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Robb Stark is easy to seduce. It matters not the titles he has been given, he is no king within the dark walls of this commandeered home. Robb Stark is still a boy. A boy king who has never known a woman's touch. They are both six and ten, yet somehow he feels younger than her.

Margaery Tyrell had arrived at the Crag a few days after a portion of the Tyrell host had. They had sent riders first to find where this King in the North was going and then sent word to follow. The Tyrell men fought beside King Robb and together they took several castles in the west with ease before offering him up their swords. It had been a difficult decision for her family of where they'd give their allegiance. King Renly had died and left behind an army anyone with sense would want. But most were not Renly's men. Most had been men belonging to his bride's house. They owed no one.

Robb Stark no longer held the North, but he did hold its men. They belonged to the only kingdom bigger than the Reach. With Catelyn Stark came both the Riverlands and the Vale. The men of the Stormlands did not like Stannis Baratheon and could be won back if their allegiance proved strong enough. Combining forces this size would make an army powerful enough to hold up against a throne; to conquer any throne. It is what led to the Targaryen downfall, after all.

Others had sought the Tyrells first before they made their choice. Her brother Loras had captured a few of Stannis's knights meant to recruit them, and not too long after that Petyr Baelish had paid them a visit in the name of the crown. His proposal was simple: The Tyrell forces would ride to King's Landing to defend the city against Stannis's fleet and in exchange they could ask King Joffrey for Margaery's hand. She would be the new queen, and that was where their interests lied.

Lord Baelish talked this all up very well with his soft persuasion, but there was no guarantee King Joffrey would even take her hand. Joffrey Baratheon already had a betrothal in process and there were many rumors flying about that he was a vile boy who liked to cause his betrothed harm. The king's people did not think highly of him, and Margaery marrying should not put her in any more danger than it ought to. A nice sentiment, but further truth of the matter is that Mace Tyrell is stubborn and has a vain pride that keeps him from seeing clearly. The Lord of Highgarden did not take kindly to the fact that the princess was to marry a Martell. There was no love lost between the Dornishmen and Highgarderners, and family they would not be; not if he were to have his say.

So Margaery finds herself in Robb Stark's bed. She's not sure how Loras managed to get them alone for so long without any interruptions, but she and Robb Stark must talk for an hour or so before they even kiss. She is truthfully saddened and finds it only natural to be comforting when Robb Stark shares the burden of his lost brothers. When the comforting turns physical, he is under the impression that it is his doing. That this act was his idea. That the situation is in his control.

It's not…unpleasant but it is also not what she expects. When she and Loras were children, they had once discovered themselves spying on a conversation between their older brothers Willas and Garlan. It was not an exchange their young ears should have heard, but because of it she has always been under the impression that this feeling is to last longer. Instead, Robb Stark pulls out of her after spilling his seed and with a few tender kisses, goes to sleep.

Margaery does not sleep. Margaery thinks.

Bedding Robb Stark was not what had been discussed, though she supposes it would have been deemed a last resort. This will not work in her favor if he pushes her aside and she needs to wed someone else. The acts of intimacy shared with her cousins of a distant branch who liked to play as her maid and the afternoons spent in secluded gardens with squires who knew better than to speak were not binding. In the eyes of the gods and the highborn, it was only a true bedding that would lose her her maidenhead. Tonight was a risk, a calculated one, albeit a risk all the same. She only hopes that the Young Wolf's reputation of honor precedes him.

Robb Stark and Margaery Tyrell marry shortly thereafter.

*

By the time they arrive at Riverrun, Stannis Baratheon has taken the Iron Throne. Behind closed doors in the Tyrell camp, Loras is enraged that Stannis sits where Renly should have while Mace boasts that winning the Throne will now be a much simpler task. Robb takes the turn of war in stride, worried less now about losing the Kingslayer since the Lannister forces have been defeated. He is relieved that he'll bring good news to his mother. Justice has been served to Joffrey Baratheon. Ned Stark can rest peacefully. The nerves he showed in regard to telling his mother that he has wed lesson in comparison.

Lady Catelyn Stark is not pleased with his union to Margaery. The woman hides it well when meeting her son's bride, but it still shows. Margaery knows that Robb had broken an oath made to Lord Walder Frey once they married and can understand the concern. However, Margaery came with more swords than the Freys gave, and Lady Catelyn must see that too for her family is welcomed graciously into the Tully household.

It's a crowded fit together. Strategy sessions consist of Robb's bannermen, Margaery's father, Paxter Redwyne, Mathis Rowan, Edmure Tully, and Brynden Tully. As Queen, Margaery sits on one of Robb's sides with Catelyn Stark on the other. Not much is agreed upon as the south and the north have different ways of doing things, but they eventually determine that Robb must take back Winterfell and his kingdom. Stannis will wait. Margaery sits still and quiet in these meetings and uses them to observe. It pleases her to know that Robb values counsel. Not all husbands would be as willing, she knows. He sits more openly to certain bannermen over others, but mostly it's his mother's advice he seeks. Margaery makes it certain that he'll want hers as well.

It's mere days before Robb is in need of her support. The grieving Lord Karstark had chosen to act in a direct betrayal. Two Lannister squires were murdered by Robb's own men as they slept. It's the first time Robb is forced to hand out a king's justice. Times become difficult. There's a darkness hanging over Robb that even his great wolf senses. He comes to their chambers at night with the color drained from his face.

"Has something happened, Your Grace?" Margaery asks when he finally joins her in their bed. "You look more troubled than last I saw you," she says this lightly to counter the weight he always seems to have resting on him. They had only last seen each other that morning.

"Your Grace," he echoes the phrase. "It doesn't sound much different than 'my lord' and yet…" Robb sits on the end of the bed and holds his head. She moves to sit next to him and kneads his shoulders, easing the words from him. "I had never asked to be named King. I had only wanted justice for my father's death. It was my bannermen who placed the crown on my head. And since then a man I thought to be a friend has murdered my brothers, rid me of my home, and I've had to kill eight more of my men."

"War is the cruelest of times." It is an obvious statement but somehow she manages to make it sound astute before lowering her rubbing to his thigh. "What can I do to ease you of your burdens?"

Robb grabs her hand. "When I chose you as my bride, I lost the Freys as allies. Any hope of regaining their allegiance through my uncle was stolen by Rickard Karstark. My aunt will not allow us to pass through the Bloody Gate which denies us the ability to flank Theon's forces."

"What of my father's men? Surely they'll be of assistance."

He kisses her knuckles lightly in thanks. "There is always strength in numbers, but Moat Cailin is impenetrable from the south." It is why they needed to flank, yes, Margaery understands that.

She does not say as much and resumes her ministrations. "What do you find to be the best course of action?"

"The only course is to march my men up the kingsroad. The best course would be to send ships to White Harbor ahead of us, but we have neither ships nor access," he repeats. "Stannis Baratheon has both. He has no love for Starks or Greyjoys, but I'll offer him alliance before Balon or Theon even think to."

Margaery's touch comes to a stop. "Stannis Baratheon asks for your head, and according to your lady mother, can be the only one responsible for the death of my first husband. I won't see him take another."

"He wouldn't wish for my head if I were to kneel," he says very firmly, and Margaery knows that he is talking of more than an alliance. This is giving up his crown which means giving up her crown. "I entered this war to give Joffrey Baratheon his own mercy. King Stannis has done so for me. If I were to kneel to him, he would help me take back the North in his name. Your father will keep the Reach, my uncle the Riverlands, and King Stannis may see fit to send my sweet sister back to us."

When he took the Throne, the king had sent ravens to all those he saw to be in rebellion. In the letter to King Robb that called for his head, Stannis Baratheon had written that he was holding Robb's sister Sansa Stark until he complied. Robb and his mother took it as a confirmation that the other Stark girl was not in the capital. They had wondered and now they mourned. Margaery knows how desperately he wants to bring one member of his family back home alive.

"My lady, I know when you said your vows you said them to a king. It was what was promised to you, and now I must break it. Instead, I promise you this: From this day until our last I will do everything in my power to make you feel like the best of queens. The missing title will matter naught to me, you will be treated as my queen." He seems so sincere when he says this that Margaery almost believes him. "But I must get Winterfell back. I beg of you to understand."

"If a king does not think first of his people, then he has no kingdom and with no kingdom he is no king at all. You will do what you must," she assures him. It is all she can do at the moment.

