People seemed to be pairing off all around him. And he was usually alone. You'd think that was the total of human existence - killing and fucking. But it was a celebration of life and the living. He wasn't much for crowds and celebrations, but he could admit he was glad of that.
"Why did you not go with her, that girl?" she asked, sitting down to join him; he had not asked her to. "She could have made you happy for a little while." So she had been watching, deciding on whether or not she should go to him, hesitant, it seemed.
He hoped that the pleasant surprise of her saying that hadn't shown on his face. But he chuckled.
"Then what is it that would make you happy?" she had asked him.
"What do you care, Little Bird." he said, between swallows of ale, and continued to finish his food. He regretted it straight away, that he had said it so harshly to her; he hadn't meant to.
He knew what had happened to her. If it had been him, he would have been so sweet to her, treated her like she should have been treated, how it should have been.
They talked for awhile, and before she got up to leave, she touched his hand and smiled, and her touch seemed to linger a bit longer than it should have, a gentle caress; her gaze as well. If he didn't know better, he would have thought . . .
When he went to her chambers, she welcomed him in an embrace. She must have sent any guards away. She was in her nightdress, with her hair long and undone, so beautiful. A warm fire burned in the fireplace. He could not help but fall into her arms, kiss her.
"Are you sure," he whispered.
"Yes, I want to," she said.
"Sansa."
She took his hand and took him to her bed.
And when the morning came, he kissed her goodbye.