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The faintest flicker of light from her torch was all that illuminated the entrance of the cave, a slight dampness pervading the air as she trudged ahead. Her slippers were drenched in mud and grime and her cloak felt heavy around her shoulders, tattered with wear. She evaded the puddle ahead of her deftly, her hand trembling in spite of herself. Perhaps she was a fool by coming here with nothing to protect her but honeyed words and a heart full of compassion for a monstrosity feared by even the bravest of warriors; a creature that could kill her with ease if it so chose.
She scoured the opening ahead of her with curiosity, eyes poring over the intricate grooves in the walls as if they would tell her where to go. By all accounts, the creature had to be here. It had been days since she set out on her quest, motivated in part by spite and partially by the guilt of her own conscience.
She was here for a reason, for a trial that would surely damn her in the eyes of the gods for betraying her family so— he would be coming soon on a pursuit assigned to him by her own father; a slaying masquerading as an excuse to auction off her hand to whoever could prove himself a hero among men, as if killing the creature could make him worthy of her. Her lips curled on themselves as she padded through the crevice leading into a more narrow pathway, the flame of her torch wavering as she investigated further into the depths of the cave. If she was to meet her end here, she doubted anyone would ever find her.
The thought was as jarring as it was comforting.
She had heard about it; the Gorgon, the monster, the man-killer with snakes for hair. She was a woman so hideous that men who sought her out as a challenge, either to kill or bed, were supposedly turned instantly to stone, never to be heard from again. He was coming with a bronze shield given to him by divinity itself, charged to behead it no matter the cost. Margaery could not let that happen; whether that was borne from the kindness of her own heart or her selfish reluctance to enter yet another marriage, she could not tell.
What mattered was that she was here.
Margaery crossed the threshold of the cavern, the path divulging into two larger cavities. Her hair clung to her cheeks, still dripping with rainwater as she shifted the torch from one hand to another. It was dark still, and seemingly endless. Each step she took seemed to echo louder than the last, and the lightest of sounds had her pivoting around as if to confront the monster she sought to protect for herself. Her heart pounded as if it was possessed by the strongest of armies, its nervous thrumming offsetting the smooth trickle of water that reverberated through the contained area. She kicked a pebble with her foot, trying to find some solace in the way it skipped across the stone floor beneath her.
“What are you doing here?” The voice cut through her like ice, so cold that it nearly burned. It was melodic yet deep, soothing yet piercing, hollow yet enraged. It was beautiful in its own way, more so than any tune played for her at court, and each word she spoke seemed to ignite as soon as it left her lips.
It took only a moment for her to realize that she was cloaked in darkness, the torch she gripped in her palm cold to the touch. It had gone out, unbeknownst to her, rendering Margaery entirely vulnerable to the stranger before her. She wore no corset and yet, the breath seemed to be squeezed out of her when her lips parted as if to summon words.
The silence between them stretched on.
“You shouldn’t be here,” the woman’s voice was but a whisper now, melancholic and consumed entirely by a wistfulness that she longed to decipher. She had always loved puzzles and riddles alike, fascinated by anything that could stump her mind into a standstill. This voice, coated equally with sugar and frost, intrigued her beyond reason. She wanted nothing more than to see the source of it for herself, to give into her curiosity and look into the alleged creature’s eyes to see if there was any truth to the myth at all.
“I’ve come to warn you.” She started, attempting to muster up the confidence that her grandmother had trained into her from the time she could walk, and winced at the tremble to her voice. Her eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness and yet, she couldn’t locate the source of the voice that captivated her so. Thoughtfully, she licked at her dry lips and took a tentative step forward. “A man is coming here to take your head. He means to claim my hand by killing you.”
The laugh the Gorgon released was abrupt and bitter, as if she didn’t know how to laugh at all. The sound was startling in its harshness, as if death would not dare to touch her in her seclusion. “I have nothing to fear from any man. Not anymore.”
“I fear him,” she admitted into the open air, a secret kept close to her heart and barbed over with layers of defensive vines and pricks, as if mimicking a rose bush. If she never emerged from this creature’s lair, it gave her some solace to confess what she truly felt for once in her life. “You should flee, Gorgon.”
“That isn’t my name,” her voice was no longer thunderous nor was it threatening, but rather low like a rippling tide. She couldn’t imagine what the woman looked like, but it was getting increasingly difficult to place her voice to the monstrosity people made her out to be. It was hard to imagine her as anything but a person now that they were communicating, no matter that she couldn’t see her face.
She only paused for a moment before— “What is it then?”
