Margaery was the sister Sansa always prayed to the gods for. Margaery was warm and polite and wore dresses of only the finest silk. Her great beauty and poise was spoken highly of throughout Westeros and beyond.
Sansa loved Arya, of course, even despite all their petty feuds. Arya was though, for a lack of a better word, boyish. The image of her sister forever imprinted in Sansa's mind was one of mud and bruises and scowls. Arya was truly a Stark girl, as if her very soul had been hardened by the frequent cold. She was very much her father's daughter, which was not a bad thing, Sansa was just cut from a different cloth. A cloth that matched Margaery's greatly.
Sansa reveled in her daily meetings with Margaery. The pair frequently gossiped about the inhabitants of King's Landing and sang songs together, Margaery on the harp. Their relationship was something she had only dreamed of, when she still allowed herself to dream.
The two sat together in a garden overlooking the vast Blackwater Bay. Their meeting was not out of the ordinary They talked simply, eating lemon tarts and other sweet treats. "Your hair looks beautiful in the sunlight." Margaery remarked lightly, taking a strand between her fingers. "I rather enjoy its color." "Hmm? Why's that?" Sansa inquired. Margaery chuckled and grinned demurely at her friend. "Because it's the color of roses, of course."
Red was the color of blood, as well. The blood of Sansa's family and friends. The blood of Winterfell, her home. Her own blood, so frequently drawn by Joffrey and his 'knights'. Visions of scarlet seeped into her dreams.
Sansa crept into Margaery's chambers late at night, and the older girl held her as she slept. Sansa was done crying over her losses, but her nightmares remained. Margaery's warmth and soothing words kept them at bay. It was after these encounters that the nature of their relationship began to transform. Margaery's hand would find Sansa's as they wandered court together. Her lips would linger on Sansa's cheek as she kissed her goodbye. Perhaps it was all in Sansa's imagination, but feelings stirred in her that she had never felt before.
All of Sansa's previous relationships, predominately the one she had with Joffrey, were based off of preconceived notions of princes and noble men that the stories and songs she so loved taught her. She had never been so wrong. But with Margaery, things felt... right. What exactly felt right about the two of them, Sansa did not know. She only knew the shining look on Margaery's face when they were together and the feathery way Margaery caressed her face when she was sure they were free from prying eyes.
Margaery never intended to fall in love. Love, she once believed, was for fools. Marriage was strictly a union for political gain. But how could that still remain true when she looked into Sansa's blue eyes and could see her future reflected in them? The feelings they shared for each other both intrigued and infuriated them.
Their first kiss occurred in Sansa's chambers, after a long afternoon of dining and drinking. Both women, intoxicated not only by the wine they drank, but by each other's company, could not hold back their mutual feelings any longer. The kiss was short and chaste, but it lead to many more heated kisses.
Shae entered at a rather inopportune time, dissipating the passionate moment. Margaery left in a hurry, muttering apologies as she went. Neither slept that night, their minds consumed with the taste of the other's lips.
The next time they were alone, Margaery took it upon herself to apologize for the incident, blaming it on the alcohol they had both consumed. Sansa silenced her with a kiss. Margaery did not apologize again.
The bruises Sansa received at the hands of Joffrey's 'knights' never failed to enrage Margaery. "If only I was born male, I could protect you. And I swear to the gods, I would. If I could trade places with Loras for one day, I would make things right." This did not stop the bruises from throbbing. But it helped.
"Enough of that, Ser Margaery." Sansa told her, grinning. "Help me unlace my dress." Sansa commanded coyly. Margaery cheered inwardly at Sansa's bold request. They had not gotten much farther than kissing, and while that was absolutely glorious, Margaery longed to go further with her. She didn't want to be to forward, however. She knew Sansa had little expertise in this area.
Margaery stood behind Sansa and slowly began unlacing the dress, kissing the skin it exposed. When the dress dropped to the floor, Sansa, flushed and left in her undergarments, turned to face Margaery.
The kiss was nothing like before, there was a passion behind it, a fire that could not be quenched. Their tongues swirled around each other as Margaery frantically attempted to tug her dress off. When they finally came up for air, flushed and gasping for breath, they were grinning.
Margaery attacked the base of Sansa's throat almost immediately, coaxing out of her sounds that fanned the flames in her loins. Lips leaving love bites that they'd both regret in the morning, Margaery got rid of the last bits of clothing between them.
Cautiously, Margaery took a nipple between her finger, rolling it, to gauge Sansa's response to these unfamiliar actions. The noise Sansa made was more than enough confirmation that this was what she wanted, so Margaery took the other nipple in her mouth, lightly grazing her teeth over it.
"Please. Please, more." Sansa begged, her words and actions no longer dictated by rational thought. Her older lover was more than happy to grant her request, slipping her hand between her thighs. "Hmm? Is this what you wanted?" Margaery asked, cocking her head and looking up at Sansa. Sansa replied, not with words, but by grinding herself down on Margaery's hand, desperate for some sort of relief.
The relief came multiple times in the form of Margaery's tongue. Sansa returned the favor, albeit clumsily. Margaery was too content to complain. The technique would come later, she thought with a grin.
They kissed languidly afterwards, sprawled across each other. Margaery kissed the bruises on Sansa's arms and shoulders, pulling Sansa into her, as if to protect her from the world.
In the back of their minds, they both knew that this couldn't last. They were both expected to have children, to continue their bloodlines. They were to marry noble men and to raise little boys and girls to rule after them.
But in this moment, they did not speak of that. They spoke of lemon tart cravings and technique learning.
(A/N: Welp, that was my first attempted at fanfiction. Don't be too hard on me, but please don't spare criticism. I just had this idea in my head for a while and decided to give it a shot. Hope you at least marginally enjoyed it!)