fic: a rose by any other name
Aug. 11th, 2020 07:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vvitchsdesireao3 || wattpad || ffnet
Title: a rose by any other name
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Rating: T
Wordcount: 895
Summary: There’s more color to roses that Sansa thought possible.
There’s more color to roses that Sansa thought possible - back in Winterfell, all roses were blue, a vibrant color deeper than the sky. In the Highgarden rose farm, Sansa could safely say that no, blue wasn’t the only option to these flowers. She passed by the rows upon rows of roses, all colors of the rainbow as far as the eye could see, with the ruins of the old Highgarden castle looming in the background.
Margaery must’ve thought it funny, because she chuckles, and the sound sent Sansa spinning right back to earth.
“Sorry.” She said, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Margaery picked her hand, delicately as possible, and kissed it softly. Sansa was sure that her lips are made of rose petals, or maybe Margaery is a rose that took to breathing. Sansa, who’s on Highgarden for a job, still wasn’t sure.
The Tyrells, Westeros’ biggest flower and grain exporters, needed a new brand design: theirs was still the same outdated logo from their last rebranding sixty years ago and it shows, so they put out an ad.
Sansa got hired - cheap labour, she knows, since she still doesn’t have a diploma yet and this is just padding to her curriculum, but it still will look nice. She was, after all, one of the best students in King's Landing’s college.
Mrs. Tyrell, the matriarch of the family, had sent her favored granddaughter to guide Sansa around, show the property, so she would have a good idea of what to promote. Perhaps an Instagram account, or maybe a fancy Tiktok for the farm… Those all would look nice, and she was sure that any of the siblings wouldn’t mind posing for a few photos and videos. Sansa really wanted to get Margaery on the camera, though. Maybe her against a sunset, nose buried in a bouquet of bright red roses, wearing a nice, slightly old-fashioned dress.
Sansa’s cheeks were on fire, and she moved on from the thought, looking around as Margaery’s lips leave her hand.
“Don’t be sorry, dear.” Margaery purred, with a smile. “You just looked pretty, that’s all.”
Sansa nodded, and went back to looking around, moving through the rows of roses. She could hear the soft crunch of Margaery’s steps behind her, and she wasn’t afraid of getting lost.
“So, what’s your grandmother looking for?” Sansa asked, trying to keep a semblance of professionalism. This was a big project for her career.
“Grandmother wants one of these sleek designs. You surely must’ve heard that the Martell’s had a redesign a few months back?”
Sansa had: they’d changed the gaudy orange, yellow, black and brown sun-and-spear combo for something more sleek, just a pale yellow sun with two of the rays being spears. Sansa loved their clothes, and could barely wait until she could afford to buy one of the recent ones - the ones she had were secondhand, bought at thrift shops in an attempt to look like she had any money.
Even though she was a Stark of Winterfell, her family never had much money, unlike the other noble families of old. Seven hells, even theTargaryens were still kicking around, filthy rich and living luxuriously, with a reality show of their own! And yet, the Starks lived - well. The less said about that, the better.
She’d managed a scholarship to Winterfell University, and from there, a transfer to King’s Landing - all paid, even if the dorm they’d put her wasn’t the best thing in the world. Still. Sansa had been managing, doing minor design jobs to get her by. Wasn’t much, but hey, she was still clothed and well-fed.
The Tyrell design job could make her get more jobs, she knew; just their name would be enough, after all - they had already paid for accommodation and food for her for two weeks, just so she could do the best job possible, so if they did that to her, anyone else would want to see what was the big deal behind her skills. Also, that was all possible due to wanting to do some micromanaging, but Sansa was used to that.
“Yes. Something like that?” Sansa asked, and Margaery nodded. “So, the current symbol is a rose on a green field, right?” A question she expected no answer to: Sansa had done her research.
“Yes. Grandmother is looking for something a little bit more… Simple, somehow.” Margaery shrugged. “It’s a rose in a green field. Not sure how it gets simpler than that.”
Sansa was sure: she already had drafted a few options. She turned to Margaery, smiling brightly.
“Don’t worry. By the end of tomorrow I promise I’ll have five - no, ten - options for your grandmother to review.”
Either the coloring of the roses was getting to Margaery, or she was blushing. Sansa dismissed the idea: there was no way someone like Margaery would like Sansa.
“That would be nice. Say, what do you think of discussing ideas over dinner?” Margaery proposed, and Sansa accepted. “Great, it’s a date!”
Sansa immediately set to panicking. A date? Perhaps it was some slang of the Reach. She hoped it was slang - Sansa absolutely did not have any decent enough outfit to be on a date with the Tyrell heiress.
