Hi! I finished writing this chapter quickly on my way to the airport. I wanted to update now because I have no idea when I will be able to update again. I'll fix autocorrect mistakes while I wait for my second plane later today. (I hate planes... *cries*)

The title of the chapter comes from the song Broken Crown by Mumford and Sons.

25. Our Choices Seal Our Fate.

The wedding reception was held in the King's Landing Country Club, a place chosen by the Lannister family to celebrate the event. It was one of the most luxurious in the entire country (having not the most of them all,) having all kinds of installations and facilities. It was one if the favorite places of the richest people of the city to spend their free time, and it was big enough to host all the guests that had attended the wedding. King's Landing Country Club was indeed a wonderful place to hold the wedding reception and celebrate: the main building was a huge luxurious villa that was centuries old and had a beautiful and classic look. The villa was near the beach, but because it was autumn and the sea breeze was cold, all the guests went to celebrate inside the villa, where they were greeted by waiters with glasses of champagne and platters filled with delicacies. Everyone laughed and ate and drank and talked merrily, thoroughly enjoying the experience. An orchestra played classical music in the background, providing a calm, happy and elegant environment for everyone in there.

The guests had all been gathered in the main room of the villa: a 5000 square feet ballroom. It looked like it had been taken straight out of a fairy tale. Three crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, illuminating every single corner of the ballrooms. One of the walls was replaced entirely by French doors was allowed everyone inside the ballroom to see the magnificent views to the ocean: the sky was clear, the water was calm, and the waves broke against the shore and then got carried away back into the ocean over and over again.

The ballroom had been filled with round tables covered with fine white table linens with embroidery, and white flower centerpieces had been placed on them. Some of the guests were starting to seat down on the tables, while some of them went to the empty space in the middle of the ballroom that had been reserved for dancing. The orchestra continued playing, people continued drinking and dancing and chatting, and the cameras started flashing like crazy.

Because that was the wedding between a powerful politician and a famous star, the paparazzi had of course arrived to take as many pictures of the event as they could. That was the wedding of the century, after all. Apart from that, because of who the newlyweds were, dozens and dozens of politicians and other powerful people had come as guests of both the groom and the bride, and many famous actors and singers and other celebrities had been invited as friends of the bride. Even the guests that had nothing to do with politics or the world of fame were getting attention, because all the friends of the couple belonged to distinguished families in Westerosi society.

Among all the guests dressed in fancy and expensive suits and colorful dresses and among all the flashing cameras and the dancing people and the waiters, dozens and dozens of security people in black suits could be spotted all over the place, walking around. Sandor was one of them, and he was certainly not enjoying the celebration in the very least.

As soon as the wedding ceremony had been over and the guest had started leaving the cathedral, he rushed to leave that place to find somewhere to hide. He had found a dark corner where he was shielded from curious eyes and he allowed himself to unleash a bit of his fury. He had punched the stone wall so hard that his knuckles bursted and were bleeding, and his kept himself from screaming in frustration by putting his other fist in his mouth. Then, after having ruined his hand against the stone wall and feeling calmer than before, he wiped the tears away from his face. No one could see him crying, it would be extremely suspicious and it would give everything away.

I haven't cried since I was a child, he had thought to himself after feeling the wetness in his face and in his hand.

He felt like he was going through the worst of the tortures, and there was still a long way to go before it could stop. He wasn't looking forward to the hours in which absolutely everyone around him would be celebrating that cursed wedding. He wanted to bloody gut everyone in that place for being able to drink and laugh and dance on a day like that, while he was there going through Hell... And Sansa. Where was Sansa?

