Say I Wanna Know

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at [Link]

Rating: Not Rated

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/F
Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Relationship: Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Character: Sansa Stark, Margaery Tyrell, Arya Stark, Loras Tyrell
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe -
Gay People Actually Exist at Hogwarts, Fluff, Humor, Starks are
Werewolves, Very brief mention of abuse
Series: Part 2 of Wolf Like Me
Stats: Published: 2019-04-25 Words: 4709

Say I Wanna Know

by Matryyoshka

Summary

Arya wants to help Sansa, Margaery wants to date Sansa, and Sansa just wants some
godsdamn rest.

When Arya comes to Margaery for advice, Margaery decides that it's time to Break Down
Sansa's Walls. Will Sansa be receptive, or is she too closed off (and sleep deprived)?

Margaery is half studying, half planning how to go about getting a date with Sansa Stark when Arya
flops into the chair opposite her, upsetting her already haphazard pile of Transfiguration notes. Arya
makes no move to tidy them, just puts her feet up on the table and peevishly starts taking books out
of her own bag, finally settling on one and staring at the open pages like she wants to set the thing on
fire, clearly not reading it.

Elinor raises an eyebrow at Margaery and gathers up her things. Despite being in the same year as
Arya, her cousin has never gotten along with the Stark girl. The two have a achieved a peaceful
coexistence in their dormitory, which is about all that could be hoped for. Arya is loud and blunt and
rough around the edges, and Elinor is polished and pretty and well-mannered.

Margaery has always liked Arya, though. Something about the younger girl - how genuine she is,
unusual to find in the house of snakes. Or maybe her brashness and sense of humour. Her sheer lack
of fucks to give has always endeared her to Margaery, who keeps even more of an eye out for her
since her father's arrest. Margaery, and more importantly, her grandmother, don't give any credence
to the charges against Eddard Stark, but having a father in Azkaban awaiting trial hasn't made the
other students kind to the Starks.

Margaery calmly gathers up her notes and waits for Arya to get sick of pretending to read. It never
takes long for the younger girl to break.

Sure enough, it’s only a few minutes before Arya rolls her eyes and throws her book down onto the
green upholstrey beside her. She runs a hand through her unruly brown hair and sighs in
exasperation.

“Siblings. Right? Just the worst.”

Margaery suppresses a smile. For all Arya’s complaining, the Stark siblings are thick as thieves. All
very close, but all very different - which is where the constant bickering comes in. She has three
siblings herself, but doesn’t quite understand. She and Loras rarely fight, despite being best friends
and spending more time with each other than with their own housemates; and Garlan and Willas are
both so much older that there's always been a bit of distance, especially since she works for Willas.
But the Starks, plus their cousin Jon Snow and their parents' ward Theon Greyjoy, are constantly
wrapped up in each others’ business. Margaery thinks that's what's been getting them through the
constant whispers and gossip that have been dogging them all year, and the unkind comments of
Joffrey and his ilk.

“Sansa again?” Margaery asks, her heart beating a bit faster at the thought of the other girl. It’s
usually about Sansa with Arya. The two of them obviously love each other to bits, but they’re as
different as Arya and Elinor are, and they butt heads constantly. Over the past couple of years since
Margaery and Arya have gotten close, she’s gotten to know much more about Sansa than is probably
normal for a girl she’s only begun speaking to recently. How she doesn’t like tea but instead gets the
House Elves to make her coffee every morning. How she adores Muggle literature and keeps a stash
of it hidden away in her trunk. How if they have to stay at Hogwarts over the break, Sansa gets up
early and brings Arya breakfast so that they can eat alone together. Her obsession with lemon cakes.

“Yes. Well, no. Not in the usual way.” Arya furrows her brow. “I’m worried about her.”

Margaery’s stomach drops. She noticed that Sansa had been looking stressed, but she thought it had
just been the workload now that the second term was ramping up. Ever since she’d stolen Megga’s
seat next to Sansa in Ancient Runes, her own focus with the subject had waned as she found her
attention on Sansa instead. There is little room for small talk during the lectures, though, and
although Sansa’s shy smiles make Margaery’s day, the other girl hasn’t exactly opened up to her.
“What’s wrong? Is she alright?” Arya gives her a bit of a funny look, and Margaery knows she
sounds a bit too concerned about her friend’s sister. The moment passes, though, and Arya sighs.