Robb looks relieved as she's ever seen him. "When my father wed my mother and brought her north, he made many southern accommodations for her. It eased her in moving to a land quite unlike her own. I, of course, will do the same for you. There's a beauty to Winterfell. I swear to do everything I can to make you love it as home."

"And I thank you." She smiles and then for good measure adds, "My lord."

These turn of events are not ideal. The Tyrells will not be pleased, but they are bound and her fate set. Though, she's not sure why the gods thought this fitting.

A summer rose cannot bloom in the winter that is the North.

*

King Stannis's terms are fair. King Robb lays down his crown, swears fealty, and the North and all its land will be returned to its people. The Starks will remain its Wardens as they have for centuries. It helps Robb that Balon Greyjoy is still asking for half of the kingdom while raiding its shores. King Stannis has no time for such matters.

Not all of Robb's bannermen supported the loss of their king, but they grieved their lost homes more. In an understanding, the northmen and the Tyrell host traveled on foot to Moat Cailin while King Stannis sent ships to White Harbor with his own men to flank the Greyjoy usurpers. Once it is over, Margaery will be joining the Lady Catelyn and her own Tyrell supporters to return to her husband in their Winterfell home. For now, she will continue to wait with her family and the Tullys in Riverrun. It has already been several moons since Robb had gone north. She worries for him and her brothers Garlan and Loras. It has been a week since the last raven.

Prior to this, Margaery had never been to the Riverlands. She imagines when a war isn't being fought they are quite gorgeous. It is a land made for the highs of summer, and its people, she finds, are welcoming. The same could not be said for her grandmother. The matriarch had come with the rest of the women to ease Margaery into married life. Lady Olenna was not overly impressed by her granddaughter's new family. Oh they were fine, the fish folk, but not terribly interesting. And the northmen Olenna found to be unsurprisingly cold and said as much when the two women were alone. This is not King's Landing and these walls heard no whispers.

"Do you find yourself able to love this little lordling husband of yours?"

"Grandmother, someone may hear you," Margaery chides, not that it is necessary. They are alone again, and the Queen of Thorns always knows what she is doing.

"Yes, and I am old and frail and political titles are beyond my expertise. Now be a dear and answer the question."

"Robb is very honorable. As his wife, he'll treat me as such."

"Yes, yes. His father had that reputation too, and his head is resting on a spike. Robb Stark's head may one day find itself in a similar predicament. And what a shame that would be seeing as it's such a nice head." Olenna Tyrell waves her wrist about drolly. "Honor is all well and good, but you know as well as I do that it is not what runs Westeros. I would hope that I've taught you that much. If you ask me, he and his very nice head should at least take the plunge and keep the title he so boldly gave himself. Stannis Baratheon is far from beloved and this burning of the Seven is nasty work. He will not hold that throne for long, mark my words. And sadly he does not have an heir. Someone will need to take that ghastly seat."

"Stannis Baratheon has a daughter, and she'll marry surely."

"If I recall correctly, she's a homely little thing rumored to be the bastard of a fool. Oh yes, she'll hold the Iron Throne tight within her grasp that young one, ha. Pity she's not a boy, we could have married her to you. Provided Robb Stark loses his head trying to regain his homeland."

"Grandmother!"

"Old and frail do be so kind as to remember. I fear my mind is going as well. What I say is not what I mean." Margaery laughs despite herself. "Your lord puff fish of a father had higher hopes for you, and I fear I did as well. We of southron blood don't belong so far north. It's only asking for trouble. I had warned him, but that fool son of mine never listens to his mother."

Margaery lets the older woman tut before she continues on reasonably, "Winterfell is an endowed castle and the Starks an old name. I could do far worse. And there is still the matter of marrying Willas or Loras off."

Olenna reaches forward to brush back some of her granddaughter's hair. "No matter what value they may have, they could only dream of your capabilities. I hate to think of my favorite grandchild wasting away in something as off-putting as snow." She leans back again in her chair. "You must promise to write me and my curiosity. When the fighting is over, I'm afraid you and I part here. I'll miss our conversations dearly. You're surprised," she notes it upon Margaery's face. "As you'll soon grow tired of repeating, winter is indeed coming. At my age it will doubtless be my last, thank the gods. I'll not travel across all of Westeros just to spend some of my last years freezing away when I have a warm bed waiting for me. No, I think not."

"But Robb and I, we'll be able to travel south once the season passes."

"Perhaps." Olenna agrees but truthfully knows that is unlikely. Margaery was still young when their last winter passed. She knows only of summer. "Until then you shall write."

"I'll send a raven daily."

"My curiosity is not that wet."

Their conversation does not go further for outside their doors they hear the pounding of feet storming down the hall.

"What do you suppose that was?"

"Hopefully not another war calling. We are in the middle of a river ripe for a siege, and I do so like my wine and cheese. Come, child." Olenna rises from her chair, guiding Margaery as she does.

Their investigation leads them to Lady Catelyn where in the woman's arms is clutched a skinny little boy. Or perhaps it is a girl. It's hard to tell under the dirty clothes. The strange child had been accompanied by a large, scarred man who could only be the famed Sandor Clegane.

*

Sansa Stark is not sure what to make of the new king. King Stannis Baratheon is not cruel like Joffrey nor does he laugh and lounge like his brother did. He is cold and stoic and the red woman he stands beside scares her, but he had taken Joffrey's head once finally breaking into the Red Keep. The Battle on the Blackwater began at night and lasted until dawn when the Baratheon forces proved victorious. The fighting inside the city, however, continued throughout the next day. It was the following night that King Joffrey and the queen regent were captured. On the morning after that, King Joffrey was executed by King Stannis's own sword.

It is said that the Imp died in battle standing as tall as any man, that Lord Tywin's forces were thwarted, and that Cersei still screams for vengeance from her tower cell. It is whispered that some men got away and that the surviving Lannisters regrouped and plotted from Casterly Rock.

Sansa does not want to be here when they return, but she is still a prisoner. The same hostage only to a different crown. King Stannis's men do not beat her like Joffrey's, and Sansa has been given new dresses to fit her growing body. She is allowed to play with Princess Shireen who does not seem to have any other companionship outside of Patchface. Sansa prefers it when it is just her and the princess. She does not like the fool and finds his songs to be disturbing. When young Tommen Baratheon was returned, he had thought Patches to be frightful as well. The boy had been found from where his uncle had hidden him and brought back in hopes to keep the westermen at bay in their rebellion. Most everything frightens Tommen now, and he clings to Sansa like a lifeline.

It is easier being here with friends. She would tell Tommen the songs and stories she loved as a girl in order to calm him down. Tommen in turn would puff up his chest to be brave like a knight and share jousting skills with Shireen when the princess heard the whispers spread about her. They are ugly whispers. Ones that say Patchface had raped the Queen Selyse and that Shireen was his babe. Most are just harsh talk of Shireen's appearance and how it will be difficult to find her a husband. Sansa thinks them rude and that any suitors who denied offering marriage would regret their choice. It is true that Shireen is plain and suffers from greyscale, but she is a kindly girl whose only flaw is being lonely. Any man would be lucky to have the princess's hand.

Of course many men do not care if their son's bride is beautiful. They care far more about the chair Shireen's father sits upon. Eventually they will come flocking. The latest bit of gossip is that the Martells would toss aside Myrcella Baratheon and offer Trystane Martell to the new princess instead. More likely, Sansa's own cousin Robert Arryn would be betrothed to Shireen. King Stannis had been good friends with the late Jon Arryn, and this is the match the king wants. All they wait for is the Lady Lysa's consent, but she has been quiet.

On this morning, Sansa and Tommen are to dress and attend the king's court. They arrive to the throne room together by way of their guards and stand beside them as the city's people take their place in line. Shireen brightly waves to the pair as soon as she spots them. Every now and again Tommen would whisper over to her, and Sansa would nod or smile if appropriate. In truth she hears few of his words and even less of the smallfolk in front of her. It is only when what has to be the tallest woman Sansa has ever laid eyes on do her ears perk up. It has been a long time since Sansa has heard her mother's name.

"What business do you have with your rightful king?"

"Your Grace, I am Brienne of Tarth. I swore an oath to Lady Catelyn Stark that I would bring Ser Jaime Lannister to King's Landing in exchange for her daughters, the Lady Sansa and the Lady Arya."

