@femmesafacettes continued from here.
SANSA had always wanted to marry for love. when she had seen joffrey for the first time back at her home -- her true home, which felt more like some DISTANT DREAM to her now that something tangible -- she had been foolishly taken by what she thought a true prince should be. he was handsome, he was kind, but the image of him shattered like glass at her feet, and she could not seem to stop herself from stepping on the shards.
WHEN the tyrells saved the city and margaery was betrothed to joffrey in sansa’s place, she had been something of happy; it had been a flicker of something she once remembered, to be safe from the clutches of a monster -- a TRUE MONSTER, not simple snarks or grumpkins or other terrible things old nan had told them about as children to scare them into being good -- she should have known better then.
SHE hadn’t the chance to marry for love, though tyrion was kinder to her than she supposed any lannister would be, she did not love him. what was more, she did not want for margaery to marry joffrey; she did not want for him to hurt her the way that he had hurt her; she was the one brief respite to the nightmare that surrounded her. and so sansa eagerly accepted the invitation to luncheon with her in the gardens.
THE smile on margaery’s face causes sansa’s cheeks to warm, her lips unable to stop themselves from smiling back at her. margaery is BEAUTIFUL; every bit the lovely rose as is expected of highgarden ( sansa thinks ser loras beautiful, too, but his interest in her had not been as she expected; she supposed willas was handsome too, even if he was broken, but any dreams of flying from the city have long passed ). she squeezes the other girls hands in her own, loathing to let go, as if the rest of king’s landing fades to nothingness and it’s only them.
( WHAT a world !! sansa would spend the rest of her days eating lemon cakes in the garden, just she and margaery, smiling beautifully in the sunlight. she realizes she hasn’t appreciated the warmth of king’s landing since her father was killed, not until margaery welcomed her ).
“YES,” she says, and nods her head in affirmation. sansa is so used to saying what is expected of her, a little bird who repeats all her properly learned phrases, that to be GENUINE is a hesitance; it’s a liberation. “yes, lord tyrion is... he is kind to me. but i am glad you invited me here with you. your kindness is most welcome, my lady. are you well?”