A clap of thunder sounded outside and suddenly, the creature was standing before her. Her eyes strained to make her out, though she resisted her urge to take a step backwards. If she was meant to die today, she would die; surely it was a better fate than her alternative, and at the very least, she had tried to save someone in the process of it.
When she caught sight of hair, long and flowing and red, she just barely registered her unlit torch clattering to the ground. The woman before her looked astonishingly human. There were no snakes in her hair, no scales on her skin, no twisted smirk on her face as she advanced upon unwitting victims... she was merely a girl.
The supposed monster lifted her chin up, as if to demonstrate her courage to everyone who would scorn her, though there was no smile on her lips. Her face was blank save for the crease between her brows, and her eyes were obscured by her hand, held up as if to protect Margaery from the wrath she was known to inflict upon the men who would disturb her rest. She was wearing a white gown, torn and grimy at the edges, and entirely inappropriate for the weather. Did the cold not affect her at all? Was she truly immortal or flesh and bone, just like the rest of them? The thought of a girl forced into exile for a curse the gods had inflicted upon her made her so very sad, though perhaps she had just taken a form pleasing to Margaery to lure her into a false sense of security. She could only watch her with a blend of curiosity and fear as the girl stood as still as stone, unwavering in her spot.
“Sansa,” she spoke eventually. “My name is Sansa. This is my home and I won’t be frightened by a little man with a sword. Many have attempted to kill me,” the creature -Sansa- announced grimly, though the slightest of smiles teased at her lips. “None have ever succeeded. I welcome him to try.”
She’s beautiful, Margaery thought despite herself as she watched the woman stand in place, so much taller than her with hair brighter than any flame she had ever seen, even in the darkness that enshrouded them. It was plain to see, even if they weren’t in a dreary cavern leagues away from civilization.
What was hiding beneath her eyes that would give her reason to stow away in a cave like this for eternity? It was said that her glare could turn men to stone in an instant, yet she wasn’t turning it onto Margaery. It was somewhat relieving that she chose to shield her eyes from her curious gaze, considering that she was inclined to live a few years longer.
“This cave is your home?” Margaery made no attempt to keep the surprise out of her voice, a pang of sympathy burrowing at the bottom of her stomach at the thought of living somewhere like this. “Truly?”
“My family used to live here.” Sansa pursed her lips, though her hand remained rooted in place. “It’s the only home I’ve ever known.”
She knew better than to ask what had become of her family.
“Why do you-“ Margaery started, unable to comprehend how she could stand a life here. Surely it wouldn’t be that difficult to make a home for herself in one of the kingdoms nearby and wear a blindfold so as to shield whatever marred or cursed sight was under her hand. How did she hunt? Drink? Sleep? The thought of residing here for life sent shivers down Margaery’s spine.
“Please,” the interruption sounded more like a command than a plea, hard and rough, though there was a vulnerability to it too. She withdrew slightly, retreating further into the darkness until Margaery could no longer identify anything about her other than her silhouette. “Leave me.”
And so she did.
For a few moments, she wandered aimlessly in the general direction from which she came.
But where else could she go? There was a storm brewing outside and it would take hours yet to get back to her home. She would not allow this trip to be in vain, even if the one she sought to help didn’t appreciate her warning.
She found a spot smooth enough to accommodate her by a cluster of flowstone, stalagmites littering the expanse around her feet. It was cold and her breaths came out in little puffs as she stared out at the rock and stone in front of her, but it would have to make do. Perhaps it would be an easier journey come morning, or perhaps Sansa would change her mind and heed her warnings with a night’s worth of rest.
Margaery laid on the ground in a cloak, her thoughts running away from her to the sound of water droplets dripping from the stalactites on the ceiling, and the smell of rainwater consuming the area around her. It would take hours to fall asleep at this rate, and she couldn’t even be sure of what time it was given how deep she had waded into the cave.
A feather-light brush of fingers against her shoulder sent her mind reeling. A blanket had been draped over her body, warmer and softer than she could have expected. She pulled the fabric to the tip of her nose, not even realizing that she had been shivering until that moment.
“Thank you,” she breathed out.
Though Sansa’s hand had withdrawn from her almost instantly, her presence remained. It was with the heavy weight of her stare on the back of her neck that Margaery began to drift asleep.
“You’re still here.”
There were streams of light coming through slivers of openings in the ceiling, illuminating the cavern enough that Margaery could make her out with more clarity. She was sitting before her with her legs crossed and a dirty woolen shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Evidently, she did feel the cold after all.
