In 527 words, Sansa and Margaery discuss her upcoming nuptials, and her reservations about the bedding.
Written for my Summer Prompt Challenge 2019 on Ao3. This particular chapter also coincided with Grey Ace Appreciation Day! (That was not an accident...)
Grey
Sansa sat within the walls of Highgarden. Her handmaiden had applied extra rouge to her cheeks to hide the paleness of her skin. It should not have been necessary. She was finally fulfilling her destiny - she was marrying a lord. Soon she'd give him children and she'd raise sons who would defend the Reach just as her brothers had defended the North.
Her daughters too would protect the Reach, just as Sansa was doing. Her marriage to Willas Tyrell would finally end the War of the Five Kings. The seven kingdoms were now three. Rickon ruled the North. Myrcella the South. Dorne would crown their new Princess in less than a month.
It was Trystane and now Sansa that kept the peace.
"Are you alright Sansa?" Margaery's hand came to rest on Sansa's shoulder and she flinched. Margaery immediately withdrew it. "I didn't mean to-"
"Just nervous," Sansa lied. She took a shaky breath. "This isn't my first wedding, but it will be my first…bedding."
Margaery blinked. She sank slowly into the chair beside Sansa's dressing table. "You haven't talked about your…weddings…with me before."
Sansa didn't talk about them with anyone. She'd dodged Joffrey, which Sansa could not thank the God's enough for. Tyrion had been…leery, but he'd never touched her. She suspected that would not have lasted had she not escaped to the Eyrie. She shuttered.
"No worse than yours I suppose. In the long run."
Margaery's lips quirked, "I never made it to a bedding either."
"Harry…tried, and Baelish…hinted." Sansa tried to smile, "Willas is a proper lord though, a proper gentleman."
Margaery nodded, she took Sansa's hand in hers, "I promise you, my brother will never hurt you." She squeezed Sansa's hand. "My grandmother nor I would stand for it, even if he were to try."
"Thank you."
It was a far cry from the words Margaery had used when the Tyrells had proposed this match the first time in King's Landing. Margaery's view of men, all men, had darkened to a pessimistic realism that Sansa herself could relate to.
That was not why Sansa was nervous though. "May I tell you the truth, Margaery? Can I trust you?" Sansa looked at the brunette - beautiful and glowing even in her requisite black. Tommen's death was not quite a year past.
"Probably not." Margery shook her head, "I wish it were so, Sansa, but I am far too ambitious to be trusted."
"Oh well," Sansa shrugges, took a breath, "I have no interest in physical intimacy with men…or women." Margaery blinked again, her back straightened. "I want to be a proper lady. I want to raise children and love my husband - which I will, and I do - but…"
Margaery's hand squeezed around Sansa's again, "I understand." It might be naive, but Sansa believed her.
"It changes nothing," Sansa's back straightened as she looked into the mirror, "I will do my duty tonight."
Margaery nodded. They both knew the reality. "I will tell my brother to be gentle," Margaery whispered, "And quick."
"Thank you," Sansa's lip twitched up. She squeezed Margaery's hand. "You may be ambitious, Margaery, but you are also kind."
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