Sansa is putting on her new dress that Cersei ordered for her when the Queen herself comes into the room.
Sansa: Oh Queen Cersei! This dress is so beautiful! It’s amazing!
Cersei: Yes, it is. You look stunning. It’s a shame that it’s going to be wasted on you marrying that ugly little gargoyle.
Sansa: Wait… what?
Cersei: You heard me.
Sansa: Uhhh….
Sansa wonders if Cersei somehow found out about her planned marriage to Willas Tyrell. Was Willas really an ugly gargoyle? Sansa knew he was sort of lame, but didn't think that--
Cersei: --You’re marrying my shithead dwarf brother.
Sansa: WHAT?!
Cersei: Well… come on.
Sansa: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT DO YOU MEAN COME ON?
Cersei: I mean COME ON. You’re getting married. RIGHT NOW!
Sansa: I’M GETTING MARRIED TO TYRION RIGHT NOW?! I THOUGHT THIS WAS JUST A DRESS FITTING!
Sansa turns and tries to run, but as she goes for the door – Meryn Trant and Osmund Kettleback stand and block the way.
Trant: I will SMACK THE SHIT out of you, bitch.
Osmund: There is no need for that, Meryn. Come on now, Sansa. You’re a wolf, right? Wolves are supposed to be brave.
Sansa: Ah, well when you put it like that you seem like less of a duplicitous monster, Osmund. I guess I really don’t have a choice, do I?
Sansa is not happy about this. Not happy at all. But then again… Tyrion is not as bad as the rest of the Lannisters. Which is sort of like saying Mobutu Sese Seko is not as bad as the rest of the totalitarian African dictators propped up by Western governments who turned a blind eye to genocide. But I digress.
Sansa is escorted to the Sept. Outside, King Douchenozzle is waiting.
Joffrey: Hahaha, hey Sansa. You know how your father is supposed to walk you down the aisle? Well, I cut his head off.
Sansa: Technically you’re too big of a pussy to do that yourself. Ilyn Payne cut his head off.
Joffrey: GRRRR. ANYWAY, in your dead father’s place I’ll walk you down the aisle. Since I’m the FATHER of the kingdom.
Sansa: NOOOOO!
Joffrey: You’ll do as I say or I’ll marry you to Ilyn Payne.
Sansa: Is that supposed to be some sort of threat to get me in line? Because honestly Ilyn Payne seems like it would be better than Tyrion. At least he can’t talk back then. You know, since his tongue has been cut out.
Joffrey: SHUT UP OR I’LL—
--Tyrion walks into the Sept.
Tyrion: Sansa, my apologies for this farce. I want this no more than you do.
Sansa: Well that seems highly unlikely.
Tyrion: What are you trying to say?
Sansa: I’m saying that I’m a physically attractive teenage redhead that has just had a growth spurt into an amazing hot body. And you’re a dwarf with different color eyes, a cut off ear and missing half of your nose. You’re also probably full of STDs from all the whores you always visit. So saying you’re as uninterested in marrying me as I am uninterested in marrying you is almost guaranteed to be not true.
Tyrion: You know, those are some pretty harsh words. But when you put it like that I can’t say you’re not right. Anyway. If you refuse to marry me, they are going to marry you to Lancel.
Sansa: I don’t want to marry any Lannister.
Tyrion: True. At least I’m not that shitface Joffrey.
Joffrey: HEY! I’m right here. And I’m THE KING!
Tyrion: Literally nobody gives a shit.
Sansa: You have been… kind… to me. Come on. Let’s just get this shit over with.
They walk together into the Sept. As she walks in, she sees that none of the Tyrells are here. They probably don’t even know this is happening.
Here in Westeros, there is a marriage ceremony called “The Changing of the Cloaks,” where the Father/King must take off Sansa’s “maiden” cloak and her new husband must put on one another to symbolize their new marriage. Joffrey pulls off Sansa’s cloak and cops a feel in the process.
Joffrey: Hahahaha! Boobies!
Sansa: You wouldn’t know what to do with them if you ever got further than second base, you pathetic loser.
Now it’s Tyrion’s turn to put the marriage cloak on. But Sansa is tall. Tyrion is very, very short.
Tyrion: Can you please bend down so that I can put the cloak on your shoulders?
Sansa: Nah.
Tyrion: What do you mean “nah?”
Sansa: It means I won’t
Tyrion: But here I am. Trying to put a cloak on you. But I can’t. It’s super embarrassing. Everybody in this place is laughing at me and pointing. I’m totally being humiliated.
Sansa: That sounds like a personal problem to me.