"Arya Stark is not in King's Landing and has not been seen since the usurper Joffrey Baratheon took her father's head. Sansa Stark is there." The king gestures to where Sansa stands, never taking his eyes off this Brienne of Tarth. "Yet I don't see the Kingslayer anywhere."

"It is my grievance to inform you that he and I got separated after our capture and release at Harrenhal by Roose Bolton." Sansa watches as the woman looks away here, obviously guilt stricken. But it was not the guilt of failing. She looks almost like Bran did when he had done something he knew to be wrong. "I would ask that you still give me leave to return the girl to her mother. They have long been apart."

Sansa holds her breath, but King Stannis ignores the request entirely. "It is said that you murdered my brother Renly Baratheon. Do you deny this?"

Brienne of Tarth holds her head high then. "I will not deny that these rumors have been spread, but I deny the charge. I was his sworn shield. My only crime is not giving my life for his."

"It is said that you claim a shadow in the likeness of a man is what killed Renly."

"That is what I saw."

"A shadow," it is the red woman who interrupts, "a terror I'm unfamiliar with." The room chuckles at this, and Sansa feels a shiver run through her.

Ser Davos Seaworth shifts in his seat and looks to his king. "Your Grace, perhaps it best if you allow this woman to return the Stark girl home. Her brother is sworn to you." Ser Davos is a kind man whom Shireen trusts. Sansa is grateful he is speaking up for her. The king favors him just as well as his daughter.

"Yes, it would boost the morale of the Realm. A strong sign of good faith," the eunuch Varys agrees. Varys is the only one of Joffrey's men to keep his position. His whispers are invaluable to any king it seems.

"The girl's brother was a traitor. Ned Stark had written that I was Robert's true heir, yet his own son saw fit to place a crown on his head in challenge to my right," King Stannis pauses grudgingly. "But he has seen fit to yield and his men with him. My own brother was given that choice and laughed in my face." He looks back to Brienne. "Renly was the true traitor, and if you murdered him or it truly was some shadow, it was just. When Winterfell is won back from the remaining Ironborn in my name under Robb Stark's control, I give you leave to return the girl to her mother."

"Your Grace, since Ser Davos is so keen to see this reunion, mayhaps I suggest that it would be in everyone's best interest that he deliver them there himself." Melisandre smiles over to Ser Davos. "You are up to the task are you not?"

"Aye, my sails are still swift, but I think it best that I stay to offer His Grace my voice in matters of the Realm. As Hand of the King, that is my noble duty."

The arguing amongst the king's council continues as it always does, but Sansa is not listening anymore. She is going home. This nightmare is perhaps finally over. All she needs to do is wait for Robb a little longer. He would win back the North for them, and in less than a moon's turn, her prayers are answered. With Balon Greyjoy dead and Theon having abandoned Winterfell, the men of the North and the Reach complete what they set out to do.

Later, on the morning she's set to leave, Sansa says goodbyes she never thought she'd have in this city.

"We will miss you here," Shireen tells her sadly. "I feel like we've become good friends."

"We have," she confirms.

"Must you go?" Tommen pouts, looking on the verge of tears.

"Yes, but I promise that I'll write you both if the king allows it."

"I don't think he will."

"No, but I can," Shireen volunteers and then looks to Tommen. "Sansa can write to you in our letters, and I'll write back your response. It'll be our secret."

The former prince hugs Sansa as tightly as his small arms allow.

Sansa will pray for him when she goes. He is not his family's crimes.

*

It is not Ser Davos who sails them home but a pirate named Salladhor Saan. He talks often, not unkindly when Sansa is near, and offers them fresh fruit while keeping his men away. Brienne does not seem to like him, however. She typically refuses to engage in conversation with him and dodges his questions about her journey with the Kingslayer. Brienne doesn't talk much at all unless it's about Sansa's mother and how her quest will continue in search of Arya once Sansa is safe at home. Sansa would love her sister to be found, but Arya has been gone for a long time. It seems hopeless, and she would miss Brienne once she goes. Brienne of Tarth is the truest of knights that Sansa has known. If only she were not a woman, then everyone else would see it too.

The weather and the cold make the water difficult to navigate through, and they are delayed weeks when they must dock at Gulltown until the seas calm enough. When it's safe to continue in their travel, they sail to White Harbor where Brienne and Sansa are escorted by guardsmen to Winterfell's gates.

It's not the Winterfell Sansa remembers. It's barren and burnt and colder than it's ever been. But her mother is the woman she's always known, and Sansa meets her embrace with the same tears in her eyes. Robb is a man grown and wears a beard now. His shoulders are broader, his hair is longer, and his wolf stands above his waist. But when he hugs her he smells the same as he did when they were young and would play monsters-and-maidens in the godswood.

"I'm sorry I could not get you home sooner," he whispers to her ear.

Their mother welcomes Brienne through the castle gates, and Sansa sees Brienne melt in a way she would not have thought possible after their journey together. They make it into the main keep before the look is wiped from her face. Brienne becomes hard again when staring down Loras Tyrell's sudden and irate blade.

"You! You were in his tent. Lady Catelyn would not have been strong enough. Why? Why did you slay your king?"

Ser Loras is still as comely as ever, and Sansa thinks it very chivalrous that he'd avenge his sister's first husband like this, but his claims must be unfounded. Sansa does not want to believe that Brienne could be guilty of the acts he speaks of. The king himself had already questioned her on the charges. Sansa tries to be brave enough to speak up for her lady knight but another girl begins before she can.

"Loras." She puts a hand on Ser Loras's arm in order to calm him. She must be Robb's bride, the Lady Margaery. She is very pretty and soft-spoken. Sansa is happy that Robb has chosen someone so soothing.

"Is this true?" Robb asks of Sansa's companion out of respect for his wife.

"It is not." It is their mother who answers. "I was in that tent. Brienne did not kill Lord Renly. It was a shadow delivered from King Stannis." Treasonous as it may be to say, it is still the truth. "Ser Loras, I'm sure if you'd ask Brienne calmly, she'd give you her account of the events just as I have."

Loras Tyrell does not wait for any explanations. He leaves the scene, petulant.

"Please pardon my brother. Renly was a dear friend, and he still grieves the loss," Lady Margaery speaks on Loras's behalf before looking up at Brienne. "I'm sure he'll sit to hear your story once he's cleared his head, my lady."

"I'm no lady," Brienne tells her quietly.

"Sansa."

Her attention is drawn away at the call. Sansa cannot believe her eyes. There, not ten feet away, stands her little sister. The girl has grown a few inches and cut off most of her hair, but she's alive. They are the only words that come to her.

"You're alive."

"So are you."

"Everyone thought-"

Sansa hugs her before she can disappear again. It takes a moment before she's hugged back.

"Does this mean you don't hate me?" She could hear the skepticism in Arya's voice.

"Only if you don't hate me."

The remaining Starks settle again together within the halls that are livable. There are weeks of an adjustment period as being home does not magically fix everything. Arya told of stories that made little sense and contained odd names Sansa had never heard. The only one she recognized was the Hound's. Arya explained that he had brought her to Riverrun and after receiving his payment, had gone away again. Though, she does not know where to. Sansa prays it is to somewhere he could find peace. He is a tormented man who has done awful things, but he also protected her when the mob pulled her from her horse and had been with her when King Stannis's men sacked the city.

The Hound had come to her during the battle, drunk and fearful and demanding of a song. He told her he was leaving and offered to take her with him, but Sansa had refused. Soon men were breaking down her door, and all she could think of was the queen's earlier promises. But the Hound had spat at the ground and laughed in their faces as they looked upon her body like raw meat. Then he cut through several of them until only one remained, and the Hound threatened him until he knew who Sansa was. It'd be best not to damage Robb Stark's kin, he had said, so-called kings were just as easy to control as dogs. After, Sandor Clegane had left as silently as he had come.

Sansa was not harmed that night outside of being roughly dragged to Stannis Baratheon's quarters. She could still feel her arm being yanked; the bruises on her elbow.

It's hard to forget all that had happened, even here so far away at Winterfell.

