Sansa
It was astounding, how in just a few short days, it felt like the years of mourning she had spent in the cold, and alone, had just vanished, as though it never existed in the first place. Her heart felt whole with Margaery at her side, and they fell into an easy rhythm with one another, more so than before, now that they didn't have to hide their affections so diligently. Margaery was still sweet, just as she always was, despite her hardships the years did not change her in that regard.
Not like they changed Sansa.
And she couldn't help but feel terribly inadequate in comparison. Margaery had opened up to her, bared all before her in the name of love, accepting Sansa's healing embrace with open arms. She turned to Sansa for that comfort, confided her deepest insecurities, and offered an explanation of her life over the years with no hesitation. In fact, it was as though she were eager to do so, to wash away any doubts that may have lingered in Sansa's mind.
She couldn't even give the Tyrell the same respect.
It's not that she didn't want to; on the contrary, she felt as though she may burst with the knowledge that Margaery was still in the dark of, and more than once she felt the words on the tip of her tongue, ready to satisfy Margaery's surely burdening curiosity of just what happened to her. Margaery knew her better than anyone, and she already knew it wasn't a pleasant story, well aware of the negative affects it had on Sansa.
Would Margaery even want someone as broken and unfair as her? Sansa, who claims to love the woman with all of her being, who can't even have the decency to explain her absence over the years?
She couldn't fathom why Margaery was so patient with her, but if she had to guess, it was simply in the Tyrell's nature. She had always been patient, kind, and nurturing with Sansa, throughout her struggles in adolescence all the way into womanhood. Sansa desperately wanted to show her the same curtesy, but opening a vault she kept sealed for so long was easier said than actioned.
She tried to push all manner of stress aside, for today was a very important day. To her regrets, she had not yet managed to show Margaery the grounds of Winterfell, what with all the business that required her immediate attention. Just when she thought she had time for the woman, something else sucked her back in. Unfortunately, queenly duties cared not for reunions nor newly discovered love.
But today, she had made sure her schedule was clear. She even began to contemplate appointing a Hand to the Queen, just to free up some more of her time, but she quickly squashed the idea. Being Queen should always come first, and Sansa was more than capable of taking on her responsibilities on her own. It would just require some shuffling around, was all.
Any minute now, she would have her alone.
As much as Sansa relished in time alone with Margaery, it admittedly unnerved her, though she knew she was being ridiculous and would never dare say so. It was almost like a tipping anticipation, threatening to boil over at any moment. Part of Sansa just wanted to throw caution to the wind and give in, though the other, more damaged part always managed to make itself known.
"Your Grace?" Brienne announced from the doorway, startling Sansa from her thoughts, "Lady Margaery has been escorted to your solar for lunch. Are you ready to go or will you require more time?"
She was talking about the heaps of parchment Sansa was still trying to get through, with ever dent made another doubled in its place. She smiled sadly at the mounting work before looking back to her Queensguard, "I'm afraid there will never be enough time, Brienne. It's never-ending, I'm sure."
"You're doing a wonderful job, Your Grace."
Sansa smiled at the compliment, one of many praises she had heard from her dear friend. She sighed as she set the quill down and shuffled the documents back into the neat pile they had been initially, before Sansa had gotten her hands on them. She rose from her chair and allowed Brienne to get the door for her.
The short walk atop the battlements was pleasant. The sun was shining, a rarity nowadays, basking her skin in a pleasant warmth. The wind, too, was low, and Sansa was almost glad that life had postponed their outing together.
Her stomach fluttered upon arriving at the solar, knowing Margaery was awaiting her on the other side. It was a wonder how she still made Sansa feel like that shy girl back in Kings Landing, in the best way of course.
The Tyrell beamed at her as she entered, and Sansa had to take a moment to admire her. She wore a winter gown of deep maroon today with black weaved through the neckline and sleeves, her hair done in a beautiful Northern fashion.
"My wolf!" she exclaimed, standing to greet her once the door shut behind her, wasting no time in taking Sansa's gently in her hands and pressing her lips to her own, "how was your morning?"
