Day Five: Evaluation

Nov 27, 2012 22:20


Giftee: dk65

Title:  Evaluation
Fandom:  A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones
Pairing/Characters: Sansa Stark, Tyrion Lannister
Rating:  G+
Word Count: 675
Prompt:    Modern AU--High school/university setting, where they encounter each other as student and teacher. Their families might be adversaries, but these two people find they have a lot in common.


She meets Professor Lannister at a pub near campus; most professors conduct these conferences during their office hours, or perhaps in a Starbucks or at the student union. When she mentions this to Professor Lannister, he chuckles before ordering a beer and a shot of whiskey from the bartender.

“I’m going to need something a little harder than a mocha-choca-frappalatte to get me through a discussion of this paper,” he scoffs, knocking back the whiskey and taking a long swig of beer.

Sansa feels her face fall, and Professor Lannister cocks an eyebrow in her direction.  “Come on, Stark.  You’ve got a thicker skin than that.”

Sansa sips her root beer and shrugs.  But Professor Lannister doesn’t look away from her until she nods her agreement.

He shifts on his bar stool and struggles for a moment to find a comfortable place to rest his feet- the rungs of the stool are too far down for him to reach.  Sansa feels ashamed when she remembers how fascinated she’d been by his size at the start of term; outside of reality television, she’d never seen a little person before.  And with his platinum-blonde hair and peculiar taste in fashion, Professor Lannister would be notable regardless.  But she scarcely even thinks about it now, and she’s both startled and oddly sad to watch him fumble for purchase before giving up and crossing one leg over the other.

“Well, for starters,” he begins, reaching into his blazer pocket and pulling out a red pen, “I told you to write an analysis of agrarian society in late-empire Russia, and you basically handed in a twenty-page Anna Karenina fanfiction.”

She squeaks her indignation, but Professor Lannister does not look up from the paper.  He just continues to scribble notes in red, pausing every once in a while to offer a clever barb or sharp critique.  She used to take serious offense at his prickly style; she’d left her first paper conference in tears.  But she understands now that this is his way- he’s hardest on those who show the most potential.  No one had ever set especially high standards for her before; she’d been praised for her beauty and her politesse, but rarely for her intelligence.  Professor Lannister may be something of a crank, but he does not underestimate her, and Sansa cannot help but feel grateful.

When he finishes tearing her paper to shreds, Professor Lannister orders another soda for her and another beer for himself.  They sit together for a while and chat, mostly about books- he talks quite a bit, his eyes bright and enthusiastic, and Sansa wonders for a moment whether he might be lonely.

Suddenly, she utters a thought that she intended to keep to herself, something that has plagued her for weeks- “My father told me to drop your class.”

“Ah.  He’s a Czarist, is he?”  he laughs.

“My father is Ned Stark.”

Professor Lannister slowly nods, and Sansa continues, “You know who he is, right?”

“Oh, yes.  He doesn’t know me, but I believe he’s very familiar with my delightful father and my equally-delightful sister.”  He takes a deep drink from his beer.  “Honest politicians are an endangered species these days...mostly because the Lannisters make a habit of eating them for lunch.  Your father seems a bit tougher on the digestion than most.”

Sansa frowns, and Professor Lannister leans closer to her, tilting his head until she looks into his mismatched eyes.  “So Ned Stark told his little girl to flee from the lion’s den.  And yet, here you are.”

He surely expects her to explain herself, but she says nothing- just a nod, sharp and sure.  Professor Lannister’s peculiar face widens with a smile, and he reaches out to pat her shoulder.  “There’s a bit of rebel in you, huh?”

Perhaps he’s making fun of her- it wouldn’t be the first time, and she never knows with him until it’s too late.  But for now, she lets herself enjoy the swell of pride that fills her chest and flushes her cheeks.

holiday gift ficathon

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