Chapter Text
Margry purrs when she sleeps.
Margry's snore is not a tender snore of the kind that is so quiet you can barely hear it. Sansa has held sleeping kittens while they sleep and she can swear by the Gods-The Old and the New- that her wife’s snore is that same sound but on a bigger, louder scale.
'My wife' Sansa thinks, sinking further into the bed as the words echo louder and louder in her mind.
Marrying a woman had never been a thing Sansa had thought about. She had read the Seven-Pointed Star and knew of the Old Gods enough to know that she was expected to marry a Lord, be his wife and have his babies. But then the Demons appeared with their Sky Castles and their weapons of light and fire, murdering anyone in sight. And behind them came Margry’s people, bearing the banners of an Empire none had ever heard of and the words of a Lord the people of Westeros had learned to fear like one is meant to fear the Gods.
The Master of Krypton and the Kryptonian Empire became words whispered in the reverent fear Septons used to talk of the Seven Heavens and the Seven Hells. The Kryptonians protected them, explained they were sorcerers and told anyone who would listen about how Westeros had become entangled in a war both sides had waged for decades due to reasons that simply escaped our grasp.
That had been taken as an insult at first, but then the Kryptonians appeared with their own Sky Castles and the War in Heaven roared with the fury of Gods above, our only protection the benevolence of their Emperor and the loyalty of His people to His commands, making them realize they were understating the truth.
When the ash settled in Westeros enough for the Lords to meet, they did so under unbelievable circumstances: King Robert and Queen Cersei dead, the Throne in Myrcella’s hands by Right and under Stannis’ by Law and House Gardener erased from history, their lands turned to glass by a Demon spell. Quickly, it was decided that negotiations with this Emperor were to be had and alliances to be made, to which the Kryptonians were incredibly supportive.
But then marriages to secure the alliance were brought into discussion and the Kryptonians started acting as if they had been slighted.
Sansa later learned they had been surprised we’d be so bold, considering their powers and our ‘ignorance of the greater things behind the war’. But they, like in so many things, proved far superior by agreeing to our requests, as long as we agreed to theirs. Sansa doesn’t know the full extend of them beyond what concerns her: They asked for a woman from ‘a Great House of Westeros’ to be married to one of their own 'Great Houses'. Sansa’s blooming beauty had started to be known before the Demons appeared, thus she was the first, and quickly learned, the only to be wed to a Kryptonian.
The shock when a so-called Vreness Margry Maez-Tyrell spoke the groom’s vows in what remained of the Great Sept of Baelor can’t be spoken, nor could the explanation this was to assure the Lords of Westeros this had been done to assure us nothing would happen to the brides believed.
Sansa’s mother was enraged, proclaiming the honor of House Stark had been insulted, but Stannis declared nothing could be done and that he was certain the Kryptonians would do Sansa no harm. However all other marriages would not be had until this ‘union’ could be determined to be worth the scandalous blasphemy.
Sansa is too paralyzed by fear to think of anything else than this "edict" in the hours they’re left alone for the sake of apperances, surrounded by sorcery.
Margry never separates from something that reminds Sansa that her Lady Wife is not Westerosi, or from any land known or unknown to Westeros for that matter: Light stored and ready to be summoned with a slight move of a finger, objects that whisper things into Margry's ear and to which Margry speaks in turn, ghosts enslaved to the will of the Kryptonians like a slave from Astapor and through which other foul devices come to life, and wicked objects that allow Margry to talk to others continents away lie spread across the room along with others Sansa dares not ask the function of for fear the knowledge will shatter her mind.
So, Sansa lies silently in her bed at night wondering how long until that happens anyway and in this fear, she reasons, her mind looks for comfort and finds it in Margry’s purrs of all places.
Sansa moves slowly and gently in her place until she’s facing her wife, even in the dark of their room Sansa can tell her wife's eyes are moving beneath closed eyelids so fast the redhead can see the movement. Her Lady Wife is beautiful in the eyes of the Westerosi -far more beautiful than Sansa, the northener sometimes thinks- and is knowledgeable in the things of her Empire like few, if any, were knowledgeable of the matters of Westeros. She commands and is obeyed with the authority of a King, to the point at times Sansa truly ponders upon the possibility that she’s been married to a Kryptonian man and they’re decieved by his looks.
But Sansa has seen Ser Royers and Ser Sob-Eck, as well as the soldiers of the Kryptonian Imperial Army that now protect them, and knows that Westerosi and Kryptonians are alike in regards to how men and women look like. It is simply that Kryptonian men and women are alike in everything else but looks: The women fight with men, alongside men and order men even. Kryptonian men cook, clean and sew like Westerosi women -better even, thanks to their sorcery- if that’s their trade and there’s little difference in treatment besides the respect owed to rank or birth.
