Chapter 11: I Just Want to Dance!

In the days following the celebratory night, Sansa alternatively regretted being born at all or wished she had died on the evening following Jaime's masterclass. Tyrion had forbidden her from coming anywhere near the studios, saying that the security would simply not let her inside the building. Sansa thought he overestimated her body' strength. Not only was she unable to walk — she could barely get up to move around her apartment, while any environment outside her bed and the hot bathtub filled with Ellaria's Dornish oils and salts became entirely uninhabitable. Her body was in active revolt against its mistress, fully set on showing her that it would not tolerate such treatment as she had afforded it. The proverbial war between the body and the mind became no joke to Sansa, who was physically unable to dance, but whose dreams filled her with a powerful desire to put on her pointes and tell the pain in her muscles to go screw itself in the seventh hell. When she was asleep, her body's protests silenced, her mind set to work, conjuring before her slumbering eyes flashes of her and Jaime's dance. Sometimes they felt more like memories; other times, they were definitely the creative work of her unruly subconsciousness. Most frequently, she dreamed the same dream that had visited her on the eve of the masterclass, and after hearing him whisper, "You're not Cersei," Sansa would wake up cranky.
On the third day of her confinement, she woke up on time without her alarm clock and decided that she had had enough. Rebelliously, she threw off her covers, ignoring the ache with which her body protested her resolution to leave the bed, and proceeded to get ready for class. Tyene, strangely enough, had not even returned home the night before, and Sansa decided to use her opportunity to escape. She took with her only the barest necessities, reducing the weight of her bag to a minimum, and headed to the Lannister Ballet Company building. Just as she was about to enter, a member of the security team stopped her.

"I'm sorry, miss, but I am under strict orders from Tyrion Lannister not to let you in."

Sansa thought that Tyrion had been kidding when he had warned her about this measure.

"Please, sir, I'm sure he didn't mean it. I can call him…"

"Sorry, miss, Mr. Lannister went out to a meeting."

"Maybe you could call someone else?"

What was the name of the head of security and Tyrion's bodyguard slash drinking buddy? The one who looked like a thug? Ah, yes…

"Can you get Bronn, please?" she asked.

The guard seemed to have taken pity on her and retreated to call his superior. Bronn appeared within a few minutes.

"Bronn, thank goodness! I know Tyrion told your colleagues not to let me in, but could you please explain to them that this was only a joke?"

"I'm afraid I can't do that for you, lass. I've received the same orders."

"But this is ridiculous! I'm not a criminal!"

"No, you're not. But from what I've been hearing, you may be suicidal."

"Su — What? I'm not!"

She realized that people in the lobby were looking at her with curiosity and reddened. How could Tyrion, this kind little man, have pulled such a cruel, humiliating stunt on her? She thought they were friends! Her body was hurting, she was sick of staying alone in the apartment all day, and she wanted to dance! She knew she would feel better if her muscles warmed up.

"What's going on here?" came an indignant snarl from behind her.

Oh, no, not Jaime Lannister, too!

"They won't let me in," she explained quietly, looking at her feet.

"They what?!" Jaime sounded oddly menacing.

"Tyrion asked me not to let Sansa in," Bronn hurried to shift the blame onto his employer.

She dared a side glance in Jaime's direction to find him looking at her with a mischievous smirk.

"Why, Sansa, what have you done? Did you steal someone's pointes?"

She reddened further.

"I've done nothing of the kind!" she exclaimed, and watched in misery as his smirk widened. Turning to stare at the floor, she explained: "He just doesn't want me to practice for now."

"And why's that?"
Because I nearly killed myself in your damned class!

"Hmm… I guess he worries that I work too hard."

For whatever reason, Jaime decided not to press the issue.

"Come on," was all he said as he started walking toward the turnstiles.

"But Jaime," called Bronn, "Tyrion did ask me not to let her in."

"And if he asks you how she did get in, you can tell him that she took down the entire security force on the floor. When he does not believe you, refer him to me as a key witness." He turned to stare Bronn and the rest of the security down, no longer joking: "And I don't ever want to hear that Sansa Stark was not allowed into the building, is that clear?" The men nodded, and Jaime walked on.

With no one preventing her from entering anymore, Sansa rushed after him before he changed his mind. She caught up with him easily enough.

