A/N: This is a Tyrion/Sansa story. It's AU. Canon up until the start of the story is based mostly on the show, although character ages are closer to book ages. Warnings include: Language, Violence, Sex, Sex with a minor (based on who the characters are), spanking, self harm, and character deaths. Maybe some others - I don't really censor myself when I write. Some characters who die on the show may not die in the ff, and some who do not die in the show may die in the ff. The only characters I'm promising will make it through the whole thing are Sansa and Tyrion.

Reviews make my soul soar :)

So Cold - Ben Cocks

Oh, you can't hear me cry

see my dreams all die

from where you're standing on your own.

It's so quiet here

and I feel so cold.

This house no longer feels like home.

November 5, 299

Sansa stared at her reflection, touching her fingertips against the dull cloth that had been selected for her. "From what I can tell, the dressmakers in Highgarden will be far superior to the ones in King's Landing. They'd never make me anything as dull as this for my wedding."

Shae gently began to unwind the fabric from Sansa's waist.

"Loras likes green and gold brocade," Sansa told her.

"I'm sure he does."

Sansa smiled. She was going to be beautiful at her wedding. Every girl dreamed about her wedding. She was only sorry that her father couldn't walk her down the aisle. The thought gave her pause, and she said, "Will they let me invite my family to the wedding?"

"They haven't asked my opinion," Shae said.

"But do you think they will?" Sansa pressed.

Shae's eyes flicked briefly to Sansa's face. "No."

Sansa sighed. It was one more reminder of the war. It had been a stupid thought. Joffrey would probably beat her if she asked and remind her again that her family were all traitors.

Shae pulled Sansa's dress off of her shoulders, leaving her standing in her corset.

The door to her chambers opened, and a servant popped her head in. "Lady Sansa, Lord Tyrion to see you. Should I...?"

Tyrion stepped around the servant before she could finish her sentence. His eyes dropped to the ground when he saw her state of dress. "I beg your pardon, my lady."

Shae hastily pulled the dress back up around Sansa's shoulders, hiding her undress.

"Good afternoon, Lord Tyrion," Sansa said. "I was just trying on a gown for Joffrey's wedding."

Tyrion kept his eyes averted for a moment longer, and then turned to her, nodding. "Yes. It should be quite the wedding." His hand tugged on the hem of his shirt. "I need to speak with you, Lady Sansa."

"Of course." Sansa held her dress closed with her hands, looking at him uncertainly. Of the Lannisters, Tyrion had treated her the most kindly thus far, but he was hardly the sort to pay her social visits.

Tyrion swallowed. "Alone, if I may."

Shae's eyes flashed. "Why do you need to speak with her alone?"

"Shae!" Sansa hissed. She turned back to Tyrion, an apologetic look in her eyes. "Please excuse her, Lord Tyrion, she's not from here. But I trust her, even though she tells me not to."

Tyrion frowned. "Sometimes we think we want to hear something, and it's only afterwards, when it's too late, that we realize we wished we'd heard it under entirely different circumstances."

Sansa shook her head, unsure what to make of him. "It's all right, really."

Tyrion frowned at her for a moment, and then he nodded. He stepped further into her chambers, closing the door behind himself, and then he stared at her for a long moment. "How to begin..."

Sansa frowned. Tyrion usually seemed quite sure of himself. She wasn't used to seeing him struggling to find words.

"This..." Tyrion's eyes went to the ceiling. "This is awkward."

Sansa eyed him uncertainly.

"My father has..." Tyrion looked at his feet. "That is... Lady Sansa, you and I are to be wed."

"What?" Sansa stared at him. The time she had spent at King's Landing learning to play at politeness slipped away from her. "No. I'm to be wed to Sir Loras. Lady Margaery said-"

"Lady Margaery will be the queen," Tyrion said. "But the king and the hand have both determined that you and I will get married, and they... they have the power."

"But why?" Sansa pressed. "I mean, you and me. You're a..."

"Careful, Lady," Tyrion said quietly. "I understand your upset-believe me. I fought my father on this. But insulting me isn't going to make the situation any easier to stomach."

Sansa wrapped her arms tightly around her waist and pressed her lips together. He was right, though it didn't make it any easier to think of spending her remaining days with... that.

"I'm sorry," Tyrion said honestly.

"Are you?" Shae snapped, saying the words Sansa was holding back. "It's not exactly a step down for you."

Sansa knew that she should hold Shae in line, but in that moment she couldn't bring herself to say anything.

Tyrion coughed. "I assure you, I had no more say in this marriage than Lady Sansa. Nor would I choose to wed one so young were the choice mine to make."

"They can't force you to marry," Sansa said. "They can force me-I'm their prisoner-but you're free. You could do whatever you wanted."

"You're fooling yourself if you think anyone in the lion den is truly free," Tyrion said. "In point of fact, you do have a choice. If you flat-out refuse to marry me, you can choose to marry Lancel instead."

"Lancel?" Sansa shook her head. She didn't want to marry Lancel. She wanted to marry Loras.

"It's one or the other," Tyrion said. "My father would prefer you marry me, and I can promise you I won't hurt you. But I can understand if you'd prefer to take your chances with Lancel. He's... closer to your age."

"And height," Shae muttered.

"Shae!" Sansa chided, fearing for the well-being of her servant. "Apologize to Lord Tyrion."

Tyrion held a hand out. "No need, Lady Sansa. She's right. He is closer to your height as well."

Sansa tugged on her dress. She hardly knew Lancel, but the few times she had interacted with him he seemed like a skittish pushover. Certainly he'd offer her no protection, nor did she think she could learn to love someone as weak-willed as him. She didn't think she could learn to love Tyrion, either, but he at least had showed her some kindness in the past.

Sansa swallowed, and in her most proper tone she said, "I would be honored to be your wife, Lord Tyrion."

"I'm sure you would." Tyrion shook his head. "There's no need to lie quite so blatantly, Lady Sansa."

She plastered a smile onto her face. "When should we expect to be wed?"

"Three days hence," Tyrion said.

Sansa inclined her head. "Well, then. If you don't mind, I should like to finish this fitting."

"Of course." Tyrion bowed and left the room.

Sansa held her composure as she listened to his footsteps recede down the hall. It was only when she heard the door at the end of the hall open and his footsteps disappear that she dropped the dress from around her shoulders and sank to her knees on the stone floor. Shae crouched beside her and held her shoulders while she cried.