A/N: I know that it has been three months since I updated. The plan was to get back to this story as soon as the fourth season of Game of Thrones airs, but I suppose I can leave you this chapter for Christmas. It's something I had mapped out since I began this story and it's quite painful to write this particular chapter but I knew it was also a necessary decision as far as the story needs to go. I need to explore more complications between them and their intricate relationship before we ever get the happy ending we both know they deserve more than anything because in doing so, it becomes even more worth the trouble and the long wait once they end up together. Just like GRRM himself, I don't want easy resolutions. I want my characters to suffer and hopefully be rewarded for their temperance. In the course of this story, we witnessed Tyrion and Sansa understand each other better and the trust I nurtured between them was a real challenge to portray but I also truly hope I lived up to. But they are in a dangerous world where nothing is ever for certain, and it is my deepest regret that it will only get harder for them as the chapters progress. But if there's one thing I love about them is that they both believe they are meant to be happy someday, and that would keep them safe in a very unsafe world. I would like to thank everyone who believed in this project as much as I do. I'm very pleased for all the wonderful reviews especially the ones that tell me that they were deeply moved with how I wrote Sansa and Tyrion. I love these two so much and I'm so glad I can share it with all of you.

I would like to thank TheLastPhenom as my beta.

Reviews are very much appreciated


Winter is coming


My dearest Lord Tyrion,

I've been spending my afternoons with Margaery Tyrell. She was quite gracious to accompany me during my lessons with Septa Cora. Did you know that she could play the lyre? She plays the instrument with more skill than I ever did and I was quite envious as I watched her pluck the strings with a magnificence I've never seen before in a noble lady. I suppose all Tyrell women must be gifted with songs and Lady Margaery could possibly be the most gifted of them. I don't think anyone is as beautiful and kind and as gentle as she.

Forgive me, I'm getting lost in my reveries. I had a sister once and her name was Arya. I'm not sure if she still lives and every day my hopes of ever seeing her again grow fainter. I do not want to cause Arya's memory an injustice but it's almost as if Lady Margaery is the sister I've always wanted. Arya never tried to involve herself with the activities expected of noble ladies. She was far too stubborn and uncouth. But sometimes when I talk to Lady Margaery, I wish Arya was more like her. But it doesn't matter if that will ever happen because I doubt it. Our father once told me that Arya will do whatever she likes and that will get her in trouble. He also advised me that I should find a way to ensure that she stays safe. I never understood why I had to look after her when she bore no love for me. But the more I get comfortable with Lady Margaery, the more it hurts to know that Arya is never going to be a part of my life again. I will not delude myself to think otherwise. There's always been a wedge between us and I don't think she will ever forgive me if she found out that I went to the queen regent before to inform her of our father's plans.

I could not forgive myself for it either. Why should I hope she would? But I do miss her, Lord Tyrion. I'm happy to have Lady Margaery's friendship but it only makes me regret the things I never got to do with Arya. We were sisters but I didn't try hard enough to be her friend. I wished the queen regent herself would realize this soon and extend you friendship before it's too late. If that doesn't happen, I would like to comfort you with the fact that at least you and I have become friends.

I didn't want it. I never wished it. But here we are and that's good enough for me. I cannot keep you safe but know that I pray for it all the time, Lord Tyrion.


"I know about him," Every time Margaery Tyrell smiled like that, it could almost radiate across the room. "The hedge knight Ser Dunk that you speak of."

Sansa beamed back at her. "He's such a wonderful story, don't you think?"

"He's more than a story." Margaery replied as she laced the next few threads together for the mittens she'd been knitting for an hour now. "He's a legend."

"He really did live before, my lady?" Sansa couldn't help but imagine how handsome and gallant the hedge knight must have been. "I've read that he championed the weak and fought not only for gold and glory but for love for mankind and country."

Margaery started to chuckle aloud as though she was very much amused with what Sansa just said. She shook her head and answered. "A hedge knight as brave and strong as Ser Dunk may be all these things you speak of, but he still primarily serves those whose purses can fill his pockets."

"I don't contest that," Sansa admitted. "But Ser Dunk was still able to perform certain duties regardless if there is gold or not. That's what the tales taught me."

"A noble knight is a rarity these days," Margaery remarked. "It's puzzling how we can afford to appoint so many of them and yet only a few truly uphold themselves in a higher moral ground." She took Sansa's left hand and asked. "May I, my lady? I want to see if the gloves fit."