Sansa rested her forehead against Margaery's for a moment, drinking in the sight of her, before moving to sit at the table. A array of assorted cheeses and fruits lay spread on the dark green tablecloth, a full decanter of wine included. Sansa couldn't help but eye it, having been too busy to even break her fast that morning. She had to get an early start to her work if she ever hoped to take the afternoon off.
"Starving," Sansa admitted bluntly, earning a laugh from Margaery, "Gods I swear, my wrist is beginning to lock up."
Margaery poured her a generous goblet of wine, a sympathetic smile on her face, "you work so hard, you deserve a break. I've looked forward to our afternoon together. I can't wait to kiss you in the garden, like old times."
Sansa's face lit up in a blush, one that Margaery took great delight in as she started to dig in to her meal. She glanced at Sansa, a knowing smile on her face, "I must say, all stress aside, I'm pleased to see your eating habits have improved."
Sansa couldn't help but feel slightly embarrassed, even with the non-judgmental way Margaery had said it. She cleared her throat and smiled at her, "I know I…it was terrible, I know. I guess everything that happened to me at Kings Landing had just…it made me physically ill. And it made me weak, too, you know? I can't afford to be weak any longer."
Margaery's smile remained as she took Sansa's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, "you certainly aren't any longer." Her words were simple, but they filled Sansa with joy nonetheless.
They ate in a comfortable silence, which allowed Sansa to admire Margaery more directly. More often than not her focus was on the woman, rather than most other things, but to her that was alright. Margaery deserved her attention, and it brought joy to Sansa to give it to her.
"I see you staring, my wolf," Margaery chided, grinning at her over her goblet, "you know, the sooner you eat, the sooner you can whisk me around Winterfell."
Sansa chuckled, "just thinking of how lucky I am. I can't believe how much has changed, so quickly. Arya returning and killing the Night King, to Bran being crowned King in the South. I, Queen of the North. How the Stark siblings rose from the ashes. And then you…" she shook her head, at a loss for words.
Perhaps you deserve this, Sansa," Margaery said thoughtfully, "it's not like it wasn't hard earned. Your happiness didn't come without it's suffering."
Sansa looked at her appreciatively, mulling over her wine, "I wish you could have met her."
"Arya?"
"Yes. I think you would have liked her. She's…strange, I suppose, and nothing like me. But you can't help but respect her, even without her title, as she has no interest using it. That's always been like Arya, she was never meant for a royal life." Sansa smiled fondly at the thought of her sister, gallantly swishing about a sword as a young girl, an act Sansa once thought ill befitting of a lady, but was now what she had grown to respect her the most. Arya's training saved them from the Night King, even if the cost felt too great sometimes. Whatever training Arya had, had turned her into a killer.
The smile faded, slightly.
Margaery didn't press, instead, "where did she go?"
Sansa scoffed, "to explore whatever is west of Westeros, if you can believe it."
Margaery's face scrunched. "But, no one knows what's west of Westeros?"
"Exactly," Sansa said, her eyes twinkling, "leave it to Arya to be the first."
"Do you miss her?" Margaery asked, finishing the remainder of her wine.
Sansa finished her own goblet, looking thoughtfully at the remnants at the bottom. "I do," she admitted, "I was afraid at first. We had just reunited and she already wanted to run off on another dangerous adventure. But after thinking about it over time, I realized that's just who she is, and always will be. She's not a little girl anymore, and she's free to choose her own life. I can only hope I will see her one day, for now the thought of her never returning again is what scares me most."
She realized she had been rambling and caught herself, smiling shyly and looking away, "Gods, I should have told her that when it mattered."
She hadn't realized when she stood, sometime in the heat of the moment of her speech, but Margaery was there behind her, wrapping her arms around her front. The warmth at her back seemed to let the guilt flow out of her, Margaery's presence as healing as always.
"I'm sure she knows how much you love her. After going through what you went through together, it makes everything else seem insignificant. She knows the bond you share, and she wont forget that. She will return to you, one day."
Sansa let herself believe her, even if she still had her doubts, "I'm sure she would have approved of you."
"it wouldn't put her off, that her sister was with a woman?"