He couldn't see her anywhere. He did see the Lannisters sitting at a table across the ballroom, chatting with the Starks. Cersei Lannister was talking with Catelyn Stark, and even though she had a friendly smile on her face her eyes revealed that she deeply disliked her son's new mother-in-law. Judging by the other woman's expression, the feeling was mutual. Robb Stark was standing up a few feet away with a glass of champagne in his hand, and he was speaking with Tywin Lannister. They weren't alone: Roose Bolton, Theon Greyjoy and Kevan Lannister were also with them. They were surely speaking about politics; everyone knew that if Robb Stark won the elections, he was going to elect Theon Greyjoy as Vice President and Roose Bolton would be his Secretary of State. Kevan Lannister, on the other hand, would have some equally important job in his grandnephew's office if Joffrey was the one who became President. All those men were clearly trying to engage in friendly conversation while finding out about each other's strengths and weaknesses through the mirage of politeness. Sandor snorted when he saw them. The next people he spotted were Jon Snow, Sansa's half-brother, talking with Tyrion Lannister and Gendry Baratheon, and Myrcella and Rickon flirting. Sandor raised his eyebrows with surprise when he saw that. Bran Stark was by himself, going around the tables in his wheelchair, until he almost ran into Tommen Baratheon and the two started talking. The only one that was all by himself was Jaime Lannister, who was going around looking for some food to throw inside his mouth until he decided to amuse himself by annoying the gigantic female bodyguard that had been Renly's bodyguard until the man died, and was now working with the Tyrells. The two of them seemed to be acquainted with each other already, and Jaime said something to the woman that Sandor could not hear but judging by the woman's expression he was surprise that she didn't slap Jaime then and there in front of everyone. She blushed furiously and have the blonde man a death glare that made Jaime laugh. From afar, Cersei ignored Catelyn Stark for a moment to glare disapprovingly at her brother and the woman.

Sandor had already localized all the Lannisters, Baratheons and Starks around the ballroom, and the only ones that he was missing were Sansa and Joffrey.

He was going to start searching for them when suddenly he finally localized them. There were together, facing the cameras and smiling and allowing the paparazzi to take some pictures. Joffrey was saying something to the reporters that had been allowed in the place and that were using their time as best as they could before they were kicked out. The reporters were practically shoving the microphones in Joffrey's face, a thing that he always hated, but he was in too good a mood that day to protest or get annoyed by that. Sansa was just standing next to her husband, holding his hand and smiling like she was supposed to do. When he saw them, Sandor approached them. The reporters were already being told to leave the place, but Sandor arrived in time to hear them asking Sansa a question.

"Sansa! How do you feel?" a female reporter asked the young woman, and it took Sansa a moment before she smiled radiantly, appearing like she was ecstatic, and said:

"I'm so blessed! This is the best day of my day, and I couldn't be happier that it had finally come!"

What a good actress she's become, Sandor thought, impressed by how genuine she looked and sounded.

Right after Sansa said that, Sandor and the other bodyguards and security staff made the reporters and paparazzi leave the place, allowing only the hired professional photographers to stay to take the wedding photos that had been requested by the family. While Sandor was occupied making the reporters leave, Sansa moved to the other side of the ballroom. She was approached by her family: they all smiled and hugged her and congratulated her, but it didn't escape Sandor how none of the girl's brothers talked to Joffrey. They barely looked at him, and when they did they didn't make a big effort trying to feign excessive friendliness.

When Joffrey figured out that he was going to be ignored by the younger Stark siblings, he decided to walk off to find someone that would entertain him more. He did find that person in the form of Margaery Tyrell. It surprised Sandor to see her. The last time he had seen the woman had been at her husband's funeral several months ago, and she had changed much since then. She now displayed a large, round pregnant belly...

That's Joffrey's son... Sandor realized, staring at Margaery's belly.

Suddenly his mind offered him the most terrible of images. He saw Sansa in Margaery's place, but equally pregnant. It was Sansa alright, with her creamy skin and her blue eyes and her auburn hair... but she was different, because her belly was also large and round, heavy with Joffrey's child. Sandor tried to shake that horrible image away from his head, but he couldn't. He blinked several times, trying to erase the image, but even when he closed his eyes he kept seeing it and when he opened his eyes again the image was still there. It was a nightmare, but the scariest and most horrifying thing was that one day that image could stop being an hallucination and it could become reality. Sansa was now Joffrey's wife, and she could very well end up just like the man's lover...