"Sort of. She's just taking a lot on." Arya is silent for a bit, worrying her bottom lip, and Margaery
knows that whatever this is, it’s really bothering her. "With Dad awaiting trial, Mum is in King's
Landing trying to find evidence to try and shore up his defense. That leaves Robb and Sansa to do all
the things they'd normally do. Robb has to assume Dad's Wizengamot seat until - until he gets back."
If he gets back. "And as much as that's a lot, Robb has Jon to help him. Sansa's been running
Winterfell from here all year. And she's too stubborn to tell Robb and Jon that it's too much."

Margaery’s heart lurches, and she goes to sit beside Arya on the couch. Winterfell, the Stark family's
massive northern estate, is no joke to manage. "Surely there must be a steward who can help with all
that?"

"There is. But Sansa still has to approve everything. And there must always be a Stark in Winterfell,
so Rickon has been there alone all year. Sansa goes back and forth to him. She takes care of Bran
and I as well. I don't feel like Robb and Jon really appreciate how much work goes into taking care
of the family, and all the practical stuff about Winterfell."

Margaery rolls her eyes. Men never do.

"What can I do to help her?" Arya asks earnestly, her constantly askew tie flopping hanging forward
as she leans toward Margaery. "I'm not - I'm not very good at this kind of thing. Taking care of
people. Making sure details are taken care of. I feel like she'd spend more time fixing my mistakes
than she'd save."

"Hmmm," Margaery says, tapping her quill against her chin. "Well. I think we can both agree that
your sister is a classic control freak." Arya snorts. "Let's make a list of all the things you know she
does. Then we can look and see if there are any that you could take off her plate easily. Little things
that she won't have to think about."

Between the two of them, they make an exhaustive list. And this is just the stuff Arya knows about!
Everything from ordering Bran's medication to approving expenditures for a new road through the
town that adjoins Winterfell. Margaery's head spins at all the moving parts Sansa has to keep track
of.

She takes care of everyone, Margaery thinks as Arya crosses things off the list, but maybe I can take
care of her.

Sansa rubs her palms over her eyes as she takes her seat in Ancient Runes. She'd gone down to
Winterfell for the weekend to meet with Vayon Poole. There had been a group of mountain trolls
spotted south of the Wall, which had to be headed off before they reached any Muggle settlements;
there was a bumper crop of Mandrakes to be harvested; the Reeds had asked for help with an
Acromantula infestation... it seemed like there were a hundred things to do, and although Vayon was
extremely competent and, mercifully, not condescending as he and Sansa worked through things
together, the weekend had been exhausting. She hadn't even had time to go out for a run in wolf
form. Especially since Rickon wouldn't stop following me wherever I went.

Sansa immediately feels guilty. It's only natural for Rickon to be glued to her side. Seven months he's
been alone there, except when we were there for winter break. Maybe I can convince Robb to visit. If
he's not too busy bringing another fruitless appeal to the Wizengamot...

A steaming mug appears in front of her as Margaery Tyrell slides into the seat next to her. Sansa
stares at it dumbly.

“You weren’t at breakfast,” the other girl says cheerfully. “I brought you coffee.”

Sansa automatically takes a sip. It’s exactly the way she likes it - strong, with a little bit of cream and
sugar. “How did you know?”

Margaery shrugs. “Arya told me. You look tired. Are you alright?”

Her dark eyes are searching. Sansa wants to look away. The Slytherin girl makes her feel exposed,
like she knows more about Sansa than Sansa knows about herself. She knows that Margaery was
impressed by Sansa’s Quidditch victory - but other than that, she doesn’t understand the other girl’s
interest in her. Margaery is a Prefect, a Seeker, a model student, and popular among everyone. Why
she should suddenly be so friendly with shy, bookish Sansa is a mystery to her, and although Sansa
doesn’t think that Margaery has ill intentions, she’s still a little mistrustful. The social politics both of
school and of the pureblood families are something that Sansa has always found exhausting, but that
Margaery clearly revels in. Sansa loves the Ministry balls, and getting all dressed up for high-society
functions, but has little liking for the ugliness underneath it all. Robb told her once that he likes
Margaery - but that the wheels in her head never stop turning.
Sansa realizes that she’s been quiet too long. “I - it’s perfect. Thank you.” Margaery beams,
seemingly not bothered that Sansa didn’t answer her question. But Sansa has an unsettled feeling,
like Margaery isn’t done pursuing the issue.

