Author's Note: Well... I started this because... There are no words. I recently read Game of Thrones, and... Tyrion/Sansa stuck with me something fierce. I had to get it out of my system. So, yeah. I just wanted to see something cutesy with them and... It got out of hand. Unsure if I think this is worth continuing. I've written about 5 different start's to what I thought would be a little exercise in shipping and then it got away from me, so I think I'll just leave this here for posterity.

Disclaimer: G.R.R. Martin... I hate you.

The Engagement

Sansa tensed as Joffrey cornered her in the yard just a few days after his announced engagement to Margaery Tyrell. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders tightly as they walked. Sansa cursed herself for a fool. Normally she took a long and slightly more deserted way around the yard to get to the sept. She was so sure that Joffrey would be busy today. It was not yet a week after his engagement, surely he still had things to arrange.

"Now that we're not betrothed I hear they plan to hand you off to my Imp of an uncle, to get you out of the way." Joffrey informed her. Sansa shuddered, less at his words and more at his breath on her face and neck. Though the words were less than pleasant.

"Your uncle, you grace?" Sansa asked. "But he's so-"

"Disgusting? Yes, he is. But really it's no more than a traitor's daughter deserves." Joffrey said. "But fear not. You might be betrothed to him... But after you're married you'll still have me." Sansa tried to pull away, but Joffrey held her firmly as they walked.

"But... you'll be wed to Margaery, your grace." Sansa said meekly.

"A king can have any woman he wants." Joffrey said. "My father did, and so shall I." Joffrey squeezed her arm a bit harder and then released her. Sansa stumbled a bit and steadied herself on a pillar at the entrance to the sept. Joffrey picked up her free hand and kissed it, lingering there for a moment. When he finally released her Sansa bowed her head as gracefully as she could manage.

"Good day, your grace." Sansa said respectfully.

When Joffrey departed Sansa didn't go into the sept right away. She didn't think she could face the gods in such a state. All she wanted to do was go back up to her rooms and cry. They couldn't truly mean to do such a thing to her, could they? She wouldn't have put it past Joffrey to be making a cruel jape, but even so where would he have gotten the idea? Perhaps there had been whisperings of a plan that was not yet to be put into action. Maybe she could beg of the queen not to do this...

What a silly notion, Sansa thought. Of course the queen would have no interest in what Sansa wanted. She's made that abundantly clear more than once in the past. Why do I always feel as though I can turn to her when I know perfectly well it isn't true? Sansa knew by now there wasn't anyone in King's Landing that she could rely on. Perhaps Ser Dontos...? Another foolish notion, but one that gave her slightly more hope. Perhaps if he were at the godswood she could tell him tonight. But what could he do, truly?

Sansa looked up at the sept, but could not bring herself to go in. It felt very much as if the gods really just didn't care about her at all today. She imagined their ears would probably be quite deaf to any prayer she offered just now. She steadied herself and decided that she would walk around the yard this time. She'd gone less than a few feet when she saw her current object of dread coming towards her. The Imp and his brutish sellsword bodyguard were traveling towards her at a slow pace, to accommodate his stunted and twisted legs.

Perhaps they aren't here for me, Sansa hoped. If she stayed quiet, with her head bowed, and just offered a polite nod, then they might pass her by. She didn't think she could stand to face him just now, not if what she'd heard was true. But luck was not on her side.

"Ah. Lady Sansa, I was just on my way to come see you." The Imp said quite amiably when he saw her. "If your devotions at the sept are quite finished, then perhaps you'd be so kind as to join me in a stroll around the gardens?"

Sansa could feel herself panic. She stretched herself in an attempt to find some excuse not to go with him. Try as she may, nothing came to mind.

"As you wish, my lord." Sansa answered. She tried to sound as though she thought it a lovely idea, but something in the dwarf's eyes told she might not have been very convincing. He held out his hand and Sansa took it hesitantly. It was as stunted and ugly looking as the rest of him, but he held her hand gently and gentlemanly all the same.

They walked to the gardens in silence. She could feel the way he waddled through the slight pull on her arm, but she dare not look at him except in brief glances.

When they got to the gardens she noted that is was rather pleasant. She didn't often come to the gardens anymore. They were usually quite full of people, all of whom looked at her with distaste. She vaguely remembered coming here to do her needlework with Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole. Sometimes other girls of the court would join them, before the war, before she was a traitor's daughter.

She noticed that the gardens seemed rather empty at the moment though. There were only a few guards scattered about. Bronn had fallen behind them a moment ago while she and Tyrion had continued on until they came to a stone bench. Tyrion indicated for her to sit, and then he hopped onto the bench beside her. Sansa suspected that the scene was supposed to be romantic, it might've been if he'd been anyone else. Or at least tall enough that he hadn't had to pull himself up onto the bench.

"The flowers are quite lovely." Sansa remarked, feeling awkward and unsure of what to say.