The thought of Sansa bearing Joffrey's child made him see red. He felt the rage in his bones, the fury in his blood, the disgust in the bike that suddenly rose to his mouth. He wanted to crack skulls and break bones, he wanted to take out his gun and blow up Joffrey's head before the night came and the moment can for the... The...

The wedding night.

No. No. Not his little bird...

He took his rage out on the reporters and paparazzi that insisted on staying in the reception and tried to resist the security staff that pushed them out to the exit.

"OUT!" he barked, and everyone (even the rest of the security staff,) jumped in the air out of fright. "Get the fuck out, all of you! Now!"

He didn't have to say it twice. The reporters and the paparazzi ran and got to the exit as fast as they could. Once they were out, one of the bodyguards closed the doors and then turned to face Sandor and whistled, impressed.

"You have them quite the scare, Clegane!"

"Don't fucking talk to me today," Sandor grunted, leaving the man stunned by his hateful tone.

He paid no attention to the guests that were close enough to have heard him and were looking a him startled and a bit horrified by his bad manners. He was making his way to the center of the ballroom when he saw Sansa leaving her family's side and heading towards one of the exits of the ballroom that lead to the hallways of the villa. Once she was gone, Sandor very carefully moved through the crowd trying not to be very obvious as he made his way for that same exit. Then, once he reached it and made sure that no one was looking at him, he left the ballroom quickly. He walked down the halls of that place, trying to figure out where Sansa had gone. What he was doing was a stupidity and he knew it; he should stay as far away as possible from her that day unless he wanted to risk someone seeing them and drawing wrong conclusions (or the right ones, really,) and then both of them would be fucked. But his emotions again won against his rational thoughts, and he eventually found the place where Sansa was.

She had gone into a large restroom far away from the ballroom, where she could be away from the wedding reception and away from everyone in it. Sansa was standing in front of the sinks and the mirrors, and she was trying to wash her face as much as she could without ruining her make-up. She had been crying after the wedding, and everyone was moved because they had believed then to be happy tears. She had been crying on her way from the ballroom to the restroom as well, and her eyes were red and swollen. She has sobbing lowly, and she gasped when Sandor opened the door of the restroom and entered it. He stared at her and then he closed the door behind him and locket it so that no one could come in while they were in there.

"What are you doing in here?" Sansa asked. She sounded upset and demanding.

"Are you alright?" Sandor asked, ignoring her question, and Sansa scoffed.

"Am I alright? Are you seriously asking me that question, Sandor?"

"I know how you feel, Sansa," he assured her. He knew better than anyone else that she was going through one of the worst days of her life, and that inside she was breaking into tiny pieces and that she was hurting. He was feeling the same way, only for him it wasn't nearly as bad; he wasn't the one that was marrying a murderer. "I'm worried about you."

"Yes, I'm alright," Sansa said then, relaxing a little bit. Now she sounded and looked exhausted. "I just... It's too much. I couldn't stay there a minute longer, I felt I was going to snap at somebody and I can't... This day has to be perfect, I can't ruin anything. I've gotten this far," she sighed, lowering her gaze to the floor.

He took a few steps forward to her closer to her, and then he carefully cupped her face between his rough hands and made her look up to him. She wasn't crying anymore, but the pain reflected in the blue pools of her eyes was overwhelming. She tried to conceal it, but it was too much for her alone.

"I should have stopped it," Sandor whispered, referring to the wedding ceremony. There was hate in his voice; hatred towards the man that was putting Sansa through that, hatred towards all the people that were stupid enough to not realize what was happening there, hatred towards all the people allowing that to happen, and most of all, hatred towards himself for being a coward. "I could have stopped it, you know I would have..."

"I couldn't let you do that," Sansa sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head lightly. "If you had, we would be-"

"Doomed, I know. And what are we now? What's the bloody difference?" he hissed angrily and desperately. "Look at you Sansa... This is not fair for you."

"Neither is it for you!" she exclaimed, more upset that she was before. She raised her hands and held in them Sandor's hands, which were still cupping her face. She stroked his hands with her fingers, and she shook her head again. "I'm not suffering alone anymore, I have dragged you into this situation and I... I feel terrible! You shouldn't have to be going through this, you shouldn't be feeling like this! This is not your war to fight!"

