She was mortified. It was not supposed to be this way. She had dreamed of her wedding a thousand times, and always she had pictured how her betrothed would stand behind her tall and strong, sweep the cloak of his protection over her shoulders, and tenderly kiss her cheek as he leaned forward to fasten the clasp.
We don’t get to choose who we love.
(Fuente: braidsario, vía tyrion-lannister)
“You are kind, my lord,” she said, defeated. “I am a ward of the throne and my duty is to marry as the king commands.”
Cersei’s body language in this scene = priceless.
People who say that Sansa couldn’t have asked for a better husband.
People who say that Sansa should be happy she didn’t marry the worst Lannister.
People who get mad that Sansa (a broken 14 year old girl who is prisoner to the abusive people who killed her father and has developed trust issues because WOULDN’T YOU?) doesn’t ever want to marry/bed Tyrion Lannister.
The ceremony passed as in a dream. Sansa did all that was required of her. There were prayers and vows and singing, and tall candles burning, a hundred dancing lights that the tears in her eyes transformed into a thousand. Thankfully no one seemed to notice that she was crying as she stood there, wrapped in her father’s colors; or if they did, they pretended not to. In what seemed no time at all, they came to the changing of the cloaks.
“A bad joke, Your Grace.”
(Fuente: tyrion-lannister, vía alectrack)