One detail that stuck out to her was the scrap of dusty pink fabric wound tightly around her eyes. Sansa’s hair looked finely brushed out, a few strands peeking out over her blindfold, bright and copper in the gentle sunlight. Her lips curved upward amicably at the end, as if she was glad for her company now.
“Why are you wearing that?” Margaery couldn’t help but ask now that she was certain that she wouldn’t be run out of the cave as soon as the sun rose.
Sansa touched the fabric lightly, as if just noticing it. With a shrug of her shoulders, she angled her face away the slightest bit. Though her eyes were hidden from her view and there was only a slight downturn to her mouth, she looked unspeakably sad. “I was cursed to kill any man I set my eyes upon.”
“I’m no man,” she countered, though she wasn’t quite sure why.
Her remark caused some humor to flow back into the other woman’s demeanor, a lively spark seeming to light between them as Sansa scoffed. “I’m well aware.”
There was a flush to her cheeks when she spoke, a fact that she found fascinating in itself; for someone who had greeted her so frostily, daybreak seemed to bring out a warmth in her that was entirely unexpected. Perhaps she was just a morning person, Margaery theorized with a humorous chuckle to herself, wondering whether Sansa had slept at all the night prior.
“You’re probably hungry.” Sansa spoke abruptly, as if ashamed of her housekeeping manners. She made no move to leave but merely gestured to Margaery’s left where there was a pot resting on top of what looked to be hot coals, a cream-colored mixture bubbling to the surface. “There’s porridge in the cauldron. Have as much as you’d like. I haven’t made anything for anyone in-”
“I’m sure it’s lovely,” Margaery interrupted with a smile the other woman couldn’t even see, somewhat endeared to her as she stood and made her way towards the food she would be breaking her fast with. It didn’t smell poisoned, not that Sansa seemed to be the type to resort to that. She seemed much more straightforward, though not tactless by any means; she seemed like a woman who kept at least two knives hidden inside her garments. “Thank you, Sansa.”
It actually looked quite pleasing, she noted as she reached for one of the clay bowls that were laid out for her in a neat line. For a cave-dwelling monster, Sansa certainly seemed more organized than she would have presumed.
Pushing her distrustful nature aside, she forced herself to enjoy this one gift that had been given to her. Unlike those that came from suitors or handmaidens or acquaintances, there were no expectations tied to them. She was free whenever she chose to leave; she had more autonomy in this cave than she could ever dream of having at home under the watchful eyes of her father, grandmother, advisers, cousins, and ‘friends’ alike. Here, she could choose.
“It’s delicious,” she noted aloud as soon as she ate a spoonful of it.
“It’s a family recipe,” Sansa murmured back to her from where she was sitting a few feet away. She brushed a strand of her own hair back behind her ear, appearing nervous for the first time since they had met. It was almost as if she wanted to prolong the conversation. “My mother taught me how to make it.”
“She must have been quite the cook,” Margaery remarked with a secret smile, though it wasn’t like she could have seen it.
“She is,” Sansa retorted primly, and she could feel her brows shoot upwards. So her mother was alive yet didn’t live here. Perhaps she came here to spare her family the same fate as her; to release them of the burden of having to protect her; to shield them from being resigned to having a pariah for a daughter. It could have been any of those options, or merely a coping mechanism for a parent she was not quite willing to let go of. Margaery hesitated to press her for more information, so she merely took another spoonful of gruel into her mouth.
Another moment seemed to pass between them, suspended mid-air before Sansa was speaking again. “I’ll kill him for you if you would like me to.”
“I might hold you to that,” Margaery opted for a humorous response over the surprise she felt, somewhat touched that a perfect stranger would offer to do such a thing for her when her father would see her sold to the very same man she had come here to escape from. “I would like to see his head on a pike.”
At that, the other woman grinned and the sight of it was almost blinding. It was equal parts beautiful as it was homicidal; she was a killer, lovely as her outer appearance was. Somehow, she wasn’t frightened by it as she had been when men demonstrated the same propensity for violence. She supposed it was because she only sought to avenge and defend rather to cause pain, as so many men she had known did. “I could turn him into rubble if you wished it.”
“It would be quite a sight,” Margaery could feel a smirk playing at her lips at the thought of it. “Would you take the hammer to his statue first or leave him to me?”
“You would have the honor, of course,” Sansa’s returning smile was laced with a hint of playfulness, more coy than timid now that they had progressed to jesting with one another. Her cheeks lifted with her joy, and Margaery imagined that her eyes crinkled with the action. Were they blue, she wondered, or green? “I wouldn’t see you harmed, Margaery. Or any woman, for that matter.”
