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"Are you all right?" Jeyne asks as Sansa pricks her finger a third time with her needle, blood oozing from her thumb this time.
No, she thinks, as she quickly wipes the blood away before the deep red ruins her stitches. She’s not. She couldn't even get a good night's sleep. She twisted again and again between the sheets, searching for a dream that didn't want to come. Her mind kept going back to Ser Waymar, and how this would be the last day she could see him. It was horrible, the most horrible thing that had ever happened to her, to lose the man she had fallen so madly in love with just like that, but she didn't feel like telling Jeyne that. She was her dearest friend, she shared everything with her, and she knew she would understand her sadness, but, at the same time, she knew that her love for him was foolish, that there was no chance, and the lady inside her was too ashamed to say anything.
"Yes," she replies, knowing it's not true. "I'm just tired. I had a hard time falling asleep last night."
"You look pale. And your eyes are red. Did you cry? I could tell Septa Mordane you're sick, if you like."
Sansa loves Jeyne dearly, but at the moment it annoys her that she knows her so well. And because she knows her friend so well too, she knows she won't rest until she knows what's wrong with her. She gives a resigned sigh, knowing that if she doesn't tell her now, she'll have to tell her later, and what difference would that make?
"No, it's not necessary," she says, eyes glued to the stitches where she hasn't made any progress because she's thinking about Ser Waymar. "It's just that I'm sad."
"Why are you sad?", Sansa hears, and this time it's not Jeyne, it's Arya, who seems to have crept up on her without a sound, and now has her bench set beside her once more. Septa Mordane had left her sitting away from them as punishment for getting distracted and ruining one of her stitches, but Arya has never been good at following rules, and since their Septa had to leave for a moment for what she said was an emergency, it seems somewhat obvious that Arya would return to her usual place.
Sansa sighs, frustrated. Now that she has Jeyne and Arya questioning her, she knows she won't be able to escape. For two such different girls, they sure are alike in that, Sansa thinks, and Jeyne seems to confirm it when, instead of being irritated at having Arya around, she approaches her to form a united front. Now she looks into Jeyne's dark eyes and Arya's grey ones, all expectant of what she has to say.
She sighs once more, and, looking away from them, says, "It's just... today is the last day the Vale party will be here before they leave for the Wall, and I... Ser Waymar..." the colour rises to her cheeks before she can finish, but she doesn't need to.
"Are you in love with Ser Waymar?", says Jeyne, emotion painting her features. Sansa has no choice but to nod slightly.
"I knew it!", she says, clapping her hands and dropping her own stitches. Then she shuts down and adds, "but why hadn't you told me?".
"I was embarrassed," Sansa says, knowing her cheeks are still pink. "I mean, I knew you wouldn't judge me or anything but... I'm just a child. He's already a man of five and ten, soon to join the Night's Watch... it's so ridiculous, it doesn't make sense." She'd thought about it so many times. Perhaps if she were a little older, perhaps if he had met her at a different time in her life, he might have fallen madly in love with her, as she has with him. Perhaps she would have made him give up the idea of taking the black. Perhaps they could have asked her Lord Father to let them marry, and if he refused perhaps, they could even have run away, made a song of forbidden love for themselves, about them. But she is no older, and while he greets her with respect and gallantry whenever he sees her, she can see in his eyes that all he sees in her is a child.
"Love is never ridiculous," her friend says, as earnestly as her face will allow, and she smoothes her sewing against her lap after picking it up off the floor. Sansa gives her a sad smile, and glances at Arya, who has said nothing. Of course, she is frowning, unwilling to say a word, apparently. Sansa sighs once more. She wishes she could share this sort of things with Arya as she does with Jeyne, but her sister is not like that.
She tries to return to her sewing once she has released the secrets of her heart, in no mood to say more. Jeyne, however, has other ideas. "You shouldn't leave things as they are, Sansa."
That catches her attention. She lifts her gaze to Jeyne. "And what am I supposed to do?" she hopes she hasn't come off too harshly, but she really doesn't know what she could do. She's asked herself this so many times before. Jeyne doesn't take it personally. "I mean, it's not much, but at least you could have a good farewell?"
"What do you mean?" says Sansa, unsure.
"Today's the farewell feast! And feasts always have music - perhaps you could dance with him!"
Sansa frowns, but after a while she relaxes and smiles. It's not what she'd like, but she can never have the love story she wants with Ser Waymar, anyway. And the thought of dancing with him, of being in his arms, maybe even to the sound of a romantic song, makes her heart race and her stomach churn in the strangest of sensations. It's not what she wishes for, but it might be enough.
