Disclaimer: I don't own anything associated with Game of Thrones

Sansa

The sun was bright in the sky when Sansa finally woke. She shifted comfortably in bed, happy to bathe in the rays of light that were flickering through her bedroom window. Our bedroom window, Sansa reminded herself. Beside her, the bed was empty and the sheets showed no sign of her husband's small frame. She was not surprised, as Tyrion stayed up until the late hours of the night, and woke well before the sun rose. In fact, Sansa could not recall the last time she had woken to find him next to her. Her marriage was not at all how she had imagined.

As a young girl Sansa had dreamt of the joy marriage would bring. All she had ever wanted was to be someone's wife: to birth beautiful children; to wake next to her Lord husband; to feel his loving kisses. What a stupid girl, Sansa thought. It made her stomach turn to think of how blissfully happy she had been that cold morning in Winterfell, when the King and Joffrey had first arrived. She wished she could go back, back to Winterfell, back to the North. But there was no good wishing; wishing would never take her back home. Sansa sighed deeply, running her hands through her thick, auburn hair. She sat up slightly, and watched the calm blue waters of the bay. Perhaps if I just lie here, I won't have to speak to anyone.

A sharp rap at the door clearly meant the gods had other plans for her that day. Sansa groaned, sliding down the bed and burying her head under the covers. I'm not here, I'm not here, please don't talk to me…

"Sansa?" Shae's voice came from the other side of the thick, oak door

Sansa grumbled and forced herself to respond, "You can come in."

The door opened, and her handmaiden entered. Shae's dark eyes surveyed the room, and hovered over Sansa curled beneath the sheets.

"You need to get up, m'lady. Should I bring one of your dresses?"

"Why, what's happening?"

"It's the king, m'lady. There's a tourney this afternoon, being held in the honor of his wedding."

"Am I required to attend?"

Sansa felt sick. Once the prospect of a tourney would have filled her with joy. All those beautiful knights in their beautiful armor. Sansa recalled the tournament she had watched when they had first come to King's Landing. It had been hot that day too, Sansa could remember, the day that Loras Tyrell had given her a beautiful red rose. How different she had been then-a different girl, with different dreams.

Shae's insisting voice dragged her from her thoughts, "Yes, m'lady. You are to attend, Lord Tyrion will be there."

Of course he would. Tyrion would be there, and Cersei, and Joffrey. The thought of Joffrey's smug face made her sick. Surely Joffrey wouldn't think to torment her again, in front of all those people? No, Sansa reassured herself, you know that will not stop him. Joffrey did not fear others; the court had been packed that day when he had ordered his guards to attack her. Joffrey was many things, but he was not afraid to torment her.

As if reading her thoughts, Shae moved toward her. She settled herself on the bed beside Sansa, and looked at her reassuringly. "You are strong, m'lady." She said, "Would you like to me to do your hair?"

Sansa nodded gratefully, and tried to press the thoughts of Joffrey from her mind. She sat in front of her looking glass, and peered at the girl staring back at her. Behind her, Shae studied her attentively, before running her hands through Sansa's hair. She began to braid, in one of the styles Shae had once said came from Lorath, in the Free Cities. Watching her reflection in the glass, Sansa thought she might weep. The feeling of Shae's soft hands working at her hair reminded Sansa of when her mother had braided her hair back at Winterfell. Sansa had always thought it was a pain when her handmaidens fussed over her, yet when her mother spent time on her hair it had always overwhelmed her with joy.

"You look sad, m'lady. What are you thinking of?"

Sansa looked up, "Shae… you shouldn't pry"

"It is sometimes good to pry" Shae responded, as she tied two sections of Sansa's braid together, "I care about you, m'lady.'

"I was thinking of… home" Sansa said so quietly she wasn't sure if Shae had even heard. Her handmaiden was silent for a few moments as she worked.

"Do you… do you ever think of home, Shae?" Sansa wondered aloud.

Shae stopped braiding, her dark eyes hardening for a moment before she replied.

"No, m'lady"

"But King's Landing isn't your home, is it?"

"No"

Sansa stumbled with her words, "I… I wonder if anyone feels as though King's Landing is home. Perhaps Lord Tyrion…" Sansa thought she saw a flash of bitterness across Shae's face, but she insisted her eyes were playing tricks on her. There was something different about Shae. Her other handmaidens were always so cautious in her presence, but not Shae; Shae was always so bold. Again, they resumed their silence as her handmaiden fastened the last of the braids elaborately on Sansa's head. Glancing in the mirror once more, Sansa was startled at how much older the hairstyle made her seem. It would be hard to believe she was only of ten and five years.