On the nights she dreams of her days spent in the capital, she would wake in her bed with a sweat and it would take a moment to remember that she is safe now. On those nights, Sansa would not fall back asleep. Maester Luwin's replacement would only offer her warm milk, and she declines each time. She does not know how to share her troubles without worrying her family. If she spoke of the things that had happened to her, Arya would only turn in on herself and become angry and hateful as she always does when the Lannisters or Joffrey are mentioned. Robb would feel even guiltier over not being able to do more. Mother is finally able to mourn all that she has lost, and Sansa would not take that tranquility from her. The most she would do is lay with her mother as she had when she was very young and something had scared her.

There are ghosts between them from the time they spent apart, and these ghosts would not allow their horrors to be bridged.

Margaery is different, though. The new branch of their family does not have horrors to speak of. The new Lady of Winterfell is graceful and giving and never looks upon the burned walls as they appear. With an outsider's eye, she sees an old beauty here and does her best to remind everyone of that. Margaery spreads her wealth, taking many under her wing, and in return Winterfell loves Margaery. They follow her and meet with her, and she speaks to the commonfolk just as she would speak to Sansa and her family. Winterfell showers her with smiles and sings her praises, loving Robb all the more for choosing such a gentle bride.

Eventually, Sansa finds herself smiling for her too.

*

Overseen by Robb and Lady Catelyn, the rebuilding of Winterfell is to be a long process—particularly the deeper they get into winter. Many of Ned Stark's men were lost with him but those men had sons and soon Winterfell's yards and halls are filled again. Accommodations have already been made for the burnt towers and more are added to them daily as the population expands. The pressure to provide for his people weighs heavily on Robb, but he meets the challenge. It's the burdens he shares only with Margaery that have a tendency to eat at him. While he can restore his people, it's his family he worries for.

Arya still has nightmares. The poor girl would dream of wolves hunting across the Riverlands. Winterfell's maester says this is a way of coping. Training in swordplay seems to put her more at ease than anything. Robb had ordered her a new sword and is allowing her to learn from Brienne under Lady Catelyn's supervision. The new blade is small like the one their bastard brother had supposedly given her. Though not the same, Arya seems to cherish it. In an effort to continue smoothing relations between Brienne and Loras, Margaery had persuaded her brother into offering his own expertise to Robb's youngest sister. The three have made much progress together.

Sansa is quieter in her terrors. There is a sadness in her that she tries to hide, and Margaery would watch as fear still flickers on her face before clarity would reign. She wants to do something that would ease these aches. Sansa Stark is such a sweet girl, and it hurts to see her struggle. So Margaery would tell of stories of Highgarden and the glamorous summer festivals they have. In return she'd ask that Sansa show her what is possible of Winterfell and to hear stories of her growing up here. It isn't swordplay but another form of healing. It allows Sansa's fond laughter to grace them, and it gives Margaery some idea of what her own children will have. She soon finds herself looking forward to the days spent with her good-sister more than any others.

In the end, neither Arya nor Sansa could have prepared anyone for Rickon Stark.

Like a ghost from a story, he returns one day without word. An unkempt woman brings the boy and his direwolf down from Skagos, unsuspecting to all of Winterfell. They arrive in the room that's being used as the great hall when the Starks are breaking their fast. Rickon's mother is the first to spot them as the men at arms let them through. Brienne looms tall from her post as soon as Lady Catelyn stands. There's a mix of shocked disbelief as Rickon's family takes in the sight of him. Only Arya keeps the smile from her face to look on in quick mistrust.

"Who are you?" she presses the unkempt woman. Arya's mother tenses on instinct at her lack of manners.

"She's a wildling. Osha," Robb informs them all. "She had been taken as Winterfell's prisoner after a group of her people attacked Bran in the woods. Theon and I killed her brethren, and she yielded."

Osha the wildling does not waiver at Lord Robb's tone. "Aye, then the squid came back, and it was your old maester and I who kept the little lords alive."

Robb's hard look vanishes. "Bran's alive?"

"Where is he?" Catelyn demands, and Osha obeys.

"He went north of the Wall. A boy named Jojen Reed came here with his sister, tellin' him to open his third eye. That boy of yours is special. He has the sight. They left with his wolf and the gentle-minded giant."

Lady Catelyn turns to her son with orders. "Robb, write to Jon Snow, tell him Brandon is beyond the Wall and that he must be found. I will write to Howland Reed."

"Might be well to send your army north, m'lord," Osha interrupts Robb before he could leave to his task. "'Em crows will need all the help they can get when the Others come south."

"My men defend the North. The Night's Watch are the rangers beyond the Wall."

"There won't be a North to defend if you wait too long," she warns. "They'll sweep through the night with their army of wights, and you won't have enough fire to put 'em down."

"That will be enough of that talk," Catelyn tells the room and focuses on more pressing matters. "Rickon, come here. Come to Mother."

Rickon does not move. "You never came back."

His mother visibly swallows as the anguish crosses over her face. "No, but I'm here now."

Rickon offers no response, and Robb takes his turn approaching. "Mother and I had to avenge Father, you understand."

"You never came back either."

"Rickon," Catelyn tries again, but Rickon only steps back and hides next to Osha.

The woman moves closer still which Rickon's black wolf seems to take as a threat. Brienne is the first to take action, drawing her sword and shoving Lady Catelyn behind her. Arya has a hand on her blade's own hilt, and Loras moves swiftly to stand before his sister.

"Rickon, you will call your wolf off this instant. She is your mother!" Robb shouts with his own wolf beside him. Grey Wind bared fangs just as well and looks ready to remind Shaggydog who the bigger brother was.

This can go either way, and Margaery still hasn't entirely warmed to the living sigils of House Stark. She's anxious, and then Sansa is shyly standing from the table.

"Rickon." She is softer and neutral, and her youngest brother appears to listen. "It's true that Mother and Robb had left and that Bran is still gone, but you've come back home just like I have. Just like Arya has. We can be a family like before."

They wait in bated breath until Rickon caves.

"Shaggy." Shaggydog settles near Rickon's feet, and Brienne and Grey Wind both back down.

Lady Catelyn crosses what's left of the divide to hold her ghost of a boy.

*

Osha remains at Winterfell and is given her job in the kitchens back despite Catelyn being wary of her. Rickon goes to Osha often enough to display the dependency there. He's become uninhibited since being away and is cross over the abandonment, but it's clear he also remembers what their family life was like before.

On an unseasonably warm day, Robb agrees to let them go riding. Lady Margaery had trouble sitting still and has been begging him to take her. He puts together a small party and extends an invitation to his sisters. He had expected it would be Sansa to decline, but it's Arya who chooses to stay. She's too busy carefully watching the youngest Stark and his wolf. She has been up to this task since the boy's arrival and has not left him alone with Catelyn once. Sansa wants to stifle her sister's concerns. Rickon is only upset. He won't hurt their mother. Brienne would be there if anything were to happen regardless.

Robb takes charge of the group with Loras Tyrell by his side. They have formed a competitive friendship recently, and Sansa thinks Robb quite blessed to have the Knight of Flowers in his assembly. Ser Loras is so dashing and skilled. Any lord would be made better by his service. After a while, they take off in a conversation after some deer and leave their sisters with their guards. The men at arms are quickly bored by their talk and allow the girls to get several strides ahead of them. They ride for a time until they happen upon a great clearing. The meadow is snow-covered, untouched, and seems to reflect the two rare weirwoods stationed around it.

"I've never been this far." Sansa shakes her head. They must have been deep into the wolfswood now. "It's beautiful."

"I've never seen anything like it."

"Before I went south, I always thought the North to be dreary," she confesses. "I wish…It was stupid."

"Don't say that. Why, I hadn't thought of the North at all." Margaery receives the laugh she had been aiming for and then nods ahead of them. "Shall we? It will give them all a great fret."

She does not wait for an answer before kicking her heels and tearing through the clearing. She knows Sansa will follow.

Her new sister has proven incomparable as they spend more and more time together. Margaery has used all of her capabilities to ensure that she'd be welcomed by Winterfell's people, and Robb has delivered just what he promised, but she misses home. She misses warmth and gossip and the smell of the gardens. She misses riding like this and hawking with her brothers. Loras and the Tyrell host that had accompanied her have a familiarity to them that she seeks, and she has become accustomed to the Stark way of things. They are not malleable but nor are they difficult. Robb has appeased her here. She is surrounded by support, yet it is in Sansa Stark where she finds her solace.

