Direwolves | Dragons

rules

mbf this targaryen trash reblog this choose one of the following:

1) send me one character from game of thrones/a song of ice and fire and I’ll tell you my opinion about him/her + i’ll do your blograte; 2) send me one couple from got/asoiaf and i’ll tell you if I ship it + i’ll do your blograte or; 3) send me 2 characters/couples/anything from got/asoiaf for a ‘make me choose’ edit + i’ll do your blograte; 

Trod the cities of the slavers to dust beneath her dainty sandaled feet.

the seasons of my love ◐

You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you…and I need both of you, gods help me.

Sansa did say no, multiple times, and pretty clearly conveyed her refusal:

Cersei Lannister ignored the question. “The cloak,” she commanded, and the women brought it out: a long cloak of white velvet heavy with pearls. A fierce direwolf was embroidered upon it in silver thread. Sansa looked at it with sudden dread. “Your father’s colors,” said Cersei, as they fastened it about her neck with a slender silver chain.

A maiden’s cloak. Sansa’s hand went to her throat. She would have torn the thing away if she had dared.

“You’re prettier with your mouth closed, Sansa,” Cersei told her. “Come along now, the septon is waiting. And the wedding guests as well.”

“No,” Sansa blurted. “No.”

“Yes. You are a ward of the crown. The king stands in your father’s place, since your brother is an attainted traitor. That means he has every right to dispose of your hand. You are to marry my brother Tyrion.”

My claim, she thought, sickened. Dontos the Fool was not so foolish after all; he had seen the truth of it. Sansa backed away from the queen. “I won’t.” I’m to marry Willas, I’m to be the lady of Highgarden, please …

“I understand your reluctance. Cry if you must. In your place, I would likely rip my hair out. He’s a loathsome little imp, no doubt of it, but marry him you shall.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Of course we can. You may come along quietly and say your vows as befits a lady, or you may struggle and scream and make a spectacle for the stableboys to titter over, but you will end up wedded and bedded all the same.” The queen opened the door. Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Osmund Kettleblack were waiting without, in the white scale armor of the Kingsguard. “Escort Lady Sansa to the sept,” she told them. “Carry her if you must, but try not to tear the gown, it was very costly.”

Sansa tried to run, but Cersei’s handmaid caught her before she’d gone a yard. Ser Meryn Trant gave her a look that made her cringe, but Kettleblack touched her almost gently and said, “Do as you’re told, sweetling, it won’t be so bad. Wolves are supposed to be brave, aren’t they?”

Brave. Sansa took a deep breath. I am a Stark, yes, I can be brave. They were all looking at her, the way they had looked at her that day in the yard when Ser Boros Blount had torn her clothes off. It had been the Imp who saved her from a beating that day, the same man who was waiting for her now. He is not so bad as the rest of them, she told herself. “I’ll go.”

It’s explicitly clear from Cersei’s words that Sansa never had a choice in the matter; she might try to manipulate Sansa to come without struggle, but even if she had to be dragged Sansa was going to be taken to her wedding. 

As for why Sansa accepted … well, she was in a really unwinnable position. Cersei had tried quite a few manipulative tacks to make her agree, from making her feel trapped by saying everything was already prepared to emphasizing how alone and powerless she was as a ward of the crown to trying to humiliate her by suggesting that resistance would make her a laughingstock (something Sansa had already experienced so cruelly when Boros had stripped her on Joffrey’s orders), and bringing in Meryn Trant and Osmund Kettleblack ramped up this manipulation. They play, well, not quite good cop/bad cop, more like bad cop/not quite as awful cop - Osmund Kettleblack was never particularly kind to Sansa, but he hadn’t beaten her, which Meryn had done, and viciously, on a number of occasions, including the first time Sansa had been beaten on Joffrey’s orders - and like many a good cop/bad cop scenario, Sansa ends up giving in to the good cop. Literally caught, faced with the knowledge that she was going to be dragged into the marriage no matter what she did, threatened by the very presence of her most frequent physical abuser, Sansa decided that her only option was go to the wedding with as much dignity as she could and hope that Tyrion would show her kindness. Even so, Sansa tries to resist again at the sept:

The king was resplendent in crimson and gold, his crown on his head. “I’m your father today,” he announced.

“You’re not,” she flared. “You’ll never be.”

His face darkened. “I am. I’m your father, and I can marry you to whoever I like. To anyone. You’ll marry the pig boy if I say so, and bed down with him in the sty.” His green eyes glittered with amusement. “Or maybe I should give you to Ilyn Payne, would you like him better?”

Her heart lurched. “Please, Your Grace,” she begged. “If you ever loved me even a little bit, don’t make me marry your—”