"Oh, thank you," Sansa blushed. "You didn't have to—"

"Nonsense!" With her hand wrapped around Sansa's wrist, Margaery grinned and pushed the glove gently into Sansa's fingers. The material snuggled well in her hand and felt very comfortable and warm. "Look how it fits you! Isn't it the loveliest thing?" Margaery's laughter sounded as delicate as chiming bells.

"Yes," Sansa felt her cheeks getting warmer as well. Before she could pronounce more words of gratitude, Septa Lorraine was back in the room, carrying a basket filled parchments. She bowed at them and then handed Sansa the papers.

"That's a heavy load of homework, my dearest." Margaery remarked. "Surely you've developed an expertise in arithmetic by now."

"I sure hope I had," Sansa answered, lowering her voice as she cautiously avoided the septa's gaze. "I find numbers to be the most enjoyable distraction."

Septa Lorraine spoke up. "How lovely to hear I provide you with distractions."

Sansa opened her mouth to reply but Margaery jumped in. "I'm sure Lady Stark did not mean anything disparaging about it," she glanced at Sansa and added. "I think what she was trying to say is that she's very grateful that the emptiness of her days have been filled with numbers lately. It brings her comfort."

Sansa nodded meekly at that although she much preferred the songs in the afternoon. Septa Cora and Margaery could have been sisters themselves too, and their music has taken away a great deal of heaviness from Sansa. On the other hand, even though the older septa was as alienating as ever, Sansa has grown more comfortable in her presence and she answered every equation Septa Lorraine imparted with a more stable focus than the earlier days. None of this would have been possible if it wasn't for her patron. She smiled to herself as she thought about the letter that is waiting for her in her chambers. She received it this morning but hasn't found time to read it just yet. She wanted to be discreet as much as possible after all. No one in Red Keep must know the nature of her relationship with Tyrion. They have become fast friends in an inexplicable manner and that must be guarded at whatever cost. She knew not everyone could understand their friendship especially since she still couldn't wrap her head around it either.

Margaery noticed her silence and remarked on it. "Who occupies your thoughts, my love?"

Sansa cleared her throat and looked to the side. "No one of importance."

"If he's been in your mind a lot more times than you can count, then clearly he must be special." The Tyrell soon-to-be queen teased.

"My lady, please," Sansa replied. "It's nothing like that. He's a friend."

Margaery smiled again. "That's how it always starts, sweetling."

Sansa wasn't sure how to respond to that anymore especially with Septa Lorraine glancing at them right now. She was also distracted with the painful way her smile persisted in her mouth as she once again thought about his letter.


"Master of coin?" Tyrion was livid. "Assigning me the treasury is worse than the plumbing job I got in Casterly Rock!" He paced around the room while Varys sat on the other side of the room with an expression of detached calmness.

"I thought you'd be more pleased with your new obligation."

"The crown has an awful amount of debt, as you may know," Tyrion remarked. "And though it has always fascinated me how Baelish ever managed to handle the finances, I do not have any ambition to replace him to do such a dreary occupation. I believe spending gold rather than budgeting it is what I am better at." He let out an exasperated sigh and then immediately started to crave the taste of wine in his mouth again. He called out for his squire.

"You're looking at this the wrong way, my lord." Varys remained unfazed as he spoke up. "You just gained an advantage. Money puts you back in a more formidable position of power, does it not?"

Tyrion wasn't sure if he can believe that for certain. The Hand was the best strategic occupation in King's Landing but now his father has reclaimed that honor. He considered himself fairly competent with numbers, but he didn't want to waste his time in his chambers with nothing but numbers to numb the days away. That's a fate worse than death.

Podrick handed him the goblet and Tyrion would have devoured the entire cup as he drank, sulking like a petulant child. Varys looked more amused now.

"In any case, I have faith that you will make the most of this opportunity."

"Oh yes, watch me work my magic." Tyrion retorted. Even sarcasm has become tiresome for him now. He wondered if he could send for Shae tonight without arousing suspicion. Thinking about seeing Shae again did improve his mood a bit, but it also made him think about the Stark girl. His eyes wandered to his desk where her letter was. He slowly looked away so Varys won't suspect that something was amiss. He said. "I'm nothing if not resourceful. But I do ask that you assist me in any capacity in case I die of boredom one day and rendered unable to finish the computations." He sipped from his cup as he watched Varys laugh.

"Anything I could do to serve, I am at your command," the spider bowed.

"I guess that would be all," Tyrion announced. "Thank you for the company. I'd offer you wine but I've already finished the bottle."