"They are. But you are, by far, the loveliest thing in this garden, my lady." The Imp replied. Sansa blushed and turned away.

Sansa had a sneaking suspicion where this conversation was meant to head. The garden, the bench, the pretty words... It was all as if out of a beautiful story, except for the other person occupying the bench.

"Sansa..." Tyrion started. Sansa didn't let him finish.

"Is it true, my lord? That the crown intends to have us wed?" Sansa asked quickly. A stillness descended on them for a moment.

"Who told you this?" Tyrion asked softly.

"The king. On my way to the sept." Sansa answered. She looked at him and saw anger in his eyes. It made her nervous.

"I should have known he would undermine my wishes like this. No doubt he went through a lot of trouble to get to you before I could." The Imp said, looking very displeased.

"My lord?" Sansa asked. He sighed and looked up at her.

"When I first heard of their intentions my only wishes were that we have an announcement, instead of an immediate wedding, and that I be the first to inform you of our betrothal." He explained.

Sansa felt a bit faint. So it was true. They really did intend to marry her to this... man.

"Sansa?" The dwarf asked. "Are you quite alright?" Sansa was startled to realize that she had started shaking.

"I'm fine, my lord." Sansa answered quickly. "I just felt a chill for a moment. It's passed." She excused as she collected herself. The Imp looked at her, studying her face closely with his mismatched eyes.

"This betrothal... It's simply to get you out of reach of the Tyrell's. There were whispers of a power play. They had the idea that you might be a good match for their eldest son. If you had done this, then that would have given them power over the north. You understand why we cannot have that?" He explained all of this as though that would make it any better.

"I understand, my lord." Sansa replied. She was a bit ignorant of the actual politics behind all of it, but she knew that somehow it would have branded her even more a traitor. If she couldn't have escaped the Keep then, then her life would have been even more miserable. In that respect she understood. But part of her wondered if the Tyrell's eldest son was as beautiful as his younger brother, the Knight of Flowers. She couldn't imagine caring if she were a traitor if that were the case.

The dwarf continued to stare at her.

"I've a present for you." Tyrion said softly. "Would you like to see it?"

"If it please my lord." Sansa responded stiffly. Somehow this response seemed to pain him. But none the less he reached into a pocket and pulled out a small velvet pouch. He handed it to her. Sansa took it lightly and rubbed her fingers over it. She pulled it open along the drawstring and emptied the contents onto her palm.

It was a ring. A ring made of fine golden filigree. The metal formed a pattern of weirwood leaves. Sansa placed it on her ring finger and admired it, she attempted a smile.

"A token of my affection." Tyrion said, sounding a bit hopeful.

"It's very beautiful, my lord." Sansa replied. It really was a very thoughtful gift. No doubt meant to represent a promise to wed. It even took into account her northern heritage. Sansa only wished she could appreciate it more.

"Then it suits you well." The Imp complimented. Sansa looked away again, feeling close to tears.

"I know all of this." Sansa said with a harshness that surprised even her. "You've painted a very beautiful picture. The garden, the ring. It's all a beautiful scene out of one of those lovely stories that you must know I used to love so much. And this is the part where you would beg my hand, or explain the situation if I did not already know. You might say how beautiful I am or how much you've always admired me, in order to convince me to say yes."

"You've made all the efforts to make me feel as though I had a choice. But I shall have to beg your pardon, I've been quite cured of my belief in beautiful tales. We both know that this is no better than a mummers farce. That I would say no, if I had the choice. No matter how perfect the setting my answer would be the same."

"I wished only to make the news easier for you." Tyrion explained, reaching out and putting one of his hands over the one she'd set on the bench. Sansa flinched and blushed, turning her head away.

"I'm very sorry that the king has spoiled all your efforts." Sansa replied stiffly. "You'll forgive me if I cannot be appropriately..." Sansa searched for a word. "Decorous, at this time."

"I understand." He replied curtly. His face was drawn and sullen. Sansa didn't think it possible that could fully understand what she was feeling. Though there was no doubt he could see her revulsion of the idea, it was too near the surface to hide. She tried not to feel guilty about her reaction.

"Perhaps if you call on me tomorrow I shall feel more myself." Sansa said, trying to make amends. She supposed she'd be able to compose herself enough by tomorrow to at least be polite to the little man. But she didn't have it in her just at the moment.

"If it suits my lady." Tyrion conceded. "Tomorrow then."

Sansa stood and left the gardens at a quick stride without begging permission to leave.

Sansa managed to hold herself together until she made it to her chambers in the maiden tower. At which point she collapsed onto the nearest chair and broke down into sobbing. She then continued to sob until she'd tired herself out enough to start thinking on the situation.