"It is now!" he rasped, a bit too roughly maybe, but he couldn't help it. "How could I not be feeling like this when I am watching you sacrificing yourself for everyone's sake? How could I ever look away from all this and not feel anything? Even before I got to know you, before everything that happened between us happened, even when I almost hated you I couldn't look away! Something felt wrong! Don't tell me this is not my war, because it bloody well is! Everything that concerns you concerns me, like it or not. And I'm not complaining, Sansa, really I'm not. I can't complain. If anything, I have to fucking grateful that a woman like you feels something for a man like me..." As he said that, he caressed her smooth cheeks softly with his thumbs. He meant every word that he was saying... If they gave him the option of going back to the past and never fall for Sansa, he wouldn't take it. He wouldn't change anything, even if his current situation meant feeling all that pain. Sansa was worth it; she was worth that and a lot more. He didn't deserve her. "It just makes me fucking furious that I can't do anything to spare you some of your pain!"

"There's nothing you can do," Sansa murmured, still holding his hands in hers. Her touch was extremely soothing. "My only hope to get rid of this situation is to wait for my sister. She had a plan, I'm sure she will come soon."

Sandor but his lip, suddenly feeling a great weight dripping on him. He hadn't told Sansa what had happened to her sister, and he wasn't sure of how to break the news to her. It would be cruel to give her false hope, but it would also be cruel to make her suffer and worry for another member of her family. Perhaps a little hope was good for her... However, that wasn't an option. Sansa had learned to read him exceedingly well, and she knew something was wrong just by looking at his eyes.

"What?" she asked. She didn't need to ask anything else, she had made her point clear. Sandor sighed.

"I talked to Jaqen H'ghar, the man that was with your sister... She can't make it here."

Obviously, Sansa understood it the wrong way. Sandor saw the panic beginning to build in her eyes, and he hurried to explain before she would start crying.

"Don't worry, she's fine. She's alive. It's just that there were... complications. They are in India, and they can't come here, they can't fulfill their promise."

"But she's alive?" that was all that mattered to Sansa. She did not care anymore that her sister wasn't going to be able to kill Joffrey and save her, that wasn't important to Sansa when put in the balance with Arya's safety. Her family would always come first for her, and that was something that was amazing and admiring of Sansa. It also worried Sandor. How could he keep her save when she was so willing to sacrifice herself for those she loved?

He nodded. "Yes, she's alive."

"Good," Sansa sighed, relieved. For the first time a small smile appeared in her face just for a very brief moment. "Perhaps it's better this way. I want her as far away from here as possible, this is all too dangerous."

"It's dangerous for you too."

"I will be fine..."

"No, you will not!" Sandor barked, actually making Sansa cringe in front of him. "I can't always keep you safe! Maybe sometimes, but even if I want to, I can't always be there! What will happen tonight, huh?! What will happen tonight when Joffrey carries you to your bed on your wedding night?! What happens when he... When he..."

He couldn't focus, he was losing it. The mere thought of Joffrey putting his filthy hands on Sansa, hands dirty with her father's blood, hands that had hurt her and degraded her thousands of times... It was too much. Sandor had never felt so weak, so hopeless...

Such was his state that Sansa had to let go of his hands to hold his face between her and force him to look at her again, and focus on her eyes and away from those awful visions that were developing in front of him.

"Sandor, look at me, it's okay. Joffrey is not going to touch me."

"What...?"

"He won't touch me. I managed to have a civilized conversation with him yesterday. We came to an agreement. He won't touch me until our honeymoon, and that won't be until after the elections in July. Hopefully by then I will have been able to get out of here."

"You can't be serious. Joffrey wouldn't agree to that!"

"But he did. We bargained and we came to an agreement."

"What did you give him?"

"Joffrey is a very greedy person, so I offered him a very large sum of money... His family is very rich, but the fortune that I offered him- my fortune- was a sweet and delicious cake in his eyes, he couldn't say no. He took it, but he won't have all of it unless he fulfills his promise. What he really wanted was my inheritance, really. My part of the lands and business that the Starks have in the North would have gotten me a lot more of time without having to be with him, but I couldn't give that to him. I wasn't going to sell part of my family's legacy just to get more time before the inevitable happens."