"Your third for the day, I believe," Varys remarked. "Forgive me for asking but are you and the queen regent having a contest as to who would finish more wine today?" Without waiting for an answer, Varys was already walking toward the door.

"If we are then trust me, Lord Varys," Tyrion grinned at him. "My loving sister is winning." He opened the door so Varys could leave.

Tyrion almost spat into his cup as he thought about Cersei again. Sansa has mentioned her in the letter after she talked about her own sister Arya. Playing the goblet on his hand, Tyrion headed to his desk to retrieve the letter. He re-read its contents and wondered if his response was sufficient enough. If he's being really honest with himself, Tyrion wasn't sure how to feel about this development so far. It's plain as day that the Stark girl was learning to trust him. She confirmed that they are indeed friends which still surprises him every time he thinks about it. But isn't this what he desired? He came to her aid many times and provided for her schooling at that. He defended her from Joffrey and Cersei, and he encouraged her to start rebuilding her life even if it's inside this prison of a kingdom. And he did all of this because he saw a piece of family in Sansa he hasn't found anywhere else, save perhaps with Jaime. Tyrion smiled when he thought about his brother. And then he remembered he talked about Jamie in length as well in his letter. He's only now realizing how embarrassing it may have been for her to read that.

Tyrion glanced back at her words in the parchment and felt warmth spreading across his chest which made him more uncomfortable than he already is. Was he truly in her prayers as she claimed? Did she think about him as often as he thought about her? Tyrion placed both the goblet and the letter away so he could rub his hands against his eyes as he yawned. He hadn't been sleeping well and if anything should keep him up at night, he'd rather have a woman's flesh to do just that.

Perhaps he will send for Shae after all. He tried to think about her hair and her face. He imagined the smoothness of her skin and the deftness of those highly skilled hands. But with eyes closed all he could think about was Sansa crying in his arms that night a long time ago. He remembered the way she looked at him when he tried to kiss her as if she was only seeing him for the first time. He could never forget how her radiant hair seems to eclipse the sun itself. It ached to look at her sometimes but Tyrion could picture her clearly now; the gorgeous hair with a halo of yellow flowers on the top of her head; the haunting sadness in her pale blue eyes. He even imagined her grip on his hand when she wished for his return from the Blackwater battle. As his reveries about her deepened, Tyrion abruptly opened his eyes and snapped himself out of then. No, he shouldn't be thinking about the child in such a vivid manner. Irritated that he almost lost himself in her memory like that, Tyrion grabbed his goblet and shouted for wine. Podrick came in the moment he did that Tyrion wondered if the boy was just standing outside the door the whole time.

He eyed him suspiciously as his squire poured him a drink. "Have you given Lady Sansa the letter?" he couldn't help asking even though he knew the answer.

"Yes, my lord. She seemed very pleased."

"Oh, do you think so?" Tyrion felt that he was glaring at the boy which was unfair. He was not sure of the reasons why he's angry and bothered (his bloody wound itches so much as well) and he shouldn't take it out on Podrick. "After supper, I want you to tell Shae to visit my chambers once she tucked Sansa Stark to bed."

Podrick nodded and remained where he was as he waited for Tyrion to finish his cup so he could pour him another. It occurred to Tyrion that though Cersei may be winning this race, he would gladly settle for second especially with the pace and volume of his wine intake lately. Nothing would taste sweeter than this except for Shae's mouth later tonight.


My Lady Sansa,

Your happiness is the best news I received in weeks. It seemed only fair that the comfort you seek was found in Margaery Tyrell's company. With no family in the city, it's only natural for you to choose new ones and I think it was a wise decision on your part to trust our future queen. She definitely has the grace and restraint to share the throne with our beloved Joffrey, wouldn't you agree? Now that you have her affections, it will most certainly make things easier for you. I'm sincerely relieved that she has decided to take you under her protection. The Tyrells have always been one of the most exemplary pacifists in Westeros and they always create alliances that are worth keeping, so I consider you in safe hands. Keep them close to you, my lady.

As for your sister, I regret her grave situation and I will not give you false hope because I think it would be best if we expect the worst of outcomes since the country is at war and the dangers we face these days are darker than usual. However, I'm also torn with these events since I somewhat share your predicament. My brother Jaime is a captive of your brother's camp as you are more than aware of, and I still believe that one day he will be returned to us safely. Forgive me for bringing up the unfortunate circumstances surrounding our families. I don't need to remind you the roads our loved ones have taken when they decided to start this war. Sometimes it's hard to believe we ever got this way. Life was simpler when Robert was king.