Today they inadvertently go too far together. Margaery had intended that they would merely cause a small chase with their guardsmen, but the men have proven daft and have lost sight of them. They circle back trying to find them to no avail, and eventually the sun stops coming through the trees. Margaery isn't afraid but a queer weakness seems to hit her, and they must stop for she feels lightheaded and seasick. Not even on the Mander had she ever felt this way. When they break Sansa does her best to try and cheer her as they wait for reinforcements.

Grey Wind finds them first. For once she's comforted by the sight of him, and the great beast howls until Robb and his men come. The Lord of Winterfell is not pleased over their havoc but is relieved enough to let it pass. It's short-lived once Sansa informs him that Margaery felt faint. Margaery tries to explain to him that it was an exaggeration and that she feels fine now. By the time they get back to Winterfell whatever spell she was under truly has passed, but Robb insists she see their maester. After a thorough examination, their maester concludes that Margaery Stark is with child.

They don't ride again after that.

*

The more her womb grows, the less Margaery is allowed to do. Her activities have become simple ones as she's doted on by Robb and Winterfell.

Today she and Sansa sit in audience to Arya's training. Over recent weeks, Rickon has joined the trio to master his arms. Loras has taken a liking to the boy, and soon it veers off into two teams playing challenge to each other. Sansa is attached to both sides and cheers for all while Margaery gives shouts of "Highgarden!" and "Loras!" in good fun. The boys need it as they are matched expertly. The last time Brienne had bested Loras, Margaery found it in her to tease him endlessly. Renly had as well. She shares as much with her good-sister, and Sansa cannot believe it. As much as the girl loves Brienne, it's clear who her favorite knight is. Margaery has noticed how Sansa watches Loras as he worked. It's an easy look to recognize. She has seen plenty of girls admire her brother that same way, even if it is hopeless.

The latest letter from her grandmother writes that King Stannis has turned down the offer from her father to wed Willas to little Shireen. It is seen as a slight. Doubtless this will please Loras anyway. But it's the second part of the letter that is of Margaery's interest. As an alternative, Lord Tyrell would like to wed Willas to Sansa Stark. Margaery is to push this along.

Willas Tyrell is not his brothers nor is he his father. Whatever prayers he may have said to the Warrior were ignored long ago. Instead, Willas spends much time in Highgarden's library studying both history and enjoying tall tales with equal fervor. He would sit in the gardens or in the highest towers and wait for the stars he knows will be there. He breeds beautiful animals and grows overly attached. He could remember them all as specifically as he does his stars. Levelheaded and kindhearted, Willas Tyrell would make Sansa Stark very happy, Margaery knows. And Sansa would make a brilliant Lady of Highgarden when the time came. But in order for her to be the Lady of Highgarden, it would mean Winterfell had to lose the source of its lightness. She does not want Sansa to go.

Still, it would be selfish not to do what was asked of her, and Margaery is anything if not dutiful to her family's causes.

"You're fond of my brother," she interrupts their peace time. Sansa turns to her and very obviously tries to quell her blush. Margaery thinks she looks quite beautiful when she blushed.

"Ser Loras is very kind, my lady, and brave and handsome. Many say he's the best knight in all the Seven Kingdoms."

"Yes, he's rather gallant, and I love him dearly. But he's taken oaths to remain here with me and I have other brothers. Willas is the heir to Highgarden. I've written of your family, and he's quite taken with you. He would be so bold as to offer his hand in marriage once you become of a more suitable age. He is older than you and has a small limp from and old riding accident I'm afraid, but he has a kind heart, a gentle one. You could love him and Highgarden as I do I just know it." She gives a practiced, charming smile. "Do at least consider?"

Margaery watches as Sansa is very careful with the words she chooses here. "It's the most generous of offers, but I'll of course have to discuss this with Robb and my mother."

"Of course." She reaches over to squeeze Sansa's hand with a laugh. "We could be sisters even more so than we already are."

Robb does not like that this proposal did not come directly to him, and Lady Catelyn is very obviously opposing of the age difference but does a much better job of biting her tongue than her son. In the end, they both agree that the decision will rest with Sansa and that she'll have a couple of years to be courted by whoever has interest, not just Willas. They will not make the same mistakes they made with Joffrey, and Sansa will marry when she's a woman grown. Margaery could, of course, work harder to see this through, but she's done her duty. And the Starks' response is seen as much less of a slight, thankfully. Besides, she has more important tasks to focus on at the moment.

*

Eddard Stark is born again on a cool winter's morning. He comes screaming into this world after a long night of pain and discomfort. Blinding pain. One that despite the all the stories told to her from the women in her life, has somehow been sold short. Margaery has never yearned for her own mother more.

Catelyn Stark fills the role admirably. She's in the room with them for the whole birthing process. Whether it is at her son's request or under the woman's own volition, Margaery could not be sure. Regardless, she's immensely grateful for her good-mother's warm words of encouragement and the calming effect she conveys.

Robb holds the babe first. With tears in his eyes, the young father briefly welcomes his son before handing him back over to Eddard's exhausted mother. It's a delicate exchange, Robb muttering the entire time how tiny he is. Eddard Stark already has a mind of his own and decided to greet them all a fortnight early. They're assured his small size is not something to be concerned with and that he'll grow to be as strong and healthy as all the men in his line.

Exhaustion, discomfort, fear, and even the pain melt away as Margaery meets her son. It is amazing how quick it is to fall wholly in love with him. He is beautiful. Small but active even behind closed eyes. When they open again, she sees that they are the brightest of blues. Blue to go with his fine, red hairs. Yes, little Eddard has his father's look, the one gifted from the Lady Catelyn.

Sansa's look.

*

By the time Eddard is first able to sit up on his own, Robb has once more called for the banners. There are reports of wildling clans raiding nearby towns, and the Karstarks have declared for their revenge. The men are gone for weeks, leaving Loras to take command of Winterfell's guard. Loras hadn't been happy about this and was reminded of a time Ned Stark had also left him behind. However, Robb had assured him that he could entrust no one better to watch after his wife and son.

Robb did not wish to leave them, and in his stead Margaery and Eddard have gained all the Starks. Lady Catelyn keeps her from going to the maester more often than she should, patiently answering all of her questions. Arya promises to teach him all she knew, and Rickon seems fascinated that there is finally someone younger than he is. But mostly, she spends her time with Sansa.

Sansa adores her nephew. She spoils him with kisses and Old Nan's stories. She quiets Margaery's fears over Grey Wind sleeping too close to his crib and secretly loves whenever he spits up on Arya. She'll sing sometimes and laugh over how Eddard never wants his feet covered, even in this chill. He irritably kicks off the socks Sansa herself had made him.

"Maybe they no longer fit him. He has grown so much recently."

Eddard's mother puts him down for his nap and wraps his blanket tightly to ensure he stays warm. She places his discarded socks off to the side. It wouldn't matter. He always rolls out of the blanket anyway. "No, they fit him perfectly. He is only stubborn-minded and wants his way."

"Robb was like that when we were children."

"Yes, he is his father's son." Margaery sits at the edge of her bed before laying back and momentarily closes her eyes. Motherhood is exhausting, and it has become difficult to be as graceful as she was taught to be every second of the day.

"Mother says the same." Sansa rests beside her.

"I know, we've had a laugh over it. Lady Catelyn has shared many stories with me of your brother as a babe. They make Robb's ears go pink." She chuckles, looking back to her son. "I can see how much she loves Eddard. How everyone does."

"He's made us all very happy," Sansa says and glances to the woman next to her. "You've made us very happy."

Her voice is thin, but Margaery hears her all the same. She shifts closer and tucks Sansa's hair behind her ear. "Good. I want for you to be happy, Sansa. I remember those days when you first returned home. I don't ever recall seeing someone look so sad. Being away must have been terrible."

"It was." Margaery is saying this for her benefit. The older girl has never directly asked all that had happened in King's Landing. She has only ever tried to raise her spirits.

"You shouldn't marry my brother."

It's an abrupt statement, and Sansa does not know how to react or why Margaery would even think this. Has she done something wrong to offend the Tyrells?

"I don't understand."

"You've found happiness here, and Robb is not forcing your hand. Willas can look for some nice southron girl to marry and strengthen the bonds within the Reach. He's waited this long."

She knows what she must say, and the courtesies come easily. "Lord Willas writes very thoughtful words. Any girl would be blessed to take his hand and-"

Margaery cuts her off by placing a small kiss to the corner of her mouth, barely pulling away afterward. "And it would mean you moving away. I don't believe that's what you want."

