Sansa smiled to herself in the Myrish glass and picked up her hairbrush. Fifty strokes later, and with a neat plait down her back, she pulled on the dark grey gown Ser Domeric had purchased for her. It didn't quite fit – the waist was a bit loose and an inch or two of heel showed over the hem – but it was nearly the right length and it wouldn't fall off. Besides, it was more comfortable too loose than too small.
She rolled her plait into a ball and fixed the pearled hairnet in place. I look like I am in mourning, she thought. She wanted to leave her hair free and put on the prettiest jewels she had in her bag, but those were Sansa Stark's jewels, and here she was just Beth the seamstress' apprentice. Beth didn't have jewels. The hairnet was probably the nicest thing Beth owned. Who was Beth mourning? Sansa Stark could be said to be mourning Bran and Rickon and Arya and Father, but it didn't feel right. She was too happy to be mourning.
Sansa grabbed her skirts and made for the common room downstairs.
Ser Domeric was sitting at one of the long tables. He had saved her a place beside him by placing his cloak next to him on the bench. He had a wine cup in front of him and was looking at nowhere in particular. When he saw her, his face lit up like steel under the sun. He rose to help her sit, and then caught a serving maid's attention. "Wine for my lady," he said, and the maid scurried away into the kitchens.
Ser Domeric slung his arm around Sansa's shoulder as if he had done it a hundred times before. He gave her another breezy smile and when he did, she could see that his lips were stained with the deep purple tones of strongwine.
"I trust that all was to your liking, my lady?"
Sansa could only smile and nod. Sitting next to Ser Domeric with his arm around her shoulder left her full to bursting with a sort of nervous energy she'd never felt before. She started to wring her hands together on the table, but Ser Domeric quickly brought his other hand over hers to still them.
"I think I shall purchase a horse for you on the morrow," he said. "Lord Gyles does not ride often, and he has instructed his stablemaster to put some of his older stock up for sale. Would you like that?"
"I would like that, ser," Sansa said. Ser Domeric gave her hands a squeeze. She wanted to say something, but there were many people in the tavern, and she did not know what sorts of conversations were appropriate for a traveling hedge knight and his wife. "How many days until Duskendale if we both ride?"
"One, maybe two," he said, "three if we go very slowly."
Then Sansa's wine and the food came, and she was relieved from further conversation. The maid refilled Ser Domeric's cup and left. Somehow on the way down the stairs in the Rosby tavern she had been stripped of all her social graces. Hopefully Ser Domeric would think that it was the wine coloring her cheeks and not embarrassment.
The meal was dry pork, a bowl of celery and carrots in bone broth, and a loaf of rosemary bread. It was good to be eating something hot again. Ser Domeric removed his hands and they both tucked into their food. He looked hungrier than she felt.
While they were eating a party of Rosby men came through the door. Sansa could recognize their surcoats, the three red chevronels on ermine. She could feel Ser Domeric tense up next to her, though he did not change his position or reach for his sword. She could see his eyes flick towards the tavern's entrance and the corners of his mouth twitch downward the slightest amount. Sansa's heart caught in her throat. Lord Gyles is always at court, she thought. He could have sent his men here to look for me. She tensed as well, and watched them out of the side of her eye.
The dozen Rosby men sat down at one of the other trestle tables and paid them no heed. Sansa continued eating, but Ser Domeric didn't. He held his spoon in a death grip over the dregs of the bone broth, and his sidelong glance remained fixed on the Rosby men. It doesn't look like they're looking for me. It looks like they're just resting and eating like us.
"Pate!" It was the tavern keep's voice. "A song!"
There was a man called Pate with the Rosby men. From across the room Sansa saw that he had overlarge eyes, hip-length honey-colored hair and a too-wide mouth. He pulled off a brown cloak to reveal a black and white tunic, red breeches, and knee-high red leather boots.
"Sod off, Gormon!" called Pate. He had a musical voice, but of course he did. He was a singer. "Let me eat!"
"You'll be eating free if you give us a song!" Gormon the tavern keep shouted at Pate. That got Pate to smiling.
"Well, keep it hot for me then!" Pate stood up, rummaged around at a bag near his feet, and went to sit on a stool near the fire. He was carrying a small woodharp.
Pate strummed a few scales and opened his mouth. "Oooooooooooooooh, when Willum's wife was wet, it was raining o'er the marches, and all the lovely maidens they were dancing in the hills, oh the thunder did it crackle, the rain did splash the pebbles, and Willum's wife went out there in a lovely shift of silk…"
Ser Domeric clutched at his spoon tightly and frowned quite openly during Pate's song. Sansa saw him close his eyes and grit his teeth and scrunch up his nose as if he smelled something quite awful, and then he downed the entire cup of wine and rubbed his temples. She wanted to touch his arm, to see if he was all right, but then he started making that queer motion with his fingers from the day before. When the song was over, he rose, stalked towards Pate and stood in front of the fire.