It wasn't much, but knowing that Joffrey wouldn't up a finger on Sansa for a least three more months have him more relief than he had felt in weeks. He would have to worry about that in the future, but for now he could cross it off his list of nightmares.

Sansa saw his relief, but she seemed more distressed than before. Sandor wondered what was wrong now, but before he had the chance to ask, Sansa dropped her arms to her sides and spoke.

"This isn't fair... It's not fair for you," she repeated, saying what she had said earlier. "You shouldn't have to put up with all this, you don't deserve it! You deserve to be with a better woman, one that is free to love you. One that you don't have to share with anyone else, and that doesn't make you go through all this... Murder conspiracies against your boss and secrets and danger and pain... You deserve so much better, I can't keep doing this to you!"

"Sansa, what the fuck are you saying?"

"You know I love you," she whispered, cupping his face again between her hands, and she smiled a little bit. "And I know you love me. Which is why I have to let you go..."

"What?"

"You are risking everything for me. If they catch you you are dead, and you know it. I wouldn't stand it. This has to stop."

"You can't do this."

"I don't want to! But I won't watch you get hurt, I love you to much! I have to let you go before something terrible happens and I-"

She didn't finish talking, because Sandor shut her up before she had the chance to. He silenced her in the only way tat he knew and that he wanted to use. He leaned in and he kissed her full in the mouth. It wasn't a soft kiss, it wasn't a chaste kiss, it wasn't delicate. It was a desperate kiss. He pressed his mouth against hers and put one hand in her nape and another one in her back, and he pressed her against him as much as he could without hurting her. Sansa gasped with surprise, and she tried to push him away for a very brief moment before giving up. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Sandor's mouth was hard and rough against her own, and he pressed his tongue against her lips to open them. Sansa parted her mouth and Sandor immediately joined their tongues, starting a wild and passionate dance inside both their mouth, releasing all of his passion and desperation and all of his need for her in that kiss.

Sandor took a step forward and gently pushed Sansa against the sinks. She gasped in his mouth and he scooped her up and sat her on the marble sinks. The skirt of Sansa's dress wasn't wide enough to let her part her legs, so Sandor lifted the skirt with his hands so that he was able to stand between them and get closer to Sansa while they kissed, but he was very careful not to tear the delicate fabric. He place his left hand on Sansa's narrow waist, and the other one on her leg. She had stockings, but that didn't stop him from feeling the warm softness of her skin. He caressed her leg and squeezed her waist with his other hand, and Sansa squealed softly. She smiled against his mouth briefly before she continued kissing him back. She tangled her fingers in his hairs and pulled him as close to her as she could and kissed him even more feverishly than he had kissed her at the beginning; their need for each other was so immense that it felt like they needed each other to breathe.

"We shouldn't..." Sansa said, panting, during a very brief moment in which they stopped for some air. "If anyone sees us..."

"They won't," Sandor said, pressing his mouth against hers again. Their tongues resumed their wet and sexual dance and their lips violently caressed each other again, and Sansa moaned. She pressed her upper body more against Sandor's body, becoming as close to him as humanly possible, and he surrounded her slim body with his strong arm and pressed his hand against her back, feeling the lace of her dress under her palm.

"But they could hear us..."

"Fuck them all," Sandor grunted, and he buried his face in Sansa's neck and nipped at the soft skin there. Sansa moaned and shuddered, and she made pleasurable noises in the back of her throat. She threw her head back, exposing her neck more to Sandor, and he kissed her there being careful not to leave a mark that others could see.

He wanted to take her there and then, make her his and become hers. His need for her in that moment was killing him, and his manhood ached and twitched inside his pants but he knew that he couldn't do that. As much as he wanted to fuck his little bird to remind her that she was his and he was hers and that she wasn't alone and that day wasn't the end of the world, doing so in that place would be a big imprudence. The risk of being discovered would increase a great deal, and hiding what they had done would be more difficult.