Sansa’s prediction is true. Margaery finds her in the library the next day, buried in a three foot long
Potions essay. Transfiguration has always been her strong suit, given that the Starks are all
skinchangers. But she excels at her other courses as well - Potions is the only subject that brings out
her inner Arya. She just wants to kick her godsdamned cauldron over half the time. Not just because
it’s difficult, but because she just. Doesn’t. Feel like doing it. So Margaery comes upon her just as
she’s throwing her parchment down, rolling her eyes, and running an exasperated hand through her
hair.

Margaery’s dark eyes are shining with amusement. “I don’t think I've ever seen the resemblance
between you and your sister until now.”

Sansa rolls her eyes again, for a moment too annoyed at her Potions homework to be shy, reserved,
responsible Sansa who was abused by an asshole ex-boyfriend and whose father is in prison. “Arya
and I don’t have much in common, but we do share a seething hatred for Potions. Like. R’hllor can’t
even compare to my burning hatred for this godsdamned class.”

Margaery’s surprised peal of laughter rings through the library, and Sansa finds herself staring at the
column of her throat as she throws her head back. The Slytherin girl sits next to her and reaches for
her abandoned essay. “I happen to be very good at Potions - I don’t suppose we could trade? Potions
help for Transfiguration? Arya tells me that you’re amazing at it.”

All Sansa can do is nod. How fucking much is Arya telling Margaery about her, anyway? And why
does Margaery even care?

Margaery is explaining the general rules for interactions between animal and plant ingredients -
which, okay, actually is incredibly helpful - when Arya drops into a seat across the table from them.

"Potions? Sucks to be you."

Sansa rolls her eyes and Margaery snorts beside her. "Does every Stark hate potions?"
Arya smirks as she starts unloading her books. "Except for Bran. But I'm pretty sure the kind of stuff
he and Jojen Reed brew isn't on the curriculum."

Sansa grins before remembering that Margaery is there. But Margaery is laughing as well. "That's
must be why the Ravenclaws in his year are so chill all the time."

"He's just lucky that getting baked in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom isn't technically against the rules."

"Only because Professor Aemon probably partakes in his stash," Arya says, and the three of them
burst out laughing. If Arya finds it weird that Margaery and Sansa are studying together, she doesn't
say anything. With Margaery's help, Sansa actually comes close to finishing her essay before it's time
for her to Floo Rickon as promised.

I guess I'll just finish this up tomorrow morning before class. Sansa sighs and starts to gather up her
things. "Thanks so much for your help Margaery. I promised Rickon I'd Floo him today, though."

"Wait, I can do it!" Arya abruptly shuts The Standard Book of Spells and scrambles out of her seat.
"Just checking up on him?"

Sansa freezes halfway out of her seat. "Um, yeah. Mom won't be able to spend any time home at all
for a couple weeks. He's been having nightmares, and I was going to speak to the Maester about
maybe giving him something..."

"I've got it," Arya says, swiftly packing her books away. "I haven't talked to him in a few weeks."

Why this sudden urge to help? Arya's not exactly great with kids in crisis, to put it mildly...

Sansa's train of thought is broken by Margaery's hand on her arm. She looks down at the other girl,
who is gently pulling her back down into her chair.

"This essay is due tomorrow, right? Better for Arya to talk to your brother and for you to finish this
off, right?" Her eyes are imploring, and Sansa finds herself sitting back down. She glances at Arya,
who is giving Margaery an unreadable look.
"Alright. Don't forget to read with him, okay? He's really into Brandon the Builder right now. And
make sure he's been bathing regularly. And that he's been studying, not just running around with
Shaggydog - "

"Sansa." Arya interrupts, exasperated. "I got this, okay? I can handle talking to my own brother."