"May I see your harp, friend?" Ser Domeric motioned to Pate's harp and Sansa covered her mouth with her hands. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't believe it. Not moments ago Ser Domeric had seemed so wary of the Rosby men and now he was risking a confrontation with one of them. Should she go upstairs? Should she hide? Everyone was looking at them.
Pate's overlarge eyes widened with obvious apprehension. He gave Ser Domeric the harp and scooted back on the stool with an audible screech. Ser Domeric plucked each and every harpstring in short order, frowned, and then he turned the instrument on its side and turned a few of the tuning pins ever so slightly, plucking the associated strings as he went. Then he slurred all the notes together and gave the harp back to Pate.
"Have a care for your craft, Pate. Give it another go."
Pate scowled. "And who are you, ser, to tell me how to treat my harp?"
Ser Domeric shrugged. "Just another lover of music."
Pate's companions were sniggering, and so was the tavern keep. Sansa wanted to go upstairs. She had the distinct memory of absently wandering into the courtyard during a feast at Winterfell. Her father's men had been drinking and laughing then, too, and then a serving maid had come over, and then they jeered at the maid, and then she left, and then there was a fight. It seemed like a bad idea to fight in the small tavern. They were closer quarters than an open courtyard, and everything was made of wood. The ceiling was low, and if Sansa stood on any of the tables, she could knock down the candles in the chandelier.
Then came the jeers. "Pate! Give it another go!" "Paaate! Show 'im there's no prettier plucker than you!" "Come on, Pate!"
Pate groaned. "Let me eat, you pisspots! We've been riding all day!" Then he turned to Ser Domeric. "You. Why don't you have a go? Think you're better than Lord Rosby's personal singer, do you?"
Ser Domeric smirked at Pate and turned to the tavern keep. "I want the deal you gave him. One song, one meal, no cost. Wine included."
The Rosby men and the tavern keep laughed again. "And if we tell you to stop?"
Ser Domeric only grinned like a knave. "You won't."
Sansa could do nothing but watch. He's soused, she thought, a hand over her mouth. Ser Domeric took Pate's woodharp once again, and plucked the opening notes to When Willum's Wife Was Wet.
When the song was done the whole room was silent.
"He's better than ye're, Pate," observed the tavern keep. "No bones about it."
"Aye," agreed one of the Rosby men. "Should be 'im going to sing for Lord Gyles' niece at her wedding."
Pate was seething into his soup. "Just let me eat, you fools! He's a full belly, and what, half a flagon of wine? Gormon, you'll have another song, get me half a flagon too."
And so Pate was fed and drank his fill. He drew his black sleeve across his face, slammed down his wine, flung himself away from the table, and snatched the harp back from Ser Domeric.
It was The Bear and the Maiden Fair. Ser Domeric rolled his eyes, and when Pate passed him back the harp, he smiled like a cat about to pounce. All the tension in the room was gone, as if the first words had conjured some ancient spirit of heady joy and sated bellies. Ser Domeric began to play, and every time the chorus came round, he improvised with cheeky little flourishes and trills, none two the same but still resolving to the right chords. The way he sang and plucked and looked round the room made it seem like he was telling a story, or trying at a one-man mummer's troupe. He even sang in different voices for the bear and the maid, and it all managed to be on key. When he got to the line about the bear smelling the maiden's honey, and then the line about licking it, Ser Domeric met Sansa's eyes for the briefest of moments, and despite the crush of bodies and the roaring fire her spine was sent to shivering. The men in the tavern clapped in time with the music and shouted along with the chorus. Butterbumps' rendition of the song way back in Margaery's apartment all those weeks ago could not compare.
When he was done the room thundered with applause. Even Pate. Sansa could feel all of her muscles relax and let go of the breath she did not realize she was holding. Gormon the tavern keep handed Ser Domeric another goblet of wine, and then he gave Pate one too.
"Drink up, both of ye," he said. "No cost. Keep singing. Please." The Rosby men banged the tables in assent.
Pate looked stunned. All of the animosity was gone from his voice, or maybe it was only the hunger. "What's your name, singer? You must be known. A traveling bard doesn't eat half so well as one a lord retains. There'll be work for you in the capital. See Lord Gyles and tell him that Pate the Pretty Plucker speaks for you. He'll find someone to take you on."
But Ser Domeric just shook his head and gave another winning grin. "My lady love and I just left the capital. Won't be returning anytime soon. Off to Gulltown, we are. Work for us there aplenty."
"You're both singers?"
"No. A hedge knight and a seamstress. But we both can sing." Then he turned to Sansa and beckoned for her to come over. "My lady has the sweetest voice." She rose from her bench and meekly made her way to him. They had made a scene, Sansa thought, but it was too late to unmake it, and she was having so much fun besides. Everyone is looking at us, she thought, and everyone loves us. The thought made her gleeful.
Ser Domeric motioned for her to sit on the remaining stool by the fire looked around the room. "What shall we sing next, my lady?"
The men in the tavern answered before she could. "Megga's song!" "Let Me Drink Your Beauty!" "The Maids that Bloom in Spring!" "Florian and Jonquil!"
