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[ Tyrion has only just returned as well, from a morning of inspecting the walls and the guard. Every day it seems as though there is more wall for guarding and fewer men to do it. He supposes it is preferable for those who will break to break now, before Stannis or Renly or Robb Stark finally comes knocking, but it would be more preferable still for none to break at all. ]

Be careful, my lady, [ he says when he spots Sansa, smiling grimly, ] you do know what might happen if you pray so often, don't you?

[ The gods will answer me and they'll all die, Sansa is quick to think, though none of that response shows on her face. And when they do, they'll die in pain.

She pauses, turns and then bows appropriately when she sees it is the King's Hand that addresses her. The guard that follow her throughout the halls of the castle halt as well — their armor jangling, their joints creaking. (Free reign of the Keep, the queen had told her, as if it were some blessing. It wasn't.) ]

I pray for nothing but peace, Lord Hand.

[ It is not wholly a lie. ]

[ Tyrion raises an eyebrow, knowing that if he were in her shoes (and he was, for a while, not so long ago, so he can be very certain about this), peace would be among the last things he'd feel like praying for. ]

I think, [ he says, walking up those last few steps to just a ways to her left, ] that if the Seven and your old gods or any of them were very interested in peace, we would've had it by now, what with all the praying that's been going on.

[ Peace will come only when the fighting stops and the fighting will not stop until Robb's men have scaled the walls of the Red Keep or tore it down stone by stone with their very hands. He would not abandon her, (she tells herself so at night); he would continue to fight. It is only a shred of hope that Sansa allows herself, but even a shred is more than nothing and everything is what the Lannisters would take from her if she allowed it, she's certain of that now.

She gives another small curtsey as if to beg pardon. ]

I do not understand why my prayers, unanswered, would beg caution.

[ Tyrion lifts his shoulder to shrug and occupies himself with studying a spot on the wall beside him. He must keep Sansa as well and whole as he can if he has any hope of getting Jaime back, but it seems a less pressing concern when he must keep all of King's Landing from collapsing in on them. ]

Because the gods may be listening even if they are not answering, at present, and their sense of humour often runs to the perverse. [ Just look at me. ]

[ Sansa's mouth pinches, threatens to form a moue without ever arriving at one. It's an expression she would once never hesitate to make but which now she goes to great lengths to keep to herself. There was no mapping the hows and whys to Joffrey's anger and she had long since learned her lesson to give him no reason to punish her, though there were times even she could not predict the throes of his moods. ]

You'll welcome ill fortune with such talk, my lord. [ A pause and then she adds: ] All the songs say as much.

[ The songs are all lies. This, too, Sansa keeps to herself. ]

[ Tyrion has only just returned as well, from a morning of inspecting the walls and the guard. Every day it seems as though there is more wall for guarding and fewer men to do it. He supposes it is preferable for those who will break to break now, before Stannis or Renly or Robb Stark finally comes knocking, but it would be more preferable still for none to break at all. ]

Be careful, my lady, [ he says when he spots Sansa, smiling grimly, ] you do know what might happen if you pray so often, don't you?

[ The gods will answer me and they'll all die, Sansa is quick to think, though none of that response shows on her face. And when they do, they'll die in pain.

She pauses, turns and then bows appropriately when she sees it is the King's Hand that addresses her. The guard that follow her throughout the halls of the castle halt as well — their armor jangling, their joints creaking. (Free reign of the Keep, the queen had told her, as if it were some blessing. It wasn't.) ]

I pray for nothing but peace, Lord Hand.

[ It is not wholly a lie. ]

[ Tyrion raises an eyebrow, knowing that if he were in her shoes (and he was, for a while, not so long ago, so he can be very certain about this), peace would be among the last things he'd feel like praying for. ]

I think, [ he says, walking up those last few steps to just a ways to her left, ] that if the Seven and your old gods or any of them were very interested in peace, we would've had it by now, what with all the praying that's been going on.

[ Peace will come only when the fighting stops and the fighting will not stop until Robb's men have scaled the walls of the Red Keep or tore it down stone by stone with their very hands. He would not abandon her, (she tells herself so at night); he would continue to fight. It is only a shred of hope that Sansa allows herself, but even a shred is more than nothing and everything is what the Lannisters would take from her if she allowed it, she's certain of that now.

She gives another small curtsey as if to beg pardon. ]

I do not understand why my prayers, unanswered, would beg caution.

[ Tyrion lifts his shoulder to shrug and occupies himself with studying a spot on the wall beside him. He must keep Sansa as well and whole as he can if he has any hope of getting Jaime back, but it seems a less pressing concern when he must keep all of King's Landing from collapsing in on them. ]

Because the gods may be listening even if they are not answering, at present, and their sense of humour often runs to the perverse. [ Just look at me. ]

[ Sansa's mouth pinches, threatens to form a moue without ever arriving at one. It's an expression she would once never hesitate to make but which now she goes to great lengths to keep to herself. There was no mapping the hows and whys to Joffrey's anger and she had long since learned her lesson to give him no reason to punish her, though there were times even she could not predict the throes of his moods. ]

You'll welcome ill fortune with such talk, my lord. [ A pause and then she adds: ] All the songs say as much.

[ The songs are all lies. This, too, Sansa keeps to herself. ]