"No," Sansa agrees, though she did not mean to say anything. Truth or not, admitting such is rude, and she never would have thought to do so had her focus been clear. It is hard to focus on much else with Margaery looking at her so fondly. Her brown eyes emit such passion, and for a moment Sansa wonders if her friend had meant to kiss her properly and just…missed. Lately, it has felt like her intentions are more than sisterly.

The second time, Margaery does not miss.

It is unlike what Sansa long ago believed were Joffrey's sweet kisses to her hand and even more so than the Hound's stolen one. She feels protected here beneath Margaery's hand. Her thoughts are able to leave her, and for once she's free to just revel in a moment. Except it's not fair. This is her brother's wife, and they are both girls. Sansa does not know what it means to be enjoying the touch of another woman like this. It must be wrong and is definitely inappropriate and she's about to turn away and say as much, but then Margaery's tongue is slipping past her lips.

Yes, this kiss is very different.

*

It's not deliberate that these kisses continue. It's just something that happens to become a part of their time spent together.

She may have dreamed this once. She may have dreamed of a prince whose kisses felt this way. A prince who would look upon her like she is to be cherished and rescued from any harm. One who was both strong and gentle. But Sansa knows better now. Joffrey had taught her that. She does not want to love Margaery any more than she should. It would mean being hurt. They should stop this folly and have said as much to each other. Despite all of this knowledge, Sansa catches herself feeling just how she was afraid to.

When Robb returns after having made a treaty, Margaery's attentions shift back onto her husband as she welcomes him home. It is what should happen. Any good wife would do the same. Yet on those first few days apart, Sansa misses her and feels the jealousy. It's wrong and stupid. Margaery is not hers. It is not Sansa's place. However strong she feels, Margaery will never be able to return it. She is Robb's, and they can never truly be.

Though, sometimes Sansa thinks maybe she does feel the same. It is hopeless, but there are times when Margaery would smile for her and only her. And it's not long before they are pursuing each other a little more often; their kisses going a little bit further.

*

"Do you love Robb?"

It had been something she was wondering of recently. Once, Sansa had believed that marriage was wedding your true love. She has learned otherwise. How could it be true love when it is she who Margaery is with while Mother has her time with baby Eddard? When it is her chambers Margaery visits?

"Your brother is very honorable, and I've grown to love him, yes. Perhaps even more than I once anticipated loving any husband I was to have. He's given me my son, and I love Eddard more than I ever thought possible to love anything. My world is his."

"Then how can we…Why seek my company if you love your lord husband so?"

Margaery thinks on her elbow as she brushes fingers softly down Sansa's neck. "As is with any arranged marriage, you can't be sure what the relationship will become. Some couples fall into a true love, a pure one. Some find their love from a sense of duty and obligation. Others manage not to find any love at all. I've been fortunate in my marriage to Robb." Her patterns pause. "But I fear you are the one my heart yearns to beat for."

Sansa tries to stop it but as Margaery kisses her, she dissolves. It's a confirmation of Margaery's feelings and said in such a way that it must be ripped straight from her stories. She could almost hear Florian saying this to Jonquil. But her stories are mere songs meant to entertain silly little girls. They are not real. They do not exist how they are told. Certainly cannot exist with her brother's lady.

But their lady is relentless as her tongue chases into Sansa's mouth. Sansa knows she feels it too and kisses back with equal enthusiasm. Margaery's hands roam and Sansa thinks maybe they can be silly little girls in this room just so long as they remember once they leave it. Fingers pull at her gown's laces until they are untied, until Sansa is free. Exposed, her breasts are swiftly cupped. They have not done this before.

Margaery is soft in her massage, and Sansa feels a great burn every time her nipple is met with a tender caress. It's like her body is aflame. She had never known that breasts could elicit such sensation. Septa Mordane had only spoke of nursing babes. She wants more but doesn't know how to ask. Afraid to ask. Before she can even try, Margaery has removed her hand, and Sansa almost wants to cry out until she realizes what Margaery's doing. Her hand descends from her breast and pushes up her skirts, trails up her leg. Sansa wants to stop her. She feels hot and damp, like she is some child who couldn't hold her water. She doesn't want Margaery to see. Margaery who is always so elegant. It would probably repulse her.

Sansa reaches between them to stop Margaery's hand and is greeted by a frown.

"Was I too forward?"

"No." She shakes her head hastily so Margery knows it's not her fault. It is Sansa who is ruining everything.

"Then why…"

"I feel…messy. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Margaery, quite unexpectedly, just grins and kisses her. "It's okay. That's what's supposed to happen."

She wants to ask why but Margaery is kissing her again, and Sansa's questions soon leave her. Margaery's hand has continued where it left off and now rests over her smallclothes. She begins to move her fingers in slow circles, and she must click something in her because Sansa has never felt anything like this before. All that heat that she had been feeling seems to multiply. Her nipples tighten and pinch and her heart starts to beat so quickly that Sansa worries something is wrong.

"Margaery, what's happening?"

"Do you wish to stop?"

For a moment, she isn't sure what she wants. Whatever this fire is burns sweetly. Sansa wants to understand but more than that she wants this to continue. "No, don't stop."

The speed of Margaery's hand quickens, and she needs to shut her eyes. The images behind her lids are wrong. Everything is bright and the proportions are all off. She tries to make them right again, but her focus is drawn by her stomach muscles clenching tightly. Her breathing is labored. Her nerves tremble. Everything flares, and then there's a pulsing between her legs to match the pounding in her ears.

Soon the vibrations leave her, and her heart begins to slow.

"What–what was that?" she asks after catching her breath. Margaery just giggles and kisses her once more. "Can we do it again?"

"Sweet girl, we can do that as often as you'd like."

*

She thinks she understands now how so many bastards come to be. Why vows aren't as sacred as they ought to be. This craving is powerful. To experience something with someone and know that it cannot be replicated. That it's only something they can share in. She has an endless desire to come undone by Margaery's hand; to cause Margaery to fall apart under hers. The ache simply grows.

Sansa feels like she's glowing hot always. It's as if she's emitting this feeling. The one that starts in her chest and pounds and twists and flutters until it's released. It has to be obvious. She can see it reflect in Margaery. And Margaery is older and wiser than her. If she could not hide it, what hope did Sansa have? Sansa begins to fear that everyone knows. They must know. They must be able to see it too.

"My sister tells me that you and she have become very close."

Sansa looks up from her needlework in surprise. Ser Loras stands over her and waits for a response. "I–yes. We enjoy each other's company."

"I'm happy she's found a true friend amongst her new family." He smiles with a slight bow.

Sansa thinks he looks very much like his sister just then, and it occurs to her that this is the first time she remembers Loras truly smiling since coming home. The Knight of Flowers she had first met, the one who had given her a red rose, had a much different demeanor to him.

"Have you found Winterfell to your liking, Ser Loras?"

"Yes. It has its splendor I suppose." He sighs and then catches himself, quickly putting his smile back in place. "And your family has been most welcoming."

"I'm glad then."

"Take care, Lady Sansa." With a soft touch to her shoulder, he prepares to walk away. Loras hesitates before speaking again. It seems he is unsure if he should. "Try not to let Margaery miscalculate all that goes into being a lord's wife. I'm afraid she's never been one to worry enough."

*

Eddard's first name day will be here in the coming weeks. His afternoon sleep that day is spent comfortably in his bed. He's a calm child and does not wake once he's been laid down and for that his mother is especially grateful.

Recently, the temperature has continued to drop each day, keeping most of Winterfell and its people indoors. The smallfolk who must work outside continue to do so admirably while the remaining workers continue to rebuild the castle's towers. Robb has taken Grey Wind and a small host out hunting in the wolfswood. Most everyone else has made sure that their daily tasks keep them near heated stones and warm fires. Only Arya has ignored this and pulled Brienne along to continue her training in the yard.

Sansa and Margaery have gotten careless on this particular afternoon. Margaery's not even sure how it happened. Usually they mind themselves, cautious of what they're doing. Today they lay naked in her bed, continuing with their normal activities. They had never been fully undressed with each other until now. It's safer to only unlace and never remove, making for a quick redressing if need be. It would have been unwise to go further. Is unwise. Yet to have the feel of Sansa like this, she's not sure if she can go back to the old way of doing things.

