Standing in the garish light of her dressing room, attended by a flock of sorry-stricken girls, Sansa Stark wanted to rip her wedding dress to shreds and leap from the edge of the thin window before her like the tiny little bird she so truly was. She pictured, for a minute, the sight she would make with her head dashed across the rocks below, her fiery hair a blood-red halo, her limps splayed out at impossible angles. She imagined Joffrey's reaction upon hearing the news of her escape. He would no doubt be disappointed that the Stark girl was never again going to be there to torment. But then what? He would move on to his wife-to-be or to some other poor girl. Sansa would only be a story told at dinner, at most. And then there was Tyrion. He would certainly think she jumped because of him.

A knock at the door brought her back to the dressing room. She pulled her robe around to cover herself as her husband-to-be asked politely for a private word. Her hand-maidens left her, leaving her feeling vulnerable. A wolf in the lion's den, as she so often reminded herself. She had expected him to stop by. It was what any respectable man would do in the circumstances and, so far, she had no reason to believe Tyrion Lannister was anything but respectable. But her stomach tightened suddenly and she fought to convince herself this small man didn't come to hit her or berate her.

He strode in slowly, eyes flitting across her then down to the ground. He swayed with nervous energy. Hands clasped behind his back, shoulders back and body tense, eyebrows drawn as he searched for the words he doubtlessly rehearsed on his way to her room. This powerful man was nervous before her? She would have loved to drink it in if she didn't feel slightly embarrassed for him. This small, overly ridiculed man saved her from Joffrey at least once that she knew of. He was the only person in the whole city to stand up and openly defend her. He knew nothing about her, yet he protected her. And now they were to be forcibly married. Advantageous for the Lannisters and hilarious to everyone else, their marriage was to be quite the event.

Slowly, Tyrion raised his eyes to meet her own. In his low, gentle voice, he tried to calm her, tried to promise better days, tried to relate to her. He told her she was no longer going to be a prisoner, was going to be safe from abuse. She swallowed as a knot burned in her throat with the words of hope and images of happiness. His voice cracked as he took a limp hand from her side and placed it between his own. "Sansa, I will never hurt you." His eyes held hers steadily, his mouth neither a frown or a smile. He was being sincere, being honest. It was the best moment she'd had in all her time at King's Landing. She didn't know what she expected him to say but this was far above anything she could have imagined. They were more than just empty promises, she thought she could tell.

Yet even in this warm, pleasant moment, Tyrion must have thought he sensed something emanating from Sansa. He was hearing in his mind what he always heard, ever since he was able to remember. Ridicule.

He stammered and tried his best at levity, tried to conceal this honest sentiment with self-deprication, because that always made them smile. Because it reflected what everyone was thinking. So after his gleaming promises of brighter years ahead, Lord Tyrion punctuated it with "I know I'm not the man of your dreams, but –"

"Stop that!," Sansa cut in. Tyrion looked up suddenly, taken aback.

"I'm sorry, my La—"

"I see you. I see you clearly. Others must be fools if they don't see it. The laugh lines, obvious signs that you smile and laugh a great deal. I see you reading, debating, so I know you must be very intelligent. I see bright eyes, I see you standing straight, proud. You are clever, respectful, witty, charming and very very brave."

The room was absolutely still. Tyrion didn't even exhale.

"I'm not trying to flatter you," Sansa continued, looking down. She was suddenly very aware of her emotional side breaking loose. "I've given this a lot of thought. I think you may be the biggest man in King's Landing. I'd be proud to be your wife."

Tyrion stared at the girl in front of him. When she first came here with her father, she was yound and naïve and wanted only to marry Joffrey. She lost everyone dear to her, was all alone. Now, in this moment, she was completely changed.

"I thought you hated me," he breathed. He had taken a step closer and she had knelt down respectfully, but for the life of him he couldn't remember either movement.

"No, my Lord. I hate a lot of people. You're not one of them."

"But you don't want to marry me," he stated.

"And you don't want to marry me. Neither of us have a choice."

The simple statement was true but it stung. "We both could do worse, I suppose," he chuckled.

"As far as forced marriages go, this isn't all that bad. You vow that you will never hurt me and I promise you that I will be loyal to you. I never want to hurt you."

Tyrion dropped his head and smiled. "You have no idea how relieved I feel right now. I was prepared to drink a lot of wine for the remainder of the day."

"Well, you wouldn't want anyone getting suspicious. If you don't look upset enough, Joffrey will no doubt put a stop to the wedding," Sansa smiled.

"Right you are. Right you are!" He turned and strode to the door. "I must leave you now to start drinking, lest anyone know I wasn't so relieved! I will put on my best moody face." He contorted his grinning face into one of exaggerated melancholy. Sansa giggled and shook her head. "My lady, you have taken a great weight off my shoulders. I look forward to getting to know you better. So far, I'm fascinated." She smiled as he opened the door and strode out.