Shae left Sansa's chambers and returned several minutes later carrying an assortment of dresses. Eventually, they decided on a deep blue gown, that Shae insisted perfectly matched Sansa's eyes. Once she was dressed, several other servants brought fruit and cheese in for her to break her fast. But Sansa was too full of worry about the tourney to stomach much. She stared at her empty plate, alone once again as Shae had gone to run an errand. Sansa tentatively took a sip of wine from her goblet, and cringed at the sickly taste. Septa Mordane had always told her that it would be a wife's duty to drink wine on important occasions, and that she'd grow used to the taste, but Sansa still doubted her words. Still, she thought, Perhaps the wine will help today if I am approached by Joffrey.

Sansa spent the rest of the morning reading and watching the ships go by outside. As her eyes followed the vessels in the bay, she thought of the promises of Ser Dontos, and his vows to help her escape. Would that be her on a ship, one day soon? Sansa tried to imagine herself sailing away from this horrid place, away from Joffrey, and Cersei, the goldcloaks and Ser Ilyn Pane; back to Winterfell. She would be away from Tyrion, too. Would their marriage still be intact if she fled from King's Landing? Would she miss him at all? He has been kind to you, Sansa told herself. He had not forced her to consummate their marriage; he had not treated her harshly. No, he was not the knight that she had spent her childhood dreaming of, he was not even a knight at all, but Sansa knew he could be far worse. He is not the worst Lannister... But then Cersei had once been kind to her; Cersei had once looked upon her as a daughter. Sansa knew now that she ought not to trust a Lannister, no matter how kind they were. He is not the worst Lannister, she repeated to herself, but he is a Lannister nonetheless. And besides, she did not think he would miss her presence in King's Landing if she escaped. He had wanted their marriage as little as she did.

The morning was drifting into the afternoon when Sansa was greeted by another knock at her door. The knock was slower this time, as if more hesitant, and Sansa said nothing.

After a few moments, the voice of her Lord husband called out to her, "Lady Sansa?"

Sansa's stomach clenched, and she wished the room would swallow her up. She had been trying her hardest to avoid Joffrey's company for several weeks, and now she was faced with the prospect of an afternoon in his presence.

Sansa forced herself from her seat and opened the door for her husband. Tyrion looked up at her with a surprised expression as he entered the room.

"Lady Sansa" He said, almost cautiously, "You look very beautiful today."

Sansa nodded politely, "Thank you, my-"She stopped herself, remembering how he had wanted her to call him by his name, "-Tyrion, it pleases me that you think so."

Tyrion's strange face etched into a frown, his brow furrowing. "You don't have to say that, Sansa. You do not need to please me. But I trust the day has found you well?"

"It has" Sansa said, though she knew that was a lie. "I read a little."

"Ah, reading. One of my favorite pastimes. It is a pity that we must attend this dreaded tourney for my nephew, as I would much prefer sitting indoors with a good book."

Sansa offered her husband a small smile, not quite knowing what else to say to him. It made her feel a certain amount of relief though that he was also dreading an afternoon in the company of Joffrey.

"Come, my lady" He said, offering her a blunted hand, "We best get this over with."

Sansa took his hand, and found it to be surprisingly soft. It is only one afternoon, Sansa told herself as her lord husband followed her out of their chambers and into the halls of King's Landing.

Tyrion

Tyrion Lannister was uncomfortably aware of his small stature as he walked side by side with his young bride. Sansa was almost a foot taller than him, and he cursed himself for not being able to walk arm in arm with her as a man and wife ought to. Behind them, Tyrion's squire Podrick ambled slowly along. Upon seeing Sansa, Pod had blushed a Lannister red and had averted his gaze awkwardly. Tyrion wondered how a boy so well-endowed could be so fumbling around women. The streets of King's Landing were bustling with people preparing for the Tourney, and Tyrion tried his best to steer his lady wife around the lords and common folk alike who had gathered to watch the jousting. He had not been lying to Sansa when he had said he would have preferred to be shut up in their chambers with a book; the thought of sitting for hours in the heat near his uncontrollable nephew was incredibly painful.

Tyrion's legs were aching by the time he, Sansa and Podrick reached the square that had been cleared for the tourney. Tyrion dismissed his squire, and turned to face his young wife. Sansa's expression was unreadable as her eyes followed the scene laid out in front of them: various knights from the lowest to highest of noble families were scrambling around, clad in the colors and sigils of their houses; servants carried various platters of multiple courses of rich foods, and a group of the King's fools were clustered at the corner of the green.