"Thank you, I really appreciate your help back there."
"I wasn't raised to leave a damsel in distress to her own devices," he replied with a playful smile. Observing her annoyance, he laughed. "Come, Sansa, you may be from the North, but you cannot be entirely devoid of a sense of humor."

"I just don't like being made fun of," she mumbled. Why was he so tiresome?

"That's really too bad," he told her with a smirk before making a turn. She shook her head in annoyance and continued on her way.

"What do you think you're doing here?" Ellaria looked a little scary.

"Oh, please, I'm sick and tired of staying in that room!"

"No, you'd rather be vomiting from exhaustion!"

"Please, I want to practice."

Sansa herself could not believe that even Ellaria's class seemed very appealing to her right now.

"No. You need to take a break for a few days."
"It's been two days already! Please, let me stay."

"Absolutely not," Ellaria declared.

Sansa clasped her hands as though in prayer and made her best attempt at puppy eyes:

"Please?"

Ellaria looked almost wavering for a moment, then shook her head and said "no" with renewed bresolution. Sansa sighed in defeat.

"Can I at least stay and watch?"

"Fine, but you're sitting in the armchair, not on the floor."

"Yes! Of course! Thank you!"

"Go on," Ellaria motioned toward the chair with an indulgent smile.

At least Tyene was not around to pressure her. But where was she? Sansa wondered. Tyene had never skipped class before.

Watching people dance did not help Sansa at all. She was fidgeting, feeling almost ticklish with the desire to move. When none of the instructors allowed her to dance, her squirming only grew worse. By the end of the day, she was nearly bursting with frustration. She wanted to dance! She made her way to Tyrion's office and knocked.

Hearing his unusually happy "come in!," she entered.

"How did you get in?" he asked without a hint of remorse for placing her in that idiotic position.

"Jaime helped," she mumbled.

"He did, didn't he?"
What is wrong with my brother? Tyrion wondered.

"Tyrion, please tell Ellaria and the other instructors not to stop me from training."

"Trust me, if Ellaria thought you should practice again, there would be nothing I could do. As it is, she needs no convincing from me that you must rest."

"What about the other instructors?" she asked.

"Now, to them, I did make a suggestion or two," he admitted.

"Tyrion, please, this is unfounded! I'm perfectly fine!"

"Sansa, can't you understand that if you start practicing again after pushing yourself too far, you may seriously injure yourself? Go home, take a bath…"

"I've done nothing but take baths for two days! Tyrion, please, I'm begging you! I'll go insane, if I have to stay in that room for longer."

"Sparkle, I will not let you harm yourself, and, fortunately, I have the means to make sure you don't. Go sightseeing, do some shopping, read a book! There are plenty of things to do in the world besides dancing."

She started crying in frustration. Sad little sounds escaped her throat and tears ran down her cheeks. Tyrion was shocked and remorseful, but her emotional volatility only served to convince him further that his decision had been the correct one.

"Sansa, please, don't! It's for your own good!" Tyrion approached her and was patting her hand, but she kept crying quietly.

"Please, I just want to dance…"
The door opened.

"Tyrion, why do we have the next fundraiser scheduled for — " Jaime's eyebrows almost touched his hairline when he observed the crying Sansa. "What in Seven Hells? Tyrion, what's the meaning of this?"

"Jaime — " Tyrion began, but his brother interrupted.

"Oh no, don't Jaime me! This morning, your thugs wouldn't let her in, the afternoon she's crying in your office. What's going on?"

Tyrion barely contained his smile. Now, that was interesting. Look who was getting a little protective!..

Sansa, however, was not about to let Tyrion explain to his brother in humiliating detail exactly why he thought she was unfit to practice.

"Nothing, it's nothing!" she hurried to say, "I've just heard that my dog has died, and Tyrion was kind enough to comfort me."

Really, Sansa? Killing Lady was the best you could come up with? her inner voice judged her.

"Excuse me… I… I will let you get back to work, Tyrion. Thanks again," she said and walked out.

Tyrion turned to Jaime.

"What about the fundraiser?"

"You do realized that I know she lied about the dog?"

"On the contrary, she spoke the truth. Her dog died this morning. Hit by a car. Tragic thing, really," Tyrion lied smoothly.

Jaime gave him an exasperated look, but, pretending to play along, he asked with mock sincerity:

"And you've spent hours trying to comfort her?"

"No, not hours, but maybe fifteen minutes. She got the call when she was in my office."

Jaime's smile said he was going in for the kill.

"And what's its name?"