Sansa bristles for a moment but somehow the look on Arya's face stops her from clapping back the
way she normally would. She nods and takes a deep breath as Arya leaves. She relaxes into
Margaery's arm, which has somehow made its way around her shoulders.

"It's hard to let go of responsibility sometimes, hey?" Margaery says knowingly. She seems to realize
that her arm is around Sansa and casually slides it down the back of the chair and back to her side.
"Shall we finish this essay off?"

Sansa turns her attention back to the properties of reptile blood in healing serums and wonders how
the hell she just got double teamed so smoothly.

Later that week, it’s Sansa who finds Margaery. She seldom goes to the Quidditch pitch to fly, but
there’s usually no one there this early in the morning. Not so today. When she arrives Margaery is
already there, chestnut hair trailing behind her as she lazily loops and dives. Sansa takes the
opportunity to observe the other girl. Who is Margaery Tyrell when there is no one around to play
her games with?

Margaery’s face is serene, very relaxed and open. As Sansa watches, she hovers perhaps twenty feet
off the ground and lays back on her broom, watching the clouds. It makes Sansa smile. Who knew?
Sometimes Margaery does turn her brain off.

Sansa is shy to disturb Margaery’s reflection, but she really needs a fly. With the warm weather,
more students than ever are sneaking around the grounds at night, making the professors more
vigilant and making it incredibly difficult to get into the Forbidden Forest undetected. The Starks
haven’t been able to get out in over a week, which is driving Sansa up the wall. And if she’s honest
with herself, as confusing as Margaery is, she’s a welcome distraction from Sansa’s other problems.
So Sansa mounts her own broom and flies up to where Margaery is laying. The other girl sits up,
surprised, but she has a good grip on her broom. Her face lights up when she sees Sansa, and
Sansa’s stomach does a flip. Gods, what’s that all about?
“Sansa! I didn’t expect anyone to be up around this time.”

“I um, don’t normally fly at the pitch, but I knew there weren't any teams practising today. I can
leave if you like…”

“No! Please don’t. I’ve been waiting for a chance to fly with you since I saw you play.” Margaery
flies a bit closer to her. “I didn’t want to bother you though, since I know you're so busy lately”

Sansa blushes and smiles. Maybe I should have played Hogwarts Quidditch sooner. She mentally
shakes her head. I’m going insane. It's the stress. “It’s alright. I probably fly more when I'm busy, to
be honest. It’s a good stress reliever.”

Margaery hums her agreement, still smiling her odd little smile and staring through Sansa. She’s
silent for a minute and then seems to snap out of it. “Where do you normally fly, if not on the pitch?”

Uh oh, thinks Sansa. Margaery is a prefect. But somehow Sansa doesn’t think that she’ll mind.
“Hmm, I’m not sure that I can tell you. You’re a prefect, after all,” Sansa teases.

Margaery looks delighted, the way she looked in the library when Sansa bitched about potions.
“Sansa Stark, breaking rules? Tell me tell me tell me! I’m a horrible prefect anyway.”

Sansa laughs. “Well, alright. Sometimes I fly around the castle, in between the battlements and stuff.
It’s fun - there are so many rooms that you would never find from the inside, but you can see them
from the outside and guess what they might be. I also fly over the lake, and sometimes over the
forest.”

Margaery’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline. “Over the forest? That's - I mean, you’re not scared? If
something happened and you were lost in there?”

Sansa can’t help but smirk. “I’m sure I’d be fine. I’m from the North. The Forbidden Forest isn’t half
as scary as some of the places my siblings and I spend time in during the summers.” And I can turn
into a creature more terrifying than most of the ones that lurk in the forest. She leaves that part out.
Even so, the way Margaery is looking at her makes her shift uncomfortably. The other girl is staring
at her like she’s drinking her in, hanging on her every word. Why does Margaery Tyrell want my
secrets?
“Show me around the castle,” Margaery says, breaking the silence. “The outside of the castle, I
mean. Where you like to fly.”