And thus Sansa still remains a giant cunt.
Sansa: HEY! FUCK YOU, NARRATOR! I’m being forced against my will to marry a man I don’t love. A man who I find physically repulsive. A man who is part of the family that murdered my father and all his bannermen that I grew up with in Winterfell. Did this particular guy show me open animosity or treat me poorly? No. But does that mean I’m supposed to be happy about the situation and put up no resistance to a forced marriage.
Okay. Okay. Jeez, Sansa. I’m sorry. I take it back.
Sansa: That’s what I thought.
Joffrey: HAHAHA! This is hilarious. Look at Uncle Dwarfy be humiliated. This is so funny!
It goes on for longer. Then Joffrey gets bored.
Joffrey: Okay. Dontos you stupid piece of shit. Come over here and be a human stepping stool.
Dontos runs over. Tyrion steps up on his back and puts the cloak over Sansa.
Septon: You may now kiss the bride.
Tyrion goes in to kiss Sansa, and Sansa starts crying.
Later that night is the wedding feast. Finally the Tyrells have shown up and been invited. But all the Tyrell women who acted like they were her best friend a few chapters ago now suddenly give her the cold shoulder.
Sansa: Well, this is fucking awkward.
Tyrion: It is.
Sansa: So… uhm… do you want to dance or something? I really don’t want to. But I think it’s expected.
Tyrion: Nope.
Tyrion pulls out a bottle of Smirnoff and downs the entire thing all at once, just like Chris Holmes, lead guitarist of W.A.S.P. in The Decline of Western Civilization Part II: The Metal Years.
Sansa: I am way too young to get that reference.
Ser Garlan Tyrell: Excuse me… Sansa. If your husband will not dance with you… how about me?
Sansa: Oh, that’s so sweet, Garlan. I’m glad you’re not shunning me like the Tyrell girls.
Garlan: I know you wanted the marriage to Willas to work so that you could escape King’s Landing. But it looks like the Lannisters plot worked faster than ours. And I see how you look at my other brother, Loras.
Sansa: Yeah. I would destroy that. I would hop on him and ride him until he’s broken.
Garlan: Uhm… okay… that’s a bit explicit. Look, Tyrion isn’t that bad of a guy.
Tyrion: I’m a full-blown alcoholic. I’m a piece of crap.
Tyrion falls out of his inflatable chair and into the pool.
Garlan: Oh. We’re still doing those Decline of Western Civilization jokes, huh? Anyway – he’ll be a fine husband.
Sansa dances with him and dances with a few others. Finally ol’ King fuckwit walks up.
Joffrey: TIME TO DANCE WITH ME!
Sansa: No thanks. I’d rather die.
Joffrey: Oh, that can be arranged. But not before I bang you. Just because you’re marrying my uncle doesn’t mean I can’t use my right of jus primae noctis.
Sansa: The practice of jus primae noctis, or of a king in medieval Europe sleeping with brides, is largely considered to be a myth invented by Victorian-era scholars. It’s not actually a thing.
Joffrey: Oh, it’s a thing sure enough. A thing I’m going to do. And don’t act like it’s TOTALLY a myth. Similar practices are depicted in the Epic of Gilgamesh. It was even practiced in the 20th century in Zaire by Mobutu Sese Seko, who would travel to local villages where the tribes would offer him virgin women. It was considered a great honor.
Sansa: What the fuck? Is this the second Mobutu reference of this Chapter? Why the hell is Mobutu coming up so often?
Laurent Kabila: Don’t worry, the Mobutu references won’t last much longer. I’ll take care of that. I'm in charge now!
But then Kabila’s own bodyguards assassinate him.
Sansa: Jesus Christ, are we going to stick with my narrative chapter here or dive further into a fucking college essay on turn-of-the century Congolese history?
Joffrey: You know what? Forget dancing! I want to see the BEDDING CEREMONY!!!!
Crowd: WOOOOO!!! YEAH! BEDDING CEREMONY! WOOOO!!!
Joffrey: This involves the male guests at this wedding party all grabbing you and stripping you naked. Then we carry you off to your bed and all watch as my uncle fucks you.
Crowd: WOOO!!! THIS SOUNDS LIKE FUN! OUR SOCIETY AND ITS TRADITIONS ARE COMPLETELY HORRIFIC!
Sansa: NO! NO! I REFUSE!
Joffrey: YOU WILL DO IT! I’ll execute you.
Tyrion pulls himself out of the pool.
Tyrion: The hell she will. The only one around here who is going to die is you. Rashidi Muzele, give me that gun!