Getting caught there would be the scandal of the century. He could already imagine the headlines: Governor's New Wife Has Affair With Bodyguard During Wedding Reception. It was tempting, but also it would end up with their heads on pikes. Literally.

His desire burned him inside, and it was difficult to restrain, but he managed to do it for both their sakes. He moved his lower body slightly away from Sansa's; the young woman protested briefly when she felt him moving a bit away from her. His own mind and body protested too. Being away from Sansa made him physically uncomfortable, but it was for the best. However, he was not going to stop kissing her for the moment.

There came a moment when they both knew they had to stop. They had been there for far too long, and people would start wondering what had happened with the bride that had disappeared from her own wedding reception. Even though it physically hurt to part from one another, eventually they did it. They were panting, wanting for air but also wanting to satiate their need for each other that didn't seem to cease. It was like being thirsty in an endless desert. They weren't kissing anymore, but their faces were merely a few inches away from each other. Sandor looked down at Sansa, who had her eyes closed; she was getting lost in the feeling of having him near her. She could feel his closeness, his warm breath falling on her face, she heard him panting, and when she put her hand on his chest she felt his burning skin beneath his clothes, and his rapidly-beating heart that felt like home.

"We should go," Sandor murmured. He wished he didn't have to say those words.

Sansa nodded softly, and then she opened her eyes. They weren't red or swollen anymore, and after she gazed at him for a couple of silent seconds she have him a short and soft kiss. A good bye kiss. That kiss hurt like a goddamn bullet.

Sandor out his hands around her waist and helped her on her feet. She fixed her dress with her hands, and without saying a single word more she walked past him and made her way to the door. Before she could reach it and unlock it to leave Sandor spoke. He couldn't let her go just like that.

"You look... absolutely beautiful," he said, finally confessing what he had been thinking since hours ago. When he had first seen Sansa in her wedding dress his mind had simply exploded. She was stunning, and even though that was not the wedding she had wanted to have, at least he wanted to let her know what he thought of her. She deserved to know that she was the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen, she deserved something nice for a change.

A small smiled curled up the corner of Sansa's mouth.

"Thank you," she said. "I didn't want to wear this dress, I wanted a dress that wasn't white, but they didn't allow me to do that."

"Why?" he asked. He thought that all brides wanted to wear white in their wedding, no matter what. "Why didn't you want to wear white?"

"I would have wanted to wear it for you," she confessed, leaving him completely and utterly stunned.

He didn't say anything, and Sansa left. She checked both sides of the hallway twice before stepping out of the restroom, and the door closed behind her as she walked away.

Her answer had really left him completely stunned and petrified. He had wished while he watched Sansa walking down the aisle that she could have been doing it to meet him at the altar, and not another man. He had wished it more than he had wished anything in a long time, and he had known that it was impossible, a stupid fantasy that only a naive boy with no knowledge of how that cruel world worked would have. It was a dream that could never come true... And at that moment Sansa had admitted in her own way that she had wished the same.

For the thousandth time he wondered what in Earth he could have possibly done to deserve Sansa. She was the biggest and best gift that could have ever been bestowed to him. But at the same time that she was a gift, she was his worst curse.

Sandor returned to the ballroom five minutes after Sansa had left the restroom and left him there alone, and he found everything exactly how he had left it more or less. The party was still going on and people were seating down on the tables to feast and celebrate. Sansa had joined her husband at their table, where both their families were also with them. Sandor went to stand nearby but maintained a low profile and acted just as a bodyguard: he stood there without interfering, without talking, just observing. He had to do his job and he had to forget what had happened mere minutes ago between him and Sansa.

A long time passed before people finished eating, but then came the time for the cake. They brought it inside the ballroom from outside: it was a four level cake, all white and beautifully decorated in a very classic and elegant way, just like everything else there. It actually matched Sansa's dress, and she smiled when she saw it. Although it didn't look like it from the outside, inside the cake was a giant lemon cake, her favorite. The cake was actually something that she could enjoy from that wedding.