"I will," she says to Jeyne, feeling her face heat up once more, with a smile she can't help. Her friend smiles warmly back at her, though Arya still looks like she doesn't understand why she would want to do such a thing.
Then Jeyne looks down and says, somewhat embarrassed, "Though I don't know why you like Ser Waymar... I mean, he has some charm but... I don't know." Sansa sees her friend's cheeks redden, but she can't say anything. She's always known that her and Jeyne's tastes are different, and it doesn't surprise her. She just smiles at her.
"I don't know, he's just so... chivalrous. And so, elegant? He's like a dark knight, and his eyes are so pretty and deep, and..."
"Robb has pretty eyes, too", Jeyne says, and seems to regret it immediately. It surprises Sansa, but not as much as it might. She's seen the looks Jeyne sends her brother. It's Arya who reacts.
"What, you like Robb?" she says, the disgust clear on her face.
"I don't see why you should care," Jeyne says defensively, her cheeks pink with embarrassment.
"He's just a little boy. I don't see why you would like him," Arya says, frowning.
Surprisingly, Sansa agrees with her sister. Robb is just a boy. She thinks of her brother and thinks of Ser Waymar and the comparison is almost unworthy. However, she just laughs at the notion of Jeyne and Arya fighting again, and trying to change the direction of the conversation, she asks Arya. "Sister, what do you think of Ser Waymar?"
"He doesn't look so bad," she says, the words coming out almost against her will, and it makes Sansa smile. "But he looks like Father!"
At that, Sansa can't hide a giggle. She loves Father, but she knows his looks are plain. How could he look like handsome Ser Waymar?
Arya seems offended by her laughter, but just as she is about to say something, Septa Mordane returns to the room. She is quick to scold Arya for not fulfilling her punishment, and soon the three find themselves back at the start, each silent and preoccupied at their stitches. Now, though, Sansa can't stop thinking about tonight, and how good it would feel to dance with Ser Waymar, even just once. She can't suppress her smile at the thought.
She could have asked Father to help her practice her dances, but she knew he already had too much on his plate, with the farewell to the party and all. She could have asked Robb, but he was busy playing the role of Lord of Winterfell that he would one day have to assume, helping Father. Besides, if it weren't for that, she knows Robb would roll his eyes at her request and wouldn't want to help her anyway. She could go to Theon, but he's older, in an intimidating way, and she's never talked to him much anyway.
So, for that reason, it's Jon Snow she'll turn to. She had helped him once, she remembers, and it is to her that he had turned with a broken heart when the girl from the kitchens had gone with her mother to seek another life in the South. He may not like what she wants to ask him, but perhaps he will consider those things before he gives her an answer.
Not that she needs to, not really. She knows she dances well; she's always been told so. Still, she's afraid that nerves will cause her to trip over Ser Waymar's legs and make a fool of herself. Practising beforehand won't stop that from happening, but it could certainly lessen the chances.
Sansa takes advantage of the castle's restlessness and how Mother's busy organising the feast. She knows her mother doesn't like to see her with her half-brother, and though she's never said much about it, she doesn't want to upset her, so if she can keep her from knowing she's been looking for him, she will.
At this time of day, Jon is probably in his own chambers, so that's where she goes. Once she arrives, she knocks on the door, and within five heartbeats, he's standing in front of her. He has a look of confusion on his face as he asks, "Sansa, what are you doing here, did something happen?"
"I need your help," she says. "May I come in?"
Jon hesitates for a moment, but then steps aside and opens the door for her. Sansa doesn't hesitate to enter and stands in the middle of the room.
"What is it?", Jon asks again.
"Could you help me practice my dancing?", she says, not giving the matter a second thought.
"What?", Jon replies, his brow furrowed in confusion. "How could I help you practice? You've always danced well, your dances are always perfect. You don't need my help for that."
Her half-brother's words make her blush. But this is no time to be distracted by compliments. She's on a mission.
"Maybe," she says. "But I haven't danced in a while. And I need to practice so I can get it right tonight."
Jon frowns again, as he usually does. "But why me? I... I don't dance," he says, obviously embarrassed.
"Well, you're the only one I can turn to. Father is busy, as is Robb. And you're my half-brother. I know you can dance, I've seen when they've taught you and Robb."
"Well, that may be," he says, doubtful, "but that doesn't mean I like it or that I do it well. I could do you more harm than good!" he adds, in a desperate tone.
"That's not true. I've seen you. You dance well enough. And no one will see you dancing but me. I won't tell anyone", she says, and when she notices that Jon is still hesitating, she puts on her best puppy face and says, "Please?"
