Sansa Stark was a child of summer.

The world she knew was one of sun and dappled shade, of red trees in the godswood and a warm bed, and warm arms when she needed an embrace. Her world was one of warmth, and this land of ice and stone and cold was utterly foreign to her.

She huddled in her small tent and shivered, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. The snow had seemed beautiful, up at the Eyrie when she could go inside and wrap herself in blankets. But now it was just cold, and she was cold, and she wanted nothing more than to just go home and back to summer, or even the breezes of cooler autumn days.

Sansa wanted to cry. She tugged the blankets and furs more closely around herself and shivered more intensely.

There was a stir at her tent flap, and then a whisper. "Alayne?"

She knew that voice, or thought she did, though she hesitated before whispering back, "Lady Stone?"

A snort, then, and Mya poked her head in. "No lady me," she said, "Wouldn't want to be either. Mind if I bring my stuff in here? S'colder than usual and two people's warmer than one."

Sansa couldn't keep her teeth from chattering this time when she opened her mouth. "W-wouldn't mind being a little warmer." She meant it, every word, but Mya laughed for some reason, vanished for a moment, then crawled in. Sansa gaped at her, astonished to see that she was still wearing the same clothes she'd had for the descent – something like breeches and the light shirt.

"You must be freezing!"

Mya snorted again, settling back against the bedroll she'd brought with her. "You get used to it. I don't hardly feel it anymore, I offer more for you than for me. You look like turning into a little icicle."

Sansa, absurdly, felt herself blush. "It's warmer in the South," she managed to say. Mya shook her head.

"Don't worry. You'll get used to it, shouldn't take too long."

Sansa opened her mouth to reply and was cut off by a gust of wind blowing through the tent, brushing her blankets aside and seeming to cut right down to the skin. She yelped in surprise and couldn't stop the shaking. She'd never been so cold in her life.

Mya muttered something that Sansa suspected was a pithy curse that she tried conscientiously not to listen to, and edged over. Sansa nearly started when Mya put her arms around her. "Hold still," Mya said, and Sansa felt skin brush her neck, warm and smooth. "Gods. You are frozen."

Sansa shivered a little, again, and huddled closer to the other girl. "I've never been so cold before." She wanted to cry, and hated to, feeling that Mya would think less of her if she did. It shouldn't have mattered – the girl was lowborn, a true bastard and strange in dress and manners – but it did. Mya was the closest thing she'd had toward a friend in a very long time.

Since Jeyne had been sent away. Or killed, she supposed, and the thought sent a chill down her spine that made her quiver again.

"Shh," Mya said. Her voice was low and husky enough to almost sound like a man's. With her short hair and relatively slender frame, from a distance she might have been one. The wind'll die down soon, I think."

Sansa choked down the sob, but turned her head to press it into Mya's shoulder, helplessly. She felt a hand stroke her hair, lightly. "I'm scared," she whispered, her stomach squirming with embarrassment for admitting it, especially when she heard Mya snort.

But the other girl tucked her head over Sansa's and said firmly, "Of what? Wind can't do anything to you any more than a bit of dirt's going to kill you. You're a brave girl. I can tell. So don't pretend you're not."

I'm not, Sansa wanted to tell her, I'm a scared little girl, I couldn't save my father and my entire family is gone and lost and dead. But she didn't, and just pulled back enough to tilt her head up and kiss Mya, shyly.

She didn't really know why, except that she was lonely and cold and Mya was close and warm, and she was honest and everyone had been lying to Sansa for such a long time. The other girl seemed startled, for a moment, and Sansa felt her tense, but then she relaxed and her arms stayed snug around her, and after a moment to Sansa's surprise she began kissing back.

Sansa had been kissed before, a couple times – a couple clumsy ones Joffrey had tried to push on her, Lord Baelish back at the Eyrie. But this was different. This was more like what she'd always thought a first kiss should be like, the warmth starting at her lips and spreading down into her body, the touch of Mya's mouth soft and warm and gentle and safe. When she drew back, Sansa sighed a little with regret and something like relief.

"Alayne," Mya said, and her voice sounded a little huskier than it had, "D'you-" Sansa shook her head. She didn't want to think, about Lord Baelish or the cold or anything. She reached her trembling hands up into Mya's cropped black hair and kissed her again with something of desperation.

It was deeper this time, and sweeter, too, and though Sansa was surprised when Mya's tongue teased her lips apart and slipped into her mouth, it wasn't a bad sort of surprise. Her body bent, gently, to rest against Mya's, and when they came apart again they were lying down, side by side, the furs slipped down around Sansa's waist and leaving her shoulder's bare.

"Gods," whispered Mya, "No wonder you're freezing."

Sansa swallowed, self-conscious, and edged a little closer. "Have you ever – done this before?" To her surprise, Mya blushed.

"Maybe. Just once or twice…Alayne, I'm not trying to take advantage, that's not why I came in here-"

Sansa reached out, slowly, and touched Mya's face. "I know. I – I didn't think it was." She could feel her eyes very wide, and let her hand drop down the other girl's body to reach the clasp of her pants, eyes questioning. She heard Mya's breath catch and blushed, a little, surprised at her own boldness. "Just – let me try? I've never…"

It surprised her, how easy the almost-breeches were to undo. Keeping her body close, Sansa wriggled a little to slip a hand into their open front.

It was like touching herself; it sent a little thrill down her spine, though, and she inched closer, slightly gratified by the soft gasp from Mya, whose hands were in her hair, running through it like her mother might have, once, but her mother's hands never made her feel…

Sansa eased her hand further between Mya's legs. Her skin was even warmer, here, and softer than that of her hands. Lifting her head, she found Mya's eyes again, and her face, her skin now flushed, and curiously pressed her fingers upward toward her body.

The other girl made a soft sound, low and heady in her throat, and her hands in Sansa's hair tightened as she initiated the kiss, this time, her slightly parted lips inviting. Dazed, Sansa let her fingers wander, stroking idly, and surprised to feel moisture on her fingers, and even more surprised to feel Mya's hand around her wrist drawing her hand away, though she brought it to her mouth and kissed Sansa's palm.

"No," she said, quietly but firm, "Not right now. It would be taking advantage. You're cold and lonely; let me just keep you warm just for a little." She paused, then, and her kiss was lighter, sweeter, almost chaste. "You're a sweet girl, Alayne. If you don't mind my saying, you deserve better than Lord Baelish."

Sansa shook her head, wordless, and Mya let go of her to redo her breeches before putting her arms around her again, pulling the heaviest fur over them both. "You need to wear more clothes to bed," she said, in a voice a little more like her usual self. "You're not in the southlands anymore. Nights here are cold, winter or no."

Sansa nodded, just a little, to show she understood, and lay her head down. When Mya tucked her head under her chin, she was curiously relieved. "No one will – think it odd?"

Mya snorted, softly. "No. I'm your friend."

That made Sansa feel even warmer inside than the kisses had, and she closed her eyes wondering if she could dream of summer, just for tonight.