And now we're forced to accept the situations we did not choose ourselves and that I think is a war we must overcome first before anything else. I knew very well that you lived a sheltered life growing up, and perhaps that hasn't prepared you for the things at stake at this moment, but let me say that you are doing remarkably well than anyone would expect. As for me, I've always been loathed by my own kin and strangers alike so it's quite peculiar for me that you of all people could ever consider me as a friend. I am grateful for that chance, my lady, and my intentions remain as pure as the day I helped you to get away from our beloved king's harsh judgment. I confess that it is still very new to me. No one has ever been as kind to me as you have. There was Jaime, of course, or rather, there used to be a Jaime in my life before I also lost him to a war I don't want to fight at all. As for Cersei, I don't think you should expect reconciliation between us. Some things are better left broken forever.

Thank you for your prayers, my lady, and your letters have been helpful to me as well. It truly amazes me that we have now reached a point that we can tell things as freely in these exchanges than we do when we're facing each other. I suppose we can only afford to tell lies in the presence of suspicious company. But at least we have these moments. I never had any good reasons to pray to the gods back then, but now you have given me one in the days to come. Stay safe, Sansa.


While she was breaking fast, Sansa was visited by one of Margaery's handmaids who informed her that Ser Loras would like to spend an afternoon with her in the castle gardens. She was understandably gleeful about the prospect of seeing the Knight of Flowers and she spent the morning choosing the perfect garment to wear. She tried not to appear too nervous even though she's worried about what they could possibly talk about. It occurred to Sansa that Ser Loras might have known about their secret arrangement by this time. That means he wanted to determine for himself if she would make a proper wife. Sansa hadn't felt this excited in a long while that it almost scared her. Could she ever believe that something beautiful could happen for her again? As far as experiences go, the opposite always seemed to come true. She pondered that for a while until she remembered Tyrion's letter especially the part when he told her that he's praying for her which gave her a funny feeling on her gut, considering he was also honest enough to admit that he doesn't usually pray. Sansa tried not to think about his letter (though she re-read it at least four times before she went to sleep last night and some of the phrases have stuck that she could almost hear his voice reciting them to her).

She thought about seeing him again one of these days. They haven't had a proper conversation since he woke up from his battle injury. Sansa knew that she missed him, and that's supposed to bother her. Why would she miss someone she should hate alongside Joffrey and Cersei? But it was always a different case with Tyrion. He meant something else to her and perhaps Margaery was right to say that he might even be someone special. Not fully understanding the weight of her feelings for him at this time, Sansa wasn't sure how to react to it except with embarrassment. Each time she thought about Tyrion, warmth would spread across her chest. Sometimes she would even find herself contemplating about what he's doing at that precise day and if he's thinking about her too. Sansa doesn't understand why she's fixating on him which is what she's doing again right now.

Shaking thoughts of Tyrion Lannister away, Sansa eagerly walked around the castle gardens to meet her future husband. Just saying that in her head sounded like a melody she would like to keep hearing. Sansa had always wanted a dashing knight to be her savior. Ser Loras could be the man she'd been waiting for all this time.

The Knight of Flowers was sitting on the edge of the fountain. His serene stance was mesmerizing. Sansa barely uttered a sound as she approached. The moment their eyes locked, Ser Loras stood up and his smile resembled Margaery's which only made Sansa's heart flutter. She shyly offered her hand for him to kiss and he took it gently and pressed it against those perfect lips.

"Thank you for seeing me, Lady Stark," Ser Loras spoke as he offered for her to sit by his side. Once they were both settled in, he looked into her eyes and said. "I trust that all is well with you, and that you've been treated better now?"

Sansa nodded, smiling back. "Yes, my lord."

Ser Loras paused. And then with another gentle touch, he placed a hand on her arm. Sansa wasn't sure how to react since she was too captivated by his gaze on hers. But then she felt him pulling back the sleeve as he asked. "May I...?"

Sansa wondered what he was trying to do until she realized that he was now looking keenly at the scars on her wrist. She jerked back from his touch without thinking. She rolled the sleeve down and apologized.

"No, my lady, I didn't mean to be so intrusive," Ser Loras interjected. "It's just..." he frowned. "I was informed about your maltreatment. We all worry about you." He looked at her some more and added. "With Margaery's blessing as the new queen, she will have us wed and he will never lay a hand on you ever again."