"Florian and Jonquil," Sansa said, looking at the space between two Rosby men's heads. You look like a pomegranate! She wished the Queen of Thorns in her ear would stop.
"Florian and Jonquil it is then." Ser Domeric turned to look at Pate. "Pate, would you like to be the bard? I shall be Florian, and my lady shall be Jonquil."
Pate grinned and downed his wine. "Gladly, friend." He cleared his throat. "Six maids in a pool…"
The ever-increasing amount of people in the tavern kept on asking for more songs. After Six Maids in a Pool, Ser Domeric led the whole tavern in a round of The Lusty Lad, and then Pate sang The Name Day Boy. After a bit of prodding Ser Domeric persuaded Sansa to sing Two Hearts that Beat as One all by herself, and then he sang Oh, Lay My Sweet Lass Down in the Grass, which bridged into My Lady Wife, and everyone cheered. Gormon assured Ser Domeric that he would not have to pay for anything for their journey tomorrow, and gave him back his twenty coppers.
Then Pate sang Jenny's song while Ser Domeric accompanied him on the harp and the laughing spirit left the room to usher in one of his more somber cousins. By the time Pate got to the last 'never wanted to leave', all the serving maids were crying, as were some of the goodwives that had wandered into the tavern earlier in the night.
"I think that will be all for today, Gormon," Pate said. "We've to get up early on the morrow if we're to make it in time for the wedding." The crowd groaned.
"You said you're going to the wedding of Lord Rosby's niece?" Ser Domeric said softly, while he looked at Pate, and it seemed that his pale eyes were once again sharp and lucid for all that the drink had left high color on his cheeks. "In the Riverlands?"
"Aye. Pretty girl, she is. Her brother was a ward here until a year before the war. Olly. Likeable lad, very popular. Should've been a knight by the time he left, but can't very well squire for sickly old Lord Gyles. We all think Lord Gyles wants him for his heir. He'd be a good lord, all right. She came to visit him once. The sister to be married. Don't remember the lady's name, but I suppose her father'll remind me once I get there. She's marrying some riverlord."
"Good for her," Ser Domeric said with a small smile. It was a Ser Domeric smile, not a Ser Donner smile. He studied Pate intently. "I'll sing one last song, if it pleases you, Pate. One I adapted from Rymund the Rhymer's work. Share it, will you? Get to know it. The people of the Riverlands will understand. And the bride's father is sure to… appreciate it."
"I'll oblige you that," said Pate. "To whom shall I attribute this riff on Rymund?"
"Ser Donner from Gulltown. Just a hedge knight." Ser Domeric shrugged his shoulders and Pate passed him back the harp.
Ser Domeric began with slurring out a series of chromatic scales that gave Sansa the distinct impression that he was pulling back a curtain before a mummer's show. "At night the wolves went out to prowl…"
That's the song about Robb, Sansa thought. No, not just Robb, all of us. And a song about us could only be a sad song. The tones were all deep and the chords were all dark. The first verse described how the head of the pack wandered down with his pups to the lion's den only to die trying to get them out. Father and Arya and me. Then the chorus came, and after a line about howling, Ser Domeric gave an actual howl. The next verse told of the new pack leader wandering from the wolf's den to hunt the lions in the rocks. Another chorus, and more howls. He wandered through the mountains and killed half the pride, but not before he destroyed many villages in his anger. He ate little children and made maidens cry and still he could not find the lost pup. Arya. More howls. He was wandering away from the lion's den and the pup in the den was kept in the cage, and she howled in sadness too, because the lions were hurting her, and Ser Domeric met her gaze. That's me, Sansa thought, tears pricking at her eyes. But then the wolf's den was left abandoned, and the pups at home drowned. Bran and Rickon, Sansa thought, and now the tears were openly streaming down her face. Every note rang in her bones and every word touched her heart. Somehow Ser Domeric had taken all of the sorrow she had felt about her family and committed it to music. He wrote this for me and he knows my pain. He thought of me, he knows me, he loves me, I know it.
Then with one last chorus of howls the song was done. Sansa was not the only one crying. It didn't matter to the people of Rosby that the Starks were traitors. Her family's story was sad and they were all sad for them. They cared. Sansa wanted to hug each and every one of them.
Through her tears Sansa could see Pate looking at Ser Domeric with open reverence. "Are you sure you don't want to be a singer, Donner? You could come with us and a riverlord could take you on. Your lady too, she's good enough. Steadier pay, steadier work than for a hedge knight."
"I'm sure," said Ser Domeric. "I promised my wife Gulltown, so to Gulltown we will go." Then he gave Pate back the harp and rose, slinging an arm around Sansa's waist. She was still sniffling a bit. His song was so beautiful. She clung to his arm. Thank you, she wanted to say, but she hoped he could feel the words through her hand. Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
"If it pleases you," Pate sighed. Then he clasped Ser Domeric's free arm. "'Twas good to meet you, Ser Donner from Gulltown. And you, my lady."
"And you, Pate. Safe travels." Sansa nodded her head at Pate too.
"Aye. Good night and travel well."
