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When Sansa thinks of Margaery, she thinks of light. Warm, lazy sunlight filtering through the curtains in Margaery’s tiny apartment as they lie in each other’s arms, talking for hours. Bright sunlight making a golden halo around Margaery’s head as she stands laughing on a beach, frozen forever in a Polaroid Sansa took when they were giddy and breathless with happiness. Harsh sunlight filtering through Sansa’s closed eyelids right after she learns about Catelyn and Robb’s deaths, the words echoing through her head with all the brutality of a lion’s roar. Dimly, she can hear someone talking and feel someone's arms around her, but all that seems so far away. She's lost and tumbling through a great darkness, all alone. Until suddenly, Margaery's voice breaks through the darkness.
"Sansa!" she shouts. Sansa realizes that she's lying on Margaery's kitchen floor, her head cradled in Margaery's lap. She may be out of the empty darkness, but she still feels it inside her, eating away at her organs.
"They're gone," she whispers. She feels like she should be weeping, screaming, tearing out her hair in grief, but she can barely talk or move.
"I'm so sorry, Sansa," Margaery says softly. Sansa can hear the sorrow in her voice. "I wish I could make it better for you."
"I'm all alone now," Sansa says, her voice cracking. The emptiness spreads inside her, curling inky tentacles around her heart.
"You're not," Margaery replies, her voice suddenly firm and strong. "You have me."
Then Sansa does start sobbing, and Margaery holds her and doesn't let go.
~
Sansa has the first of many nightmares that night, one that makes her wake screaming and shaking. Margaery wakes too, her eyes brimming with worry.
“I keep seeing them die,” Sansa murmurs, her throat thick with tears, “I see them die over and over again.” She’s too afraid to face Margaery. Too ashamed of her fear.
Margaery wraps her arms around her girlfriend and kisses her shoulder wordlessly. They fall asleep entwined, and Sansa dreams about roses surrounding her with their fragrance.
~
“I hate the war,” Margaery says, her voice shaking.
“Which war?” Sansa asks. It’s getting harder and harder to tell one from the other.
“The one nobody will talk about. They’re not fighting it on a battlefield anymore. They’re fighting it in alleyways and offices and courts of law. And to some of them, it’s just a game.” They are the people who sent Loras to be fight and die on a real battlefield. They are the Lannisters, pulling the strings and protected by a wall of coldness and icy courtesy. They are Cersei Lannister, telling Margaery that Loras might not last the week with an almost imperceptible smile tugging at her lips.
They’re sitting at the kitchen table, and Margaery’s spine is straight as a rod. Her transformation takes Sansa’s breath away. In an instant, she’s gone from a girl as soft and fragile as a rose petal to something as dangerous as a thorn. Some roses have steel thorns, Sansa thinks, remembering something she heard a Greyjoy employee mutter once.
There is steel in Margaery, Sansa realizes, and steel in herself as well. She reaches for Margaery’s hand. “They’re not going to win this war. They’re going to destroy themselves trying to win. But,” Sansa says, feeling herself strengthen with every word, “We’re stronger than they are. We have each other.” She meets Margaery’s eyes, and sees her words taking root as the sunlight envelops them.