"He weren't in the stables, Milady. I asked the lads if they'd seen 'im but neither had, not since the sun were high. Jemmy says he took that great big horse. It could be that he's getting some air, Milady. You know these men don't like being cooped up in a henhouse, as much as they care for their lasses."
The serving woman stood in the doorway, her plump fingers nervously kneading the apron spread across her thick waist. When sure that her Lady would not reply she dipped her head and bobbed her knees, happy to leave the sorry, silent scene.
Hypnotised by the soft snowfall outside her window, Sansa did not notice the departure nor felt the tear that slipped down her cheek.
It was foolish to play the part of an unattached man in the Winter Town yet Sandor played it well, stroking his long fingers across the collarbone of a loose-laced whore. For five years he had been known to the townspeople as a man to be feared and obeyed. For four years he had been known as the Lord of Winterfell, husband to the russet-haired Lady Stark and for three he had been known as sire to the grey-eyed snow child, Wren. There was not a soul in the tavern that did not recognise the breadth of the man seated on the long bench with a beauty on his lap and a bevy in his paw.
For all the stares and whispers, Sandor did not care. He breathed against the neck of the tart he held close, inhaling her scent of sweat and spit. She cackled loudly and swore as good as any soldier, holding her ale close to ruddy breasts that threatened to spill over her dress each time she jiggled.
"Sing us anuva, Heg! How 'bout that one where the knight goes to stick his sword in a lass only to find she's a he with a sword of 'is own!" The whore slapped the thigh of the Lord she sat on as she guffawed, sloshing her drink over the both of them.
Flea chuckled and strummed his lute. "Aye, alright Flossie! Jus' for you and the Lord Master you're sittin' on!"
A young serving girl began to collect coin and fill the empty vessels as the singer Heg began his tune. In time the whole tavern sang along to the bawdy song, with the exception of the Lord and his purchase. As the room raced towards another chorus, Sandor stood, hoisting the wide-bottomed woman over his shoulder. He stepped over a bench and headed towards the stairs.
The whore called out as they ascended towards a vacant chamber, "Watch me drink, Sally! I'll be needing it after this feller is done with me!"