Sansa didn't know what she should say. She wanted to show her gratitude but the words wouldn't be enough. She felt her eyes water so she looked slightly away and replied. "You and your family have done so much for me."

Ser Loras placed his hand under her chin so she could look at him. "You are so beautiful, Lady Stark. A beauty like yours shouldn't be hidden away here in this place. Once you're my wife, we can ride back to Highgarden." He smiled wider now. "Oh, you're going to fit in perfectly there. I know you're from the North and you're used to the cold but Highgarden is where the sun rises the best. The horizon is always so bright and all the flowers of every kind blossom to their fullest. They never hide their beauty from where I come from, and neither should you." He placed both hands on top of hers and squeezed.

"Your words move me so deeply, Ser." Sansa blushed and smiled at him. "And I can't wait to see Highgarden myself." She looked at their hands still pressed together and felt instant glee take over her. She had never been this close to a man before—touching like this—not since the Hound...

...or when Tyrion and I almost kissed.

She slowly withdrew her hands and asked. "Is there any particular reason why we're meeting here, Ser?"

He chuckled. "I merely want to look at my betrothed."

"Oh," she bit her lower lip and looked away again.

"Have you thought about your dress, my lady?"

"My dress?" Sansa cocked her head to the side.

"For Margaery's wedding to Joffrey."

"The queen regent will decide on what I have to wear," Sansa answered.

"She'll probably put you in something red again," Ser Loras looked at her state of dress and added. "Or this kind of garish, faded material."

Sansa opened her eyes to say something but then he laughed and said. "I wasn't calling you ugly, my lady. I just think that the queen regent tries so hard to suppress your beauty. And why wouldn't she? If you wear the right color that would enhance that hair so kissed by fire and your blue eyes, then the next time you stand next to her, she might look like the Crone herself."

Sansa tried not to laugh but failed. She let out a quiet giggle which she quickly regretted. But Ser Loras was grinning and enjoying himself far too much with that disrespectful comment and she found herself not really caring who hears them. She watched him closely this time as he looked across the garden, probably lost in his own thoughts. He was just breathtaking. His curly brown hair is the same shade as Margaery's and he had the most delicate cheekbones she had ever seen in a man. She examined his features as discreetly as she could but the more she noticed his perfection, the more she thought about the burnt marks on half of the Hound's face, and the battle scar on Tyrion's nose. It only made her feel sad. Sansa couldn't understand why she's even thinking about those men when she's in the presence of her dashing knight who will marry her and take her away from all the terrors of this place. She rejected the Hound that night and now he's gone. What matters at this moment is Ser Loras Tyrell, her Knight of Flowers.

I will leave King's Landing soon, she thought to herself happily. But that means I need to say my goodbyes...to Tyrion. She didn't know why that dampened her mood all of a sudden. Could it be that he was the anchor that's keeping her here?

Yes, he is. It's because I care about him.

But he's a Lannister.

"My lady?" Ser Loras interrupted her musings. "Shall we take a walk?"

Sansa accepted his hand and together they stood up and began to take a stroll across the garden. Ser Loras talked about the tourneys he'd been a part of as they walked which Sansa eagerly listened to but once in a while her thoughts would lead her astray and she'll be thinking about Tyrion again, wondering what he would say when he finds out that she's getting married to a Tyrell, and that she's moving away. Will he be happy for me? Will he visit me in Highgarden? Should I extend an invitation? But why would I do that? Sansa couldn't understand why he's infesting her thoughts like this. Do I still want him to be a part of my life even if I'm to belong to someone else? Sansa wasn't listening to Ser Loras anymore.

We could be friends out in the open once the Tyrells and the Lannisters are allies. That means we could spend time together again.

Something is not right, though. Why does that possibility make her feel...dizzy and warm inside, and in ways that she shouldn't experience at all for a man who's supposed to be just her friend? This is all too confusing so Sansa set her thoughts away and focused on her husband-to-be. Getting as far away from Joffrey and Cersei is all that she should dwell on. Creating her happy ending is what should matter.


Tywin Lannister was still writing from the moment Tyrion entered his chambers and until he took a seat across him. It was always the same song with him. The game had never changed between them at all. But this time Tyrion kept his mouth shut and waited as patiently as he could. His father summoned him for something important after all and he knew that the old man is going to make him wait for it. And Tyrion will give him the satisfaction. He was far too exhausted and preoccupied with other thoughts to give a fuck about this situation. He had nothing on his plate anyway. He made love to Shae last night which was enough to get him through today. He was drunk again which numbed any lingering bitterness he may have from their last conversation days ago.