"Whose name?" Tyrion asked, confused.

"The dog that Sansa's mourning."

Fucker, was all Tyrion thought but replied without missing a beat:

"Snow."

"And do you think that's the name she'll give me if I ask her the same question?"

Tyrion's habitual wins in poker were not explained only by his aptitude to math. His bluffing was also good.

"Certainly," he answered. "Now, what did you want to talk about concerning the fundraiser?"

Text from Tyrion Lannister to Lion-Tamer:

If Jaime asks, your dog's name is Snow, and it died tragically under the wheels of a car this morning.

Text from Lion-Tamer to Tyrion Lannister:

Thank you.

Text from Tyrion Lannister to Lion-Tamer:

Np. But you're still not practicing this week.

Sansa sighed and threw her phone on her bed. Why were they so set on driving her mad? Dancing was part of her metabolic process. She could not just stop. And where was Tyene?

Her roommate returned late that night, looking very mad.

"Hey, where have you been all day? I haven't seen you — " Sansa began but did not finish.

Tyene had tears of anger and pain in her eyes. She threw her clutch against the wall with surprising strength and growled. Sansa jumped off the couch, throwing away the book she was attempting to read, and ran to her, placing her hands on her friend's forearms.

"Tyene, what happened?"

The girl looked angry for some more seconds; then, her face crumbled, she wrapped her arms around Sansa, and, hiding her face in her red hair, began to cry. Sansa whispered soothing nothings to her, stroking her short hair.

"He doesn't want me… [sniffling] We've been fucking each other's brains out for months, and now he thinks we should 'move on?!' He left so quickly yesterday after telling me it was over, I didn't believe him! I spent the whole day in his stupid apartment waiting for him, and do you know what he told me when he got back?!"

"No, honey, I don't. What did he say?"

"That I shouldn't have 'waited up' for him! Oh, I could kill him right now! I'm sorry I didn't!"

"Who is he?" asked Sansa hesitantly. When she had first met Tyene, she had assumed that her roommate was exploring her numerous options, but then came to believe that there was someone special in Tyene's life.

"I can't tell you, you'll judge me," she whined lamentably.

Believe me, with the dreams I've been having about Jaime Lannister, I'm the last person who will judge your choices.

"Of course, not. I promise."

Tyene raised her head from Sansa's shoulder and considered her friend. Sansa watched mascara running down the Dornish girl's cheeks and thought that, without the perfect make up, Tyene looked younger than she normally did. Sansa smiled at her and wiped her friend's tears.

"I promise not to judge."

Tyene looked down, uncertainty on her face, but the desire to share her troubles with her friend won over.

"It's Bronn," she said. When Sansa just stared, Tyene began clarifying: "He's the head of security — "

"I know who he is!" Sansa said. "I just never would have thought he was your type."

"He isn't. I just like sleeping with him. A lot. I thought he liked me. He was getting kind of cute a few weeks ago, then something changed, he started being busy all the time and — " her voice shook and she started crying again. "I don't even know what happened!"

"Well, did he say anything?"

"No, just that we've had fun and now it was time to move on! I hate him!"

"I have two elder brothers who can make him into a punching bag if you like," Sansa offered with a smile. Tyene laughed a little before resuming her weeping. After more proclamations of hatred and working out detailed plans of Bronn's execution, they settled on watching a movie together, a saccharine melodrama that even Sansa privately thought could cause diabetes.

The next day, Sansa was allowed into the building but was again prohibited from dancing. In the morning, she was sitting in Margery's class, watching her peers with undisguised envy. Margery had been gentle in her refusal to allow Sansa to join their ranks, but it had been a refusal nonetheless. Sansa was wracking her brains to find a solution to her predicament, when she remembered the keychain with a plush toy in the shape and the color of a small flame. She had not used it since the night she had seen Jaime and Cersei in one of the studios. She wondered if that was their usual meeting place, or if perhaps it had been simply an unhappy coincidence.

Maybe I could ask him, she thought desperately.

Ask him what? If he needs the studios at night to screw his sister? Are you completely crazy?

But maybe he isn't even here. Maybe I can just sneak in at night, and no one will be the wiser.

I can even think of someone who will look very stupid if she stumbles for the second time onto the Lannister twins going at it in the darkness.

That much was true. With a deep sigh, Sansa dismissed the thought. That was in the morning. By the end of the day, however, she was desperate enough to reconsider.

