The doors to the sept swing open on rusty hinges, and announces that the guest of honor has finally arrived. The doors hit the walls with a resounding crash that seems to echo throughout the courtyard ominously. Beneath the arched entrance, a young girl stands in her finest dress, her hand lightly resting in the crook of the King's elbow. Her face, pale and frightened, seems tense and yet there is determination in her eyes. She will not allow these people to make her feel inferior. Not today, and never again. She is a wolf, a wolf among lions. And wolves do not back down in the face of terror.

A single voice sings steadily from the loft- a strong, continuous solo that fills the sept from the rafters to the floor, and touches all four corners of the room. The melancholy solo weaves a dreamlike trance over the crowd. As the young girl comes down the aisle on the arm of the king, there are tears in her eyes. Afterwards the wedding guests will reflect that it was due to the beautiful intimacy that is the girl's wedding, but select few know the truth. How could a girl, who once dreamed of handsome knights and innocent songs of romance, be content with an arranged marriage all in the name of her claim?

She sweeps past the queen with her head held high, her gaze never wavering from the altar. She hesitates but briefly at the steps before gathering her gown up in her free hand and ascending as gracefully as she can manage. Her husband-to-be waits for her, studying her with his mismatched eyes. His gaze flickers between his nephew and his betrothed, before settling solely on his affianced and the way that she trembles noticeably.

With all of the pomp and circumstance that he has within him, the King joins their hands and bows shortly to the septon before retreating back to his place of honor beside the queen. The ceremony begins with a short prayer, and as the congregation begins to recite their sacred words aloud, the bride shrugs her groom's grip off of her hand and remains standing woodenly, her gaze glued to the floor. He is aware of her tears, how could he not be? He is not so unfeeling as he is made out to be in the eyes of the public. She doesn't want to be here any more than he does- hell, perhaps even less than he does.

But as the ceremony continues on, prayers are prayed, songs are sung, and candles are lit by both the bride, the groom, and their witnesses. The King stands in as the bride's father is deceased, and he sweeps away her father's colors with a bold flourish. She feels bare and vulnerable as she turns to her husband-to-be and sees the heavy monstrosity that is in his hands. It is a crimson cloak lined with gold satin and embroidered heavily with rubies that glitter wickedly in the candlelight. He pauses, uncertain of the height difference between them and she physically recoils in horror once she realizes that he means for her to kneel before him and all of the kingdom.

He tugs, not once, not twice, but three times upon her skirts before the King calls up his fool to be a stepstool. And so Sansa Stark is cloaked in the colors of House Lannister. Her new husband, Tyrion, is tightlipped and furious as the tittering in the congregation begins to get out of control. The King laughs uproariously in the front row, with his queen mother laughing more demurely behind her elegant white fingers.

The bride studies her new husband closely, and sees the brief flash of embarrassment before that melts away into the steely resolve that is typical of her husband's gaze. The laughter in the court is not only at him, but at her now, too. This is to be her life now, as well. With a deep intake of air, she smooths out her soft skirts before she gathers them up and kneels at Tyrion's feet, her gown pooled out awkwardly around her body. For the first time, they are at eye-level, and Sansa can see the approval on Tyrion's face.

"With this kiss," She begins in a quiet voice that trembles pitifully. "I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband."

Tyrion replies in an equally hushed voice, as if it is only the two of them in the room. "With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife." There is hesitation on his part before he leans forward, and touches his lips to hers. He is close enough to smell the sharp, sweet scent that lingers on Sansa's skin, and to see the way that fear dilutes her pupils so that it appears as if he is staring into an empty black chasm.

There is a rainbow of light across Tyrion's face, and both the newlyweds look up to see the septon holding out his sacred crystal for all to see. "Here in the sight of gods and men," He intones in his grave, gravely voice. "I do solemnly proclaim Tyrion of House Lannister and Sansa of House Stark to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them."

The sound of the crowd clapping and cheering is not nearly enough to drown out the sounds of Sansa's tears.

The speech is taken word for word from George R. R. Martin's 'A Storm of Swords'. The rest of the chapter is my own work, though I did try to blend both the show and the novel itself together.

This is my first foray into the ASOIaF fandom, but I'm a diehard TyrionXSansa shipper. They both just deserve to be happy for once!

Please let me know how I'm doing. I'm attempting to get back into the swing of writing after a two year absence. I'm excited for what I have planned.

xo.