Rashidi Muzele, Kabila’s Duplicitous Bodyguard and Assassin: Okay.
Sansa: STOP WITH THE HISTORY LESSON!
Lord Tywin: ENOUGH! ENOUGH OF THIS ALL!
Joffrey: Grandpa! Grandpa! Did you see that? Tyrion threatened to kill me! He got that gun from Rashidi Muzele.
Tywin: Tyrion is just drunk and making a silly joke. Isn’t that right, Tyrion?
Tyrion: What? Oh… yes. A joke. That’s right. A silly joke.
Tyrion throws the gun away.
Tyrion: Hahaha. JUST KIDDING!
Joffrey: NO! He was going to—
Tywin: --SHUT UP, KID. It seems the bride and groom are very tired. They will go to their bedchamber now.
Joffrey: Bedding Ceremony?
Tywin: No. There shall be no bedding ceremony.
Joffrey: BUT I WANT A BE—
Tywin: --And I want a grandson who isn’t an inbred, cowardly fucking monster. We don’t always get what we want. Tyrion… take that Stark girl and consummate the marriage. I want a Lannister baby put in that belly ASAP so that we have a nice, suitable heir to Winterfell in the bread basket.
Sansa: Wow, how romantic.
Tywin: EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP AND DO WHAT I SAY! I AM THE REAL FUCKING POWER HERE!
And so Sansa and Tyrion go back to their bed chamber. Because Lord Tywin is absolutely right.
Sansa, disgusted, begins to do what she knows she has to do.
Sansa: So, should I begin to take my dress off then?
Tyrion: Not yet. Let me tell you about my first wedding to Tysha.
Sansa: Oh, I didn’t know you were married before.
Tyrion: I was. To a whore.
Sansa: Yeah, that sounds more like you.
Tyrion: You see, it was years ago when I met—
Sansa: --Actually, I don’t want to hear this story at all. It’s best if you just not talk at all. And how about we turn the lights off so I don’t even have to look at you?
Tyrion: Fine. Whatever. Just get naked and get in bed.
She does so, and he starts to touch her. He can tell that she’s frozen solid – in fear and disgust.
Tyrion: No. No. I can’t go through with this. I’ll wait to consummate the marriage until you actually want to.
Sansa: Well, then we’ll never consummate it then, I guess.
Tyrion: Never?
Sansa: You fucking heard me.
Sansa: Oh Queen Cersei! This dress is so beautiful! It’s amazing!
Cersei: Yes, it is. You look stunning. It’s a shame that it’s going to be wasted on you marrying that ugly little gargoyle.
Sansa: Wait… what?
Cersei: You heard me.
Sansa: Uhhh….
Sansa wonders if Cersei somehow found out about her planned marriage to Willas Tyrell. Was Willas really an ugly gargoyle? Sansa knew he was sort of lame, but didn't think that--
Cersei: --You’re marrying my shithead dwarf brother.
Sansa: WHAT?!
Cersei: Well… come on.
Sansa: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT DO YOU MEAN COME ON?
Cersei: I mean COME ON. You’re getting married. RIGHT NOW!
Sansa: I’M GETTING MARRIED TO TYRION RIGHT NOW?! I THOUGHT THIS WAS JUST A DRESS FITTING!
Sansa turns and tries to run, but as she goes for the door – Meryn Trant and Osmund Kettleback stand and block the way.
Trant: I will SMACK THE SHIT out of you, bitch.
Osmund: There is no need for that, Meryn. Come on now, Sansa. You’re a wolf, right? Wolves are supposed to be brave.
Sansa: Ah, well when you put it like that you seem like less of a duplicitous monster, Osmund. I guess I really don’t have a choice, do I?
Sansa is not happy about this. Not happy at all. But then again… Tyrion is not as bad as the rest of the Lannisters. Which is sort of like saying Mobutu Sese Seko is not as bad as the rest of the totalitarian African dictators propped up by Western governments who turned a blind eye to genocide. But I digress.
Sansa is escorted to the Sept. Outside, King Douchenozzle is waiting.
Joffrey: Hahaha, hey Sansa. You know how your father is supposed to walk you down the aisle? Well, I cut his head off.
Sansa: Technically you’re too big of a pussy to do that yourself. Ilyn Payne cut his head off.
Joffrey: GRRRR. ANYWAY, in your dead father’s place I’ll walk you down the aisle. Since I’m the FATHER of the kingdom.
Sansa: NOOOOO!
Joffrey: You’ll do as I say or I’ll marry you to Ilyn Payne.
