Chapter 13.
Sansa did not meet Sandor that day again.
It was her own fault because she was scared of looking for him and inviting him for dinner. She was scared of her own reactions seeing him, being seen by him, being close to him. He chose to stay away from her, spending his time somewhere else and he did not bother to inform her about it – not if she had dared to ask anyone if they had seen him.
She spent the night without a moment of sleep, thinking of him and dreaming about him for endless hours, wondering what she could do to make him confess or make him admit his love for her, wondering how long she would be able to continue her life, defending her secret, without being loved by him.
What she received from him now was not enough for her. She was a young woman and not a child anymore. She felt burning desire towards Sandor, not only some physical lust, but an emotional craving as well. She wanted to share everything with him, her life, her love, her thoughts and her plans, and she wanted to see his rough face beside her on the pillow every morning and every night.
Early in the morning she got out of her bed with the sudden intention of looking for Sandor before breakfast and of talking to him no matter if he was alone or not. In spite of her exhaustion, she was bursting with the energy of trying to do something to reach her most important goal.
She had no idea what she would say but she was sure that she would know when she finally would be standing in front of him. She got dressed without any help, as always, even though it was more difficult than usual, as she was extremely excited and nervous, and her fingers were trembling so badly that she was rather clumsy with the buttons and the laces. She even laughed at herself and it gave her some relief.
Leaving her rooms, she found her servants greeting her with a bow, hurrying up and down doing their tasks. Life at Winterfell was finally calm and easy, and it was absolutely visible on her people's faces. Even if it was early morning, everyone seemed to be kind of happy to do their task – instead of being scared of the future, of the wars, of the constant fights, of hunger and cold.
She saw Sandor nowhere, neither on the corridors nor in the main hall, neither outside the yard nor on the outdoor corridors, therefore she walked to the stables as she suspected she would find him there taking care of his horse. His horse was his closest friend, actually his only friend and companion he could always trust and count on, once he had remarked during a dinner. Every morning and every night he found time to check how the horse felt, if there was enough hay and enough fresh water in front of him.
There was only a young dark-haired boy there, not more than twelve years old, feeding the horses, singing softly, but when he saw Sansa, he fell on his knees and lowered his head politely.
- Good morning, Queen Sansa!
Sansa smiled at him tenderly and caressed his hair.
- Good morning, Henry. How lovely of you to feed our horses so carefully!
- This is my job, mylady, and I would not give it to anyone else! – he replied proudly and looked into her eyes without any fear.
She wished she would have such a fierce bravery every time she would meet Sandor face to face.
Sansa looked around to check the whole place with a quick glance but it was obvious that Sandor was not there. Suddenly she also noticed that his tremendous black horse he always kept near the southern corner was also missing.
- He left, my lady.
Sansa turned around to see Ser Thomas standing at the door, watching her with a serious face. She became a little annoyed that she seemed to be an open book to him, but she did her best to hide this annoyance.
She smiled graciously while forcing a relaxed tone on her voice.
- What do you mean by this, Ser Thomas?
Ser Thomas offered his arm to her and led her away from the stables, back to the main hall where the cheerful chattering of the maids from the kitchen could be understood. The tables had already been set in the dining hall and the girls were preparing the bowls of dishes before carrying them inside to be served.
- About an hour ago Ser Sandor rode through the northern gate with a curse, loud enough to be heard by all the guards. I would not repeat that part, my lady, if you don't mind. He also said that he needed some fresh air.
Sansa swallowed hard and she felt a stinging pain in her heart that he had left without a message, but her smile didn't change while they were walking to the breakfast table.
- Well, sometimes all of us need some fresh air, it is understandable.
Ser Thomas mumbled something, then continued audibly.
- This man needs more than fresh air, to be honest.
Sansa chose not to reply and occupied her chair with a wide smile, confessing how hungry she was for some warm porridge.
Ser Sandor did not return to Winterfell that evening. Not even on the following evening or on the next one.
Sansa's heart was aching deeply as the days passed by and she could hardly fight back her tears when she was alone. She decided not to cry, not even when she was left alone in her bedroom, and she tried hard to keep that promise. She wished she had been more grateful when he was there in Winterfell, close to her and she wished she had not wished for more than his presence.
Weeks passed and no messages from Ser Sandor came.
No one heard about him, no one knew if he was dead or alive. Most people did not care much about him, but Ser Thomas looked completely satisfied and he had a hard time to hide his joy from his queen. Sansa ignored it because she knew that it was not wickedness – he simply wanted what he thought the best for her.
When the Midsummer Night arrived, Sansa still felt like doing nothing but hiding under her thin summer blankets and crying all day like a child. But she was the Queen and she could not let herself fall apart – or allow others to see her fall apart. She also had duties – the duty of defending her people and of nurturing them in any possible way.
