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Mademoiselle K.

@mllekaren / mllekaren.tumblr.com

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chaouenmadrid

A drabble for the Happiness and Lemon Cakes Fanfest. It’s fluffy as hell so be careful with the sugar ;) 

Beta edited by the lovely ladycyprus <3

He is her counselor, her protector, her friend. He is the strong arms, the steel and the advice. He is loyal and fierce; gentle and moody, the calm and the rage. He is her freedom, her watchdog, the only one who really knows her… and the only man who has yet to ask her to dance tonight.

For the first time in a decade Winterfell’s main hall is filled with the music and light conversation of a proper ball. Lords and ladies from Houses both big and small; loyal soldiers, squires and knights; friends and allies from all across the North had been invited to attend Lady Sansa Stark’s 22nd name day feast. She had been planning the event for weeks, in spite of her council’s advice that there was no need for such spending. Clegane was opposed to the idea as well; he is not a man of parties and courtly pursuits and prefers the yard and the quiet companionship of his men instead. Sansa, however, was stubborn and insisted on the celebration, an event for her people to enjoy and remember before harder times come. She had suffered much, as had her loyal men, and they all deserve music, laughs, lemoncakes and a bit of happiness and joy, at least for a day.

The musicians are good and as Sansa knows all the songs she sings along with them. She dances with her bannermen, with young knights and old lords and even with a soldier of her garrison who has the courage to ask her for a dance. Sandor Clegane watches her dancing and laughing as he drinks quietly in his seat far from the main table; grey eyes following her as she flits around the hall, that familiar scowl on his face every time she agrees to dance with another suitor. And though it’s him whom Sansa really longs to dance with, not once does he approach her to ask. So she dances and laughs and sings and dances again until her head is spinning from it all and she has to sit for a while.

It is late and yet the feast continues as she finally retires to her chambers. Her feet are tired from dancing and she is a little tipsy from wine, and so delighted that Winterfell is again a place of joy after so many years of war and misfortune. The corridor is dimly lit and quiet in comparison with the bustle in the rest of the castle, and so Sansa hears his voice before seeing him.

“Would you grant me this dance, my lady?”

Sandor’s hulking form materializes from the shadows and a big smile lights her face as he wraps his arm around her waist while taking her left hand with his right. He pulls her closer; pressing lightly on her lower back until their chests are flush, then kisses her hand lightly. “Shall we dance?” he finally asks.

Sandor is smiling, and she giggles and presses closer to him as he spins her around. And, when the first notes of Florian and Jonquil float in from the main hall, she would say her feet aren’t touching the floor anymore.

He was wrong, Sansa thinks. Life is a song, and mine has just begun.

#chaouenmadrid#sansan#sansan fanfiction
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