Sansa: Is that supposed to be some sort of threat to get me in line? Because honestly Ilyn Payne seems like it would be better than Tyrion. At least he can’t talk back then. You know, since his tongue has been cut out.
Joffrey: SHUT UP OR I’LL—
--Tyrion walks into the Sept.
Tyrion: Sansa, my apologies for this farce. I want this no more than you do.
Sansa: Well that seems highly unlikely.
Tyrion: What are you trying to say?
Sansa: I’m saying that I’m a physically attractive teenage redhead that has just had a growth spurt into an amazing hot body. And you’re a dwarf with different color eyes, a cut off ear and missing half of your nose. You’re also probably full of STDs from all the whores you always visit. So saying you’re as uninterested in marrying me as I am uninterested in marrying you is almost guaranteed to be not true.
Tyrion: You know, those are some pretty harsh words. But when you put it like that I can’t say you’re not right. Anyway. If you refuse to marry me, they are going to marry you to Lancel.
Sansa: I don’t want to marry any Lannister.
Tyrion: True. At least I’m not that shitface Joffrey.
Joffrey: HEY! I’m right here. And I’m THE KING!
Tyrion: Literally nobody gives a shit.
Sansa: You have been… kind… to me. Come on. Let’s just get this shit over with.
They walk together into the Sept. As she walks in, she sees that none of the Tyrells are here. They probably don’t even know this is happening.
Here in Westeros, there is a marriage ceremony called “The Changing of the Cloaks,” where the Father/King must take off Sansa’s “maiden” cloak and her new husband must put on one another to symbolize their new marriage. Joffrey pulls off Sansa’s cloak and cops a feel in the process.
Joffrey: Hahahaha! Boobies!
Sansa: You wouldn’t know what to do with them if you ever got further than second base, you pathetic loser.
Now it’s Tyrion’s turn to put the marriage cloak on. But Sansa is tall. Tyrion is very, very short.
Tyrion: Can you please bend down so that I can put the cloak on your shoulders?
Sansa: Nah.
Tyrion: What do you mean “nah?”
Sansa: It means I won’t
Tyrion: But here I am. Trying to put a cloak on you. But I can’t. It’s super embarrassing. Everybody in this place is laughing at me and pointing. I’m totally being humiliated.
Sansa: That sounds like a personal problem to me.
And thus Sansa still remains a giant cunt.
Sansa: HEY! FUCK YOU, NARRATOR! I’m being forced against my will to marry a man I don’t love. A man who I find physically repulsive. A man who is part of the family that murdered my father and all his bannermen that I grew up with in Winterfell. Did this particular guy show me open animosity or treat me poorly? No. But does that mean I’m supposed to be happy about the situation and put up no resistance to a forced marriage.
Okay. Okay. Jeez, Sansa. I’m sorry. I take it back.
Sansa: That’s what I thought.
Joffrey: HAHAHA! This is hilarious. Look at Uncle Dwarfy be humiliated. This is so funny!
It goes on for longer. Then Joffrey gets bored.
Joffrey: Okay. Dontos you stupid piece of shit. Come over here and be a human stepping stool.
Dontos runs over. Tyrion steps up on his back and puts the cloak over Sansa.
Septon: You may now kiss the bride.
Tyrion goes in to kiss Sansa, and Sansa starts crying.
Later that night is the wedding feast. Finally the Tyrells have shown up and been invited. But all the Tyrell women who acted like they were her best friend a few chapters ago now suddenly give her the cold shoulder.
Sansa: Well, this is fucking awkward.
Tyrion: It is.
Sansa: So… uhm… do you want to dance or something? I really don’t want to. But I think it’s expected.
Tyrion: Nope.
Tyrion pulls out a bottle of Smirnoff and downs the entire thing all at once, just like Chris Holmes, lead guitarist of W.A.S.P. in The Decline of Western Civilization Part II: The Metal Years.
Sansa: I am way too young to get that reference.
Ser Garlan Tyrell: Excuse me… Sansa. If your husband will not dance with you… how about me?
Sansa: Oh, that’s so sweet, Garlan. I’m glad you’re not shunning me like the Tyrell girls.
Garlan: I know you wanted the marriage to Willas to work so that you could escape King’s Landing. But it looks like the Lannisters plot worked faster than ours. And I see how you look at my other brother, Loras.
Sansa: Yeah. I would destroy that. I would hop on him and ride him until he’s broken.
Garlan: Uhm… okay… that’s a bit explicit. Look, Tyrion isn’t that bad of a guy.
Tyrion: I’m a full-blown alcoholic. I’m a piece of crap.
Tyrion falls out of his inflatable chair and into the pool.