Sansa shook her head, "Arya isnt like that. I'm not sure if Arya believes in love at all herself, but I think she would just want me to be happy. I know she was hurt about leaving me here, even if she didn't outwardly say it." She turned in Margaery's arms, letting her forehead rest against hers once again, "she would be glad to know I'm so well taken care of."
Margaery smiled as she pressed her lips lightly to Sansa's mouth, "she doesn't have to worry about that," she breathed hotly onto her lips, and Sansa couldn't resist taking the lower one into her teeth, eliciting a deep chuckle from the Tyrell.
"Come, my love, or we will be stuck up here the whole afternoon. I want to see the beauties of our home."
Our home.
Margaery didn't suppress her gasp upon walking into the humid air of the glass gardens; the sun streaming through the glass walls bathed the greens in a golden glow, the beads of dew glimmering like a thousand jewels. Groves of small trees outlines the outer walls, while the inside was bursting with color from various floral families such as azure bluebells, forget-me-nots, even moonbloom and lavender. It was remarkable how they managed to grow such a variety of flora so far north.
"The hot springs below provide the climate in order for things to grow," Sansa explained as she walked closely behind her, "there are special vents built into the floors. It almost feels like summer in here."
Margaery said nothing, still in awe at the blooming world around her. She delicately ran her hands through the many bulbs and petals, as though disbelieving their existence. Sansa could only smile, knowing how Margaery must miss summer. She insisted on her love for Winterfell, but Sansa knew, even if she never said it. Everyone misses the familiarity of home.
Sansa led her purposely through the shrubbery, until they reached the back of the greenhouse, to a spot that Sansa had specifically commissioned for herself. When Margaery's eyes landed on the sight before her, she couldn't help her hands flying to her mouth as she had a sharp intake of breath.
A thriving bush of Tyrell roses, bursting forth taking up an entire corner of the greenhouse. They stood over Margaery's head, and just at first glance there must have been hundreds of the yellow flowers. She reached out a tentative hand, gently caressing one of the petals on a particularly large and bright blossom.
"I had them imported from Highgarden," Sansa said quietly, and Margaery glanced at her with tear filled eyes before looking back at the bushels, "after I…after word was sent, that you were gone."
She gazed at the roses as painful memories arose, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. "I just needed something that reminded me of you. Something I could see. Something I could touch…"
Margaery was watching her now, but Sansa was already taking one of the roses in her hand, brushing her thumb over the velvety petal. "It never got easier, coming here," she admitted, "every rose was like a knife in my heart. But I came regardless. As often as I could."
She was taken back, suddenly and harshly, to a nightmare she had soon after she planted them. The greenhouse was in ruins, the plants ripped from their roots and strewn about. The glass walls smashed, allowing the winter air inside, frosting over the ones that did survive. And in the back, a flickering light had caught her eye. Stepping through the ruined garden, she was horrified to find that the roses had been set aflame.
And standing with the torch in his hand, his snarling grimace flickering in the light, was Ramsay.
She had an urge to order strict and irrational guard over the gardens at all times after that, but she had refrained.
She hadn't realized she had frozen in place, in memory, until Margaery had come to take her arm beside her, jerking her from the painful thoughts.
"They are beautiful, Sansa," she breathed, and Sansa turned to see tear tracks on her face, but she was smiling beautifully. Sansa couldn't help but smile with her now, as the roses no longer had their agonizing meaning, but instead they were a beautiful gift for her lover.
"They are yours now," she whispered, kissing the crown of Margaery's head. Margaery turned in the embrace and tilted her face to Sansa's, her soft lips meeting hers in what could only be described as an act of love.
"We could visit Highgarden someday," Sansa suggested.
Margaery shook her head, "it would be too painful, I think. I'd rather just focus on my new life here, avoid dwelling on the past."
It hit Sansa that while Margaery might seem composed, that didn't mean she wasn't struggling with her own inner demons as a product of what she lived through. The difference between them, was that Margaery was focusing to the future, while Sansa seemed stuck in a terrifying past, dooming her own self to relive the most painful aspects of her life.
And Margaery, with all of her patience, was well aware of this too.
And then she was taking Sansa's hands, physically tearing her from the beautiful yet cursed rose bushes, away from the trance she had found herself in. Her hands were on her face, grounding her to the present, her brown eyes searching Sansa's own but for what, she didn't know.
