Violets Twined Around Your Young Neck
The moon was so large and vivid tonight that Sansa felt like if she reached out just a little she could run her fingers over it’s rocky surface. Everything in the castle that wasn’t cast in deep blue shadow was illuminated in cold white. The frozen faces of statues, rounded pillars and sharp corners, all glowing from the touch of the moon. It might have frightened her if it didn’t remind her so much of home. The moon was the same all over the Known World, and that would never change. Sometimes, back home when she hadn’t been able to sleep, she had snuck into her parents’ room and awoken her father. He would fetch a large warm blanket made of wolves fur, wrap it around both their bodies and lead her to the roof of Winterfell’s highest tower. There they would stand in silence under the sparkling sky until sleep beckoned and her father would carry her back to her room. But sometimes, usually when the moon was especially swollen and full, he would tell her how every Stark that had ever been had looked upon that moon, and her children would look upon it when the time came.
“You look so like your mother,” he would say after these stories, “but you are more Stark than you think.” He would then lightly touch her cheek or rest his hand on her head. It had been so comforting. That was all years ago now. So long ago it seemed like a very vivid dream. Even in the few years before coming to Kings Landing, Sansa had distanced herself from her family. Arya had always been everyones favourite; confident, rebellious, annoying Arya. Oh, how she had angered Sansa so! What she wouldn’t give for Arya to step on the train of her dress or throw a freshly baked roll at her face now. Then there was the ever-charming Robb; it wasn't just their similar colouring that had made their relationship so understanding, it was...perhaps it was being in the position of eldest boy and girl that had made them so alike? Whenever everyone else became unbearable, Robb had been there as a gentle reminder of all the good traits in both her House and the North. Even her half-brother; she would give almost anything to have Jon walk around the corner, snow melting in his dark hair, and pay her one of his rare smiles. She hadn’t talked to Jon much - her mother’s cool behaviour towards him had always made Sansa feel like talking to him was taboo. How stupid. He was one of her only living connections to the past now. For the thousandth time, Sansa wondered where in the Known World the rest of her family could be, and for the hundredth time she wondered if they too were looking upon the moon, just as she was at that moment. She hoped they were.
Sansa was suddenly profoundly glad of her room’s position. It was situated in a secluded wing near the Maidenvault, used only for women of great importance (even though she was nothing more than a prisoner) so it was silent enough for privacy and busy enough to lull herself into some sense of security. The hallways formed a square, encompassing a courtyard garden on all four sides; but being four stories up it had the advantage of scenic views. The hallway doubled as a balcony of sorts, to peer down at the goings-on of Kings Landing’s most poisonous snakes and deadliest spies at work, but also afforded a good view to see if Margaery was in her room, situated in the opposite open corridor. It was getting quite late, but Margaery's bedroom door was ajar just enough to let a crack of warm light spill into the hallway. A fire could be heard crackling from inside, even from this distance, which reminded Sansa that she had a warm room to return to where she could barricade the door and sleep for as long as possible. Before having the chance to turn back to her own room, a shadow passed by the opposite room’s doorway which nudged the door open an inch or two more. The inch or two had given way to a view of the room's eastern facing window, looking out onto the Narrow Sea towards the general direction of Pentos. A chilly sea wind was blowing through the windows making the curtains flutter lazily through the air. Some of the breeze flew it’s way through the crack in the door and made it’s way to Sansa’s face. It was remarkably refreshing, the feel of the wind on her cheek. The night was especially humid and oppressive - even for Kings Landing - and the rare whispers of wind did wonders to ease her anxiety.
The shadow had returned, only now it was quite obviously the back of Lady Margaery Tyrell. She had made her way over to the window in order to reap the benefits of the night’s crisp air. It looked quite striking; russet waves of hair sweeping down over the green silk robe she had wrapped around her body.
Sansa’s blood froze as Margaery turned around, but the other woman's mind was too focused on feeling the wind at her back to see Sansa, dazed and hovering near a column across the way. Sansa had not realised how thin the robe was when Margaery's back had faced towards her, but now…
The silk draped across her body like water, the neckline dipping dangerously low on her chest and the bottom slit reaching dangerously high up her thigh. The light from multiple candles made Margaery’s face look like a maester’s painting, and every inch of her body was cast in soft warmth and shadow. Following the natural line from her face downwards, Sansa’s eyes suddenly rested upon Margaery's chest; the silk just looked so smooth, resting itself upon the swell of her body. And the opening was so low and so wide that even from this distance, Sansa could see the slight change in skin colour as milky white changed into a darker blushing shade... something rose inside of Sansa's chest when she saw the result of what the rare chill was doing to Margaery's breasts. Sansa had never before seen another woman’s chest, and the feeling she was developing from seeing even the hint of one made her feel suddenly feverish. As if the Gods wanted to further Sansa’s embarrassment, the sleeve of Margaery’s robe slid further down her arm as she leaned forward slightly, candlelight reflecting the lines of her collarbone, eyes still closed from savouring the breeze. Somewhere in the back of Sansa’s mind, she could see how silly she looked; her mouth parted in a little ‘o’, eyes wide as saucers, but she couldn’t seem to bring up the nerve to care what she looked like as she began to feel a little faint. Tearing her eyes away from the room, Sansa attempted to slow her breathing. A shock went through her when she felt a presence on the floor, and was pleasantly surprised when she saw that a cat had made itself at home at her feet. Looking up at her with lemony yellow eyes, Sansa felt swayed by the cats innocent features; it looked so adorable with it’s tiny black nose. Purring softly, it rubbed it’s fluffy cheeks across Sansa’s shins.
That was the moment the cat decided to let out the most alarmingly loud meow in the history of Westeros (probably). The clang of swords, the explosion of cannons; all shrunk in comparison to this creature’s random caterwaul that rippled through the hallways, echoing through the emptiness.
A split second of silence passed between Sansa and the daemon-cat before Sansa dropped to her hands and knees onto the cold stone ground. The cat continued to look at her with content and careless eyes as she crawled the few steps back to her room and shut the door as silently as possible. Placing her back against the door, Sansa could feel her whole face flush red with shame. Stewing in her humiliation, she stayed seated in silence for a few minutes before making her way towards her bed. “Stupid, stupid, stupid Sansa…” hopping into bed, she threw the covers over her whole body, “…stupid, perverted, naïve Sansa,” she continued to grumble. Sansa mulled over what in the Seven Hells had just happened as exhaustion overtook her. She prayed that Margaery hadn’t seen her before falling into a restless slumber filled with dreams of yellow eyes in fields of roses.