However, by the sly way that Margaery smiled, Sansa was sure it wasn’t slang and it was, in fact, a date.
Title: a rose by any other name
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Rating: T
Wordcount: 895
Summary: There’s more color to roses that Sansa thought possible.
There’s more color to roses that Sansa thought possible - back in Winterfell, all roses were blue, a vibrant color deeper than the sky. In the Highgarden rose farm, Sansa could safely say that no, blue wasn’t the only option to these flowers. She passed by the rows upon rows of roses, all colors of the rainbow as far as the eye could see, with the ruins of the old Highgarden castle looming in the background.
Margaery must’ve thought it funny, because she chuckles, and the sound sent Sansa spinning right back to earth.
“Sorry.” She said, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Margaery picked her hand, delicately as possible, and kissed it softly. Sansa was sure that her lips are made of rose petals, or maybe Margaery is a rose that took to breathing. Sansa, who’s on Highgarden for a job, still wasn’t sure.
The Tyrells, Westeros’ biggest flower and grain exporters, needed a new brand design: theirs was still the same outdated logo from their last rebranding sixty years ago and it shows, so they put out an ad.
Sansa got hired - cheap labour, she knows, since she still doesn’t have a diploma yet and this is just padding to her curriculum, but it still will look nice. She was, after all, one of the best students in King's Landing’s college.
Mrs. Tyrell, the matriarch of the family, had sent her favored granddaughter to guide Sansa around, show the property, so she would have a good idea of what to promote. Perhaps an Instagram account, or maybe a fancy Tiktok for the farm… Those all would look nice, and she was sure that any of the siblings wouldn’t mind posing for a few photos and videos. Sansa really wanted to get Margaery on the camera, though. Maybe her against a sunset, nose buried in a bouquet of bright red roses, wearing a nice, slightly old-fashioned dress.
Sansa’s cheeks were on fire, and she moved on from the thought, looking around as Margaery’s lips leave her hand.
“Don’t be sorry, dear.” Margaery purred, with a smile. “You just looked pretty, that’s all.”
Sansa nodded, and went back to looking around, moving through the rows of roses. She could hear the soft crunch of Margaery’s steps behind her, and she wasn’t afraid of getting lost.
“So, what’s your grandmother looking for?” Sansa asked, trying to keep a semblance of professionalism. This was a big project for her career.
“Grandmother wants one of these sleek designs. You surely must’ve heard that the Martell’s had a redesign a few months back?”
Sansa had: they’d changed the gaudy orange, yellow, black and brown sun-and-spear combo for something more sleek, just a pale yellow sun with two of the rays being spears. Sansa loved their clothes, and could barely wait until she could afford to buy one of the recent ones - the ones she had were secondhand, bought at thrift shops in an attempt to look like she had any money.
Even though she was a Stark of Winterfell, her family never had much money, unlike the other noble families of old. Seven hells, even theTargaryens were still kicking around, filthy rich and living luxuriously, with a reality show of their own! And yet, the Starks lived - well. The less said about that, the better.
She’d managed a scholarship to Winterfell University, and from there, a transfer to King’s Landing - all paid, even if the dorm they’d put her wasn’t the best thing in the world. Still. Sansa had been managing, doing minor design jobs to get her by. Wasn’t much, but hey, she was still clothed and well-fed.
The Tyrell design job could make her get more jobs, she knew; just their name would be enough, after all - they had already paid for accommodation and food for her for two weeks, just so she could do the best job possible, so if they did that to her, anyone else would want to see what was the big deal behind her skills. Also, that was all possible due to wanting to do some micromanaging, but Sansa was used to that.
“Yes. Something like that?” Sansa asked, and Margaery nodded. “So, the current symbol is a rose on a green field, right?” A question she expected no answer to: Sansa had done her research.
“Yes. Grandmother is looking for something a little bit more… Simple, somehow.” Margaery shrugged. “It’s a rose in a green field. Not sure how it gets simpler than that.”
Sansa was sure: she already had drafted a few options. She turned to Margaery, smiling brightly.
“Don’t worry. By the end of tomorrow I promise I’ll have five - no, ten - options for your grandmother to review.”
Either the coloring of the roses was getting to Margaery, or she was blushing. Sansa dismissed the idea: there was no way someone like Margaery would like Sansa.
“That would be nice. Say, what do you think of discussing ideas over dinner?” Margaery proposed, and Sansa accepted. “Great, it’s a date!”
Sansa immediately set to panicking. A date? Perhaps it was some slang of the Reach. She hoped it was slang - Sansa absolutely did not have any decent enough outfit to be on a date with the Tyrell heiress.
However, by the sly way that Margaery smiled, Sansa was sure it wasn’t slang and it was, in fact, a date.