Seating had been set up for a large crowd, centered around a grand tent where Joffrey sat. Tyrion's gaze landed on his nephew. Joffrey was clad in the royal colors of House Baratheon; he wore a doublet of a deep yellow color, with a black stag crest on the breast pocket. His hair shone like the rays of the sun, and Tyrion couldn't help but think that he looked incredibly like his own brother, Jaime, had at the same age. Joffrey's eyes were surveying the crowd, as if he were looking for someone to torment. Tyrion could only pray to the gods that it was not Sansa Stark. The poor girl has certainly endured enough, Tyrion told himself, as if that would somehow stop his nephew's behavior. Tyrion suppressed a groan. He had never been one to enjoy tournaments, and he knew he would enjoy one less in the company of his nephew.

"Shall we be seated, my lady?" Tyrion asked his wife, though he knew they had little other choice.

"Of course, my lord" Sansa responded dutifully.

What a cheerful pair we are. Tyrion led Sansa to the canopy where members of Houses Baratheon and Lannister had been seated. Tactfully, he chose the seats the furthest possible distance away from both Joffrey and Cersei. He knew the least contact he came into with his older sister, the easier the afternoon would be. Cersei was sitting by her son's side, she wore a necklace of rubies around her neck, and she had dressed in a blood red gown. His sister looked hauntingly pale in the midday light.

They were seated facing the green, a great narrow table running in front of them. The table had been covered in a silk cloth, and silver platters had been placed in front of each seat. Tyrion was miserable to find that his goblet was empty. He only hoped the servants would bring out the wine soon. I'm going to need it, Tyrion muttered to himself.

Turning his fork in his hand impatiently, Tyrion turned his head to look at his lady wife. Sansa Stark had her eyes trained on her lap, as though she had become remarkably interested in the fabric of her dress. He wasn't sure if he should make a joke, or a complaint about Joffrey, or offer her a comforting smile. Whenever he was around her, he felt unbearably powerless. He never felt like a Lannister amongst his own family, yet when he was with Sansa he could not escape his name.

Sansa

"Just give me a sign, and I will find a way to excuse us. You have my word, Sansa." Tyrion promised her. Yet Sansa Stark found herself shaking her head in defiance. No, she told herself, You are a Stark, you will not give up. Sansa was not a child; Joffrey had not approached her yet, she could not let herself give in. Instead, she let her eyes rest firmly on the knights in front of the crowd. She could see no Stark men today, she was the only northerner in sight.

The jousting seemed to last for an eternity. One by one, young and elderly knights alike fell at the hand of Ser Gregor Clegane, much like they had at the first tournament Sansa had attended with her father. Ser Gregor was a monstrous man, far larger than any Sansa had ever seen, and even larger than his brother, the Hound. Sansa was used to the clash of metal on metal; she had grown up hearing men practicing in the yards at Winterfell every day, yet something about the way Ser Gregor fought made her uneasy. It was almost as though he enjoyed taking the lives of others.

It was late into the afternoon by the time the last few men were standing. Sansa's stomach ached as servants laid out the fifteenth course of the day. There were platters and platters of rich, creamy desserts; treacle sponges; exotic-looking cheeses with crackers; bowls full of fruit. Closest to her were two trays of lemon cakes. Sansa had always loved lemon cakes. The ones in front of her now were sweet and soft and dusted with white sugar, and they looked so like the ones from Winterfell. She could remember a time when she had been sent to her room without supper, scolded for something silly Arya had done, and Robb had knocked on her door with a plate full of lemon cakes. It made her heart ache to think of Robb now. And Arya. Sansa was still staring at the dessert trays when she heard Joffrey's voice.

"Uncle" he called, loud enough for those on the table and several clusters of the common people still watching the tourney to hear.

Beside her, Tyrion dropped his fork and looked up at his nephew silently.

"Uncle" Joffrey repeated, "This tournament has been awfully predictable. Perhaps you should compete, as it seems we are lacking in Lannister men."

"Joffrey," Came Cersei's voice from her son's side, "That would be cruel… like throwing a child into a dragon's lair."

"Silence, mother" Joffrey snapped, his icy eyes reaching Sansa, "I doubt the imp has feelings"

Joffrey's comment was met with a roar of laughter from the noble men and women and the common folk alike. Sansa was no fool, she knew it was the duty of the common people and those of the lower court to laugh at the King's jokes, but others didn't have to. Though Cersei hovered behind her son, Sansa could see her lips had formed into a tight, amused smile. The knights of the kingsguard, who were stationed beside the royal tent, wore grins across their faces.

