“HE SMELLED THE SCENT ON THE SUMMER AIR!”
Sansa wrinkled her brow. “Our true purpose, my lady?”
“HE SNIFFED AND ROARED AND SMELLED IT THERE! HONEY ON THE SUMMER
AIR!”
“To see you safely wed, child,” the old woman said, as Butterbumps bellowed out the old, old song, “to my grandson.”
Wed to Ser Loras, oh... Sansa’s breath caught in her throat. She remembered Ser Loras in his sparkling sapphire armor, tossing her a rose. Ser Loras in white silk, so pure, innocent, beautiful.
The dimples at the comer of his mouth when he smiled. The sweetness of his laugh, the warmth of his hand. She could only imagine what it would be like to pull up his tunic and caress the smooth skin underneath, to stand on her toes and kiss him, to run her fingers through those thick brown curls and drown in his deep brown eyes. A flush crept up her neck.
“OH, IMA MAID, AND I’M PURE AND FAIR! I’LL NEVER DANCE WITH A HAIRY
BEAR! A BEAR! A BEAR! I’LL NEVER DANCE WITH A HAIRY BEAR!”
“Would you like that, Sansa?” asked Margaery. “I’ve never had a sister, only brothers. Oh, please say yes, please say that you wil consent to marry my brother.” The words came tumbling out of her. “Yes. I will. I would like that more than anything. To wed Ser Loras, to love him. .”
“Loras?” Lady Olenna sounded annoyed. “Don’t be foolish, child. Kingsguard never wed.
Didn’t they teach you anything in Winterfell? We were speaking of my grandson Willas. He is a bit old for you, to be sure, but a dear boy for al that. Not the least bit oafish, and heir to Highgarden besides.”
Sansa felt dizzy; one instant her head was full of dreams of Loras, and the next they had all been snatched away. Willas? Willas? “I,” she said stupidly. Courtesy is a lady’s armor. You must not offend them, be careful what you say. “I do not know Ser Willas. I have never had the pleasure, my lady. Is he... is he as great a knight as his brothers?”
“. . LIFTED HER HIGH INTO THE AIR! THE BEAR! THE BEAR!”
“No,” Margaery said. “He has never taken vows.”
Her grandmother frowned. “Tell the girl the truth. The poor lad is crippled, and that’s the way of it.”
“He was hurt as a squire, riding in his first tourney,” Margaery confided. “His horse fell and crushed his leg.”
“That snake of a Dornishman was to blame, that Oberyn Martel . And his maester as well.”
“I CALLED FOR A KNIGHT, BUT YOU’RE A BEAR! A BEAR! A BEAR! ALL BLACK
AND BROWN AND COVERED WITH HAIR!”
“Willas has a bad leg but a good heart,” said Margaery. “He used to read to me when I was a little girl, and draw me pictures of the stars. You will love him as much as we do, Sansa.”
“SHE KICKED AND WAILED, THE MAID SO FAIR, BUT HE LICKED THE HONEY
FROM HER HAIR. HER HAIR! HER HAIR! HE LICKED THE HONEY FROM HER HAIR!”
“When might I meet him?” asked Sansa, hesitantly.
“Soon,” promised Margaery. “When you come to Highgarden, after Joffrey and I are wed. My grandmother will take you.”
“I will,” said the old woman, patting Sansa’s hand and smiling a soft wrinkly smile. “I will indeed.”
“THEN SHE SIGHED AND SQUEALED AND KICKED THE AIR! MY BEAR! SHE SANG.
MYBEAR SO FAIR! AND OFF THEY WENT, FROM HERE TO THERE, THE BEAR, THE
BEAR, AND THE MAIDEN FAIR.” Butterbumps roared the last line, leapt into the air, and came down on both feet with a crash that shook the wine cups on the table. The women laughed and clapped.
“I thought that dreadful song would never end,” said the Queen of Thorns. “But look, here comes my cheese.”