Sansa hadn’t been sledding since she was a little girl, but the glittering slope before her, tinted blue by the stars and the moon, filled her with a childish glee, and Margaery’s mitten-clad hand in hers, flesh pressing against flesh through layers of wool, blinded her to the cold that stung her face and sunk through her jeans.
Margaery had shown up at her door just twenty minutes ago, dragging a sled behind her. It was just past midnight, and Sansa had opened the door in pajama pants and a t-shirt.
“Get dressed,” Margaery had said. “I want to take you somewhere.”
Sansa had shivered at the cold which flooded through the open door to sting her bare arms, but the snowflakes that lingered on the gentle brunette waves of Margaery’s hair and the fitted peacoat that hugged the curve of her waist and that smile that curled the corners of her mouth had seeped all of Sansa’s reluctance away. And so she found herself, twenty minutes later, standing at the top of a snow-covered hill with the love of her life at 12:30 in the morning.
Margaery set the sled down on the snow in front of her feet. It was a blue plastic disk which threatened to slide down the hill without them at any moment and leave them behind to chase after it while snow piled on the toes of their boots. Margaery motioned for Sansa to get on the sled, and Sansa did so, awkwardly, tucking her knees up in front of her and wrapping her arms around them. A moment later, she felt Margaery’s hands slip around her waist and Margaery’s bent knees on either side of her own, and then they were flying.
All Sansa could feel was the onslaught of bitter cold that choked her breath and Margaery’s warmth all around her, her hot breath ghosting on the back of Sansa’s neck. The snow that still swirled in the deep blue above seemed to rush toward them like wintry stars.
Halfway down the hill, the sled began to spin until Sansa was looking up at the top of the slope, watching it get smaller and smaller as she leaned into Margaery’s chest. The next thing she knew, snow was seeping through her jeans and wetting her hair and Margaery was sprawled beneath her and the sled was lying three feet away on a snowdrift. Sansa looked down at Margaery. Her hair was fanned out beneath her and her scarf had come unknotted and her face was contorted with silent laughter. Before Sansa knew it, she was laughing too. It bubbled up within her until she had to bury her head in Margaery’s shoulder and breathe deeply to keep from giggling, but then she raised her head, and Margaery’s eyes were serious and soft, although a coy smile still played around her lips. Margaery’s hand brushed Sansa’s cheek as she tucked her hair behind her ear, and Sansa kissed Margaery’s neck softly, chastely, and then Margaery’s lips brushed hers, and the cold stopped mattering.