Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire or Game of Thrones. If I did, Drogo would still be alive and so would other people. A lot of crap that happened to the Starks and other awesome houses would not have happened either. I hope you enjoy!

Prologue

Sansa stared blankly out her chamber window, her ice blue eyes unseeing as the city below burst with movement and activity. The damage of the Battle of the Blackwater was noticeable even from a distance.

The queen hadn't sent for her since the abomination that was their talk regarding Sansa's future, now that the king would marry Margaery and not her. She had hinted in a not so subtle way that arrangements could be made for her to marry another loyal member of House Lannister in Joffrey's stead.

The options were terrifying.

Sansa would rather marry the Hound than anyone else under this castle's expansive roof. He was not the most handsome or honorable man, but he hadn't beaten her and he hadn't taken pleasure in her pain. As Joffrey does, as nearly every other member of the current Kingsguard do.

She would rather fling herself from the tallest battlement of the castle before she would marry Ser Meryn Trant or any of that lot.

She wished she had never met Joffrey, or King Robert, or any of them. She wished fervently that the fallen Kings' party had never set foot in Winterfell, hadn't invited her father to this snake's pit, and that she hadn't been a spoiled, foolish girl in trusting the prince and the queen. She knew wishing wouldn't change the past, nor her part in it, but she couldn't help a small piece of her wishing these things all the same.

The girl from Winterfell, hidden away in a small box in her mind, wished Robb or her half brother Jon would find a way to save her before whatever plans the queen had bore fruit.

She relented her watch when Shae brought her her midday meal, a meager thing of scraps from the queen's' table. What hadn't been given to the dogs, already.

"You must keep your form for your new betrothed, Little Dove." Cersei had said the first time such a meal was delivered, smiling that cruel sickly sweet smile she favored. "You need to appeal to him, so you might bless him with sons, the Gods willing."

Sansa had forced herself to smile back, agreeing. To sing the pretty songs the Hound accused her of singing.

She didn't want to give a Lannister supporter sons, she didn't want to marry anyone under the lion banner. She wanted them to fall, to fail in the war against Robb and the North. To be brought down from their proud castle and into the mud, dirtied by filth and disgrace. To pay for what they did to father, to all of father's household that they slaughtered.

She wanted all Lannisters to die.

Her anger died suddenly, replaced by fear. It was dangerous to entertain such treacherous thoughts, even in private. She knew what awful wrath the king had, he would punish her horribly if he found out.

She picked at her food, biting her lip as she pushed all thoughts of treason against the Crown away.

She finished her meal, meager as it was, and thanked Shae quietly.

The near endless number of potential suitors plagued her mind for the rest of the day, even as she practiced her stitches and mended and old gown. Even as she tried not to think about it.

Even as she nibbled at her dinner, hardly tasting any of it.

Please, don't let it be Ser Meryn or the Imp. Her silent prayers were frequent in that respect, as she readied herself for bed that night. Hoping that the Old Gods and the New, that any God-if there were truly any-would listen and heed her prayers.

Her sleep was fitful and riddled with nightmares.

Tywin Lannisters chambers/Tower of the Hand

Tyrion swirled the wine around his goblet, staring at the small waves of dark red against gold. Fitting, considering his House colors were both. He contented himself with drinking as he waited somewhat patiently for his father to finish writing missives and other duties he saw fit to finish while in the presence of his least favored child.

The soft scratching of pen on parchment and the crackle of the fire the only sounds in the chamber. They had been for the greater part of an hour.

Cersei, however, was not so patient.

"Are we going to talk about it or not?" She demanded, golden hair in elegant twists and an equally regal golden embroidered gown to match with not so subtle lions on her bodice. "Sansa should be married to another member of our House or some Lord we should reward for his fealty."

Tywin Lannister glared at his daughter, not setting his parchment aside for a moment. When he was certain her outburst was finished, he returned his eyes to his work. "Lady Sansa will marry whomever I deem fit, whomever we require her to wed. She will do so when I decide the time is right, not whenever you choose to torment the girl."

Cersei puffed up, enraged. "The sooner she is wed the sooner-"

He didn't allow her to complete her argument. "I will hear no more from you on this matter."

Tyrion hid his amusement behind his goblet, pleased that his sister was being metaphorically knocked down a peg. She needed it, to remind herself that while she is Queen Mother, she isn't in absolute control. Regardless of how much she believes she is. A healthy dose of humiliation would do her some good.

"Do you have a House in mind, father?" He asked carefully, once Cersei settled down in quiet seething rage.

"I do." His father answered stoically as usual, not even glancing up from his parchment.

He waited, drawing a decent amount of wine from his goblet. When the silence stretched longer than two drinks, he thought that long enough.

"Are you going to share the name of this House?" Tyrion asked bluntly, tiring of his father's game. He could guess, but there are too many probabilities and no guarantees at the moment. "I cannot make good on my duties as Master of Coin in the event of her wedding if I do not know whether I need to find money or merely direct it."

"Sansa Stark will be wed into House Lannister." Tywin answered in his usual bored drawl. "You will secure the key to the North for our House."

The wine soured in his stomach.

"Father?" He hated to sound like a small boy, but he wanted to be sure he'd heard correctly.

It was almost too cruel, to the girl and to himself. Lady Sansa Stark had been tormented by Cersei and Joffrey, beaten by the kingsguard on his nephews orders and other atrocities in the short time he was in the city. If the stories of what his nephew had done before were to believed, this was common behavior.

She had barely managed to escape marrying Joffrey and had to be feeling immense relief, only to be married to another Lannister in his place.

"You will wed Sansa Stark in the Sept of Baelor the night after next, the arrangements have been seen to."

The spiteful expression on Cersei's face disappeared, an awful glee replacing it.

"She's hardly more than a child. Joffrey took her father's head and has done everything possible to make her life torture. You can't expect her to willingly open her legs for me."

"You will put an heir in her belly."

"I will not rape her."

"You will do as you're bid."

Cersei snickered in her chair, her emerald green eyes sparkling with malicious glee.

"As will you." Tywin turned his attention to his daughter, his missives long forgotten.

Her laughter died, confusion in its place. "What?"

"You will marry again, you are young enough to bear another child at least." He explained, pinning her with his signature cold stare. "You have a choice of Loras Tyrell or his brother Willas."

"No."

"You will and put to bed these disgusting rumors of your children's patronage."

Tyrion kept his peace, gulping the rest of his wine and taking his leave. This conversation didn't concern him anymore and he needed rest.

He was getting married.