"Let's go back to the castle," she said quietly, her eyes flitting to the stone walls in the distance. The pads of her thumbs running on Sansa's cheekbone was distracting.
Sansa felt her brows furrow, "but-"
"Let's you and I go back," she continued, her eyes reflecting a look of determination, "and let me take care of you. I know you need me Sansa, I know how much you've needed me when I wasn't there."
"Margaery, you don't have-"
Soft fingertips brushes her lips, effectively silencing her. "I can't take your pain away, I know this. But I'm here now, and I can show you how much I love you. How you are worthy of love, Sansa Stark. I want to heal our wounds together, so all we have left is our beautiful future to look forward to. I want to…"
I want to see you, were the words left unspoken.
And like a jarring epiphany that struck her like lightening, Sansa realized that Margaery was right about everything. Even Sansa had been telling herself how life was now too short, too precious to squander away. If she wasn't safe with Margaery, she wouldn't be safe with anyone, and the first step to their future was if Sansa could let go of the demons that stalked her. She would never rid herself of such things if she didn't let Margaery in to see her for what she really was. Only then, could her wounds stop festering.
With a sharp intake of breath she looked to Margaery as though seeing her for the first time, who in kind smiled warmly at her and let her hands fall to their sides, intertwining with Sansa's. With a gentle tug she led them from the garden, away from the roses and their double meaning.
The short walk back to the castle felt like a daze to Sansa, as she was doing her best to numb herself to the situation. Margaery would not judge her. She showed her scars to Sansa after all, she would be understanding and kind as she always was. The blessed woman already sent Brienne ahead to fetch a handmaiden to fill a tub for the two of them. The thought made Sansa giddy and nearly overwhelmed all at once.
Reaching Sansa's, (or theirs), chambers, Sansa couldn't help but eye the steaming tub wearily from across the room. She had nearly forgotten Margaery's presence until the older woman had settled in behind her, her hands coming to squeeze her shoulders.
"Sansa…" she started, her voice calm yet inquisitive, and Sansa already knew what she wanted to ask.
"I want this," Sansa assured her, and saying the words aloud felt right, to her relief. They felt true. "I do, Margaery. It's just…"
Her hand came to clasp at the buckles in the front of her gambeson, and Margaery began to rub soothing patterns into her shoulder blades.
"As you said," Sansa said slowly, "my body will not be how you remember it either."
Margaery's hands wrapped around her in a protective embrace, her hands resting on top of Sansa's trembling ones, "but I'm sure it is still every bit as beautiful."
Sansa wasn't so sure, but she said nothing anyway. She allowed Margaery's hands to guide along the clasps of the gambeson, until the heavy leather was removed entirely. There was a thud as Margaery set it atop the table, and the movement behind her told her Margaery was shedding her clothes as well.
Standing in nothing but a shift, Sansa held her breath.
And pulled the fabric over her head.
The cold air of the room hit her like a thousand little pinpricks, making her hair stand on end. Her arms instinctively covered up her front, though it did nothing for her back like she wished it could have.
For it was there the air hurt the most, attacking her once torn flesh as though mocking her for never exposing it before. Still, she held her breath, even as Margaery's soft footfalls padded towards her. A gentle hand brushed along her bare lower back, making her wince, which in turn made her feel terrible. But sweet Margaery said nothing, instead she began to gently lead Sansa to the tub, daintily landing her a hand inside.
The hot water was inviting as she submerged herself lower, the surface providing a protection against what could be seen. She settled into a sitting, most of her still exposed for Margaery to see, and it was there she waited.
Then the older girl was behind her, she could feel her presence in the small waves that rippled forward, before her soft hands came to rest on her back again but this time, she didn't flinch. She waited for the question that never came, because it was Margaery, and she was too patient to ever ask. She would wait for Sansa, for as long as it took.
A curious sensation, soft lips pressing themselves gently to a particularly gnarled piece of healed flesh just along her spine, and it was then the tears came.
Silent they were, but with a profound sense of wonder she realized they were not of pain, but of liberation.