She's beautiful. The way her auburn hair rests against the tips of her breasts as she breathes heavily. How pale and smooth her skin is. Sansa Stark is pure and unblemished, and Margaery wishes to mark her. To bite and nip and suck a little too hard. But that would be madness. She settles for exploring what she's longed to touch. Her travels take her south, and she teases where Sansa burns hottest.

She's never touched her beneath her smallclothes. Sansa will marry one day, and Margaery wouldn't think of breaching her. But unlike a man, a woman's touch need not be damaging. Margaery knows that. She knows how nothing would seem awry to anyone less than a maester. After all, Robb did not notice with her. However, Sansa is shifting in a way that she reads easily.

"You're hesitant."

"Yes."

Margaery immediately removes her hand, uncurling Sansa's fingers to leave a kiss on her palm in understanding. "We should dress."

Sansa grabs at her before she could go anywhere. "No!" The anxious way it's said surprises them both, and Sansa has to compose herself. "What's it like?"

"Being with a man?" She frowns slowly. It wouldn't be the same act exactly, but her words know of no other approach. Sansa nods in confirmation anyway, and Margaery relaxes again as she answers. "It's not unlike what we do. There is still a release just with…an anchor of sorts between you." Physically it is fulfilling in a way, though her pleasure does not always come.

"Is it painful?" Sansa continues, interrupting her musings.

Margaery thinks a moment before giving her answer. It would be easy to lie to Sansa just as her mother and aunts and septas had lied to her; telling tales of great satisfaction. Tales of doing their duty to their husbands and creating heirs.

Her grandmother, however, had always told her the truth on the matter.

"It can be the first time or if your body does not properly want it. Every woman is different. We all enjoy different acts. To know one is to please them."

Sansa sometimes felt as if she already knows Margaery. They have pleased each other plenty. She already knows where to touch Margaery through her smallclothes that would garner the reaction they both chased just as she knows that the older girl is sensitive near her neck and behind her knees and vulnerable to being ticklish. Yet still she knows there is more to be had. Even if she isn't entirely sure what that entails or how it is possible when they are two women with no man between them, Sansa knows.

"I sometimes dream of you, and that we…" She blushes. "Do you ever dream of me?"

Margaery laughs freely. "I dream of you when I'm awake."

"I want to."

Her frown is back. "There's no need."

"No, I want-" Sansa stops herself, finding the right words. "I want to know you."

Margaery can't help smiling warmly at that, but then Sansa is kissing her, pulling at the back of her neck. Margaery wastes no time placing her hand back where it was, and the wetness there makes it easy to enter her. Sansa moans quietly as she leans away to gaze down at her. She wants to see; wants to hear; wants to remember all that happens. She sighs as she strokes. Sansa was beautiful before but like this she is breathtaking. Her eyes are dark. Her skin flushed. Lips red and swollen and distracting. So very distracting. Margaery has to kiss her again, gawking be damned.

Sansa clings to her hard enough to leave an impression during her release. They don't move, staying connected, as Sansa cools off. It's only when Margaery pulls away from her that Sansa shows her first sign of discomfort. She slowly kisses it away from brow to cheek to neck and finally back to lips. She wants to say something. Say something clever that will earn her Sansa's sweet laugh, but then the younger girl's hands are between her own legs. She can't recall what it is she was going to say after that.

They redress each other carefully once they've finished, acutely aware of how long it will be until they're alone together again. It's becoming harder and harder to leave on these afternoons. Sansa knows that she did not take enough time to remove the tangles from her head or the wrinkles from her dress. She's set to hastily return to her room and lace it properly when she's interrupted in her exit. Her sister is there, sweaty and covered in dirt after her training. For a moment, they look at one another across the hall in silent appraisal. Arya's stare goes right through her until she can no longer stand under it.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You look sick," Arya scrutinizes from her toes. "Like you have a fever."

"Margaery's chambers are kept very hot. She's from the south."

She seems to accept this and leans back on her feet. "How's the baby?"

"Sleeping."

"Well if you do get sick, I know how to make soup now."

"Making soup is not difficult. And anyway, we have cooks for that. I wouldn't need yours."

"Mine's better. It's called weasel soup."

Sansa should let it go. Arya has walked away, leaving her to return to her chambers and comb out her hair. She follows anyway.

"What's weasel soup?"

*

Margaery knows she is pregnant again. Her moonblood has stopped. Her breasts feel too tight in her dresses. And the scent of food sends her stomach mad with both sickness and hunger. Robb is delighted by the news. Together they tell Winterfell that a new Stark is to be expected.

In bed with great care, Sansa gives attentions to her belly in a similar way that Robb does. It makes her laugh but sharing this with Sansa wouldn't be fair and she can't share it with Robb. Not a lot is fair to anyone as the babe continues growing inside of her. For the first time since their relationship began, Margaery feels the guilt of being with Sansa. She sees the conflict in Sansa once her womb can no longer be hidden. It's as if everything has become palpable.

For the first time, Margaery and Sansa stop. They do not meet with each other again in private for a long while.

*

She would never dream of uttering it within these walls, but she prefers the name Hoster to that of Eddard.

Hoster Stark's birth is made more difficult than his brother's was. Margaery labors with him for almost a full day and night. Sansa is there for this birth and tries to be as encouraging as her mother is, but Margaery knows by now when Sansa is afraid. Worse is that Lady Catelyn shares in her fears. Margaery has never seen fear overtake this woman's strength. It puts her in a state of alarm.

Unlike last time, Robb is kept from the room after Hoster is finally delivered. The babe is placed directly in her arms as the maester worries over her. Hoster is alive and healthy and no fuss is made over him.

She focuses on his little face instead of Sansa's distress as darkness meets her.

*

When she wakes again, Margaery is in her own bed. Their chambers are warmly lit with both a fire and sunlight, telling her its midday. The first thing she sees is little Eddard from the foot of her bed fighting some imaginary battle that only he can play part in. The sight immediately brings a tired smile to her face. It's this action that alerts Robb that his wife is awake, and he mirrors her smile from across the room. The Lord of Winterfell had been sitting in a chair holding the newest addition to their family, waiting for her to awaken as he was assured she would.

This meant the shared weight on her bed is someone else entirely. Margaery briefly takes her eyes off of Robb to glance to her left. It's Sansa who rests there. Her hair is tangled and her dress unchanged while she sleeps with a crease upon her brow. Margaery wants to reach forward and smooth it out. She wants to ask how long it has been since she's given birth. She wants to send word to Loras that she is okay. Instead, she remains as silent as Robb does as he hands over Hoster Stark, careful not to wake the newborn or the girl sleeping next to her.

He is red-faced and beautiful with darker features than Eddard had, and she's content to stay here as they are for the rest of her days. It's peaceful in this room. She wonders if this could work. If she can have both of them. A silly notion given the facts but pliable all the same. Robb has left her to go chase Eddard in his battle, and when Hoster begins to wail, Sansa quickly stirs awake beside her. At the sight of mother and son awake, she looks relieved enough to cry. It all almost allows Margaery to see a future here between the three of them.

Yes, this could work very well.

*

This could never work. Will never work.

Hoster's only a few moons when Robb must leave again. It's not the Karstarks or the wildlings this time but the Boltons. The host is larger and the leave longer and raising two young children in winter is a difficult task. Soon Margaery is in Sansa's hold once more.

They had tried. After Hoster's birth, the shame did not abruptly go away and their time together was spent how it should be spent between sisters. They did not have each other. They did not share kisses. Yet it lingered from before. It festered, and all they could do was long for each other.

Clandestine meetings in their bedchambers are suddenly not enough. They find each other whenever and wherever they can. A sharp desperation has entered into their coupling. It stings and bites and pulls until they are reckless.

It isn't a wonder that they are finally found out.

*

Catelyn returns from the rookery the same as she does every evening. Each night before supper she prays that the gods will send word that Bran has been found, and each night she leaves distressed with her appetite evading her. She knows she has become lighter in recent years; that her bones have become more evident. She used to check with their maester after supper, but she had found that she could not eat anything at all as she waited in anticipation and dread. Now, she at least is able to eat some food, meager as it may be.

On this night, however, thoughts of Bran are for once able to escape her. When Catelyn turns a corner, she sees something she knows she is not meant to be seeing. She finds Sansa and Margaery clinging to each other in one of Winterfell's many alcoves. Their mouths are fused together and their grip is tight. This is not a kiss between sisters. It is one between lovers. She does not know how to react and because of this chooses not to, turning back around whence she came.

