“You grow very quiet,” Tyrion Lannister observed. “Is this what you want? An end to your betrothal?”  “I...” Sansa did not know what to say. Is it a trick? Will he punish me if I tell the truth? She stared at the dwarf’s brutal bulging brow, the hard black eye and the shrewd green one, the crooked teeth and wiry beard. “I only want to be loyal.”   “Loyal,” the dwarf mused, “and far from any Lannisters. I can scarce blame you for that. When I was your age, I wanted the same thing.” He smiled. “They tell me you visit the godswood every day. What do you pray for, Sansa?”  I pray for Robb’s victory and Joffrey’s death... and for home. For Winterfell. “I pray for an end to the fighting.”  “We’ll have that soon enough. There will be another battle, between your brother Robb and my lord father, and that will settle the issue.”  Robb will beat him, Sansa thought. He beat your uncle and your brother Jaime, he’ll beat your father too.  It was as if her face were an open book, so easily did the dwarf read her hopes. “Do not take Oxcross too much to heart, my lady,” he told her, not unkindly. “A battle is not a war, and my lord father is assuredly not my uncle Stafford. The next time you visit the godswood, pray............