The lips moved to other sensitive areas, a gentle tongue flicking out to trail her wounds. It was all so much, but she had to admit it was mostly wonderful. The knowledge of the extent of Margaery's love filled every corner of Sansa's once dormant heart, breaking the chains that bound her to her abusive life with Ramsay, giving way for a new life of love with the Tyrell.
"He used a whip," she said suddenly, into the silence. The kisses slowed for a moment, lingering in place, before they left completely, and she knew Margaery was listening intently. "With hooks," she continued, "it was his favorite thing to do, since it made me scream the most."
She watched the water distort her own reflection, the hands at her back ever exploring and attentive. "He took me violently, constantly. Theon watched on our wedding night." Her eyes burned as she remembered poor Theon, probably the only person who could ever come close to understanding what Sansa had went through. At least he died a hero's death. "And he would kick me so hard I would urinate blood."
Once the words started she found she couldn't stop; surely, Margaery must be behind her mortified, but Sansa wasn't facing her, so the words came easier.
"I thought I would die here," she said softly, "and most nights, I wish I would have. You know I fed him to his hounds?"
The hands stilled, and Sansa wondered what Margaery thought of her with this new information. She must not have thought to question Ramsay's death before, assumed he was executed for treason of course, but not the nature of the kill.
"Am I a monster?" she wondered aloud.
The hands were strong this time, pulling on her forearms to direct her into facing Margaery. It was admittedly difficult, to see Margaery's tear streaked face. And she didn't miss the murderous rage that she hid surprisingly well, but it was there, deep within her expression.
"You are not a monster, Sansa," she assured with such raw determination, her eyes boring into hers, "you never were, and never could be. You were merciful in his death, and you should grant yourself that same mercy. You have grown into a marvelous, selfless Queen, who would do anything for her people. That doesn't sound like a monster to me."
Sansa chewed her lip, "he said he would always live inside me."
"He won't," she muttered as she rested her forehead to Sansa's, "because I will not let him. He won't hurt you any longer, my sweet girl. He will cease to exist, as will Joffrey, as will Cersei. Now, there is only us, as it's supposed to be."
She exhaled deeply, leaning into Margaery's intoxicating touch, "us," she repeated, "I don't know how I ever went on without you…you're everything to me."
Margaery kissed her then, and Sansa felt it would never be enough. Her taste was nothing short of a sweet addiction, the way she made her knees weak, and the rush of complete and utter submission to her was one she longed for. She let Margaery's tongue in to explore her mouth further, relishing in the fluttering that began low in her stomach. She clung to her, the way their nude bodies pressed together under the water was dizzying, and she had to hold onto Margaery as if she were a lifeline.
She felt her own actions grow insistent, sending wild tremors radiating through her muscles and she couldn't resist the urge to take Margaery's lip into her teeth. The moan that she was rewarded took her back to the night prior, when she had Margaery on the dresser, the way she looked as she came undone, beautiful and free.
She wanted to feel it too.
She had known when she watched Margaery in the mirror, the way her wild hair clung to her with sweat, her flushed cheeks, her jaw slack as she cried out Sansa's name. Her womanhood had thrummed mercilessly, begging for it's own release. It was jarring, as feelings of true arousal were buried long ago, never to be felt again, not until Margaery came back.
It was then she felt hope for herself, that it could be beautiful again. Margaery could make it so.
"Take me to the bed," she gasped against Margaery's lips, her body alight with fire. The older woman pulled back, her face searching for any hint of hesitation on Sansa's part and it tugged at her heart at how familiar it all was. It was the same way she looked at Sansa the first time she made love to her.
"Are you sure?" came the gentle question.
"I need this," she insisted into Margaery's mouth in between kissing her, "I need it to be you again. I want it to be as it was."
"Then let me make you feel beautiful, my Queen."
Sansa's heart sang as Margaery aided her from the tub, her hands everywhere but gentle and attentive, and she couldn't keep the smile from her lips as Margaery kissed her into oblivion, and she was only vaguely aware of their wet bodies moving to the furs.
With a gentle push she was on her back with Margaery hovering over her, gazing lovingly at her. Sansa felt a little bare for a moment, and the nerves began to settle in. But then Margaery was kissing her again, and the nerves were quieted, because she had no room in her mind to feel such things. There was only Margaery.