It seemed to her that this was still a cruel joke of some sort. It would fit with what she knew of Joffrey and the Queen to set this up just to make her miserable and keep her in tow. Nevermind the fact she'd never once betrayed or hurt them in any fashion. That was all her father and sister's doing, all of it. She'd proven herself to be loyal and dutiful, even when Joffrey was hurting her so much she never waivered. Why would they do this to her? The injustice of it all was gut-wrenching.

If she was to make it through this ordeal as well as she had the previous ones, then she had to think of this in a different way. She needed to be dutiful once again. To wish to marry a Tyrell was traitorous, so she had to cast that from her mind. She was doing this for the good of the realm. She would have had an arranged marriage one day. To Joffrey, she'd thought once, but it could have been any of the highborn lords.

She was, at least, somewhat acquainted with Tyrion Lannister. She knew that he would not have her beaten like Joffrey had. Not if his actions spoke for him. He had helped her, that day in the yard. He took her in and had her wounds dressed, even offered to have her guarded if she'd felt unsafe. She hadn't appreciated it at the time, but it was really very kind of him. He was not Joffrey, she could trust that at least.

She got up and paced the floor, her energy starting to build up again. She thought of Joffrey again. He'd taught her a valuable lesson, one that may help her now. A handsome face was not an indicator of goodness. It stood to reason that an ugly one wouldn't indicate wickedness either. Tyrion Lannister was quite repugnant, to be sure. With his height, his twisted features, and his horrible scarred face with those mismatched eyes... But what did she actually know about him? Aside from the fact he was the Queen's younger brother and that she didn't care for him very much.

If she stretched her recollections as far as they would go, she seemed to remember that he got along well with his brother, the Ser Jaime the Kingslayer. She remembered them chatting and laughing together in Winterfell. She remembered marking their differences and thinking it odd. She also remembered that he seemed to get on with Jon, but she didn't know what that meant because she had never much talked with Jon and didn't know his interests either.

I don't know anything about him, was the conclusion Sansa came to after a moment. She wasn't sure if this distressed her, or gave her reason to hope.

TYRION

"Did you inform your bride to be of the betrothal?" Tyrion was asked over dinner that night. He slyly examined the faces of his family. Most of them held some sort of vested interest in this wedding going through and were paying some attention for his answer. Cersei simply looked passively amused, Joffrey had a smirk on his face that Tyrion just had to get rid of.

"Alas, some unimportant court bratling we didn't notice in our scheming must have gotten to her first. Apparently she was congratulated on her impending nuptials before she even knew she was to be betrothed." Tyrion answered. "Needless to say she was a bit distressed when I spoke with her." Joffrey was scowling now, mission accomplished.

Tywin Lannister narrowed his eyes at his youngest and shortest son.

"Did you give her that trinket you insisted on having commissioned? Certainly that cheered her up." His father asked.

"A bit." Tyrion answered evasively. In truth it was hard to say whether or not Sansa had liked the ring at all. She certainly realized it for the token it was, but that hadn't seemed to matter much to her. It was annoying to have put so much thought into the gift and to get such little response. Whores, at least, gushed over every little jewel they received and gave him more for his trouble.

The set up in the garden really had been a splendid effort, Tyrion mused. Tyrion had read all the same stories that he knew Sansa to be fond of, and the proposal always took place in a garden. He knew he hadn't actually been proposing, but he thought bringing the news to her in this way would earn him points. It was a pity that the girl had chosen that moment to turn into a cynic. Somehow his appearance always made girls cynical.

"Might I remind you that you are the one that insisted on having an announcement instead of a hasty wedding. It's your responsibility to make it seem as though your bride actually wants to go through with it. Though how you intend to do that still baffles me." Tywin pointed out.

"You've made that clear several times before." Tyrion responded.

"Let the Imp try his hand at courtship, father. There's really no harm in it." Cersei remarked. "The girl will go through with the marriage regardless, if I know her at all."

"Yes, you and Joffrey have trained her to heel at the slightest threat. Good job." Tyrion snapped. The way that girl had been treated while in their 'care' still rankled him to no end. More so now that he was the one who had to pick up the pieces, as best he could anyway.

"Nonsense. I simply meant that the girl is nothing if not dutiful. She simply needs to be shown that this marriage is in the best interest of the kingdom, dear brother." Cersei explained kindly.

"And you mean to show her that, do you, sister dear?" Tyrion asked. Cersei's eyes flashed enigmatically, but she said nothing. "Leave the girl alone Cersei." Tyrion warned.

"Of course, whatever you say." Cersei complied airily. Tyrion believed her sincerity not at all.

Author's Note: What do you guys think? Also, what do you think of TV series Tyrion/Sansa versus Book Series Tyrion/Sansa? Most shippers, it seems to me, seem to favor a weird mix of the two. I think it's because Sansa in the books is much more... tragic, and Tyrion in the series is much softer. Also Peter Dinklage, who is far too pretty to be playing Tyrion Lannister.