GROWING STRONG
The letter is brief, perhaps because there is nothing more to say. He will honor his grandmother's word and the marriage pact made for him at birth, and so they are to be parted forever.
She had not expected to love him, despite what her friend Margaery had told her.
You will love him as much as we do, Sansa.
Willas was several years older than she, and was fitted with an artificial leg after his accident: a serious impediment for someone who loved dancing as much as Sansa. But he was so warm and kind, and witty and well-read. He loved animals and was a renowned breeder of horses and hounds, and he listened to her talk on about Lady. They toured Highgarden's famous landscaped paths and walked his dogs through the wilder meadows, and she was somewhat surprised at how ably he moved. He explained that his prosthetic was fitted below the knee joint of his leg, allowing him to move almost without restriction.
"I'll need a cane eventually, Sansa," he had jested, "when I'm an old man."
The way he looked at her made her wish that she could be the one to grow old with him.
Before long, it was clear that he felt the same towards her. In the meadow one afternoon he kissed her gently, and then insistently when she returned his kiss with passion. Before she was to leave, they rode out together to the ruins of the old castle that were grown over with vines and roses. The fall air was cool but the sun warmed them on the blanket Willas had spread out over the grass, and stray kittens lazed and stretched and watched them make love for the first and only time.
He had told her of his engagement: he did not want to mislead her, or take advantage of her youth. But Sansa is a girl who knows her own heart and acts upon it, she has already learned that dreams so often do not come true; and she would rather have this time with him than nothing.
The letter is in her bag when she returns to her dorm.
I am so sorry, my beautiful Sansa: you have my heart, but my hand is pledged to another.
Inside the envelope is a single pressed rose. It is red, like her hair; like the tangles wild roses that grew inside the crumbled ruins of the old kitchen with its stone hearth reaching up to open blue sky. She allows herself one night to sleep with it beneath her pillow and dream of Willas; but the next day she resolutely puts it away in her keepsake box, determined to move on and be strong.
