The people watch in silence as their King bends low to offer their Princess his hand. They clear a path for them, hoping that maybe something so simple as a dance will bring life back to the North. There King has not smiled since long before the war ever seemed like it would end, and the Princess has not shown anything other than sadness since her rescue from the Lannisters.
They've all heard the stories, how their King used to whisk their princess out of her chambers when snow would fall. The precious few that are original residents of Winterfell before the sacking, say that neither child had any cares or responsibilities when they were in the snow. They were just Robb and Sansa, children of winter born in summer. Robb would twirl her through the falling snow, the frozen flakes sticking to their hair and melting on their clothes. They say Sansa's laugh could be heard from every corner of Winterfell, because Sansa was never so delighted as she was with her brother.
Now Robb isn't a child, and Sansa isn't either. They've both been hardened by winter and war and the light of childhood innocence has long left their eyes. As Sansa places her hand in her brother's, any close can see the deep lines that add years to both Stark's faces. Sansa is beautiful and Robb is handsome, but they are broken so deeply that no one knows how to repair them.
The people know. They know that the only reason their King and Princess have not died from heartbreak is because they both fought so hard to survive.
Their princess has never forgiven their King for his refusal to trade the Kingslayer for her, and it is painfully obvious. Their King has never forgiven himself for his refusal to trade the Kingslayer for her, and that is obvious as well.
When he leads her out onto the dance floor, there is a grace to them both. As the fiddles begin a melody of the south, their King places one hand on Sansa's small waist while the other holds her hand tightly. They're both waiting, for the one note that marks the beginning of the dance.
When it sounds loudly through the Great Hall, they both glide across the dance floor, twisting and turning expertly. They look as if they were made to dance together, anticipating the other's movements. They spin and they twirl, and they easily become lost in it. Smiles tug at the siblings' lips and their people let out breaths they've been holding for years.
Sansa's smile turns brilliant and Robb's turns joyful. Sansa isn't laughing like she used to, with her head thrown back as Robb twirled her, but there is something other than brokenness in her eyes for the first time in years. They are two wolves together, the last children of Ned and Catelyn Stark, the last Starks of Winterfell.