Happy to avoid conversation, Sansa takes off towards the castle. Following the familiar route
instantly calms her. She leads Margaery around narrow towers, in between old crennelations, along
crumbling and half-forgotten galleries. It’s surprisingly enjoyable to fly with Margaery, to hear her
gasps of amazement when they happen upon hidden terraces and courtyards, her excited laughter as
they dive along the side of a spire. When they finally set down on the roof of an abandoned tower,
both girls are flushed and grinning.

“That was incredible! I can’t believe I’ve never done that before!” Margaery tilts her head to the sky
and laughs. Her hair is windblown and her cheeks are red, and Sansa can’t stop looking at her.

“Thank you,” she says finally, giving Margaery a soft smile. “I really needed that.”

Margaery smiles back at her, full and genuine, and Sansa finds herself continuing. “I’m a little bit
stressed right now - I've taken on a lot of responsibilities with Mum and Dad... otherwise occupied."

“Arya told me a little bit about it,” offers Margaery. “How you're doing most of the stewardship at
Winterfell and taking care of your family."

Sansa looks at Margaery a bit sharply, surprised but not too surprised after their impromptu study
date. “You talk to Arya a lot.”

“I don’t mean to pry,” says Margaery quickly, turning to face Sansa more fully.

“No, no,” Sansa says distractedly. Arya, of course. She’s more perceptive than I give her credit for.
“You just surprised me. I’m glad that Arya has someone she can talk to. She and I get along much
better than we did when we were younger, but we still don’t always see eye to eye. I’m happy that
she has other people she can trust.”

“I care about her a lot.” Margaery sounds sincere, and Sansa feels bad about being suspicious of her
motives before. This is Loras’s sister, after all. Sansa smiles back.

“Arya is… probably the wildest out of all of us. Besides maybe Rickon. And I know that for the
most part she doesn’t need taking care of. But there’s still a part of me that wants to protect her. I
don't want her to have to take on the kinds of stuff that I have to. Then again, maybe I'm just
focusing on the wrong things. Nothing really matters as long as Dad is in Azkaban..." That's what
Robb says anyway. That everything else can wait, that we have to fight this fight first.

Margaery seems to sense that she’s repeating Robb’s words as well. “That’s not true,” she insists,
and Sansa is surprised by the ferocity in her voice. “You’re looking after your younger siblings.
You're making sure that when your parents come back to Winterfell, they don't come back to a house
on fire. You're keeping the North's faith in your family. But - maybe you don't have to do that single-
handedly.”

Sansa picks at twigs on her broom, looking down. “You’re making me sound like a hero. But I'm
selfish, honestly. Keeping myself busy with school, and my siblings, and Winterfell... it keeps my
mind off of my Dad being Azkaban. It's easier to keep going than to stop, because if I stop I'll have
to actually feel the full weight of... everything."

Margaery reaches out and gently lifts Sansa’s chin so that the other girl is looking at her again.
“You're going to have to feel it eventually, darling. And you're just going to burn yourself out by
carrying everything alone. Have you spoken to Robb and Jon about helping out more with things at
Winterfell?"

“No. They're full steam ahead at the Wizengamot all the time, bringing up Dad's case again and
again before Mom has more evidence to actually change anything. I think they're afraid that if they
let it drop, everyone will just let him rot in Azkaban. I'm afraid... I'm afraid that if I speak up about
keeping up with things in Winterfell, they'll just think I'm selfish, that I'm giving up on Dad."

Margaery’s tone is firm. “Sansa. No one in their right mind could ever question your dedication to
your family. It's clear as day how much you love them. You spend two days every month in the
Hospital Wing with Bran while he gets his treatment. You keep Arya on the straight and narrow. Jon
has brought you every girl problem he's ever had. You hexed Ramsay Bolton so hard bats were
flying out of his nose for weeks after he talked shit about Theon. Everyone leans on you, including
Robb. Leading a House isn't just about rushing into battle."

Sansa stares at Margaery, dumbstruck. Where the hell did all that come from? Does Arya just talk
about me constantly, that she knows all this stuff? And it’s not a big deal, it’s not anything that
anyone else wouldn’t do for their family…

Margaery blushes a little under Sansa’s stare, but nonetheless holds her gaze. “You’re not quite as
invisible as you think you are, Sansa Stark.”
Margaery doesn’t see much of Sansa for the next week. Logically, she knows it must be because
both of them are busy with homework, but there’s a part of her that’s afraid Sansa is avoiding her.
Next time maybe you shouldn’t reveal how much of a fucking stalker you are, Tyrell.