“So I’m not the first damsel in distress you’ve rescued?” Margaery gasped exaggeratedly, a hand resting on her heart as she attempted to keep the laughter out of her way. “And here I thought that I was special.”
Sansa snorted as if she found the idea hilarious. “I wouldn’t dare call you a damsel in distress. Besides,” she lifted her chin once more, as if to put on false airs for Margaery’s benefit. It was endearing in an odd way, as if she wished to comfort her by appearing as though she knew what she was doing when she likely hadn't spoken to another person like this in months if not years. “I thought you were here to save me.”
“Perhaps we were meant to save each other,” Margaery countered, testing the waters for flirtation as best as she could. She wasn’t beyond the influence of a pretty girl’s affections, no matter how it frustrated her family to cover up her dalliances. For all the men that gloated about how they would bed mermaids and monsters alike, seeing Sansa’s lips part with surprise from across the cavern gave her a small thrill that could rival the pride of any of those liars. There was something endearing about her, alluring about her, that Margaery could only resist trying for herself for so long. “What would you think about that?”
It took the other girl a few moments to craft a response to her.
“That would depend,” Sansa answered carefully, startlingly diplomatic for a woman who turned men to stone to maintain her livelihood.
At that, Margaery leaned forward in her seat, cradling the bowl in her hands with precision. Every movement was intentional, calculated, and yet her heart was thrumming as if it would never stop. She could taste the sudden friction in the air- of joy turned electric, that could so easily sour if she wasn’t careful. This might have been a mistake, to try her hand at flirting with a known “On?”
“How you intend on saving me, for one,” it sounded as if there was a laugh ready on her lips, in case she took it all back or felt the urge to run away. “And if you truly think it’s a good idea to toy with a woman who could turn you to stone?”
“Would you?” She asked, standing up hesitantly as if afraid to scare a frightened deer off, setting the half-empty bowl beside her. As expected, Sansa remained firmly in place, unfazed at the sudden shift in tone. Slowly, she took a step closer to her, and then another one after that. “Have you ever killed a woman before?”
“No,” Sansa breathed out, angling her head to locate the source of Margaery’s voice, turning in her spot to face her. As soon as she uttered the word, Margaery strode towards where she was still seated and could hardly question her own sanity before the girl with fire for hair stood as well, standing just a breath away from her. She was taller than she remembered, so much taller than she imagined. She licked her dry lips once, unable to help but trace over the bow of Sansa’s lip with her gaze, wondering what they would taste like given the chance. “Never.”
Margaery paused for only a moment. “Have you ever kissed a woman before?”
“It’s presumptuous for you to think I would want to,” Sansa japed, though there was a raw quality to her voice that she couldn’t quite place; a longing to be touched and held and cherished, and not just as a lover would. She was lonely, it was clear to see, but so was Margaery. She was surrounded by people in her life outside of this cave, and still, she was so lonely. “But I do.”
A trembling hand lifted to cup Sansa’s cheek with her own, and she felt both like divinity and the earth were tugging her heart in different directions. There was something about her that made her feel alive; like not every person in the world was a liar or user or a snake in some capacity. It was the most monstrous of myths that ended up being the sweetest, she supposed.
Her face was cool to the touch and as soft as marble, and the tips of her fingers teased at the edges of the blindfold tied tightly around her face. It was unreal, so much so that Margaery wondered if she had frozen to death in her slumber and was imagining this. Her thumb glided along Sansa’s cheekbone, and it was as real as anything she had ever felt. The other woman, the ‘monster’ according to the tales idiot men told all throughout the country, released a shuddering breath.
“Is this alright?” Margaery asked, leaning forward as if being pulled by some unknown force. Sansa’s mouth was pink, the very epitome of the beauty that painters all throughout her family’s kingdom would try to capture in their art. How could anyone know true beauty when they hadn’t looked divinity in the face as she had? A hand placed itself on top of hers, urging her closer.
“Yes,” Sansa whispered, he fingers grazing over Margaery’s knuckles with a gentleness that she hadn’t conceived any person would be capable of.
Within seconds, their lips were slotted against one another, magic and madness all at once. They barely knew each other and yet, it was already the best kiss she had ever felt. She could hear a sharp inhale leave the other woman as she pushed further into the kiss, wanting more of the relief they had found in each other. A hint of desperation forced its way into the kiss as Sansa, ever controlled and steady, lost her bearings and wound a hand through Margaery’s hair, curling through her locks of unwashed hair as if they were spun from gold.