The small folk of Krypton that have come here as footsoldiers talk to Margry like it is said Father and King Robert once spoke to one another, and Margry acts likewise with the small folk of Westeros that day after day arrive to Winterfell, brought here by the Kryptonians in their horseless, metal carriages.
An unnatural bell rings its sweet chime -unheard of anywhere in the world a year ago- in a beautiful song out of many it knows; one Sansa has learned means someone of importance summons Margry to have words related to business of the upmost importance and Margry rouses in an instant, her eyes opening as if forced wide open. Margry, Sansa has learned, is a woman of endless energy and as such, she leaves the bed without staggering or any other sign of drowsiness.
Sansa watches in silence as her wife brings a pebble-sized object to her ear and speaks in Kryptonian, pacing around the room as she does. The moonlight that enters the room allows Sansa to see her wife’s features better, and it is in moments like this that she sees why the small folk has taken to think of her as The Maiden herself: Long curls of brown hair that flow like silk around a face so beautiful the Gods must have wept in joy when such a thing came to be; a kind smile that seems to promise an unending summer and the body of a lady in the summer of her years, blessed with everything any woman would want and need to capture any man she would desire.
‘And yet, she’s married to another woman’ Sansa thinks to herself as she sees Margry walk as silently as a mouse around their room for untold time until, suddenly, Margry chirps and tweets like a bird before cooing like a newborn -signals that tell Sansa this had been a pleasant conversation with someone dear to the Kryptonian- to then withdraw the black object from her ear.
“Deespest apologies, Tsantsa-“ Margry says as she places the item where it had been.
“Pleasant conversation, Milady?“ Sansa asks after a moment of hesitation, never knowing exactly what to say to the woman she’s married to.
“Quite so. My father-“ Margry says ‘father’ with a love that Sansa knows deep down to be the love a daughter has for a loving father, like the one she has for her Lord father Eddard. “He insists to have words with yours. I keep telling him the experience might shatter his mind, yet he insists, thus we must have a conversation about possible scenarios that, I must admit, entretains me“
Once Sansa would’ve taken that as an insult to her father, nowadays she knows it to be an earnest opinion that is based on the reactions of others.
“What does he wish to talk about with my Lord Father?“ Sansa asks, voice trembling at the thought of the kind of man (if he’s such a thing) responsible for the siring of such a daughter as Margry.
“He wishes to welcome him to the family-“ Margry answers as she releases some light from one of the oddly shaped cages that are in the room “In Krypton, weddings join houses and mix families. It is custom for fathers to start considering each other brothers and mothers to treat each other as sisters; my father wishes to start that process with yours“
“Would he project his soul here?” Sansa asked with dread, the memory of the time she’d seen the Kryptonians do such things almost making her faint like she had back then.
Margry simply smiled and answered.
“No, I refuse to even consider such a thing after what happened with you. I’d like to remind you, however: We don’t project our souls, we project our image.” Margry gesticulated, raising a finger as she said the second half of the explanation “Our devices allow us to project how we look across great distances, in a similar way to how this other device lets us project our voices“
“And he’d never dare be close to witchcraft like yours-“ Sansa said before hastingly adding “Milady“
“Quite so-“ Margry responded before covering Sansa gently with the bedsheet “Now, go to sleep. I must work, I’ll procure to be quiet about it”
“You have slept but a few hours, Milady-” Sansa spoke somewhat worried “It can’t be healthy to sleep so little as often as you do“
Sansa realized she'd just confessed in that instant to having noticed how Margry slept just a few hours into the night before waking to start working once more, and the confession made her blush for reasons she could not name.
“I…am honored-that you worry about my health“ Margry spoke slowly, clearly caught off guard “Rest assured I do not risk anything. My people sleep little“
“You can’t possibly sleep that little“ Sansa said bluntly, forgetting herself and before she could do anything else, Margry grabbed her hand in order to bring it to her chest, placing it where her heart was-the opossite side of where Sansa and every other Westerosi had it.
“I am this different-“ Margry reminded Sansa as the redhead started feeling the distinct, faint pulse of Margry's second heart “So, please my Lady Wife, believe me when I tell you I don’t sleep much“
Sansa nodded, her minute affirmation making Margry smile tenderly. The Kryptonian leaned in and placed a soft, tender kiss on her wife’s brow that the redhead barely felt before saying.
“Sleep well, Milady.“
Sansa fell back into her bed and for once, she actually did; dreaming of sorcery and her wife controlling it.