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Sansa didn’t say, Mum, you’re embarrassing me, but it was a close run thing.
At first it had only been Robb and Sansa who were supposed to go to the Winterfell music festival; then Bran and Arya had lobbied to be allowed to accompany their older siblings. After all, the festival hadn’t been just for punks and hippies for years now; plenty of younger kids went, and even some people as old as their parents.
Ned and Cat Stark had first met twenty years ago at the same festival; before Sansa knew it, it had turned into a family affair, all the way down to little Rickon.
"Don’t look so worried," said Cat, reaching across the breakfast bar to tuck a lock of Sansa’s red hair behind her ear. "I remember being your age; you and Robb can pretend you don’t know us."
"Your Aunt Lyanna will be performing," Ned added over the top of the newspaper. "We can all watch it together."
Jon - who had been staying with them while his mum was on tour, and who handled being the son of a cult rock idol with equal parts pride, stoicism, and embarrassment - blushed and applied himself to his cereal.
*
The first morning of the festival dawned bright and chilly. Sansa wore two pairs of tights under her shorts. Robb turned the sheepskin collar of his leather jacket up against the stiff breeze, and pretended he didn’t notice all the girls staring at him.
Their parents settled themselves and little Rickon on a blanket where it wouldn’t be too loud, but where they could still hear the music coming from the main stage. The same ageing rockers that had probably been playing when Catelyn Tully had come to the festival as the date of Brandon Stark, and first met his younger brother, would be playing there.
Arya and Bran were allowed to run - wheel, in Bran’s case - wild, so long as they didn’t stray too far. Robb and Sansa kissed their mother on the cheek, promised her they’d be sensible, and went off to meet up with their own friends and see the bands they wanted to see.
Jon had left earlier, mumbling something about hanging out backstage with his mum.
They bumped into the Greyjoy siblings, Theon and Asha, and Robb went off with them to see The Golden Company's set on the From Across the Narrow Sea stage.
"Do you want to come with us?" Robb asked.
Just then Sansa caught a glimpse of brown curls and a quirk of a smile through the crowd. “I’ll catch up with you later,” she told her brother, who departed with a Greyjoy on each arm.
Margaery Tyrell emerged from the crowd and spun Sansa into a kiss. Sansa kissed back; there was something about Margaery’s mouth that just cried out to be kissed. Soon enough, though, she pulled away.
There was a tiny line between Margaery’s eyebrows that Sansa wanted to smooth away with her thumb. “Something wrong, sweet girl?” she asked.
"No—" Margaery was really cool; she held Sansa’s hand and kissed her public, but she didn’t pressure her to tell her parents that they were going out or anything. "It’s just that my mum and dad are here somewhere."
Margaery nodded kindly, fell in beside Sansa and linked their arms together. “I get it. My grandmother is here too.”
"Your grandmother? At a music festival?”
"Mostly to annoy my dad, I think. She’s set up in a deckchair with a parasol; she’s got Loras and Renly dancing attendance on her like a queen."
*
Sansa and Margaery didn’t really share much of a taste in music. In Arya’s admiring words: underneath those daisy crowns, Margaery Tyrell is kind of a punk, huh? That time that Margaery had shaved one side of her head was as much the reason for Sansa not introducing her girlfriend to her parents as the fact that she was a girlfriend. Whereas Sansa preferred what Robb teasingly called: music for sad girls who are sad.
They saw Arianne and the Sand Snakes, and then stumbled giggling into the face-painting tent. At Sansa’s insistence Margaery had a rose painted on her cheek, the stem trailing down her neck. Sansa had a wolf painted on her cheek, which prompted Margaery to call her Wolf Girl for the rest of the day.
"We should get tattoos," Margaery said, twining her fingers through Sansa’s.
Sansa laughed the delighted, reckless laugh that Margaery inspired in her. “Maybe not on our faces, though.”
The sun came out in the afternoon, and they spent most of it snogging behind a row of tents, with the sounds of the festival rumbling in the distance.
"I wish you were staying here tonight," said Margaery, planting kisses all along Sansa’s jaw. "You and me under the stars, all night long…"
"I—" Sansa began, before being cut off by another kiss.
She and Margaery hadn’t really done much more than kissing. Well... Sansa pushed up Margaery's top and let her fingers skim across her belly. Margaery laughed into Sansa's mouth; she was surprisingly ticklish. But any more enthusiastic groping was forestalled by Sansa's hyper-awareness that anybody could happen by; including members of her own family. Still, Sansa might almost wish for the chance to camp in a muddy field so long as she could do it with Margaery.
Sansa’s phone beeped; her reminder that it was time to meet up with the rest of her family.
She pulled away from Margaery. “Um,” she said, ducking her head. “Would you like to come and see my aunt’s band play?”
*
Robert’s Rebellion - the eponymous Robert hadn’t been in the band since before they'd hit the moderately big time; they’d just kept the name - were playing in the Cult Classic tent.
Sansa’s dad was there with Arya and Bran. Her mum had taken an exhausted Rickon home; even back in those distant days when she was going out with Brandon Stark, Cat had considered Lyanna’s music nothing but noise.
Robb was there. And Jon with his girlfriend; for all his occasional embarrassment about his infamous mother, Jon had ended up with a rock-chick of his own. Ygritte was the bassist with The Wildlings, they would play a set in the Unsullied and Unsigned tent tomorrow.
Jon always looked slightly stunned to find Ygritte on his arm. Sansa wasn’t out yet, not really - although much more public snogging and it wouldn't matter - and of all her siblings she was the least close to her cousin. But she thought that some day she and Jon might bond over accidentally having found themselves going out with girls so cool and pretty that you got dizzy just from standing near them.
The lights came up, and Lyanna Snow (her stage name) strode up to the microphone. She looked a lot like Jon if he were fifteen years older, and a woman, and wearing a ridiculous amount of eyeliner.
Jon, for all his protests, cheered the first and the loudest. Robb had hoisted Bran up onto his shoulders so he could see.
When Lyanna launched into the first verse of Tower of Joy Margaery took Sansa’s hand and thrust their arms into the air.
Sansa cheered until her throat hurt; for Lyanna and Robert’s Rebellion, for her family and this weekend together, for Margaery Tyrell and her ridiculously kissable lips.