Sansa was never alone. She despised the constant presence of guards that seemed to follow her everywhere. It was only a rare happenstance when she was able to escape them; for instance, when she visited the Godswood or the royal gardens that overlooked the Blackwater. Margaery knew this. She often found herself following the younger girl, trying to catch her alone while thinking about her brother's exploits with the same sex. She had wondered several times while watching Sansa if there was a certain thrill in touching someone so physically similar to herself.
There was without doubt a certain thrill in looking at the red-haired beauty. Especially today. It was a warm day, despite the whisper of winter in the wind. The sun shone steadily from high above. Its light cascaded onto Sansa's hair, setting fire to her intricate auburn plaits. The red curls that framed her pale northern face seemed like a confirmation from the Seven that Sansa was the very incarnation of the Maiden herself. And that was a position Margaery would have liked to be blessed with, if it wasn't so fitting for Sansa.
Margaery couldn't bear to watch her silently this time. As Sansa nodded to a guard standing at the entrance to the Godswood and stepped delicately into the protective shadow of the trees, Margaery turned her interest to her needlework, but she soon followed the Stark girl's path into the archaic grove.
Once under the high natural arches of the trees, Margaery took her time. She knew Sansa would roam this small remainder of wild land for several minutes if not hours. She wandered along the narrow path that eventually led to the Heart Tree, stopping to examine gnarled branches and ancient vines every now and then. She did not worship the old gods, but she would always admire the beauty of their places of ritual.
All thoughts melted from Margaery's mind when she looked ahead and glimpsed a copper braid through the tangles of age-old branches. The maiden knelt before the Heart Tree with her head bowed. Everything about her posture suggested beauty and composition. But when the girl from Highgarden dared to step closer, she saw a tear land on one of the great red leaves near Sansa's feet.
"Sansa," she spoke, forgoing reticence. Sansa straightened, startled, and turned to face Margaery with wide eyes. Wide, pained eyes. Margaery's heart broke.
"Lady Margaery?" She sniffed and reached up to push the remnants of her watery distress off her cheek. Margaery offered a comforting smile, stepping forward and brushing the teardrop away with one soft movement of her index finger. Sansa seemed surprised but did not back away. After a long, silent pause during which Margaery returned her hand to her side, Sansa said, "Lady Margaery, I… I apologize for my impertinence, but I believed you worshiped the Seven, not the Old Gods."
"You are correct," Margaery stated simply. Her mind was racing. Sansa's skin was so soft under her touch. It was exactly as she had dreamed it would feel. She hardly dared to believe it, but a blush crept over her cheeks as she thought about how soft that skin would be under Sansa's heavy grey-and-white dress.
"Then… why are you here?" Sansa's blue eyes darted downward after she spoke. Perhaps she was ashamed of being so bold. Margaery didn't mind; in fact, she reached out once more, capturing Sansa's chin in a delicate hold and bringing that icy gaze back to her own.
"You're in pain. I want to do anything I can to help you."
Sansa's perfect lips parted slightly as if she understood exactly what Margaery intended. The look Sansa gave the future queen nearly unraveled her. "How?" Sansa asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The two were just centimeters apart now. Margaery did not bother to put words to her answer.
She leaned forward and caught those perfect northern lips in an innocent kiss. It was like nothing Margaery had experienced before. Of course, she had kissed men before. She had kissed the stableboy when she was twelve, then a riverlands knight when she was sixteen, and there were Renly and Joffrey but none of them felt anywhere near as amazing as Sansa did. Sansa's lips were welcoming where Margaery's previous partners' had been brisk. Her skin was soft where theirs had been course and stubbled. And where their embrace was harsh and demanding, Sansa's was the most wonderful sensation of tender sensuality that had graced Margaery's experience.
The innocent touch grew in intensity as both girls became more comfortable. Margaery's fingers traced the ties that bound Sansa's dress along her smoothly curved spine. At the same time, she could feel Sansa's timid yet steady fingers tangling in her long curls. A gentle touch was all it took to encourage Sansa toward the Heart Tree.
They broke apart for a moment, long enough for Margaery to step off the path and knelt at the base of the ancient wooden shrine. Sansa joined her, letting out a soft, content sigh. A bed of soft grasses and ice-blue flowers dappled with sunlight drifting down from high above danced around them.
Turning to face Sansa, Margaery brought her lips close to that perfect auburn hair. "Let me help you forget your sadness," she murmured. Sansa closed her fingers on Margaery's thin waist as Margaery lightly laid her down into the grass. Soft sighs, delicate touches. There they lay among the flowers.