Catelyn has lived long enough to know that these relations are not unheard of. Men can love men and women can love women. She admits that she does not understand how or why but it is not the worst sin to fall to in her eyes. At least these sorts of relations do not result in babes. At least Margaery will not find herself growing with a bastard. Still, such a senseless deed to engage in. She wants to scream at the girl. Margaery has sworn herself to Robb, has produced his children. Yet she has seen fit to break these oaths, disgracing her duty as a wife and mother. And Sansa…

Mayhaps Cat had been mistaken. The light can play the best of tricks, and her eyes are not all they used to be. Mayhaps it was only an embrace meant to comfort. That would be too much to hope for. No, she is not mistaken. This must be sorted.

Catelyn chooses to retire early that night, forgoing supper. Her fear and ire had only built, and she had not been sure if she could hold her tongue. She waits until the next day and spends it with her daughter. Sansa has become as beautiful a woman Catelyn always suspected she would, and she is still every bit as much a lady. Sansa concerns herself with her siblings and nephews and offers what reliefs she can to those at Winterfell who are suffering. Ned would have been proud. Though still some time away, on her next name day Sansa will be six and ten. Just as old as Robb was when he married.

"I was promised to your father's brother Brandon just after my twelfth name day." Catelyn combs another stroke through her eldest girl's hair. Oh how she loves her hair. "You're a woman grown now, Sansa, sweetling. And one that has much to offer a husband of her choosing. Have you given much thought to Willas Tyrell's offer as of late?" It has been long time since anyone spoke of Willas, but he has not wed yet and had never taken back his proposal.

"No."

"What of the Umbers'?" This time Sansa gives no response. "The Tyrells are a suitable match. We know them well through Margaery." She feels rather than sees Sansa's flinch at the name, and Catelyn pauses in her brushing.

"Highgarden is so far. I couldn't travel through this winter." It's said soundly enough, but it's not as practiced as intended. Sansa had played with her hands as she said it.

"Last Hearth is much closer."

Cat watches as Sansa tries to remain reasonable, but her daughter's frustration shows as she paces the floor. "I only just returned home. I want to stay in Winterfell."

"There are enough Starks in Winterfell, and its gates will always be open to you. You will join it to whatever house it is you choose."

"Why are you bringing this up now? Robb has two sons, two brothers, my hand is not needed. He said so himself. He said I can marry when I want to. Will you have this same talk with Arya?"

Catelyn crosses the room to her and pushes that gorgeous hair off her shoulder. "I am bringing this up because you are my daughter and I love you, but what you and Margaery are doing is foolish business." It is not easy to say, and the response she gets is one that she had expected.

Sansa does not blush. Sansa pales.

"If Robb were to find out, it would destroy him, and if it were to get beyond these walls…" She can't say it; can hardly think it. "Cersei Lannister still sits in a cell waiting for her judgment from King Stannis's gods. I will not see that happen to you or to the mother of my grandsons. It must stop, Sansa. Whatever it is between you must stop. I pray that you listen to me."

"I love her." It sounds small in response even to Sansa's own ears. "She lov-"

"She is the Lady of Winterfell. Your good-sister."

Sansa can no longer look at her mother and turns away. This is happening. The tears come rapidly, and she is helpless in stopping them as old fears find rebirth. "Please don't send me away. I'll marry. We'll stop. I'll be good, I swear it but please don't–I can't again." Her sobs are muffled in her mother's quick embrace.

Amidst her growing concern, Catelyn does her best to soothe them away.

*

When Robb finally returns this time, it's at dawn with Theon Greyjoy. He is not the young ward Catelyn remembers. He's dirty and lost, injured in a way she would not wish on anyone. But he was a traitor to her son's cause and even if they were not her boys, two others died in their place. Robb has tried to talk to him of his crimes, and his timid response is always the same: "I'm Reek, m'lord."

She can see it in her son's eye, the pity he has for an old friend. It is unjust what was done to Theon Greyjoy, but she is quick to remind him that he is a traitor and must be punished as such. There is a look of torment that flickers over Robb's face, and for a moment Catelyn sees her boy again. She wants to reach out to him, to offer a pardon and make this decision simple, but his boyhood has long past. He must act as Lord of Winterfell for that is what its people deserve. Robb agrees but makes it clear that Theon will stay alive and captive until he remembers who he is and what crimes he has committed. Robb will not kill a man who has gone sick in the head and knows not why he must be executed.

If he had still been King Robb, Catelyn knows this is the time he would have removed his crown and had just been Robb again. With dark talk of traitors out of the way, he is all too pleased to reunite with his family waiting for him in the reconstructed great hall. Catelyn follows and watches as Margaery greets him with Hoster in her arms and little Eddard clutching at her skirts. Robb receives both babe and wife with a kiss before picking up his first son. It's as if nothing is amiss, as if nothing took place while Robb was away.

A feast has been prepared to welcome Robb and his men back. Winterfell dines together, ignoring that there is less sunlight each day and that the cold has claimed three more lives this week. They are still here after everything, and that is something to be celebrated. It's similar to all of Winterfell's feasts yet different as well. Though Robb fills his seat, the lack of Ned's presence still lingers, and Catelyn feels the absence of Bran fiercely. Another week gone without word from Jon Snow, without the safe return of her boy. But she cannot mourn at this table. She will welcome one son home at least.

The meal consists of three servings, and is doubtless wasting too much food, food Winterfell will wish it has later. But it's a happy occasion. Rickon pranks Ser Loras, switching wines with Arya's encouragement. Brienne scolds them both, but it's clear she's holding back a laugh at Loras's irritation. Catelyn only shakes her head at the entire display. Arya is getting much too old for such antics, and she'll need to have another talk with her daughter later. Little Hoster is safely tucked away having already been nursed while Eddard is all too happy sitting tall at the table. Robb sits next to him and tries to get him to eat his greens. She has to share in Robb's laughter as Eddard instead picks up his cabbage and drops it onto his father's plate.

It's a wonderful night. As a mother, this is all she's ever wanted for her children. Their health and their happiness. Families of their own.

Yet still, she spots the forlorn glance shared between Sansa and Margaery. The exchange lasts only a moment. Catelyn feels it all the same.

It's not hard to see the relationship between them now that she has been made aware. They're quite adept at watching one another once one looks away. It's a question of how Catelyn never took notice before. Whatever it was has stopped, she knows. Sansa has been true to her word. They no longer share beds or are ever left alone. It is no longer a common sight to witness them spending time together, electing instead to keep their distance. Perhaps it is too difficult.

Margaery has her mask of charm in place as it always has been, and though Sansa has learned to wear masks of her own, Catelyn is still her mother. She can read her daughter no matter how she matures. There is a light in Sansa that has gone out the last few weeks. Her smiles are few and wane as they did when she first returned home all those moons ago. A foolish ache in Catelyn wishes that she had said nothing; wishing that she had turned a blind eye and allowed this to continue. Her sensible half knows for certain that she did the right thing for everyone in their family and that this sorrow, too, shall pass.

She wishes her daughter would just take Willas Tyrell's hand while she has the opportunity. Winter it is, but the roads will not be as bad past the Neck. Sansa and a Stark host could make this long journey, and Willas Tyrell makes a good match. The Tyrells have their riches, and they would never dream of doing Sansa wrong so long as Margaery is a Stark. Highgarden is the dream Sansa had before the Lannisters stripped it from her. Catelyn knows she could be happy there.

With any luck, they could find a match for Arya as well. Lord Tarly had a son close enough in age. He might even being willing to foster Rickon. If not the Tarlys, then the Redwynes or Fossoways. Any of them would do. She does not want to see her children go, but the cold is here and shows no signs of relinquishing its hold. Osha's warnings come frequently and match the words written from the Wall. The Night's Watch continues its pleas for men and threats of the Others. Robb and the North have listened and sent men their way, but the rest of the Realm thinks this only folly. The Others are just tales meant to scare children. King Stannis has even echoed the letters of the Night's Watch. To the Wall he has sent his red priestess and more men it would take than to hold the Iron Throne. And still no one else provides aid.

If this threat is indeed true, Catelyn fears they will not stand against it.

Yes going south mayhaps best, for winter is coming for them all.