"You know, you don't have to," Margaery says.
Sansa flinches, clutching the thin, white silk of her robe. Margaery lies in her bed, the cover open and welcoming. She thinks of Margaery's ladies in waiting, who have been ordered away from Margaery by Joffrey. He called them twittering birds, saying they annoyed him with their constant chatter and gabble.
But who will keep my bed warm with me, Your Majesty? Margaery had questioned, so passive and yet sad enough that Joffrey could notice – yet too passive, too sad.
No-one, until we share as husband and wife, he had proclaimed.
My King, Margaery had put her hand on his arm, truly, no-one? Am I to be so lonely day and night, when not in your company?
No-one can stay with you, he said tersely, before catching sight of Sansa, amongst Margaery's friends. Unless they can stay as obedient and silent as the Stark girl does. She can join you, if she has the nerve.
Joffrey had looked at Sansa then, met her eyes and dared her to go with Margaery. Sansa had bowed her head, then, but now she stands in Margaery's chambers, quailing yet determined.
"Sansa," Margaery says, before Sansa moves forth, joining her, not hesitating to pull the covers around them both and wrap her arms around Margaery's torso. "Oh," Margaery startles and Sansa wonders if she had really expected Sansa to leave – to cower like a kicked dog.
"Arya used to kick me in our sleep," Sansa states, their foreheads touching and Margaery's loose hair tickling her cheek. "I always whined in the morning, but sharing made us less lonely, especially here. In Winterfell, Arya sometimes snuck out to sleep with Jon or Robb."
"Your…brothers?" There's something in Margaery's voice, then, a slight shake and incredulous note. "I thought…I thought it was just me."
"They were warm, Arya said, like hot-houses," Sansa says. "Once, when we were angry with each other, she said she'd rather sleep with people who actually loved her and didn't call her names."
"You didn't get on with her."
"We abided each other. I miss her now, though. I miss my brothers and my baby sister," Sansa admits, feeling hollow and too full of emotion all at once. Margaery comes to wrap her arms around her too, in the silence and there's a lull, before Margaery murmurs.
"If you never escape this, Sansa, if you are married to a lord far away in his fine castles to have his babes, will you treasure your time with them?"
"Yes," Sansa says, whispering, before she brushes her lips against Margaery's nose. "You, too. The games you and your grandmother play are above me, what you say and do with Joffrey, something I never could – I was always too young. But you are kind to me. You…you're a rose. Beautiful, but with thorns."
"You are still a wolf, Sansa," Margaery reminds her. "You may be shorn and shackled, but you can still call for your allies. I would be one of those allies."
Sansa nods and there is a long silence, where Sansa thinks of home – of the biting chill even in the hottest part of summer and of the rolling, snowy hills where forests and mountains do not grow. She wonders if Margaery would like it there. Would she bundle up in furs? Would she marry Robb and be Lady of Winterfell?
Robb is dead, Sansa remembers. Jon is at the Wall. Rickon and Brandon are dead, too. Arya is lost. I am imprisoned. There is no Stark in Winterfell.
"I need to go home."
"If I could get you there, get you to safety, I would," Margaery says and they are both so quiet. There are ears in the walls of the Red Keep – Varys' little birds hearing secrets to use against them. "Would you marry my brother, Willas? He is a kind man and he could make you happy?"
"Would I return to Winterfell?"
"Your children would, they would, Sansa," Margaery reaches up to cup her cheek, holding their foreheads together hard enough it starts to hurt, as Sansa reciprocates. "I'm sorry, Sansa, I'm so sorry you can't go home."
Then she does the unexpected. Sansa doesn't really understand, but their lips are together and Margaery holds them there. Is this a kiss? Sansa questions herself, before opening her mouth to ask, not expecting the tongue to wrap around her own. It's a strange experience, but this is a proper kiss, she thinks and tries to kiss Margaery back.
Why me? Why kiss another girl? Questions swirl in her mind and Margaery takes control of them both. She's slow, letting Sansa get the hand of it, but Sansa can tell Margaery is still in charge. Maybe she can get me home. Maybe Margaery can get me somewhere.
When the kiss ends, they curl up together and sleep.