It was time for Sansa and Tyrion to be married. Dyana was anxious. She had kissed Sansa. She'd kissed Sansa. She'd kissed Sansa. It was hard for her to even realize that. She didn't know what she was thinking. Sansa was getting married. Dyana was a woman. And here she was, waiting for the lovely girl that she had kissed to be married.

Dyana kept far away from Margaery, who was speaking with Cersei. Cersei hadn't said a word to Dyana since the incident with the wine, and, to be honest, she was glad of it. She hated the queen mother. Dyana found herself beside Loras. She pulled him away from the bulk of the people, whispering to him. "I kissed Sansa."

"What?" Loras stated, turning to face his little sister.

"What don't you understand?"

"The random confession you've just made."

Dyana let out a weak laugh. "I kissed Sansa Stark."

"You can't be serious."

"I am deadly serious."

"And she let you?"

"I don't think she knew what was happening."

Loras laughed softly. "Really?" he asked. "And you're aware that she's getting married today?"

"Of course I am," she stated.

He wrapped his arm around his sister's shoulder, giving her a smile. "It's all right," he said.

Dyana shoved him lightly, rolling her eyes.

They joined the group of people, watching as the doors opened. Sansa stepped inside. Dyana couldn't help but smile at the sight of her in her ivory wedding dress with it's gold embroidery. Her hair was done up in a beautiful style, with two braids hanging down.

Joffrey ruined the moment, stepping to her side. "What are you doing?" Sansa asked.

"Your father's gone," Joffrey replied. "As the father of the realm, it is my duty to give you away to your husband."

He raised his arm, smiling. Sansa hesitated before taking it, and they began walking. When they passed by Dyana and Loras, Dyana caught her gaze. She smiled at the Stark girl, looking at the floor. Sansa looked away quickly.

Joffrey led her up the steps, smirking at Tyrion. He let go of Sansa, picking up the step stool that was meant for Tyrion and making his way down the stairs.

The High Septon began speaking. "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

Sansa turned, waiting for Tyrion to cloak her in the red and gold of House Lannister. But Tyrion was too short to get the cloak over her shoulders. Quiet laughter broke out amongst the crowd. Dyana looked at the floor again. Joffrey chuckled to himself, and the laughter grew louder. Tywin turned, silencing the people behind him. But Joffrey did nothing to contain his chuckles. "Could you..." Tyrion said to Sansa.

She lowered, letting him put the cloak around her shoulders. "Thank you," he said.

Sansa rose again, looking at the High Septon, who spoke once more. "Your Grace, Your Grace, my lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."

When all the vows were made and the High Septon proclaimed the pair man and wife, it was time for a feast. It was surprisingly nice. Dark, but nice, with lots of candles and fires burning. Dyana was sat with her siblings and Olenna. "So their son will be your nephew," Olenna was saying to Loras. "After you're wed to Cersei, of course. And you will be the king's stepfather and brother-in-law."

Olenna looked to Margaery. "When you marry the king, Joffrey's mother will become his sister-in-law and your son will be Loras's nephew? Grandson? I'm not sure. But your brother will become your father-in-law. That much is beyond dispute."

Loras stood suddenly, leaving the table. Dyana rolled her eyes at his dramatics. She looked to Olenna. "And I stay I the same?" she asked. "Everything about me stays the same?"

"You'll be the king's aunt, as well as his sister-in-law. So, no, everything about you does not stay the same," Olenna stated.

"A pity," Dyana shot back. "I quite liked myself before this whole mess."

At their table, Sansa had a look of disgust on her face. She watched Tyrion check his teeth in the reflective surface of his plate. "Poor girl," Dyana murmured.

Tyrion took a sip of wine, snorting as it spilled onto his shirt. He wiped his mouth with the tablecloth, Sansa cringing all the while. "Will you pardon me, my lord?" she asked him.

"Of course," Tyrion said. "Of course. En- - enjoy."

Sansa rose from her chair, walking away. Joffrey started to follow, but was deterred by Cersei. He seemed to ignore his mother, following Sansa. Cersei let out a sigh, standing and leaving as well.

Dyana watched Sansa, who was now speaking with Varys, the Spider. She leaned on her hand, staring lazily at the girl. But Sansa walked away with her handmaiden, leaving Dyana to find something else to do.

Joffrey returned, clapping his hands. "Time for the bedding ceremony," he announced.

Cheers exploded from the crowd.

"There will be no bedding ceremony," Tyrion stated.

Joffrey took Sansa's hand, leading her. "Where's your respect for tradition, Uncle?" he asked.

He addressed the crowd now. "Come, everyone. Pick her up and carry her to her wedding bed. Get rid of her gown. She won't be needing it any longer. Ladies, attend to my uncle. He's not heavy."

"There will be no bedding ceremony," Tyrion repeated.

"There will be if I command it."

Tyrion stabbed his knife into the table, anger clear on his face. "Then you'll be fucking your own bride with a wooden cock."

There was silence.

"What did you say?" Joffrey demanded.

Tyrion's hand shook as he gripped the knife, but he wouldn't let that stop him. Joffrey stepped to him, rage overwhelming his features. "What did you say?!" the boy king roared.

Tywin was the one who stopped the confrontation. "I believe we can dispense with the bedding, Your Grace," he told his grandson. "I'm sure Tyrion did not mean to threaten the king."

Tyrion looked at the floor, clearly pained by what he was about to do. He laughed, releasing the knife. "A bad joke, Your Grace," he said. "Made out of envy of your own royal manhood."

He grinned, playing with the handle of the knife as he spoke. "Mine is so small. My poor wife won't even know I'm there."

Tywin added, "your uncle is clearly quite drunk, Your Grace."

"I am," Tyrion agreed. "Guilty. But- -" he started to get out of his chair, slipping and nearly falling to the floor, "but it is my wedding night. My tiny drunk cock and I have a job to do."

He stumbled as he stepped up to Sansa, falling onto a table. He propped himself up, nodding toward Sansa. "Come, wife," he encouraged.

She looked at the floor before following him. But Tyrion wasn't done speaking. "I vomited on a girl once in the middle of the act," he said. "Not proud of it. But I think honesty is important between a man and wife, don't you agree? Come, I'll tell you all about it. Put you in the mood."

Sansa and Tyrion left, Dyana watching as they did. Something told her that Tyrion wasn't as drunk as he was letting on.