Jon's frown doesn't relax, but after a few heartbeats he nods quickly. "All right," he says, defeated. "But only if you tell me why it's so important to practice for tonight," it's Sansa's time to frown. Jon notices it. "I mean, if you want to tell me. I'll still help you... I just... Maybe it would help me to know why you want to practice?"
Sansa lightens in the face of Jon's obvious nervousness, but that doesn't make the embarrassment go away. She looks away from him to answer. "Don't worry... it's just that... the party from the Vale is leaving, and I thought perhaps... I could dance... with Ser Waymar," her cheeks flush red, again, but she can't help it.
"What?" asks Jon, "Do you like him?".
"Perhaps...," Sansa replies.
"But he's so arrogant!", says Jon, and Sansa knows the words have escaped him, for he looks immediately embarrassed. Sansa would sympathise if it wasn't Ser Waymar he was talking about.
"He is not arrogant! He's chivalrous, and gallant, and so handsome..." she says, remembering him once more.
"Well, maybe you're right," Jon says, in an obvious attempt to appease her. "But he's so much older than you!"
"I know," Sansa says, chagrined, "but I just want to dance with him. It's the only thing I could do, and I want it to be perfect. That's why I need you to help me!"
Jon sighs deeply and nods again. "All right, all right. Tell me what you want me to do."
"Dance with me," she says, and reaches out to put her arms around his right shoulder and into his left hand. Jon stiffens and Sansa has to urge him to do the same, to put his hand on her hand and the other on her waist.
"We need music," Sansa says, "You don't mind if I sing?"
"No," Jon says, still stiff, "your voice is pretty."
"Thank you," she says, smiling at him. And then, she begins to sing. First, she sings about Aemon the Dragon Knight and his love for his brother's queen. It is a romantic song, and that is why she chooses it. She hopes it will be a song like this that he dances to with Ser Waymar, if she dances with him at all. Jon feels a little heavy at first, and it is she who has to lead him, but he seems to relax as the song progresses and eventually unwinds with ease, turns her in his arms when the song warrants it, tilts her to one side when she sings of Aemon crowning Naerys Queen of Love and Beauty. His touch is gentle, and he is strong enough to lift her into his arms when necessary. At the end of the song, he bows to her, and she does the same for him.
"Thank you, Jon," she says, delighted. She had feared at first that it wouldn't work, that his nerves would work against them, but, contrary to his words, Jon is a good dancer. "This did me a lot of good," she adds, with a smile.
"That's good," he says, and his mood also seems to have lightened a little after the dance, because he smiles at her, "I hope it was enough for you to dance with your Ser Waymar as you want."
"Of course not," Sansa says, and watches Jon's brow furrow once more and his eyes grow wide. "That's just one of the songs that could come out tonight. We're missing so many, and so many kinds of dancing. What about The Bear and the Maiden Fair, or Jonquil, or The Maid of Winter, or Seasons of my Love or..."
"Do you want me to practice all those songs with you?" asks Jon, in disbelief.
"Of course, I do," she says, and when Jon gives her an exhausted but resigned look, she can only laugh.
By the end they are both exhausted, her feet ache from the effort and her skin glistens with sweat, just like Jon's. She doesn't care. Jon is a better dancer than she ever thought before, and she knows that practising with him will help her a lot with Ser Waymar. And, if she can be honest with herself, she liked dancing with Jon. After her initial apprehension, Jon even showed a sense of humour. She can't deny that she enjoyed spending time with her half-brother, though she suspects, with a hint of melancholy, that this is one of the few times she will be able to do so.
Once they finish the last song, Sansa gives him a quick hug that he doesn't have time to respond to and murmurs a thank you before hurrying off to her own chambers and getting ready for tonight. She must look perfect. It is the last time she will see Ser Waymar, after all.
Sansa is losing hope, when Ser Waymar arrives where she sits with her parents, all gallant and handsome, dressed in bronze and black, the colours of his house, to ask if the little Lady of Winterfell might do him the honour of dancing with him. The colour rises to her cheeks faster than a heartbeat, and she looks at Mother with pleading in her eyes. Her mother, who knows her so well, smiles knowingly at her and whispers something unintelligible to her father, who lets out a small laugh and allows Ser Waymar to take her to the dance floor.
