CHAPTER 14 – THE WAIT
Just before midnight, the musicians played the last song and then the room fizzed with conversation for awhile longer. Sansa was surrounded by people eager to speak with her once more before her departure.
Lord Robert saw Sandor standing to the side and approached him. "I will escort my cousin to her chambers tonight."
Sandor acknowledged his dismissal with a bow. He turned on his heel and left the hall at once, taking the exit into the corridor that would lead to his own room.
He doubled back and passed through the kitchens, thinking to ask for Clara if anyone questioned his presence. He strode quickly down the corridor to Sansa's room and, after making sure he wasn't seen, slipped through her door.
Once inside, Sandor looked around, wondering what to do with himself until she arrived. He saw, to his left, a cozy sitting area with embroidered pillows on the chairs. Sansa's sewing basket sat next to the table. Across from him was a set of doors leading to a small balcony. He could see the rain had stopped and the moon was giving a bluish light to the balcony's furnishings. To Sandor's right was an alcove that could be separated from the rest of the room by curtains, which were just then drawn back. In the alcove was Sansa's bed, which, flanked by two nightstands, looked out into the rest of the room. The bed had a richly carved headboard of dark wood and was situated under two windows, through which the moonlight came streaming. The fireplace was to its left and a wooden screen to its right shielded the dressing area and privy. Clara had built a good fire. The room was pleasantly warm.
Sandor made use of the privy and then, lacking anything else to do, looked at the objects on Sansa's dressing table. After frowning over some powders he couldn't assign a purpose, he saw a bottle of green liquid and, sniffing it, discovered it contained alcohol infused with mint leaves. Fucking Littlefinger, he thought. He took a swig anyway, rinsed the concoction around in his mouth, and spat it out in the privy. Now that his mouth was tingling, he thought to finish the job and, using Sansa's wash basin, washed his face and hands.
Sansa's brush and hand mirror were neatly arranged on the dressing table and Sandor contemplated them for a minute. He rarely had access to a mirror and even less frequently had a desire to use one. He picked it up and looked at himself. Still burned. Doubt chilled him. She wasn't too happy last time she found you in her room . . . No, but this time she knows you'll be here . . . She didn't invite you . . . She didn't tell you she sent Clara away for the night for no reason . . . Sandor put the mirror down and his eye fell on a small enameled bowl, which contained pieces of ribbon, bits of jewelry, and some dry wafers he couldn't identify. Holding up one wafer to the firelight, he discovered that it was a pressed flower, a snowbell. A fluttering feeling went through him. Little bird . . .
He returned the snowbell to the bowl and turned back toward the fire. Doubt remained but Sandor removed his cloak and sword belt and draped them over a small chair next to the fireplace. Then he sat and removed his boots, knowing his being discovered in such a state would be disastrous for himself and worse for Sansa. He decided to draw the curtains on the alcove so the sleeping area would be concealed from anyone entering the room. Sandor then crossed to the bed and sat gently on the edge of the feather mattress. He heaved a sigh, swung his legs up, stretched out, and waited.
After what felt like a long time, Sandor heard voices in the hall and his body grew tense in anticipation.
"Thank you again, Sweetrobin, for the ball. It was lovely and everyone enjoyed it."
A few more words were exchanged and then the door opened and closed. Sandor's heart started thumping in his chest as Sansa's footsteps drew near. She pulled back the curtain.