Game of Thrones Imagines

Language of Flowers - Tyrion x Reader

Tyrion had just returned from a trip into Kings Landing, ignoring the curious and amused looks of the people as he made his way back to the Red Keep with a huge arrangement of flowers gripped gently in his hands. The spray had cost him a not so insignificant amount of gold, but now as he walked back into the Keep with the large bouquet of blooms in his arms, he knew that it was all going to be worth it.

To say he was nervous would be an understatement, what he was about to do could possibly change his life for the better forever, so now he just had to hope that the object of his affection would feel the same. It was true that he had had the pleasure of knowing a number of woman, and was never usually without of a witty comment or compliment to attract the eyes of one of the many whores in Littlefinger's brothels; but (Y/n) Snow was different, and even though she and her brother were the bastards of the new Hand of the King, Tyrion had found himself falling for the woman that had accompanied her father and sisters to Kings Landing when he had taken the position of Hand. 

Even during the short period that the Stark's had been in the capital, (Y/n) had become everything Tyrion had ever hoped for in a woman; she was kind and caring, she was clever, and to Tyrion's eyes, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and above all she had never been embarrassed about him being small, often berating those that dare speak about him, or to him without the utmost respect, a fact that always made Tyrion chuckle softy to himself as the she wolf by any other name, would bare her claws.

The idea of the flowers had come to him when he remember being told as a child by one of the servants that raised him and his siblings once their father had left Casterly Rock, that flowers had a language of their own, each flower having a particular voice that could secretly express to the woman you loved, your feelings for her in a time before a man could openly come out and tell a young lady that he cared; he could remember thinking in his youth, that it sounded silly, flowers couldn't talk, so how could they possibly tell anyone you loved them, but once he had met (Y/n), once their relationship had gone beyond simple friendship, once Tyrion had realised he loved her, he had remembered the words of the old woman, and he had remembered the language of the flowers.

To begin, Tyrion and (Y/n) had simply been friends, their first meeting coming when the Stark entourage had arrived from the north, everyone ignoring the bastard daughter that stood quietly in the back ground, her deep dark eyes studying those that milled around her kin until they had fallen on him, the two smiling and nodding to one another respectfully as the world seemed to pass the two by; but as the days had passed, and Tyrion had found that (Y/n) was always in the great library, studying book after book, their blossoming friendship had turned into something more, the pair realising that they had more in common than it would first appear.

Tyrion could remember how (Y/n) would giggled so beautifully when he had come out with some silly quip, and from that moment he knew he would be happy to listen to the sound for the rest of his life, and as the two sat talking quietly about their dreams and their worlds, he also hoped that she would be in his life for longer than this brief glorious moment.

To Tyrion's eternal delight, his wish had come true, and as the Stark's stay had gone on, Tyrion knew that it was now or never for him to tell the girl of his dreams how he felt. Normally, despite his obvious difference from other men, Tyrion had no problems speaking to women, and being rejected, unless they were after the gold in his pocket, was something not unknown to him, but for some reason he didn't have the nerve to come straight out and profess his love for the beauteous (Y/n), and despite his feeling that she cared for him too, he still feared the idea of rejection, and a rejection for (Y/n) was one that he was not sure he could bare.

It was then that his mind had rushed back, his distant, foggy memories recalling the special voices of the blooms, and it was then that he had decided to let the flowers speak for him.

He had spent time at the library, looking through old books, researching the most perfect blossoms that would profess his undying love for (Y/n), and after a number of hours, he had found the ideal mix and match of flowers to say perfectly how much he cared.

As he carried his little notebook back to his chambers, he had read through the list he had written, imagining the perfect arrangement to suitably show off his choices and his feelings. He had selected to have the whitest arbutus and roses, the blue of the aster and forget-me-nots, the red and pink of camellias and carnations, and finally the green of maidenhair ferns and long tendrils of the most beautiful ivy; each flower professing with their silent voice, Tyrion's undying love.

Now all this time later, his gold turned into the most perfect blooms, Tyrion stood outside (Y/n)'s chamber door, his hand trembling as he raised it to knock, the shaky hits causing a rush from the other side of the door as (Y/n) made her way to the ingress.

As Tyrion watched the door slowly open, he pushed the bouquet forward, (Y/n) senses being taken over by the glorious smells and sight in front of her.

"Tyrion? Are you behind there?" (Y/n) chuckled, trying to look around the breathtaking display.

"Er......yes (Y/n), these are for you." Tyrion said, gently pushing the blooms into her waiting arms, heading into her rooms behind her as she placed the bouquet on the tabletop, admiring the gift that she had just been presented with.

"Tyrion, they are beautiful, why would you do this?" (Y/n) asked, coming to his side, and kissing him softly on the cheek.

"Well.......they, they are to tell you how I feel about you (Y/n), I'm afraid of what you might say if I tell you outright myself, so.......so I thought I'd let the flowers do my talking." Tyrion told a slightly confused (Y/n) as he handed her a handwritten note that he had attached to the bouquet.

Taking Tyrion's hand, (Y/n) led him to the bed, pulling him to sit by her side as she took the little note, her eyes widening as she read what the man next to her had written.

"I the arbutus say that you are the only one I love.

I the aster am a symbol of love.

We the camellia speak of longing and a flame

And I the forget-me-not talk of true love that can't be tamed.

But it is the Ivy and Fern that speak loudest of all, of fidelity, affection, and bonds of the soul."

Dropping the note to her lap, (Y/n) turned to look at Tyrion. "Do you...... I mean, are you trying to tell me that you love me, Tyrion?" (Y/n) asked, taking his hands in hers, as she moved closer to his side, Tyrion's cheeks burning a bright red as she looked into his eyes.

"The flowers say what I can't." Tyrion explained, turning his gaze to the floor as (Y/n) let out a shaky chuckle, before she reached to take his face in her hands, rising his eyes from the ground.

"You don't need flowers to tell me you love me Tyrion, but if I had some to give you, I would present you with Primroses to show you that I can't live without you." (Y/n) told him, leaning down to kiss the slightly shocked Tyrion gently on his lips, her fingers softly brushing through his hair, as she pulled him to her.

"D-d-does that mean you love me too, (Y/n)?" Tyrion asked hesitantly, as (Y/n) looked over at the flowers.

"I love you more than the aster or the rose, more than the camellia or arbutus could ever say, and I promise to you what your ivy and fern promise me, my eternal fidelity, affection and my soul." (Y/n) told him, as she took him in her arms and kissed him again, the flowers seeming to bloom more perfectly as they watched the two lovers, knowing that their voices had worked their wonders once again.