Sansa and Joffrey cut it in the traditional way, together, and everyone applauded. Everyone got a piece served and Sandor grinned when he saw Sansa, always the perfect little lady, stuffing cake into her mouth. It seemed to give her some relief. Joffrey was also eating the cake joyously, and Sandor caught himself wishing that he would choke on the cake and die there in front of everyone. He fantasized that the blond prick's face became swollen and turned of an ugly purple color, and he gagged and choked and coughed and tore at his throat and eventually his lifeless body would lie there on the dance floor. That would be a sweet, sweet thing to see. Joffrey was prone to chocking on his food. Sandor remembered multiple times when Joffrey was a lad and he had choked on all kinds of stuff, and Sandor had always had to pay him really strong on the back so that he would spit it out. If he ever choked on the pie he would definitely not pay him in the back this time...

Or someone could stab him with the cake knife, he thought, grinning. Now, that would be a sight to see...

When he heard Joffrey coughing, he thought for a second that the gods were real and were making his fantasies become real. Joffrey's face was red, and he coughed really badly because of the cake that he had been waiting eagerly.

Are you fucking serious?

But he wasn't that lucky. Sandor's fantasies were shattered when Jaime Lannister patted his nephew in the back, and Joffrey stopped coughing and was back to normality. Sandor grimaced, and he was forced to suffer through the rest of the party, which carried on normally and without any incidents.

The sun started setting in the horizon, dyeing the sky of beautiful red, orange, pink, and purple tones. The guests that had been dancing on the dance floor of the ballroom after the feast finished and everyone ate their share of cake dispersed and cleared the ballroom. The lights dimmed, the music became slow and romantic, and Joffrey led Sansa to the dance floor. Everyone applauded as Joffrey took his wife's hand and put his other hand on her waist and then led her through their first dance as husband and wife. Sansa's face was very red. From afar it looked like she had blushed like a proper and shy happy woman that was enjoying the dance, but Sandor saw the rage in her eyes. Every day that passed made that rage more and more obvious to him, perhaps because every day he knew Sansa a bit better than the day before and he was learning how to read her every thought and emotion. Sansa was disgusted by the fact that she had to slow dance with Joffrey in front of everyone and pretend to be happy about it. She hated that farse, and she hated Joffrey most of all.

Sandor was getting sick just by looking at the two of them like that. Joffrey's hand on Sansa's waist made him gag, and his blood started to boil. The vein in the side of his neck and the vein in his temple pulsed violently and menacingly: that was the sign that there was a beast that was appearing inside of him, getting ready to attack, and he was fighting with all he could to keep it caged.

While everyone was focused on the couple dancing, Sandor saw on the corner of his eye that someone was approaching him. He didn't need to turn his head to know that it was Tyrion Lannister. The little man stood next to him and pretended to be looking at his nephew dancing with his new wife, but he spoke to Sandor lowly enough so that only the bodyguard could hear him.

"It finally happened... What do you think of all this, Clegane?"

"What is there to think?"

"Well, Joffrey just got married. You must have some thoughts about it, right?"

"He got married. Good for him," Sandor said, shrugging, and trying not to get annoyed by Tyrion.

Tyron chuckled and smirked. His expression became mocking and sarcastic. Sandor knew that expression, he had seen it multiple times on the man. He might not like the man, but Tyrion had a way of viewing the world in a very similar way to the way in which he viewed it, only maybe a little bit more positive. Tyrion's expression meant that he didn't like that wedding, and that he knew that Sandor wasn't saying the truth of what he really thought about the wedding.

"Come on, Clegane..." Tyrion said. "You have known Joffrey for almost as long as he has lived, just like me. I know you think the same thing that I do about this whole wedding. Knowing Joffrey so well as you and I do, it would be impossible not to think the same thing!"

"And what is that?" Sandor asked between gritted teeth, unable to hide his annoyance any longer.

Tyrian didn't reaping right away. He kept gazing at his nephew and Sansa dancing below the dimmed lights, and his smirk disappeared and was replaced by lines in his forehead, lines of worry. He was immersed deeply in his thoughts, and then he shook his head slowly from side to side. He sighed and shared those thoughts with Sandor. His gazed was fixed only on Sansa now.

"Poor, poor, poor girl..."