Sansa

They broke their fast together the next morning, sitting across from each other at the large table. Tyrion chattered happily, teasing Sandor and winking at Sansa who smiled in return.

She hadn't slept very well that night. Something about being in Mr. Clegane's room, in his bed had unnerved her, butterflies were in her stomach and her head swam with the smell of him that lingered on the bed sheets and his dressing gown that she had snuggled in.

But what constantly plagued her mind, snapping her back into consciousness when her eyes drooped for some well wanted sleep, was the look on her father's face. He had looked at her with such sadness and betrayal. Sansa had always been his treasure, the one to comfort him. She was his little princess and he never, not in his wildest dreams thought she would do something like this to him. But she had, and the guilt weighed her down.

All her life, if ever she was worried about something she could go to her parents and tell them. But Joffrey had her in checkmate – no matter how she tried she knew she couldn't find a way out. The boy held a clever façade. His anger had shown last night but she knew her father would see it as

"…and you will be able to leave for Clegane House by tomorrow I should say."

She was snapped back into the present at Tyrion's words.

"We will leave so soon?" she asked, looking to her husband – would she ever get used to calling him that?

"The sooner the better," he replied calmly.

She stared down at her plate full of food she had suddenly lost an appetite for.

"It is better this way. It would be strange for us to stay here rather than my home. And it will be best for your family to have time to come to terms with everything, when they have accepted this you may visit them as often as you want. You can write them until that time."

She nodded.

I'll begin preparations immediately," Tyrion said, pushing himself away from the table and hopping out of the chair, "but today, my dear Sansa, you will have a whole new wardrobe – dresses of silks and laces and velvets and everything you could possibly wish for!"

"Oh, no, Tyrion, I couldn't possibly allow you to do that-"

He waved away her words, "- nonsense! It will all be at the expense of your loving husband!"

Sansa was ready to protest to Clegane but he shook his head, serious grey eyes looking into her, "it's alright."

She didn't want to ask more of him who had already given her so much, but those eyes were not open for argument. And she didn't want to seem ungrateful.

The day she spent with seamstress and maids, they brought her materials of all kinds, patterns and colors she had never seen before. She allowed them to style her three dresses and fit them, but the rest of the material she requested be left to her to make her own dresses of. That way, Clegane wouldn't be spending as much money on her – and she loved sewing, and heavens knew she would need something to occupy her time.

When they seamstress and maids left it was late afternoon. Sansa wandered around Tyrion's house. Many doors led to bedroom or parlors. One led to a huge library which she spent some time in sifting through a few books but not able to find any that interested her enough. She wanted to wander through the gardens but the rain was coming down heavy.

Her thoughts strayed to her husband. It had only been last night they had said their vows and become one. But already she felt him slipping from her. There was a barrier between them. It was true they had not been incredibly close before, but she could talk to him. He would joke with her and she was comfortable around him. But now? She hand only seen him briefly this morning during breakfast. He had promised her that their marriage was only one of convenience – he would not touch her, they could continue as they had before; as friends. But even that didn't seem to be happening.

She missed Arya. She missed talking to her sister, especially about this. She wanted to see her, it may be late but she could visit. But her father's words came back to her. Her mother would still be upset and seeing her probably wouldn't be the best idea. And her brothers? Robb, Bran, Rikon. What would they say to her now? Would they hate her for risking their reputations as well as her own? She blinked back the tears that swelled behind her eyes at the thought.

She hurried down the stairs to the door of the room in which she had become Clegane's wife. She found it empty but hurried to the desk where she found paper and a quill. She knew Tyrion wouldn't mind her using some, and if he came back she could just explain to him.

She sat down in the low seat and dipped the quill in the pot of black ink and began to write.

Dearest Arya,

I hope this letter reaches you in time. I am to leave with Mr. Clegane tomorrow, we are traveling to Clegane house – our new home to stay for a while, at least until everyone accepts our marriage. You have no doubt heard of it by now; that I am married to him. You of all people know my reasons, you know why I had to do it, that I had no choice. I hope you do not worry for me, I am safe with him. I hope I will see you soon, I hope perhaps I may see you even briefly before tomorrow. I hope some time you can come visit me once I am settled in my new home. I will miss you, all of you. Please do not tell mother or father the truth. Let them believe we are married out of love.

Burn this once you have read it lest they find it.

Your loving sister,

Sansa

She let the ink dry then sealed the letter with wax. She gave the letter to a boy in the kitchens with strict instruction to deliver it to the Stark residence, giving it to no one but Miss Arya Stark.

She watched the young boy ride away until he disappeared into the trees surrounding the house. Then she watched some more, wishing she could go with him. She was scared; scared of what was to happen to her now. Would her husband continue the way they were now? Distant and awkward?

She clasped her hands in front of her, eyes closed, head bowed and her lips touched her fingers softly. She prayed now, she prayed for her family, she prayed for herself, but mostly she whispered her thanks to her God, thanks that he had saw fit to save her from Joffrey. She prayed he would help her, guide her and give her strength.

He alone knew, she would need it.