A soft hand, the one that wasn't propping up the beauty above her, began to trail down her neck, the nails running down her skin softly and it made her body begin to buzz. She tried to chase the feeling, arching herself into it, and Margaery hummed into her lips at Sansa's eagerness.
Her breath caught as the hand came to her soft mound, tensing for a moment. But the touch was gentle, so much so, nothing like the rough and taking hand that abused them before. Margaery began to massage her breast, and a rush of arousal rocked through her, and she was delighted to know her suspicions were correct. It was nothing like Ramsay, Margaery was not him. Margaery made it good again, made it something beautiful as it once was.
Her lips had moved to her neck, nibbling love bites and soothing them with her tongue. Her fingers wrapped gently around her stiff nipple, and Sansa couldn't help the moan that tore past her lips as the wetness between her thighs began to soak under her bottom.
"Margaery," she gasped softly, emotion breaking it's way into her words. She didn't care, because she knew she was safe here. "You're perfect…"
Margaery hummed delightfully into her skin, "does this feel good, Sansa?" she whispered seductively into her ear, sending wonderful shivers down her spine.
"Gods yes!" She squeaked as Margaery gave her nipple another gentle pinch.
"Do you want me to touch you?"
"Please…" she whimpered, completely at the older woman's mercy.
Margaery pulled back, her hand coming to still on Sansa's chest. She could feel her heart thrumming wildly against it with the anticipation of what was to come.
Margaery looked at her sincerely, "It's going to feel good, Sansa."
She realized with the tug of her heart that Margaery was reassuring her. She didn't know what she did to deserve this woman, but her words only solidified Sansa's desire for her.
"I know," she whimpered, bringing her hand to cup Margaery's cheek, "I trust you."
Margaery kissed her deeply, and Sansa decided to let her hands rest on her face. She wanted Margaery to stay here, where she could focus on her face, to calm her if she needs it. As long as Margaery continued to kiss her, she wouldn't second guess herself.
So she buried her fingers in Margaery's hair, deepening the kiss, as she felt Margaery's hand move down her taught stomach. Then it was there, dancing across her abdomen, making the muscles tremble with excitement. She was sure her entire body was vibrating, but Margaery cradled her close.
Her breath hitched and she hated how she winced when Margaery's hand reached soft red curls. She grit her teeth as her face burned, no longer wishing to look in Margaery's eyes, opting to turn her head away. The hands once resting on the older woman's face dropped to her shoulders where they gripped her lamely.
But Margaery just hovered there just above the source of her wetness, her fingers caressing the patch of hair lovingly. "Sansa," she whispered, dipping her head to catch Sansa's gaze. "sweet girl, look at me."
Sansa forced herself to comply with the request, and she found Margaery's beautiful eyes. Her face was flushed with arousal, but the brown orbs that gazed back at her were brimming with love, with utter care and devotion. She did not laugh at Sansa, and her eyes held no judgement. The hand was still between her thighs, so close to her core, it made it difficult to think.
Sansa felt herself nodding, as the nerves settled once again, and the need came back full force. She shuddered as the hand dipped below the curls, and she waited for pain that never came.
Instead she was met with pure, unbridled ecstasy, as Margaery found her bundle of nerves.
She whimpered as Margaery began to rub rhythmed circles around the sensitive nub, burying her hands in her chestnut tresses once again. She could feel how wet she was around Margaery's fingers, and she swore she heard Margaery moan as well when she had first made contact.
"Oh…fuck…" her face burned as the curse tumbled from her lips, but she could not help herself. Her words seemed to have turned Margaery on, as she was rewarded with another moan against her lips.
"Talk to me, Sansa," Margaery gasped, her voice laced with desperation.
The circles grew in intensity.
"Oh! Gods, Margaery…unh…f-feels so…so…"
She trailed off in an incoherent mess, her flesh quivering under Margaery's expert touch. She felt her hips buck roughly into her hand, desperately seeking the release she knew was building. After all these years, she had forgotten, but it was flooding back with a vengeance now. Every sharp breath, the faint scent of arousal in the air, of Margaery's arousal. The familiar fire low in her belly, that seemed to grow violently with every circle made with Margaery's fingertips.