Jaime Lannister hated attending fundraisers. Organizing them was even worse. Tyrion insisted that several important decisions could not be made without Jaime's approval, and his little brother had an uncanny ability of forcing Jaime to do things he hated. For instance, he found himself fighting his dyslexia to look through the seemingly endless pages of administrative nightmare the insufferable little man had dropped into his email. Jaime sighed, feeling the onset of a headache. He needed a break. As though by magic, he heard a hesitant knock on the door. He called out for the visitor to come in, glad of the interruption. To his surprise, Sansa Stark walked into his office, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting…" she motioned toward his computer screen.

"I'm not," he replied. "One more moment, and I would have thrown the damnable thing against the wall. Please, sit down." He motioned to the armchairs before his desk. She sat down in one of them, and he came to lean against his desk in front of her.

"What brings you into the lion's den, Sansa?"

She shifted uncomfortably, but her lips were set in the same stubborn way he had observed during the masterclass.

"I…" she began, blushed to her hairline, and paused, looking at her hands.

Jaime laughed softly.

"Whatever it is, now I'm sure it's worth my while."

Another wave of blushing came over her. He did not realize a human being could turn such a deep shade of pink.

"Breathe, minx, or you might have a stroke," he said with mock concern.

"I…" she failed again.

"Yes, you! We've established that fact already. What it is, Sansa? I'm not getting any younger here."

Jaime was enjoying himself immensely. He might have been unable to get under her skin during the masterclass, but she was clearly not immune to teasing. She took a deep breath, like someone who is standing on a cliff preparing to jump, then rushed into her tumbled narration:

"The night when I saw you…" she lowered her voice, "with you-know-who…"

Jaime guffawed.

This was going to be good. What was it Tyrion had said? She might have a stroke from blushing if she tried talking about that incident out loud?

She was annoyed, but he thought that the way she wrinkled her nose in irritation was highly amusing. She took one more breath and continued:

"Well, that happened because I've a spare key from the backdoor, so that I can come in and practice."

"Tyrion's told me as much."

"He did? All right. Well, obviously, I've not gone to practice in the evenings like I used to since…" she motioned vaguely in his direction.

"Why is this obvious? Could you clarify?" he goaded.

She reddened further, and he caught himself wondering just how far on her body the blush extended.

"What do you mean? Well, I could not know if you would be there!"

I wonder if it is possible for her to blush more?

"Could have asked," he said. "Cersei and I are rather private people, but I'm sure we could consider preforming for you."

Sansa was so scandalized, she actually looked up at him, mouth agape and eyes wide.

Ah, so she could turn redder still.

"That's not what I meant at all!" she sounded panicked. "I meant I didn't want to interrupt — "

Jaime was laughing heartily.

"I didn't want to walk in on you two ever again!" she exclaimed.

"Are you sure?" he said between laughs.

"Yes!" she almost screamed.

Is that what she sounds like when she's urging her lover on?

"It's almost offensive, the way you say it," he admonished.

Sansa dropped her red face into her hands and did not lift her head when she spoke again.

"All I wanted to ask was whether I could start practicing at night again or if you and your sister would be there?" she sounded miserable, but Jaime was far from having had his fill of fun.

"Minx, I don't see the problem. You can practice at night all you want. And, since you're good at keeping secrets, I don't foresee any problems even if we run into each other. Or rather if you run into us."

To his disappointment, Sansa jumped out of the armchair and picked up her bag.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you, I'll try to find another way. Thank you for your time."

She made for the door, and he could not resist catching her forearm and spinning her around with ease.

"Sansa," he said softly, "you really need to learn to recognize humor."

Still red and annoyed, she looked at him.

"This isn't funny," she said stubbornly.

"Maybe not for you," he acknowledged, "but laughter is like sex, Sansa. You can't be too selfish, since you aren't alone."

She tried to bolt again, but he caught her around the waist, laughing.

"You, Northerners, and your prudish ways!"

"It's not about prudishness, it's about common decency! Please let me go."

Unwillingly, he obliged her.

"You have nothing to worry about, minx. My sister and I will find better places to enjoy ourselves than this building. Practice away," he winked at her and saw relief wash over her face, relaxing her features.

"Thank you," she said with gratitude.

"Personally, I think it would have done you no harm watching us — " he began, but she almost ran out of the door, and he laughed heartily as he watched her go.

Well, if he did not just find a wonderful source of amusement!