And he sneaked into the Godswood last night with Bronn to say his prayers which was awkward (and funny for Bronn, apparently) because he had no idea how to pray to a stump of a tree but it was a Northern god that the Starks worship and he found it only fitting that he paid his respect on her behalf. Now as he sat in silence across his father, it allowed him to think about his actions more critically. He knew he cared about the Stark girl but praying to her gods was the kind of gesture he did not expect he would be capable of. It was too much. He hated all the gods, old or new, so why did he even attempt to connect with them last night?

Is it because he felt guilty every time she kept saying that he's included in her prayers? Was he going to let her know in his next letter that he prayed to a weirwood tree for her? Wouldn't that be embarrassing?

Tyrion adjusted himself in the chair and wished he had a goblet right now so he could just drink away his ramblings and shut off his thoughts of the Stark girl which were starting to overcrowd his mind lately. Maybe he should stop writing to her. Maybe he should keep his distance. But I want to see her, Tyrion admitted. And we're friends now. I don't need a reason to see her if I want to. Missing her is a good enough reason. He paused. Tyrion looked at his father and wished they'll start speaking soon so he could stop thinking about Sansa so much.

He's thinking about her again and wine may not even help him anymore.

"So," Tywin spoke up at last. Tyrion almost rejoiced aloud.

"So," Tyrion answered back as he tapped his fingertips lightly on the table.

Tywin held his gaze for an uncomfortable few seconds before he spoke up again. "It has come to my attention that the Tyrells are plotting to marry Sansa Stark to Ser Loras." He paused and then asked. "Isn't that an interesting development?"

Tyrion tried not to sigh. Are they going to talk about her some more? He'd rather prefer they don't. "Very well," he curtly replied. "She's a lovely girl."

When his father said nothing, Tyrion felt the need to babble. "Missing some of Loras' favorite bits but I'm sure they'll make do..."

"Your jokes are not appreciated."

"It wasn't my best but..."

"I bring them into the royal fold and this is how they repay me," Tywin certainly looked displeased, "by trying to steal the key to the North from under me."

Oh, that's what this is about. Tyrion shifted from his seat. "Sansa is the key to the North?" Does that mean he plots to finish Robb Stark once and for all?

As if reading his mind, Tywin replied. "The Karstarks have marched home. The young wolf has lost his army. His days are numbered. Now Theon Grejyoy murdered both his brothers. That makes Sansa Stark the heir to Winterfell."

"And you are not about to hand her over to the Tyrells," Tyrion finished his father's litany under his breath which Tywin didn't seem to mind. He was right. Feeling the need to end this discussion quickly, Tyrion interjected his own side of things. "The Tyrell army is helping us win this war. Do you really think it's wise to refuse them?" Sansa would be happier in Highgarden. She never belonged here.

"There's nothing to refuse since this is a plot, and plots are not public knowledge." Tywin retorted. "And the Tyrells won't carry this one out until after Joffrey's wedding." There's a glint in his father's eyes that Tyrion recognized instantly. "We need to act first and kill this union in its crib."

Tyrion knew what was coming so he didn't have to ask.

"She requires a new husband." Tywin announced to no one in the room.

"Wonderful."

Tywin almost smirked. "Isn't it just?"

They stared at each other for a while until it dawned to Tyrion the real reason his father summoned him for this news. Disbelieving, he muttered. "You can't."

"I can."

His anger was back. Tyrion leaned closer from his seat and looked at his father straight in the eye. "Joffrey has made this poor girl's life miserable since the day he took her father's head. Now she's finally free of him and you give him to me?" No, he didn't want Sansa for himself and especially not like this. He thought about her smile which he had only glimpsed once so long ago. "Father," Tyrion added. "That's cruel..." he paused and looked down on his hand on the table, "even for you."

She deserves a knight—handsome, noble and tall. She doesn't deserve me.

His father looked amused. "Do you intend on mistreating her?"

Tyrion would not dare dignify that with an answer.

"The girl's happiness is not my concern nor should it be yours."

"She's been through enough!" Tyrion raised his voice which surprised the both of them. Now Tywin was no longer amused.

"She's not a child you need to shelter," his father shot back. "She flowered. From what I can gather, your sister discussed that with her in length. So you will wed her, bed her and put a child in her. Surely even you are capable of that."

Tyrion couldn't even speak. He had lost the words or the means to communicate how much this has enraged him. Every conversation they have had in the last few years never failed to make Tyrion's blood boil as it did now. He leaned back against his chair and answered. "And if I refuse?"