Sansa feels as if her heart might burst as she escorts Ser Waymar. He is so tall, she doesn't know if she will be able to follow his steps well, but that is why she practiced with Jon. Jon is not as tall as Ser Waymar, not yet, but he is taller than she is and that should do the trick. As they get into position, it's Jonquil's song that starts to play, and Sansa thinks she might die, because that, that's a love song, one she's practiced more than once with Jon, just in case. And now she will share it with Ser Waymar, who is so handsome, and so dashing, and so chivalrous. The heights are not ideal, and she struggles to get her hands into position, but it doesn't matter, because they are dancing, and Ser Waymar is touching her and leading her around the dance floor so gracefully, and her heart bubbles in her chest, and perhaps she could swoon just looking into his deep, grey eyes, and the way he smiles at her (only tenderly because she is a little girl, but it doesn't matter because he is smiling only at her).
She doesn't even notice when the song ends, she couldn't even register the words, and it grieves her to think that, after this, there is no chance for her and Ser Waymar. But she holds her head high, smiles at him, and bows to him, as he bows to her.
"It was a pleasure dancing with you, my lady," he says, smiling at her, his teeth in full view, white and perfect.
"As it was with you, Ser," she replies, her face hot with emotion and embarrassment. And she adds because she can't help it. "I wish you well on your way to the Wall, Ser, and in the life you will form there. I'm sure they'll be singing songs about you." She doesn't know where she got the courage to tell him that, but she had to. It's the truth, and it's the last chance she has to tell him. Ser Waymar smiles at her, so genuinely, so beautifully, that she feels she might faint again.
"Thank you, my lady," he says warmly. "Your words are very kind. Now perhaps you should return to your lady Mother, who seems to be missing you," he says, turning his gaze to her mother, who does not seem mostly concerned. Sansa smiles at her anyway, to make her see how happy she is. Ser Waymar takes her hand and places a gentle kiss on the back of it. If Sansa thought she might die before, it's definite now. Tonight, she will die.
Ser Waymar takes her hand and leads her to her parents, then compliments her before them for her grace and courtesy. She can barely hear him, however, enraptured by his beauty.
Then he leaves, and she comes back to reality. She looks over to where Jeyne is and her friend smiles broadly at her, missing teeth and all. Sansa hugs her mother and asks permission to accompany Jeyne. Her mother laughs, and lets her go.
She begins to chat with Jeyne animatedly, about how magical her shared dance with Ser Waymar was, how she's sure she'll never feel that way again, when the sight of Jon Snow in the corner of the hall distracts her. He looks crestfallen, and Sansa knows why. At this kind of feasts Jon is always isolated, always alone, hovering, not knowing what to do with himself. But this time, Sansa feels the urge to do things differently. She wants to dance with him, too. He's a good dancer, after all, and he helped her even when she knows he didn't feel much like it. She owes him. And even beyond that, she simply wants to ask him to dance because she liked dancing with him and wants to do it again. Maybe her mother doesn't approve, but it will only be once, and she can't be angry forever. With that thought in mind, she apologises to her friend, and heads towards Jon.
He, however, seems to give up and goes outside. Sansa is not discouraged by this, and simply follows him. When she goes outside, she notices that it is snowing, small snowflakes falling gently on the fortress and the ground. It makes her momentarily forget why she went outside in the first place, but then she sees Jon with a frown on his face and remembers.
"Jon," she calls out to him. He looks at her with surprise, it's the only way he seems to be able to look at her every time she speaks to him.
"Sansa, what are you doing here, why aren't you at the party?"
"I came looking for you," she says, and her eyes widen.
"Why?"
"Because I want to dance with you."
"You know I don't dance," he says, disbelief etched on his face.
"You do dance. You proved it to me today. And you dance well."
"But why would you want to dance with me?" he says, colour invading his cheeks at the compliment.
"I don't know. I just liked it. I'd like to do it again."
"I don't think that's a good idea, Sansa... there are so many people."
"I don't mind. Please, Jon. Dance with me," she says, now wanting it more than before.
"I don't know... maybe I'll bump into you and make a fool of myself," he says, hesitantly. "And maybe... your lady Mother wouldn't like it," he adds, and Sansa knows then that that's the real reason he doesn't want to join her. Perhaps she could insist and convince him, but she doesn't want to put Jon in an awkward situation, so she accepts it.
"All right," she says, but adds immediately. "But I won't give up that easily. It may not be today, but you'll dance with me anon."
Jon gives her a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless, as snowflakes accumulate in his hair, and replies, "Perhaps, my lady."
Sansa smiles back, and knows, deep in her heart, that she will hold him to that half-hearted promise. For the moment, though, she will settle for going back inside to talk with Jeyne and admire Ser Waymar while she still can.