"Ah! AH! Please!" she begged, knowing Margaery would understand. She arched her hips into the hand again, "Margaery-inside! P-please, inside!" she begged again, as a woman desperate, barely able to gasp out the words. Margaery had understood her pleas, she could read her body like a book, and she captured Sansa's lips as she plunged her middle digit gently inside her.
The kiss didn't last long as Sansa's jaw went slack, crying out into the night air as the digit rocked deep inside her, finding the delicious mark that was hidden inside. They fell into a beautiful rhythm together, with Margaery's hand pumping gently between her legs, her hips rocking with Sansa's. Their breasts, pressing together with every fluid motion, sent shockwaves through the top half of her body. Margaery was watching her, her eyes locked on Sansa's, and she made Sansa feel beautiful. She was waiting for her to come undone, as Sansa watched her the night previous.
She wouldn't have to wait long.
She pressed her palm into Sansa's bundle of nerves, making white spots explode behind her now shut eyelids. She tried to watch Margaery, she did, but it was quickly becoming too much.
"GODS!" she nearly screamed as the hand pressed furiously into her, the digit deeply buried as her palm worked her nub. "Margaery! I-it's happening, it's-"
She couldn't finish her sentence as her climax tore through her, sending spasms rippling through her body, a scream of pleasure tearing from her lips instead. Her womanhood clenched around the digit, confining it to its place. Margaery's other arm had wrapped around her back, as the orgasm had sent Sansa lurching toward the ceiling. She cradled her close as aftershocks attacked her glistening body, Sansa continuing to whimper into her neck.
All of her seized muscles began to relax, as did her entrance, allowing Margaery to gently slip the hand away, and Sansa groaned at the loss. She then took her in a full embrace, laying them back down on the furs.
Sansa wept openly, tears of pure and enlightening joy, as Margaery peppered sweet kisses over her face. She was trembling, breathless and weak, but she had never felt so strong in a very different sense. Margaery had liberated her from the death grip Ramsay had on her life, and for the first time in years she felt as though she were truly free.
Then Margaery was smiling at, looking like an ethereal being as she glowed above her. Sansa was overtaken by feelings of rebirth, rejuvenation, pride and so much more that she could never put into words. There was only one thing she could say, one thing that would let Margaery know that she was the most important thing in Sansa's life. That everything she is will always be to her credit. Margaery made her a better person, a self that she could be proud of. But there was the safety that came with her, that it was alright to display vulnerability. She had Sansa ever since she had met her, all those years ago in the gardens, as she clasped her hand during her recount of Joffrey's terrors. She had Sansa for life.
Only one thing she could say.
"Marry me," Sansa breathed, her eyes searching Margaery's, waiting for her response. The words hung in the air a moment, before Margaery's brow furrowed adorably, a lopsided smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Sansa…" she trailed off, the obstacle an obvious one. They had already been through this conversation with the small council, they were at a loss with nothing to be done. But Sansa could not accept that answer, would not allow anyone to say she should not marry the woman she loved. She would stand to the Gods themselves if she had to.
"No, not with anyone else present," Sansa rushed, wedding ceremonies differ in the North. It is done in front of the Heart Tree, in the Godswood. We could go, just you and I alone, and I will wed you before the Old Gods as our only witnesses."
The smile that broke out on Margaery's face was the kind that men went to war for. That Sansa would kill for. She would do everything in her power to earn that very smile, again and again. She leaned forward, her lips ghosting along Sansa's, her breath coming out slowly and tickling the soft flesh.
"Let us get dressed, sweet girl. You're taking me to the Godswood."
Their feet crunched softly in the fresh fallen snow as they walked side by side to the Godswood. The sky was painted with a dark purple hue as the sun was as good as set. The air was brisk but the wind was mild, and to her delight the snowfall had stopped.
She found herself smiling goofily, and she felt Margaery nudge her shoulder, "what is it?" she asked coyly.
Sansa's smile grew as she held the furs draped in her arms a little tighter, "some Northerners believe that if it snows on your wedding day, you're in for a cold marriage."
