1) I am so on board for the new "marriage of convenience" fic, awesome work as always, and 2) "huddling for warmth" pre-jonsa? I've alway had this image of ten sitting (snuggling) together in one of the tents, several days before the battle of the bastards, and desperately want someone to tell the story behind it.
OOOH let’s try to turn that image into words, can we?
(Also, nonny, funny story: I always thought the “share body heat” trope was absolute bogus and just fandom’s wishes, but turns out that it isn’t, and I AM SHOOK.)
[Sansa’s cold. Jon does his best to help. They never talk about it afterwards.]
Not so cold that she won’t survive, she tells herself. And it isn’t as if she has anyone to complain with- Sansa knows what they think of her, knows it well. Lannister, Stone, Bolton; it’s a miracle the Stark underneath hasn’t crumpled already, broken from the weight of her masks and griefs. The Northerners distrust her for her past, and the wildlings distrust her for what she represents, and in the end all Sansa has is herself, as it’s always been.
But, really, in the end, it all boils down to the fact that they just don’t like her.
So she keeps herself calm, unflappable, even in the fact of their utter contempt. Sansa’s suffered to get here. She won’t let herself falter now. She won’t complain, because she’s a Stark and a Northerner and she’ll show these thrice-damned people that if it kills her.
And yet- there’s a difference between facing off against lords’ disdain and being soaked to the bone in the only good clothes you have. The puddle she slipped and fell into was accidental; nobody had seen her fall, and she’d brushed herself off easily. The problem was in the tear of the furs which opened it up to the thinner layers below, and in the snowfall that came on later- they couldn’t find a proper place to camp for a few hours, and by that time her clothes almost froze solid.
Another violent shudder ripples through her, but she only clenches her jaw firmly and draws her hands closer to her torso.