"Remind me again why we are arriving separately from your beau, darling?" Margaery is primping in front of Sansa's enormous vanity, applying swipes of lipstick and eyeliner with gusto, while Sansa finishes curling her hair at the sink.
"We've been over this, and seriously Marg, I'm fine."
She is most certainly not fine. Sansa is absolutely furious.
"But it is the Baratheon Holiday Party, hosted by none other than Robert and Cersei Baratheon, and you are LIVING with the FATHER of one of the hosts and yet you are arriving separately from him?"
The judgment in Margaery's tone rankles, and Sansa nearly singes the side of her ear as she snarls at her reflection in the mirror. "I know whose party it is, Margaery," Sansa calls out, affecting a sickeningly sweet tone that she knows Margaery sees right through.
"Well, I thought it best to remind you, considering the fact that you will be arriving alone with me rather than with said man. This is all his doing, and don't you try to deny it because I know it, San. He should be flaunting you! Twirling about with you on his arm!"
Sansa sighs, setting down the curling iron before she burns half her hair off in frustration. "I know," she whispers quietly, more to her reflection though of course Margaery hears her.
Margaery flounces into the bathroom in a matching robe, makeup and hair all just about finished, and picks up the curling iron to take over where Sansa left off. "Just explain it to me one more time, and then we will come up with a plan, rubberband," she says with a wink.
Sansa can't help but laugh a little, and goes through the motions and the flimsy explanations one last time. "We work together, and no one knows we are living together, though it isn't exactly a secret. To protect my position with the company, and to preserve our privacy, 'we' have decided it would be best to attend functions such as these separately, without dates."
Margaery's expression is dubious, before a sly smile spreads over her face. "Well, it would be a shame then if eligible bachelors threw themselves at your feet now, wouldn't it? Since you attended unaccompanied, with an eligible young lady as your only companion?"
Sansa is repeatedly saying no while Margaery is nodding along, pinning and artfully arranging her curls while repeating yes at the top of her lungs. After several seconds of a screaming match, both girls collapse into a fit of giggles while Margaery finishes tinkering in Sansa's hair. "Just tell me one thing. Don't you want to know if seeing you with someone else has an affect on him? Don't you want to know if this is more than just a fling or a temporary living arrangement? Don't you want to know if it is something more… permanent?"
Sansa knows she's lying if she says she doesn't, so she chooses not to say anything at all, while tears prick her eyes.
It is answer enough.
With a flourish, Margaery spins her back to the mirror and pronounces phase 1- operation hair, complete. With her hair pulled back and over one shoulder in a twisted knot, curls now flow freely over one shoulder and down her back, leaving her ears exposed for the chandelier earrings Margaery just happened to bring with her.
Margaery Tyrell is nothing if not prepared.
Sansa spends some time polishing off her makeup while Margaery flips through the rack of dresses she brought, searching for something that she swears will be simply divine, as she puts it. "Hey, did you mention you are eligible as well? What happened to THE Great Jon?"
"Nothing," Margaery says innocently, a very unusual and irregular flush spreading over her cheeks. "But it's not like it's anything serious. You know I'm only in it for the instant gratification and the fun, San."
"Mhm," Sansa hums, eyes knowing but cutting her friend a tiny bit of slack. "And will that particular giant of fun be in attendance this evening?"
Sansa is finishing up with her light blush colored lipstick when Margaery strides out of the closet in a slinky black number with a slit clear up her thigh nearly to her hip, sleek black stilettos poking out with each step. "Why, it just so happens I think he will be."
"Imagine that," Sansa replies with a smirk, tossing her hair as she strolls to the dress rack and searches through the options.
"Oh no, San, I've already got your dress hanging in the closet, shoes to match. March your butt right in there right now young lioness. Tonight, you are coming home the Queen of this castle if I have anything to say about it!" Margaery's smile is triumphant while Sansa's is apprehensive, but she can't contain her excitement and squeals as she flits into her second favorite room in the house (second to the bedroom, certainly).
Good gods. The gown is simply a dream. Sansa slides the silk off the hanger and delicately over her curls, holding her breath as it cascades down her figure and graces her curves and hips just right. It is made of a blue so pale it is nearly silver in color, with a mermaid trumpet skirt, cutouts between her breasts, and a plunging back so low she will most certainly skip the lacy undergarment she had thought to wear. The heels are identical in color, and with her shoulders back and her hand on her hip, Sansa has to admit. She really does look positively divine.
She joins Margaery in front of the vanity, and receives a shriek of approval from her best friend in the whole world as she finishes pinning her curls to one side. Margaery twines their arms together, cocking her hip and taking in their finished reflections. "I don't think it gets much better than this, Sansa Stark. If you don't come home tonight with Tywin Lannister wrapped around your pretty little finger, then I say you don't come home at all!"
As they slide into the waiting car, Sansa is a bundle of nerves, and can't help but agree.
They enter when the party is already in full swing, and though Sansa seems oblivious, it most certainly does not escape Margaery's notice that Tywin seems to stop speaking to Stannis Baratheon mid-sentence as they make their grand entrance. He has eyes only for Sansa, and cannot seem to pull himself away from the mesmerizing sight of her gliding down the staircase and into the formal ballroom.
Margaery's inner self is cheering with glee. This plan just might work after all.
She waits a few beats and begins to descend behind her beautifully naïve friend, all the while scanning the crowd with a coy smile pursing her lips. Finally in the back of the room, she spots him.
Well, spots them. Because next to her Great Jon is the man who will, without a doubt, bring Tywin to his knees before Sansa's dainty feet by the time this night is done.
Now all she has to do is steer things in the right direction.
She shoos Sansa in the direction of their hosts, begging the need to powder her nose, much to Sansa's dismay.