Margaery wrapped an arm around Sansa's hip, pulling her tightly to her, "our love could never grow cold, dear Sansa. I don't think anyone's could possibly burn as bright as ours."
Sansa's heart sang as she pressed her lips to her lovers temple, "I think you're right."
She felt full of excitement as they neared the Heart Tree. It was as magnificent as ever, its pale bark stretching high into the air, gnarling every which way and intertwining with itself. Bright red leaves popped in front of the pale backdrop of the North, and when she thought of home she thought of this tree.
She turned to face Margaery. She looked beautiful, her hair done in the southern style but her clothes remained Northern due to the harsh cold. It was an elegant dark green winter gown, with long sleeves and a plunging neckline to reveal an elegant silver chain. Sansa remained in her Queens gambeson, her crown sat atop her perfect head of braids. She took her hands into her own.
"Now," she whispered, "we introduce ourselves before the Old Gods, and accept one another as wife." She couldn't help the giddy smile she wore as she finished that sentence. She cleared her throat, and looked up to the Heart Tree.
"I am Queen Sansa of House Stark. Ruler of the North. I've found safety in the arms of this woman, who filled my heart with a love I could have never known otherwise," she looked to Margaery now, her eyes were glistening with unshed tears but her smile was beautiful and genuine, "I want to love you for the rest of my life. Nothing in this world would fulfill me as your presence does. Will you accept me as your wife, for now and always?"
Her voice wavered thick with emotion, but she held Margaery's gaze.
"I will," she said softly, and her heart soared higher than before.
Margaery then took her moment to look to the Heart Tree, her eyes full of awe as she marveled in it's beauty.
"I am Lady Margaery of House Tyrell. Once the Rose of Highgarden, now a Rose of Winterfell. This woman came to me at a point of my life where I needed her most. She may say that it was I who saved her, but I must disagree. For if not for Sansa, I would have never had a true purpose."
She turned to Sansa, whose heart was thudding maddeningly in her chest.
"that purpose is to love you, Sansa, wholly and completely with everything I have. Will you accept my life's purpose, and claim me as your wife, for now and always?"
Sansa pressed her forehead to Margaery's, letting the scent of rosewater fill her senses, "I will."
They remained like that for a moment, letting the reality of the situation wash over them like a warm blanket. After what felt like a lifetime of getting torn apart by politics, marrying not for love but for power and abuse, she was finally marrying the one she loved. It made everything worth it.
"Come," Sansa whispered, as she pulled them down to a kneeling, "now we pray in thanks to the Old Gods, for bringing us together."
Margaery smiled beautifully as she bowed her head in kind, and they stayed there for a few minutes. Sansa prayed for their health together, for their happiness, for their future. And she thanked her Gods a thousand times over for making her stronger, for giving her the strength to carry on, and for bringing Margaery back to her as a reward for her long suffering.
Her hands went to the clasp of Margaery's cloak, her hands trembling as all her dreams were becoming a reality before her eyes. She unclasped the chain and gently removed it from her shoulders. Folding it, she lay it gentle on the ground, before picking up the larger fur she had brought with her.
She relished this moment as she unfolded it in her arms, while Margaery waited patiently, her features filled with unyielding love. She took her time, burning this moment into her memory as she draped the fur around Margaery's shoulder, covering her under her protection, forever.
She fastened the clasp and let her hands rest on Margaery's shoulders, "I love you," she whispered softly into the night air.
"I love you, sweet girl." The nickname still gave her pleasant shivers.
Sansa kissed her then, pouring all the feelings she could into the action. She kissed her wife, as was her right to do so, before the Old Gods with passion. Let it be known how much she loves this woman, let the heavens see the strength they were together. They parted breathlessly, the grins they wore unbridled and carefree.
"Normally I would carry you to the feast now. But…since there isn't one...I suppose we will have to move straight to the bedding ceremony."
Margaery's laugh was like music, "I have no arguments with that."
Sansa scooped her up suddenly in her strong arms, and Margaery wrapped her arms around Sansa's neck, looking every bit as beautiful as a blushing bride. She giggled as Sansa peppered her face in kisses, and her heart had never been fuller than in this moment.
"Come," she whispered, gazing at Margaery with all the adoration she felt, "I want to make love to my Queen."