Glad to be alone again, Sansa finally gave way to her exhaustion and sat leaning against the pillar, eyes closed. And when the night grew cold and dark, The Hound offered her his cloak, and she smelt him again. His scent, this time, less of death, and more of...dog, she mused. It was a subtle, dank smell of musk and warmth with hot earthy undertones of dirt and sweat. The smell of him reminded her of a gentler time, when she would sit in the Godswood and prey for only mother nature's mercy from the oncoming winter, whilst burying her face in Lady's tidy, thick coat.
It wasn't long later when one of the Queen's guards lit up the area with a warm orange glow - a harsh juxtaposition compared to upcoming events.
"The Queen has sent me to aid your relief, Hound, you are able to break for your fast if you wish it. Go now, piss on a tree and find a whore to rub your belly, you mangy mutt." The man feigned authority, but the Hound over stood him by a foot, at least. He only sniggered, and let the guard continue.
"Gosh now, haven't had a cup of wine in - what, six hours? That's a plight. You must be thirsty." His eyes drifted and he leered at Sansa. "I'm a bit thirsty myself, actually."
The Hound's hand shot out and gripped the man's neck, lifting him slightly, his feet dangling like puppets at the ground.
The guard dropped his fire torch with a clank on marble, illuminating the scene from below, casting shadows across the Hounds eyes. Two stubby hands gripped around Sandor's, trying to pry them off him.
It was subtle, but Sansa noticed a wariness emitting from the Hound upon the abandoned torch. Perhaps only a little did he move away, but the tension was clearly naught from his inciting intimidation, but from the terror of dancing flames that a small child once endured the pain from long ago.
"You dare even think about touching the lady, and I'll personally see to it that your castrated - flayed one slithering nut sack, at a time."
The Hound released the slowly purpling man, and he crumpled to the floor like pork Jelly.
"And you can tell the Queen that while her thoughtfulness has not gone unnoticed, I feel less at ease with a pig like yourself in even just the same room as the lady, let a lone leaving her alone with you and your perversions."
The floored man gargled and winced, but before he could recover, the Hound hunkered by him with a scowl so horrible that even the most very violent souls trapped in the depths of seven hells would tremble before him.
Sansa wouldn't forgot the hostility displayed across the hulking man's face any time soon. Like a demon - the hallows of his cheeks and eyes shrouded in black, framed around dark, lang hair. His burned side glinting and red. Only the malice truly showed in the way his lips moved and the scowl behind them flickered. But it was very clear - an angry mouth was all that was needed to convey his truths.
The shear size difference between the men did not go unnoticed, and Sansa remembered back to that night, with the Hound atop her so, creating a considerably uneven surface upon the featherbed with his overpowering weight. And she realized then, that no matter what, she'd always be a little afraid of him.
The Hound spoke low, and Sansa couldn't hear it, but the threat, what ever it was, was indeed severally real, or at least, it appeared the man on his back had thought it to be. A person couldn't fake the kind of terror sewn across his features. The Hound stood, and backed away.
"Bring me a chicken and a flagon of wine," He said flatly. The Queen's guard scrambled to his feet, unable to retrieve his light quick enough.
"And don't forget the candles." The Hound spat before the man fled.
"Cunt." He growled out into the blackness of the night.
Time passed, and soon four handmaidens entered. All of them flushed and hurrying. One was holding an already lit candle chandelier, and she set it by the Hound. The kitchenmaid followed suite, bypassing Sansa and presenting The Hound with a meal of bread and butter, his requested chicken, and some hot vegetable soup. The smell filled the room and her stomach grumbled.
The other two girls set up her cot and she was relieved to be able to sit on something other then the hard marble floor. The four curtsied before her, ringing out chorus's of 'm'lady' before fleeing as quickly as they'd entered.
Thank you, Tyrion. She thought settling onto the cot. It was nothing like her goose-feather bed, being tiny, fit for a child. It was a little lumpy, but it was a bed to crown over the cold marble floor.
The large flagon the girls had set before the Hound could have easily quenched the thirst of at least five Cersei's, but the Hound only grunted as he took a swing, some of the liquid trickling down into his corse beard.
He sprawled himself out across the three rounded steps leading to the main platform, and devoured over half his dine in less then five minuets. It was...off-putting, Sansa thought, to see bits of spit flinging in all directions as he bit directly into a chicken leg, barely chewing before swallowing. The broth of soup dripped down his chin, as he cupped the bowl to his mouth, taking a large draft. She wondered how long it had gone without a wash. She couldn't imagine he worried about personal hygiene too much.
"Oh, stop looking so revolted girl, this is how a man eats." Her stomach simply grumbled in response. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, and even then it had been very little, what with the news that ailed her so.
The Hound placed the remaining bread and chicken into the bowl of broth and stalked over to Sansa with it in one hand and the chandelier in the other. He set the candles down, and shoved the bowl under her nose.
"Here girl." She looked at the meal expecting very little to be left. And yet, half the bread remained, and a full chicken breast sat untouched - he'd even removed it from the carcass. Most of the broth was gone, but it was more then she could have hoped for.
"Thank you."
He grunted and extended the flagon.
"Go on, take a sip, take two. I can't give you water, but..." He trailed, loosing his words as he watched the girl rip it from him with her small hands and with only a seconds thought, gulped it down, the flagon engulfing her entire face. When she re-emerged and gave it back, she wiped her mouth as delicately as she could with her sleeve. And giggled.
"Shite, girl." He growled. "That'll go straight to your head on an empty stomach."
"Do you, hick, regret sharing it with me?"
"Not a bit, little bird." He chuckled, and sat back on the steps, picking his teeth with a bone and taking deep swigs of the wine. Sansa looked at the food before her, but her smile soon vanished.
"Oh no. What about utensils." She looked back to the Hound, hardly about to tell where he was apart from a darker, gargantuan lump of a shadow.
"Do I look like I got any fucken' utensils, girl?"
"Oh..." She saddened. "How am I supposed to eat without a knife and falk. Fork." She corrected, furrowing.
The Hound snorted into the flagon.
"I'm sure you'll figure it out when you get hungry enough."
It didn't take her long, and all too soon the bowl lay empty on the floor. She used the river water to wash her hands, and then cleaned her teeth as best she could, scraping a nail along them. But she had something more urgent to attend too, and she could no longer ignore it or hope for a miracle to happen any time soon.
"Ser, I...I," She'd lost her confidence when he looked her way, eyes glinting in the darkness, so instead she averted her eyes to anywhere but him. "Need the... I need to...uhh, relieve...myself." And somehow, in nothing but a dancing orange glow with only him in the room, her embarrassment was the worst it had been all day.