Tywin chuckled grimly, maintaining his nonchalant pose the whole time. "You said you wanted to be rewarded for your valor in battle. Sansa Stark is a finer reward than you could ever dare hope for. And it is past time you were wed."

"I was wed," Each syllable hurt his teeth."Or have you forgotten?"

"Oh, I remember," Tywin glared at him now. "Only too well."

Tyrion balled his hand into a fist and looked to the side.

"You will do your bid while your sister marries Ser Loras in exchange."

"She will?" That earned a laugh from Tyrion.

"And she will obey because she knows her place as my daughter."

But not even Cersei's misery could lessen his own. Tyrion couldn't stand to look at him anymore or he might just say something he can't take back, so he pushed himself off the chair. "May I leave, father dearest?"

But Tywin was already writing in a new parchment. Tyrion got out of the chambers without ever looking back.


There wasn't enough wine in the world to lessen Tyrion's repugnance upon gazing at his abhorrent sister's face the moment he stormed out of the door. He realized that her expression was also celebratory and that only made it worse.

She knew. Father told her first.

"You should be thanking the gods for this," his sweet sister almost purred. "This is more than you deserve."

Tyrion smiled now. She doesn't know the other thing though.

"What is that look?" Cersei asked suspiciously.

"You are to marry the Knight of Flowers."

For a while it almost seemed like Cersei had a heart attack. "I will not."

"Well," Tyrion tried to enjoy this. "The boy is heir to Highgarden. Father plans for me to secure the North while you secure the Reach. And are we not dutiful, sister? Are we not the great Tywin Lannister's pride and joy?"

"I won't do it!" Cersei looked like she was going to cry which should make Tyrion rejoice inside but he still felt sorry for her even after everything.

So he mocked her. "You're still fertile. You need to marry again and breed."

And that's when she slapped him. He took a step back so she won't do it again. The sting on his cheek felt great though. He needed that.

"I am Queen Regent, not some broodmare!" With that, she pushed the doors open to Tywin's chambers. Tyrion didn't stay to hear their argument and he rushed to find Sansa in her chambers but she wasn't there. He couldn't find Shae either.

Whatever happens, she needs to hear it from me first.


For the first time since she left Winterfell to travel to King's Landing, Sansa began to daydream by herself again. She was still in the garden, humming the song she composed for Ser Dunk. The roses around her have the deepest and loveliest shade of red she had ever seen and everything else looked almost brand new.

"You're not supposed to be wandering around my castle like an idiot child."

That voice. Sansa slowly turned to meet the king's eyes. Joffrey stood there with his arms crossed and a grin on his face. He crooked his finger, urging her to come close to him which she had no choice but to obey.

He grabbed her arm and pressed his lips against her. She squirmed and pulled away. "Your Grace, you are betrothed to the lady Margaery—"

"And you're going to tell her?" Joffrey cupped one of her breasts and gave it a squeeze. "You're going to tell my bride-to-be and your new best friend that you seduced me here in the garden and..." he whispered into her ear, "that I pushed you to the grass and we fucked over and over and over..."

"Please, Your Grace." Sansa shut her eyes and did not dare to push him off.

"Shhh," Joffrey kissed her cheek now. "I was jesting, my beautiful dove. You and I are family now." He run his fingers through her hair and smiled almost kindly.

"What do you mean by that, Your Grace?" she dreaded to hear his reply.

"My uncle," he answered. "He will wed and bed you."

Sansa stared blankly at him for a moment. She wanted to speak but something impaired her speech and she just kept staring at him.

"The Imp has slept with a thousand whores before so he will do his duty well, I hope," Joffrey sneered. "If he doesn't, well, I'm always here." He placed his palm on her stomach. "You wouldn't care, would you? As long as it's a lion that mates with you? You've always wanted little blond children popping out of you since I met you, right?" He chuckled into her ear. "Any Lannister would be up for the task to bed the last maiden wolf." He nibbled on her ear. "And our family always shares."


It took him a few minutes but Tyrion finally found Sansa Stark in the Godswood. It was the last place of sanctuary for her.

He was so afraid to come close. It had been weeks since they talked and it's just not fair that the first conversation they'll have since then would be about something so horrible. If the Tyrells intended to marry her to Ser Loras then she might have been privy to that arrangement. She must have been happy about it too which explained her letter. She adored Margaery after all, and Ser Loras was everything her young, hopeful heart longed for and he's about to take that all away from her. By doing so, he's going to lose her too. He took a few steps closer while dreading what's to come.

