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He watches her as she speaks her pleasantries and charms with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. He sees her walk with her head held high and her hands clasped in front of her as if to hold herself together (a white-knuckled grip he's sure he's the only one who notices), both physically and mentally. He knows those hands dangling at her sides would be clenched fists ready to strike. She handles her inner turmoil with poise, he notes. Another man would miss these signs. But not Tywin. He sees everything. He sees how she smooths down her gown when Cersei delivers one of her backhanded compliments, gaze averted. When she looks back up he notices her eyes twinkle with mischief; he knows at these moments she wants to return the sentiments, but her position and circumstance prevent such words from being spoken. He finds himself (uncharacteristically) wanting to hear all of those unspoken remarks.
On some days she wears her hair in typical Northern fashion, a style he knows his daughter despises. On these days, Tywin watches Sansa Stark with a smirk, amused by her blatant rebellion. Cersei's eyes follow her with barely disguised contempt as she floats (the eldest Stark daughter is impossibly graceful, ethereal) through the castle. If it were not for the brilliant red hair and striking beauty, one would not notice her passing by. Her footfalls stopped making sounds from the first time the Kingsguard was ordered to beat and humiliate her. This ability, among many others, developed as a direct result of her time spent in the company of Joffrey. Her ability to keep a blank face when the subject of her traitor family was brought up had been perfected; she barely blinked and there was only a slight tightening of her jaw during such situations.
It is the day after Myrcella Baratheon was sent to Dorne. A day after that horrific mob scene caused by none other than his poor excuse for a grandson, when he runs into the lone wolf. She is walking back to her chambers unaccompanied, her hair in a state of dishevelment and she is still in her nightclothes. There is an angry slash across her cheekbone and her eyes are hollow (though he does not know why he expected anything more from this shell of a girl). It is still early in the morning and she is not quite paying attention to where she is going, nearly slamming into the Warden of the West. Apologies stumble forth from her mouth before she can stop them and he grows irritated with her immediately.
“Lady Stark, you will stop this incessant chattering at once,” he says in that stern tone of his. “Now, tell me what you are doing wandering about the castle in such an unsuitable state of undress?”
“The Queen sent for me, my lord,” she answers, her cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment.
“And why would she send for you at an hour such as this?” he asks. “Damn it, girl, look at me when I am speaking to you.” The change in decibel forces Sansa's gaze upward and her eyes are wide with fear. Her first encounter with the Hand and he has her trembling.
At this point, her face is almost completely aflame. “The Queen discovered that I have experienced my first f-flowering, my lord,” she says, struggling to maintain eye contact. “Her grace wanted to speak with me concerning the importance of w-womanhood.”
Tywin Lannister remains silent for what seems like ages. “Very well. I will escort you back to your chambers, Lady Stark, as it does not do for a lady to be wandering about the castle alone.” Sansa only nods and walks solemnly alongside him. He notes that this is the only time she is not gliding about in that enchanting way of hers. She walks with shoulders slumped and head bowed down. He decides not to comment; it seems that she's had quite the ordeal as it is.
“I take it that wound on your cheek is the result of the mob yesterday,” Tywin finally says, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had grown between them.
“Yes, my lord. I was pulled from my horse in the midst of the chaos. It might have been much worse had the brave men of the Kingsguard not intervened,” she says, her armor visible once more.
Tywin is almost impressed with how quickly she erected her shields after being caught in such a vulnerable moment. The girl wears her armor well and with time she will become an impenetrable force. They arrive at the door to her chambers and he takes leave of her.
The Lord of Casterly Rock finds himself fascinated with the Stark girl, although begrudgingly. He does not often find himself bothered with thoughts of silly girls, which is why his sudden interest in Sansa Stark is so irksome. He curses himself for being so weak minded even as he continues to observe the bird in her cage. When her own betrothal is cast aside for a more favorable Tyrell alliance, she holds herself with such poise he wonders if she's even real. He needs not the ability to read minds to know what the Stark girl is thinking. He knows that the relief she is experiencing is unlike any other emotion she has ever felt and had he been in closer proximity to her he might have seen that small spark of hope in her eyes returning. Might have.