Margaery’s spare hand fell to her partner’s waist, squeezing at the skin she found there and marveled at its softness. She was perfection made flesh and she couldn’t get enough of her; she was under her skin, in her bones, in her heart all at once, and she never wanted to lose whatever this was. The thought of parting from her felt unbearable, unthinkable, as if her kiss was the answer to every question Margaery had asked herself on her way to issue her warning.
Her lips were sweet, like the frosting off the pastries Margaery would seek out from the kitchens at her home whenever she had company over, and she smelled of perfume and warmth. They pulled away after a moment, just enough that they could breathe, though the hand over hers remained constant. She released a shuddering breath that she didn’t realize she was holding and tilted her head upwards to press a shorter kiss to Sansa’s lips once more.
“I want to see your eyes,” she murmured without thinking, and cursed her thoughtlessness when Sansa stiffened in her arms. These kinds of curses had to be broken somehow, Margaery knew, and her earlier determination to see her live was replaced by an inexplicable desire to see her happy. “You said that you've only killed-“
“You could die,” Sansa snapped, her voice rougher than it had been when they had last spoken, her lips curled as if disgusted with herself for being cursed with such an affliction in the first place. For a single second, everything around them was silent except for the crackling of coals beneath the pot of porridge and the steady dripping of water onto the cave floor. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I hurt you. I only ever harm those who- never someone I’ve cared for. I couldn't hurt you like that, not ever.”
You care for me? was the ridiculous question that sprung to mind, though Margaery hadn’t quite deciphered her gravitation towards Sansa. Had their connection been destined this entire time? Was it why she had left her home to trek into the wilds on a search for a ‘monster’ that her would-be betrothed was on the hunt for? Something churning within her gut told her that she wouldn’t be hurt; that she would be an exception; that they were meant for one another, though such a claim shocked Margaery to even think for herself.
Was this woman so enticing that she had lost all of her sense?
“Trust me,” she murmured with the most soothing voice she could manage, smiling somewhat when Sansa relaxed in her arms, still towering over her and yet shrinking into herself as if she was afraid of tainting her. They were both starved for touch, it seemed, and longing for an intimacy that only the other understood. Somehow, she knew that nothing would harm her now, though there was no sane part of her mind that thought it was a good idea. “Please.”
“Margaery,” she murmured, though she lowered her trembling hands with slight reluctance, though there seemed to be a part of her alight with hope. No man should have been able to survive her gaze, but the prophecy never made mention of a woman; not by Sansa’s account or public knowledge of the myth that caused a thousand men to march to their deaths one by one in hopes of taking her head and presenting it to some king or god or merchant or another.
She was captivated enough by her that death seemed impossible.
When Margaery made no move to remove it herself, she reached up to untie it herself. She watched as the fabric, light pink as if made from the corals by the sea themselves, fluttered to the ground with airy ease. It was that simple, and suddenly, her new partner was bare-faced with nothing to hide anymore.
Sansa was squeezing her eyes shut when Margaery mustered up the courage to look into her gaze to find out the truth to her instinctual claims. Drawing in a breath to steady herself, she raised her eyes up to Sansa’s face, softly grazing her fingers along her eyelids as if to test if there was stone beneath them.
There was nothing unusual about her at all, nothing to indicate that she was anything but a beautiful girl who lived in a cave far away from civilization. Her thumb brushed against her eyelashes, thicker and longer than her own had ever been without the aid of a wand curler. She was beautiful, still, just as she was before. She would be beautiful even if her gaze was what killed Margaery.
“It’s alright,” she murmured encouragingly, her hands moving to cup either side of Sansa’s face with all of the tenderness of a practiced lover. “I trust you.”
She could feel her heart begin to leak through its cracks as they locked eyes, a deep blue meeting honey-brown, and she instantly knew that she was staring into the face of love itself.
Her heart stilled, but not with the coldness that brought death with it, but with a skip that followed shortly after- of happiness and unrestrained joy. They stared at each other for a lifetime before a choked sob escaped Sansa’s lips; the first time she had seen another person she cared for this close in years, unable to conceive of the possibility that she would not have to resign herself to a life of exile and near-death experiences for eternity. Tears built in her eyes, as blue as the river or the deep seas on Highgarden’s coast than the stone-grey or frosty-blue she had envisioned in her mind.
Within seconds, a watery smile made its way onto her lips, wobbling as she spoke. “It’s you.”
As they embraced in the cave that had once been her self-imposed cage, Sansa held Margaery close to her, a lover and a stranger at once with nothing in the world but time and a renewed sense of hope; for family, for love, for a life. If nothing else, the hand that fitted in hers as they left the cavern together was a reassurance that there would always be someone by her side, someone who she would adore with every fiber of her being.