"Sansa?" Tyrion couldn't feel his mouth.

When she lifted her head up and saw him, it was clear that she knew already. Her eyes were red and glistened with tears. Tyrion froze. His legs felt weak and he couldn't move an inch. "Please..." he tried to reach out but the rage in those eyes stopped him. For a moment it looks like she even wanted to hit him.

She hates me. He wanted to hide from her. She really, really does.

She gathered her gown and stood up. When she tried to speak, she could only whimper in vain as the tears keep coming. Tyrion tried to soothe her but he couldn't. He doesn't know what he could possibly tell her now that it wouldn't change anything. He had to try though. He owed her that much.

But Sansa was speaking now in a tone that betrayed her pain and punctured him in the chest. "Sometimes we have to accept situations we did not choose..." she almost spat out the words. "You said that. You knew. This was always the plan. You've always known!" She was stepping back away from him as if he held a sword in his hand and he was going to stab her with it. He might as well have already.

"Sansa, I didn't—"

"Monster," Sansa whispered. "You're just like Joffrey."

No, Tyrion still couldn't move. No, Sansa, I love you—

When he heard himself say that in his head, it almost made him want to cry. He could hear it loudly now and it was the harshest sound. Tyrion bit his tongue, not wanting to blurt it out. I may marry you but I won't ever have you and now you're going to hate me for the rest of our lives.


Sansa steadied her hand although she wanted nothing more than to hit him many times the way Joffrey's knights had done to her before. She wanted Tyrion Lannister to feel each blow that struck her face and body then, so he will understand and feel for himself the magnitude of his betrayal and deceit. Sansa thought that no pain could be greater than what she had gone through when she witnessed her father's head chopped off and displayed on the castle walls. She thought her despair could no longer deepen after the variety of horrid ways Joffrey has made her grieve and suffer on a daily basis. The king lied and destroyed her life as the queen regent watched and manipulated her from the shadows.

But in spite of their cruelty, Sansa was now ready to believe that Tyrion Lannister had hurt her the most and it's because he made her believe and dream again; he uplifted her spirit and made it soar and for the first time since she left Winterfell, Sansa felt like she had a place to call home once more because his friendship promised her safety and it gave her a clarity that strengthened her hope. But then he snatched it all away, leaving her heart bloody and broke in a way it might never be repaired.

Sansa turned away from him so he would not get the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Before he could even try to grab hold of her, she pulled up her skirts and ran.

She now hated the Lannisters more than she could handle, and detested Tyrion the worst. He reached out to her only to claw his way into her chest where her heart is already tucked away and she gave him the opportunity to clutch and squeeze the life out of it. She will never forgive him. He was never her friend and yet she trusted him so much and therein lies the ultimate mistake. How many times did Sansa have to fall and wound herself before she learns that all Lannisters are motivated by greed alone and will only repay everything with blood?

I wanted love, Sansa blinked away the tears as she climbed up the stairs leading to her chambers. She pushed the door open and went to her desk to retrieve the letter she wrote for that monster. Without a second thought, she ripped the parchment apart the same way he tore her heart to pieces.

She crashed into the bed afterwards, and buried her face on the pillow.

All I ever wanted was to be loved. And I thought that I was...Sansa forced the wicked thought away but she's already thinking it with a dangerously clear perspective. I even thought that I was in love with him!

She couldn't believe she just admitted that to herself but it's what she feels and it was horrible and repugnant but it wasn't going away.

And I really thought he loves me too! Why in the gods would I ever love a Lannister? Why did I allow it? And he was lying to me all this time! All those promises he made—all the kindness he showed—they were all lies! He was only using me just like everyone else! Sansa balled her hands into fists and began punching the pillow.

I can't love him. Stop being in love with a monster, Sansa!

"Stupid girl!" she half-screamed into the pillow and then she bit it down. Stupid, reckless and doesn't learn. He is a Lannister and he was never your friend. You are doomed, Sansa Stark. You will die on the snowy cliff and there is no warlock to grant you wings or a brave Ser Dunk to rescue you.

"I'm doomed to marry into a family of murderers," she whimpered softly to herself and the truth was almost enough to kill her while she wept. And now her chances of escape from this narrowing cage had slipped within her grasp. But the most hateful thing about all of this is that she loved him. She really, really did.


"I don't want you to change for all the hurt that you feel. The world is just an illusion, trying to change you."