Back inside, Davos found Lady Sansa sitting at the high table, petting a white direwolf with red eyes. Ghost looked up at his approach.

“I see you have found company. Perhaps the wolf would like to dance?”

Sansa smiled. “I’d love for Jon to get him to try. I hear Ghost is a miserable juggler, though.”

“My lady, may I have this next dance? If the wolf doesn’t object,” Davos asked Sansa. Ghost turned his head to look at him, though he didn’t make any sound.

“Most certainly, Lord Seaworth,” smiled Sansa, as she took Davos’ proffered hand.

“I am afraid that one dance has tired my King, but with a partner as lovely as you I hope he has the stamina for many more in the years to come. He is not usually as standoffish to others as he might appear.” That’s the truth as I see it, even though others might differ with me. He just needs you to earn his respect. Sansa blushed at the compliment, and in combination with her auburn hair, the effect was quite lovely.

“Well, if I am to judge my betrothed based on the quality of those lords he keeps close to him, then I should have nothing to worry about, do I?” said Sansa with a smile.

Thank the gods she never met the Lady Melisandre, save her soul.