way up north of the Wall. Have you ever been to the Wall?” Tyrion asked, a glint of amusement sparkling in his eyes.
“No, never,” Rickon said, almost breathlessly. “My brother Jon is in the army, and he’s stationed there. Have you ever met him?”
“No, but I’m sure he’s a brave fellow, doing his part for king and country. You should be very proud of him.”
“Oh, I am!” Rickon puffed out his chest as if he, not Jon, were the one stationed hundreds of miles from home, guarding the Wall. Rickon adored Jon, even though he hadn’t been home to Winterfell in ages. “I want to join the army someday and be just like my brother Jon and my brother Robb.”
“And I’m sure you will be. You’re a very brave young man.”
Rickon beamed with pride, but when next he spoke, his childlike mind had already fixed on something else. “Can Santa’s reindeer really fly?” he asked. “Or is that just a fairy story?”
“Oh, Santa’s reindeer can fly, all right,” Tyrion answered, “but in the off-season, Santa doesn’t fly them at all. During the off-season, Santa flies a great big dragon with huge wings.” Tyrion held out his arms to illustrate just how large the wingspan was. “A great, big fire-breathing dragon.”
Sansa fought back a laugh. When she had encouraged Tyrion to be kind to children, she hadn’t expected him to start making up stories all his own. She was surprised by how quickly he had taken to Rickon once he’d let his guard down. It made her wonder if Tyrion Lannister actually liked children after all. Perhaps his surly behavior had had more to do with his father’s cruelty than a lack of Christmas spirit.
“I’ve never heard that before,” Rickon said, his tone highly skeptical.
“Oh, it’s true. You wouldn’t have heard that down south where you live, though. That’s a secret that’s kept strictly north of the Wall,” Tyrion said with a wink.
“I don’t live in the south,” Rickon snapped, clearly offended by the insinuation.
“Oh, but everything that’s not north of the Wall is considered the south by the wildlings, or hadn’t you heard?”
“I’m a northerner!” Rickon looked up at Sansa for support. “Tell him, Sansa.”
“Yes, Rickon,” she said. “You are a northerner through and through, just like me. But where the elves live is even farther north than that, and if Santa’s elf says Santa rides a dragon, then I think we’re going to have to believe him. Santa’s elves would never lie.”
“Have you ever ridden a dragon?” Rickon asked Tyrion, his eyes going wide at the very thought.
“Oh, many, many, many times. There’s nothing like it! It’s the best feeling in the world!”
Rickon turned to Sansa again. “Can I ride a dragon, Sansa? Please, please?”
Sansa wasn’t sure how to answer this time. “I . . . I don’t think mortals can ride dragons. You forget, Father Christmas is magical, and so are his elves. And that’s the only reason they can fly dragons.”
“That’s right,” Tyrion said, drawing Rickon’s attention back to him. “Only Santa and his elves can ride dragons.”
“Then I want to be an elf,” Rickon replied. “I’m going to ask Santa if I can be an elf.” He turned around as if he had every intention of heading back to Santa’s lap, but Sansa grabbed his coat sleeve, stopping him cold.
“Oh, no,” she said. “You’ve already given Santa your list. It’s someone else’s turn now. It’s time to go.”
Rickon pouted as he turned back to Sansa. “But I want to be an elf. Being an elf is cool.”
Sansa laughed. She knew Tyrion would more than disagree, but she hoped he could see that even though he was uncomfortable with the task his father had given him, at least in the eyes of children, there was something quite magical about it.
Sansa looked at Tyrion again, and he shook his head, a wry smile on his lips.
“Yes, I suppose it is kind of cool,” Tyrion said. “Even with the little bell.” He reached up and jingled it, making Rickon laugh.
“Can I have an elf hat?” Rickon asked Sansa. “Please?”
But before she could tell him that she would buy him one before they left the store, Tyrion plucked off his hat and dropped it straight down onto Rickon’s head. “Here you go,” he said. “Merry Christmas, Rickon Stark.”
Rickon tugged the hat down over his ears, a luminous smile lighting up his face. “Thanks! Can I be an honorary elf?”
“Yes, you can be an honorary elf,” Tyrion answered. Then he leaned in closer, and in a conspiratorial whisper, he said, “And if you ever make it north of the Wall, you can even ride one of Santa’s dragons, as long as you hold on to that hat.”
“Thank you!” Rickon exclaimed. And then, without warning, he threw his arms around Tyrion’s neck and hugged him tightly.
Tyrion’s cheeks turned an endearing shade of red, and he stared helplessly up at Sansa over Rickon’s shoulder. He looked stunned but happy, and Sansa was glad that he’d taken the time to talk to Rickon and that they’d been able to share this moment together.
Sansa glanced over her shoulder to find Robert just finishing up with the little girl who had been behind Rickon in line. She knew they had to be going. They had already lingered far too long, and it was someone else’s turn to meet Santa’s elf.
Sansa reached out and tugged on Rickon’s shoulder. “That’s enough, Rickon,” she said in a gentle voice. “Tyrion has other children to greet, and we still have our shopping to do.”
Rickon let go of Tyrion and took a step back, finally giving him room to breathe. “Will you tell Santa that I want to ride one of his dragons, that you promised?”
“Of course I will.”
Rickon beamed. “Thank you, and Merry Christmas,” he said as he slipped his hand into Sansa’s and tried to pull her forward.
“Merry Christmas,” Tyrion replied. He looked up at Sansa. “And Merry Christmas to you too, Sansa Stark. I will put in a good word for you with Santa as well.”
“Will you?”
“Yes. And maybe, if we’re lucky, our paths will cross again in the new year. One never knows.”
“I would like that very much.” Sansa’s own cheeks flushed pink with emotion. Tyrion Lannister was a very handsome, very charming man, and she would love nothing more than to get to know him better.
Tyrion reached out, offering Sansa a candy cane. “For you,” he said, “with my gratitude. You’ve made my holiday a lot brighter with your kindness, and I will not forget it.”
Sansa took the candy cane, a spark of electricity swirling through her veins as her fingers gently brushed against his. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Merry Christmas, Tyrion.”
“Merry Christmas, Sansa.”
Sansa lingered just long enough to give Tyrion one last smile before allowing Rickon to drag her out into the crowd. She held the candy cane Tyrion had given her close to her heart, along with the hope that they would meet again someday very soon.