"You are sending me over alone?! To Cersei and Robert?!"
Margaery grants her an indulgent smile as she, somewhat forcefully, gives her a shove in the right direction. "Nature calls, darling. I'll rejoin and rescue you soon." With a wink and a smile, Margaery leaves her flustered friend in search of her current favorite toy and his companion.
Sansa straightens her spine and glides in the direction of Cersei's sickly sweet snarl of a smile and Robert's wandering eyes. She is regal in nature, confident in posture, and greets them both with all due respect and affection required.
If Cersei's lip curls as she squeezes her just a tad too tight, Sansa pretends not to notice. And if Robert's hand lingers on her backside when he tugs her to his side, she bites her tongue and pretends not to shudder.
Finally, she is released from their clutches, one watching her with hate, the other with longing, as she strides down the tiny platform, because of course Cersei had the two of them raised on a platform, and down to the ballroom floor.
She can feel his presence in the room, his eyes on her body lighting up every nerve, as she struggles not to glance in his direction. She knows he's just to the left, a tad bit too far to be in her periphery, presumably still conversing business with Stannis. She steals a flute of champagne from a waiter on her right, all the while a mantra of you will not turn around repeating in her head, before she is startled so suddenly she nearly drops her half-full glass all over the front of her dress.
A veritable giant catches her outstretched arm and offers a steadying hand, wrapping it around both hers and the glass, covering her so completely all she can do is blink because where her hand once was now is only his. The Great Jon's booming voice greets her heartily from behind, the very direction she'd been attempting not to look towards, and yet as she exhales and turns on her heel over her shoulder she realizes two reasons why she really shouldn't have ever been afraid.
The Great Jon is currently intertwined so thoroughly with Margaery there is nary a gap between them, and they happen to be perfectly blocking her view of Tywin.
Second, the man who is warmly holding her, one hand still cradling hers while the other spans nearly the entire width of her exposed back just above the curve of her hip, is so large he makes THE Great Jon appear smaller than Tyrion Lannister.
She can't help but stare, entranced by the sparkling blue laughter in his eyes, the hint of promise and heat mixing with his sultry smile behind a thick red beard making her heart flutter curiously in her breast. He must be over seven feet tall, and in his all black suit with his flaming red hair slicked back in a bun, she thinks she just might swoon.
Margaery's voice is what does it, snapping her back and making her close her mouth with a flush as she realizes how long she's been caught staring. "Well, I was hoping you two would get a chance to meet! Sansa, this is Tormund Giantsbane, a colleague of Jon's. Tormund, thank you so much for rescuing my dearest friend, Miss Sansa Stark, from what would have surely have resulted in disaster."
"My pleasure," he nearly rumbles next to her.
Sansa's cheeks are so red and her body is so hot she just might catch on fire.
"The pleasure is mine," she hears herself blurt in a rush, her voice oddly breathless and not at all like her own. God goods, is he still holding her hand? How on her is the palm on her back so hot?
"Aye, that be the purpose, if you're doing it right," he says with a broad smile and a sly wink.
Sansa is fairly certain she might never catch her breath again, as The Great Jon and Tormund bellow and shake in laughter, while Margaery tinkers and looks on with a gleam in her bright eyes.
A throat clears behind them, and from the cat-like grin on Margaery's face Sansa knows that Margaery's plan must have been effective, and Sansa is truly done for. Tormund, however, studiously continues onward, ignoring the throat and the looming shadow of Tywin Lannister as he bends his bearded face to whisper in the shell of Sansa's bright pink ear.
"How about a dance, Miss Sansa Stark?" There's a challenge in his tone, warmth radiating off him in waves, and the gentle caress of his fingertips as he slides his hand off the one holding her and her glass makes her shiver in response.
"Why, that would be-"
"Sansa, I believe you have already promised your first dance to me." Tywin's voice is commanding, his spine straight and his expression impassive, as he extends a black-coated arm to her other side, his green eyes flashing in rise to the challenge. "Thank you for rescuing her, Mr.-"
"Giantsbane," Tormund replies happily, slowing pulling his hand away from her spine, teasing the exposed flesh as Sansa takes Tywin's arm with a flush and a smile.
Tywin can't help but snort, "yes, of course." As he tugs Sansa in the direction of the floor, body rigid, lust and anger radiating off of him in waves, Sansa can't help but crack a smile at the last words Tormund sends in their direction.
"I'm happy to provide ye references, should you be needing them."
Margaery feels positively wicked and cannot help but smile wide at how quickly her plan has resulted in success. As the three of them watch the two twirl about the floor, The Great Jon cannot help but slip a few jabs in about the one who got away to his friend.
Never one to back away from a challenge, Tormund can only flash his teeth in a smile and shrug a shoulder. "Not quite ready for a lady such as Miss Sansa Stark, anyways. And by the time that pretty little lass is ready for a man like me, grandpa there will be six feet under."
Tywin is holding her so tightly she can barely breath, twirling her faster and faster around the floor, as if his very movements will make her forget even a brief interest in a man other than him.
That bumbling idiot Giantsbane and his hands all over her. The sight of his groping made him so blind with rage he stalked away from Stannis without a thought.
Sansa Stark is his. She is his, and if she doesn't know that yet, Tywin will be damned if she will ever forget it by the time he is through with her this night.
He spins her round and round, a plan formulating as she keeps in step and follows wherever he leads.
As it happens, he leads her out the back, spinning her straight onto the terrace, before halting her suddenly and tugging her down the steps to the gardens below.
The unlit gardens.
Sansa Stark is his. Not just for the moment, and not just for the night. She is his, and he is hers, and it is time they come to an accord.