5.
Winterfell was a hive of activity that day. It was both exciting and tiresome; ill-timed and in the way, Sansa thought once the initial novelty of having visitors had worn off. Her father had charged her with what quickly became the rather onerous task of showing the Bolton boy around and he had done it in a way which made her instantly suspicious.
And then Ramsay himself, on closer inspection, did not one bit live up to that early expectation of courtesy and charm. Indeed as soon as she found herself alone with him she found herself feeling excruciatingly uneasy and on her guard. She supposed that it was only right and probably good of her to feel this way around a man who was not her father or brothers but…she could not help thinking of The Man in the Godswood and how little she felt afraid in his presence. Indeed she felt with him as safe as she was inexplicably excited. The comparisons between the two men ran on in her head until she was afraid her thoughts were growing quite out of control. The man was as alarming to all appearances as Ramsay was attractive, as full of scowls as the other was of smiles. And yet she trusted those scowls where the smiles could never convince. She suspected there was more honesty, more even of some true nobility in the Man's gruff rudeness than in all of her guest's cut glass courtesies.
And then, come around midday, she began to resent and agonise over her inability to get back to her charge. She thought of him, sat there, with nothing to do, perhaps waiting for her all day to bring food and drink and company. In the end she came as close as she ever could to being rude in begging a reprieve from her duties of hospitality, for reasons she refused to give.
It was so much later than she had wanted it to be; she wanted to have been able to go to him by midday at the latest but it was almost evening by the time she got away, too long since she had seen him last and she ran, as soon as she could do so without being seen, through the Godswood , in more of a panic than she had realised she had been for the last few hours. The sun was thinking about setting and the sky was a warning red, trickles of the last light falling between the shadows of trees, staining the ground like a prophecy. When she reached the den in the trees, bursting through the branches, she was struck breathless and suddenly cold with fear to find the place empty. No amount of telling herself to calm down or internally chiding herself for being silly and too fast to panic could stop the tears leaping straight in her eyes. They stung her with the effort of blinking back.
He was gone! Nothing left to suggest he had ever been here beyond the rags and vessels she had left for food and some battered pieces of armour. She supposed she was silly for imagining he would just stay, that he had nowhere better to be and no plan of survival of his own. But she had hoped against hope, not even quite knowing why, that he would stay, at least for a while. More, impossible though it was, she felt a space open up in her chest as though she could possibly miss him already. She swallowed back a sob and a tear ran silently down her cheek and into her mouth. She heard a noise of footsteps in the woods beyond and started suddenly.
Heavily she rose to leave the cave, brushed hard at her eyes and took a deep breath. As she stood up straight coming out of the den she walked straight into a solid wall of human that grabbed her arms to steady her with a gentleness astounding in such strength.
"Woah girl, take it easy there."
"You –" she looked up straight into The Stranger's eyes. They were kind eyes, she noticed in this better light outside of the close trees, almost golden in the sunlight where fear and darkness had made them almost black before – "You're still here. I thought you had –" she gestured limply, vaguely, but she could not keep the light from her eyes or the smile from her lips. He frowned at her steadily, brushed a thumb across her cheek like the brush of a leaf.
"You were crying," he said; he sounded bewildered. Indeed he had never seen anyone look so pleased to see him in his life and was rather unsure what to do with that.
"No I –"
"Don't lie, girl."
"I –" she winced at herself – "I thought you'd gone". She had been afraid it was too much of an admission of something to say at first; certainly it was too much as an explanation of why she had been crying. He looked at her more curiously still, as though her answer made no sense, and she moved on hurriedly –
"Where were you?"
"Safe as your nest is little bird, I can't really stay there all day – went and washed off in one of those pools you have –"
She seemed to notice for the first time that he was only wearing his shirt and trousers and that he was, truly, a little damp still. For some reason it flustered her and she took a little step back. He let go of her arm. She could feel herself blushing and looked away.
"As though you haven't been wrinkling that little nose up at the smell of me," he grunted - "Where were you all day anyway?"
She was almost relieved to be able to apologise as hard as she did and babble her way through everything that had happened.
"People?" He looked at her, wary, concerned, almost ready to run – "What people?"
"They're northmen," she realised he thought they were here for him and explained as best she could – "Allies of father's that he's not seen for a long time, Boltons, Karstarks – some of the other families –" she could see his relief like a huge sigh he did not quite make and wanted desperately to ask who he did not want it to be.
"Still," he said thoughtfully, when the relief had died down – "It's not good news them being here – if they come in here –"
"I'll keep them away. I swear. I'll keep you safe, I promised."
"Like today? Girl I'd have starved away if it wasn't for your brothers."
"Bran was here?"
"Aye, and the little one. They said –" he scowled and stopped, looking aslant at her.
"Said what?"
"They said you were busy with a young man". His eyes narrowed ever so slightly and she felt strange at feeling so pleased to see him jealous, if that was what it was.
"Ramsay Bolton," she nodded – "I think –" she had been pondering it all day and now almost entirely knew that she was right – "I think maybe father might want to marry me to him."
The Man made a grunting sound;
"And is that what you want?" He tried to keep his voice neutral, but it came out much more as an accusation.
"No!" she said quickly, and when it came out of her she knew for sure that it was true. It was often like that, she thought; that she only realised her own mind when she had already spoken what came naturally –
"No – I don't. I really don't."
"Well –" he looked back at her, almost smiling before he realised there was nothing not incriminating that he could say to this.
"I'll do better now," she smiled and this time she put her hand on his arm, looking up at him steadily – "I promise. I'll take better care of you than anything – I don't want –" she shook her head – "I don't know what I want."
"I can see that." He could see something else too, in the way she looked at him now, something that struck him more sweetly than he had ever been struck. He took her chin so gently on the edge of two fingers, and she – strange girl, did not move away. It was not even so much that she moved forward but that it suddenly became obvious that there was less air between them. He could feel her little heart beating, a bird within a bird. There was a breathtaking lack of disgust in her eyes and when he kissed her she did not pull away.
It was the littlest, tenderest kiss he could have possibly experienced or found in himself to give to her, and he supposed later that if he had died at that moment it was the happiest he could ever have gone. That tentative gentle little thing, barely the beginning of a kiss but her lips had moved back and when she pulled away it was clearly in a daze. Her eyes were shining and her smile was as big as if that sweet little kiss had been all and everything – as far as she had ever imagined. He could feel the joy and the way her heart was smiling radiating off her in waves. There were autumn leaves hiding in her hair; he picked them out and she let out a little of her joy in a laugh.
Then her blushes started and she was pressing the food parcels she had brought upon him, whispering her assurances that she would be back tomorrow. He was glad beneath the sadness of seeing her go that she did go then – he had no idea what he would have done otherwise, but he was not sure he had ever smiled as dreamily in his life as when he ducked back into the den within the trees.
As for Sansa, she all but danced back through the trees, carried on the little autumn winds that stirred the leaves around her feet, sunset in her eyes, veiling her blushes. She couldn't think and it was wonderful, she didn't need to think to know that she was happier in those moments than she had ever been. It felt as though she had been waiting for this feeling the whole of her life, as though, finally, the song of her life had really and beautifully begun.
_x_
I'm so sorry this update has been so long in coming – I was away with family and that kills my ability to write for the longest time! Won't be nearly so long next time I promise! :-)