She’s doing her last night of late night rounds when she finally runs into the other girl. She and Loras
usually like to stick together, but tonight they’ve split up since he wants to catch a few minutes in a
broom cupboard with Renly. How in the seven hells did the two of us make prefect? She’s rounding
the corner on the fourth floor next to the portrait of Baelor the Blessed when someone taps her on the
shoulder.

Her wand is out in a heartbeat. “Loras, for the last godsdamned time, don’t sneak up on me!” She
whirls around to instead find a very amused looking Sansa.

Godsdamn it. Smooth, Tyrell.

“If I see Loras, I’ll make sure that I tell him,” the other girl smirks. Where the hell does this sassy,
smirky, sexy Sansa Stark come from? And how can I get it all the time? Sansa seems incredibly
relaxed, weirdly free of all her usual barriers and inhibitions.

Margaery is quick to pounce on it. “I think you have bigger problems right now, Ms. Stark - like
being caught by a prefect after curfew.” Why the hell were you out after curfew?

“Good thing I got caught by the self-professed ‘worst prefect ever,’” Sansa replies easily, twirling a
strand of that unfairly gorgeous hair. Is Sansa flirting with me? Gods. Sansa Stark is flirting with me.
I may collapse.

She smiles instead. “Well. I suppose if I’m going to keep my title, you could accompany me on my
rounds? A very against-the-rules thing to do? Although if anyone sees us, I’m escorting a rule
breaker back to her dormitory.”

Sansa laughs, and it’s the first time Margaery has seen the phenomenon up close. Her heart is
somewhere in her stomach when they start walking together.

“So why are you out so late?” Margaery ventures after a few minutes of companionable silence.
Sansa tilts her head and gives her an assessing look.
“The same reason I’m usually out late. Sometime, I may actually tell you.” She says this last part in
all seriousness, and Margaery gets the sense that Sansa has surprised herself with this information.
Margaery just feels the incredible desire to unravel yet another of Sansa’s secrets. How many does
the Stark girl have?

They keep walking. Margaery is struck again by how completely at ease Sansa seems. She has the
ghost of a smile on her lips as she walks. Margaery has to walk a little faster to keep up with her long
legs. She is wearing tight denim muggle shorts and one of Robb's baggy old Quidditch polos. Arya
has one too, and she remembers thinking it was funny when the Slytherin Stark wore it. Seeing
Sansa wearing it is making her react completely differently. And those shorts. What the Maiden-
fucking hell, Stark? Those should be illegal on those legs.

“Margaery?” Sansa is looking at her strangely. Margaery snaps back to reality. It clearly isn’t the first
time that Sansa has said her name.

“Sorry, I was thinking.” About you. About your legs. About what you might look like without that
shirt on… “What did you say?”

“I just wanted to say thank you. I'm leaning on my family more. Robb and Jon are still focusing on
the Wizengamot, but they're helping out at home more than they were. Arya has stepped up so much,
and I'm actually... learning to let her help. I don't think I would have changed the way I was doing
things without your help and advice."

“You would have figured it out eventually,” Margaery insists, smiling.

“Or more likely I would have told Robb how I felt by screaming it in his face when we were both at
the end of our ropes,” Sansa smirks, rolling her eyes. She grins down at Margaery and Margaery
feels like she’s going to drown in those Tully blue eyes. Either that or throw up on Sansa’s shoes.
One or the other.

“Anyway. I was thinking. Next time we talk, I can help you with one of your problems. Or, we can
talk and make it not about problems whatsoever. You know. That might be cool.” The shy, nervous
Sansa is coming out a bit, and Margaery just about dies when she realizes what Sansa is getting at.
Sansa Stark wants to hang out with me. Maiden-fucking finally.

Margaery grins back. “I’d like that. Let’s hang out.”

Whether she also wants to make out with me remains to be seen. Baby steps, Tyrell.

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