Thank you for the follows / reviews and encouragement for chapter one. It really helps, as I've never written something like this before. Getting this up as soon as I can, to thank you for your support.

Sansa

Sansa awoke early, the dawn light only just beginning to creep through the window. Tyrion sat at the desk, a book open and the candles burned far down. He'd clearly been awake for a while.

"My lord?" she said, wondering what she was supposed to say to her husband this morning.

"You're awake early," he said, turning towards her. "We won't be disturbed for several hours yet. Try to sleep some more."

"You've slept less than me," she said. He said nothing, but inclined his head. "Do you have a knife, my lord?"

"It's Tyrion," he said. "And yes, I have a knife. Why?"

She blushed before she could stop herself. "There needs to be blood on the sheets," she said. "It might make people leave us alone for a little while longer."

He sat silent, but nodded, agreeing with her thinking. He handed her a small dagger before thinking better of it. "Maybe you should let me…"

"No, I'll do it," she said firmly. She took the knife, twisting so she could cut the sole of her foot in one neat line. The blood welled instantly, as did the pain, but she ignored it, concentrating on dropping blood onto the bed sheets. She'd thought about where to cut herself, and decided that anywhere else would be too noticeable. Her handmaiden might see it, and these days she never knew who was a spy. There was silence in the room until the wound on her foot clotted and she handed Tyrion back the dagger, stained with her blood.

Tyrion

He watched his new wife in fascination as she concentrated on staining the sheets. She'd cut her foot quickly and with decision and he was surprised. Not many girls would willingly inflict pain on themselves with such certainty. She really must want to avoid sleeping with me for as long as possible, he thought, with a flash of hurt, surprising in its intensity. What can you expect? She's barely more than a child.

Sansa handed him the knife, and he looked at the bloodstained edge for a moment, before wiping it clean. She moved to sit on the edge of the bed, looking at him.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked her.

"I dreamed of Robb," she said. Then she looked aghast, covering her mouth with her hand at her words. "I mean… I didn't…"

"Sansa, you don't ever have to lie to me," he said. "It's perfectly understandable that you should miss your home and your family."

"My family are traitors," she parroted. She'd said it so many times it was now an automatic reflex, he could tell.

"No," he said gently. "They were only on the losing side. That's all." He swallowed against the lump in his throat, now they'd come to the subject of her dead relatives. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry that my family was responsible for you losing yours. I had no part in it, but still. They are my family, and I'd understand if you blamed me. You probably should blame me," he added fairly.

"I don't blame you," she said quietly, her voice just a whisper. "I blame… people that it would be treasonous to name."

He understood that that was as close as she was going to come to blaming Tywin and Cersei and Joffery for those she'd lost. "Tell me about your brother," he said.

She bit her lip, debating whether to open herself up, he could tell. He stayed silent, letting her make the choice of how much to divulge. "He was just… Robb," she said.

"He was good with a sword and in my dream he was teaching myself and… Arya knife throwing. He never taught me in real life, I was too busy learning… womanly pursuits. Embroidery, dancing, the art of conversation. How to please my husband," she added, blushing vividly red. "Arya was the one who wanted to throw spears and axes, never me."

"Anyway," she said as Tyrion listened eagerly. She didn't open up like this to anyone and he was reluctant to break her trance. "Robb was handing us knives, and we were laughing as we threw them at the target. All three of us had our dire wolves with us. They were growling and snapping at each other playfully in the practise yard. It was so much fun that I didn't even notice it had started snowing until… Lady, my wolf, shook her coat, showering us with wet snow. Robb laughed, he had a wonderful laugh, back when there was things to smile about. I woke up."

Tyrion watched her speaking about her home with such warmth and felt a sadness for her. She'd already lost so much. Both parents, her home, her friends and all of her siblings, one way or another. Now she'd been forced into marriage with a dwarf, he thought with a wave of revulsion. He'd become used to his condition and almost immune to the ridicule, but seeing it through her eyes was worse, because he could only imagine what she thought of him.

"I met Robb once," Tyrion said. "He seemed a good man."

"Maybe," Sansa said.

"Don't think you have to hide your feelings for your family from me," he said. "I wouldn't betray your confidences." She nodded but he couldn't tell if she actually believed him. He decided to confide in her, in turn. "I dream of my mother from time to time."

She looked at him curiously. "I thought…"

"No," Tyrion said. "I never met her. She died giving birth to me, so my dreams are no more than figments of my imagination. I do dream of her though."

"What are the dreams like?" she asked innocently.

He coughed, a little embarrassed, but he started so he'd go on. After all, it couldn't be easy for her to talk about her family with a Lannister. "It's more a feeling," he said. "In my dream's, I'm a child. I'm being taken care of. I never see her face, but I know it's my mother. I feel… safe," he admitted. "Normal. Like I'm not a deformed monster any longer."

"You're not a monster," she interrupted. "Monsters are people like J…" she tailed off, terrified that she'd said something she shouldn't have.

"My nephew?" Tyrion supplied. "Well, yes. But a lifetime of ridicule is hard to ignore. In my dreams, my mother always makes me feel safe. And peaceful. And I sleep in her arms."

She smiled at him, then admitted something. "Do you know, I can't really remember what my mother looked like. It's been so long since I saw her. Years. And now she's dead." She went red. "I'm sorry. How selfish I must seem, to be complaining when you never had a mother."

"It's not selfish," he said quietly. He cleared his throat as the silence dragged on, knowing that the moment of sharing intimacies had gone. "Shall I call for breakfast?" he asked.

"If you like," she said indifferently. "I don't think I can eat." At that moment there was a bang on the door as someone tried to open it and found it locked. Tyrion moved and unlocked it, finding Shae there, coming in like a whirlwind.