They're laughing at him. Look at them, she commanded herself, her gaze sweeping over the crowds, they despise him.

Without thinking twice, Sansa slowly set down her cutlery and moved her hand until it hovered over Tyrion's smaller one. She set her hand on his and gripped it gently, the only sign of support she could think of showing. The sun's light was fading from the sky and the great torches had not yet been lit, and Sansa was unsure if anyone could see the small display of unity, but she didn't think she cared anymore.

Joffrey was decidedly relentless in his perusal of evening entertainment. He ignored the trays of desserts at the table, and stood up from his chair. The crowd was silent as Joffrey clapped his hands, gesturing for his squires.

"Fetch my uncle's armor."

Sansa could not believe her eyes as Joffrey's servants hurried off to do his bidding. Surely they'll kill him? The scene played out in her head and Sansa could almost see the blood splattering over the already stained ground. Ser Gregor was relentless with most men-Tyrion stood no chance.

The crowd went wild whilst Ser Gregor's lance pummeled into a young knight from House Wyl's steed. The boy went flying from the horse and slamming into the ground. Sansa winced as she heard the unmistakable sound of several of his bones breaking. This seemed to distract Joffrey, as he cheered loudly for Ser Gregor.

Beside her, Tyrion said nothing. Her lord husband had been silent for most of the tourney, and had said very little to anyone. Instead, he stared blankly at his silver goblet, stopping only to drink the sweet wine whenever the servants refilled it. Yet, she could feel the anger in her husband's silence, perhaps he has given up. She looked desperately around her, hoping to find some way to leave.

Sansa's eyes found the platter of lemon cakes. Her stomach was heaving, yet she reached out to the plate and hurriedly stuffed a small cake in her mouth in the most lady-like manor she could manage. When she was done, she ate another, and another, and another until she was sure she would be sick.

"My lord" Sansa said, in a voice that required all the strength she could find. She gripped her husband's arm, "I think we need to leave, I feel quite ill."

Sansa

The light of the moon shone through the shutters of her bedchambers as one of Sansa's handmaidens undressed her for bed. Truthfully, she would have preferred the company of Shae, but she was too tired to protest. Tyrion had said little to her since they returned to their shared room, and Sansa supposed he had sought solitude in his solar.

Slipping into her shift, Sansa heaved a sigh of relief at the freedom of the loose, flowing fabric. The blue gown, as pretty as it had been, had made her body ache terribly. She dismissed her handmaiden and climbed into the refuge of her bed. Her eyes were beginning to flutter closed when the chamber door opened and footsteps filled the quiet room.

"Sansa?" Came her lord husband's voice,

Sansa sighed and sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes, "Yes, my lord?"

Tyrion shut the oaken door behind him and offered her a small smile. He looked shattered- his doublet was messy and his golden hair disheveled.

"Sansa," he came closer and pulled himself up onto the bed. "Sansa, you didn't have to do what you did this evening."

Sansa's brain instinctively told her to pull away at his foreign closeness, yet something in his words made her still.

"No" She said quietly, "I didn't, but I wanted to."

Tyrion's mismatched eyes seemed to soften at her words. This time, it was him who reached out for her hand. His blunted fingers brushed over her long ones, and Sansa did not flinch.

"Thank you, my lady."

Sansa said nothing, and she did not even remove her hand when he retreated and she heard the sound of his feet padding to the other side of the room. Pulling the covers around her, Sansa closed her eyes tightly. The bed dipped slightly a few moments later as her husband climbed into the bed beside her.

"Goodnight, Sansa."

"Goodnight, Tyrion."

He may be a Lannister, she thought, but they despise him almost as much as they despise me, perhaps even more. She did not take comfort in that, but it had somehow changed things between them.

Author's Note: So originally I planned for this to a be one shot, however something in me couldn't resist writing Sansa x Tyrion, so here we are with another chapter! I'm really not sure about how this has gone, and I was worried about the interactions between some of the characters (I also feel like maybe the situation a bit unrealistic...)so please let me know if you have any tips to improve or whatever. Thank you so much to those who reviewed the last chapter, I really appreciate it! Just to say that that the one shots will be based mainly from the content of the show. I've just started a Clash of Kings, so I'm yet to encounter any interactions between Sansa and Tyrion in book cannon (i'm excited to though!) sorry this was a super long note, thank you for reading.