For the first time in years, she organised a lavish Midsummer Night festival for Winterfell. Everyone in and around the castle was invited for an abounding feast of different kinds of roasted meat, potatoes, pies, fresh and dried fruits, wines and beers. As always, a group of talented musicians with violins and flutes appeared quickly and young people hurried to dance while the older ones continued their dinner and clapped their hands for the music. They joined the dance only after filling their bellies.
Sansa was sitting at her table, watching her people eating, drinking, laughing and dancing cheerfully and happily. No matter how old they actually were, how much they had suffered in the past – now they all behaved like ecstatic, careless children who had nothing to do but enjoy the joys of life. She loved that scene in spite of her own sadness. They deserve some happiness and rest now, after all those hard times, she thought.
When she felt a little tired and that she needed some fresh air, she left her chair and walked away from the party. The backyard was almost empty, only three dogs were playing around but they ran away when they saw her. She continued her way towards the gardens where she hoped she could find some peace and loneliness.
Among the tall bushes of roses, scenting so sweetly, the music was still clearly audible and somehow suddenly Sansa felt like dancing.
It was so long ago when I fancied dancing, she thought bitterly, but I wish someone were here dancing with me. She knew very well who is the only person that special someone must be and who had been away for such a long time.
She picked up her dress between two of her fingers like a true lady, and slowly turned around her heels, then she made some dancing moves before turning around again. She was smiling at herself even though that smile was filled with sadness and sorrow.
- May I have the favour? – a familiar rasped voice asked suddenly.
She turned around quickly to see Sandor Clegane standing in front of her, so close that she could smell his scent of wet ground and smoke. She was completely surprised and shocked, and she felt how excitement poured all over her body like an ice-cold shower of rain. It was out of her wildest dreams or expectations to see him again, right there, especially not with the possibility of him catching her in such a vulnerable moment.
- Did you ask me for a dance? – she could regain the calm tone of her voice, but she knew exactly that her hungry eyes were already betraying her. She was smiling softly and a little shyly.
Sandor smirked a little, as if he had been amused by her reaction, but his eyes did not betray his intentions.
He ran his hands along his tight-fitting leather coat and trousers with a swift move as if he had wanted to brush any grass off his clothes. Even in the shadows of the torches, Sansa could see that he must have spent several nights sleeping under the sky, on the bare ground.
- Yes, I think so.
Sansa took a small, gracious bow, as she had been taught by her mother, to gain some more seconds.
- I feel deeply honoured, Ser.
Sandor looked at her a little furiously, turning his rudely burnt cheek towards her as a kind of expression of his annoyance.
- I am not a Ser…
Sansa's gracious smile turned into a little cheekier than she planned to, even though she was not aware of that.
- Then how could I call you to express my appreciation? My lord?
Sandor Clegane now laughed loudly but short, as if he had been told a great joke, then he stretched out his hand towards Sansa's.
- I don't care about titles.
Sansa took his hand softly. She loved his tender touch that was so unusual of him and that made her whole body electrified with anticipation and pleasure. She had been longing for him, and finally he was there, holding her hand in his huge, rough palm, among his warm fingers.
- I know that, but we seem to have to find a title that satisfies both of us – she replied with a tender smile, trying to hold her breath inside her chest.
My husband, she thought suddenly, and she blushed immediately.
Sandor did not seem to notice her blushing.
- I don't even care if you call me your damned dog, just let me dance with you, Lady Stark. – his dark voice was filled with unspoken promises, but Sansa was desperately scared that it was only her imagination and that he was simply playing with her. She was so close to him finally and she was scared of losing him again.
He pulled her closer towards his body but only their hands were physically intertwined, and they started dancing slowly, not taking away their eyes off each other. Sansa was smiling softly but Sandor's face looked as rough as always, his deep watchful eyes were digging into hers without mercy. His breath, free from beer or wine, was warm on her face, and his lips, partly hidden behind his moustache, were curling into a constant mocking grin. However, his mysterious glance on her contained no disdain or contempt. She wanted to know what he was thinking of but she knew that no one would be able to make Sandor confess, not even by torture.
He moved and danced slowly, in perfect harmony with Sansa that completely astonished her as she had never seen him dance but then she remembered how many years he had spent in the court watching other people dancing for hours, the most elegant ladies and the noblest knights, in King's Landing. She wished that dance would never finish and she was sucking every second of it into her brain hungrily and desperately.
When the music stopped, Sandor took a deep bow, kissed Sansa's hand softly, burning her skin with his warm lips, then he let her fingers out of his palm.
- Thank you for the dance, Lady Stark. – and he disappeared simply in the darkness as if he hadn't been there at all.
Sansa felt as if she had been dreaming even though she knew very well that everything had happened. She still felt the warmth of his hand and of his breath on her skin, she could still see his deep dark eyes on her.