Garlan: Oh. We’re still doing those Decline of Western Civilization jokes, huh? Anyway – he’ll be a fine husband.
Sansa dances with him and dances with a few others. Finally ol’ King fuckwit walks up.
Joffrey: TIME TO DANCE WITH ME!
Sansa: No thanks. I’d rather die.
Joffrey: Oh, that can be arranged. But not before I bang you. Just because you’re marrying my uncle doesn’t mean I can’t use my right of jus primae noctis.
Sansa: The practice of jus primae noctis, or of a king in medieval Europe sleeping with brides, is largely considered to be a myth invented by Victorian-era scholars. It’s not actually a thing.
Joffrey: Oh, it’s a thing sure enough. A thing I’m going to do. And don’t act like it’s TOTALLY a myth. Similar practices are depicted in the Epic of Gilgamesh. It was even practiced in the 20th century in Zaire by Mobutu Sese Seko, who would travel to local villages where the tribes would offer him virgin women. It was considered a great honor.
Sansa: What the fuck? Is this the second Mobutu reference of this Chapter? Why the hell is Mobutu coming up so often?
Laurent Kabila: Don’t worry, the Mobutu references won’t last much longer. I’ll take care of that. I'm in charge now!
But then Kabila’s own bodyguards assassinate him.
Sansa: Jesus Christ, are we going to stick with my narrative chapter here or dive further into a fucking college essay on turn-of-the century Congolese history?
Joffrey: You know what? Forget dancing! I want to see the BEDDING CEREMONY!!!!
Crowd: WOOOOO!!! YEAH! BEDDING CEREMONY! WOOOO!!!
Joffrey: This involves the male guests at this wedding party all grabbing you and stripping you naked. Then we carry you off to your bed and all watch as my uncle fucks you.
Crowd: WOOO!!! THIS SOUNDS LIKE FUN! OUR SOCIETY AND ITS TRADITIONS ARE COMPLETELY HORRIFIC!
Sansa: NO! NO! I REFUSE!
Joffrey: YOU WILL DO IT! I’ll execute you.
Tyrion pulls himself out of the pool.
Tyrion: The hell she will. The only one around here who is going to die is you. Rashidi Muzele, give me that gun!
Rashidi Muzele, Kabila’s Duplicitous Bodyguard and Assassin: Okay.
Sansa: STOP WITH THE HISTORY LESSON!
Lord Tywin: ENOUGH! ENOUGH OF THIS ALL!
Joffrey: Grandpa! Grandpa! Did you see that? Tyrion threatened to kill me! He got that gun from Rashidi Muzele.
Tywin: Tyrion is just drunk and making a silly joke. Isn’t that right, Tyrion?
Tyrion: What? Oh… yes. A joke. That’s right. A silly joke.
Tyrion throws the gun away.
Tyrion: Hahaha. JUST KIDDING!
Joffrey: NO! He was going to—
Tywin: --SHUT UP, KID. It seems the bride and groom are very tired. They will go to their bedchamber now.
Joffrey: Bedding Ceremony?
Tywin: No. There shall be no bedding ceremony.
Joffrey: BUT I WANT A BE—
Tywin: --And I want a grandson who isn’t an inbred, cowardly fucking monster. We don’t always get what we want. Tyrion… take that Stark girl and consummate the marriage. I want a Lannister baby put in that belly ASAP so that we have a nice, suitable heir to Winterfell in the bread basket.
Sansa: Wow, how romantic.
Tywin: EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP AND DO WHAT I SAY! I AM THE REAL FUCKING POWER HERE!
And so Sansa and Tyrion go back to their bed chamber. Because Lord Tywin is absolutely right.
Sansa, disgusted, begins to do what she knows she has to do.
Sansa: So, should I begin to take my dress off then?
Tyrion: Not yet. Let me tell you about my first wedding to Tysha.
Sansa: Oh, I didn’t know you were married before.
Tyrion: I was. To a whore.
Sansa: Yeah, that sounds more like you.
Tyrion: You see, it was years ago when I met—
Sansa: --Actually, I don’t want to hear this story at all. It’s best if you just not talk at all. And how about we turn the lights off so I don’t even have to look at you?
Tyrion: Fine. Whatever. Just get naked and get in bed.
She does so, and he starts to touch her. He can tell that she’s frozen solid – in fear and disgust.
Tyrion: No. No. I can’t go through with this. I’ll wait to consummate the marriage until you actually want to.
Sansa: Well, then we’ll never consummate it then, I guess.
Tyrion: Never?
Sansa: You fucking heard me.
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