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seoness · 2 years

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(18+) More Than Our Servitude - Part II

NSFW | (TV!) Sandor Clegane x Fem!Reader | Requested | Oneshot turned Multi-Part

Trigger warning: Canon-typical violence, sexism, the implied threat of sexual assault, the reader becomes a victim of physical assault. The reader is wounded: cuts. Contains explicit scenes of sexual nature.

Summary: Your journey with the Hound continues. It doesn't matter how fast Stranger takes the both of you. The Hound cannot outride his past. Emotions reach a peak after a dangerous encounter, and you do not escape unscathed.

Author's Note: I've taken some liberties with the canon material, but nothing that changes the plot line of the show or established canon from either source material. Spending time with the Hound should make you able to get to know him better, right? ☺️

It looked wrong. After days of riding past deserted farms, standing like blackened skeletons with their fields scorched, the small village in the middle of the forest felt like a dream.

"Trust me."

Clegane shifted in the saddle. "Not happening."

"You are the famed Hound. People would recognize you. Me? I could be anyone, just a wanderer."

"Think it normal for lone women to travel the countryside?" he countered.

"More so with the Riverlands burning," you answered and looked up at the face locked in a scowl. "I can do this. We need to eat."

Clegane nodded towards the village. "None in there would dare bother you if I'm with. We'll be far gone when someone finds out there's gold on our heads."

"Your head," you corrected. "Isn't it better if we don't leave any trail, be a needle in a haystack?"

The hand at the small of your back made your heart race. How of all things was this what finally-

"Wait!"

A push, gentle yet firm.

Sliding down, Stranger whinnied out as your feet hit the ground.

"Get then," Clegane spat. "Grown tired of your bickering. Would serve me right to take off while you're gone and be rid of you."

You had already begun to unfasten the empty satchel, shaking out the crumbs left by the rations, and fished out the leather pouch with his coin from the saddlebag.

"Then you would be hungry, penniless, and alone," you replied. "If you wish I could remain silent from now on."

Clegane's mouth twitched, pressing to a thin line, and for a brief moment, something else flickered in those angry eyes of his. With a last smile and a curtsy, you turned on your heel and began the walk down the hill, counting his silver.

There were necessities: salt, hard biscuits, and hopefully cured meat. Perhaps the tavern even had a cheap warm meal, it wouldn't serve well as a ration, but tonight it would do both of you good. Looking out over the village, fruit trees dotted its surroundings. Plums, apples, and pears. In one of the fields grew bundles of green turnips. Those usually were cheap. Roasted with some herbs, salt, and butter, even the Hound wouldn't be kept frowning. Wine, you couldn't forget the wine.

The soft thuds of hooves against dirt made you peer back. Clegane didn't offer you as much as a glance, his dark eyes fixed on the tavern. Keeping to silence, you only squinted up at the man.

"Don't trust it," Clegane pushed through gritted teeth.

Freshly baked bread, mulled wine, and hot cider. All pleasant scents one could expect from a tavern, even unpleasant ones of vomit and urine wouldn't have made you frown as Clegane pushed the door open. It wasn't wholly unfamiliar. Thick and musky, the scent of bodies in heat was soon joined by its sounds.

The stalls that ran along the walls of the tavern had been fitted with drapes. Moany breaths and pleads left those closed, while women laid on the seats of the ones still open, watching you both, their dresses nothing more than loosly draped cloth tied with string at their waists.

A plump older woman stood by the bar, her breasts barely fitting in the bodice and when her eyes landed on you the smile on her lips grew a bit warmer.

"Looking for a night's stay?" she asked.

"Food," Clegane only said and signed for you to step forward.

"I-I thought this was a tavern," you stammered.

"Oh it was, love, but it is what it is," she replied, shrugging. "Better to entertain soldiers this way than for them to think of a way themselves, no? Their games can be rather harsh. So what shall you and your husband have? Got some pie, no meat I'm afraid, but it'll get you filled up."

You glanced up at Clegane but he gave no tell of approval.

"He's not my husband."

"A contender?" the woman giggled.

"None of your concern," Clegane rasped and the smile on the inkeeper's face grew tense.

"He's helping me travel to Highgarden, I have family there." And hopefully that lie would send any persuers in the wrong direction.

"Where you travelling from?" she asked.

"Riverrun," you said, continuing the lie.

"The lions taken it?"

"I don't know, didn't stay there long enough to find out," you replied and looked to your feet.

Had it already been taken? It wasn't like washerwomen were invited to the war table and you didn't have a great many places to pick from. You knew every street of King's Landing and which areas of Flea Bottom were the safest to walk. Outside that, was a world you'd only heard in passing. Seats belonging to one lord or the other.

"You a King's man?" the innkeeper asked but Clegane kept silent, still stewing in his anger but her smile didn't waver. "Those that serve the good of the realm have our girls for free."

With a whistle, one of the women left the open stalls, the dress undone, bundling at her waist and the bare skin oiled. You fixed your eyes on the satchel filled with food as she jumped up on the counter to sit.

He wasn't your husband. Made no promises, sworn no vow. You knew he had visited brothels in King's Landing, Clegane never boasted of it, but you knew it just as you knew that almost every man did. One thing to know it and another to see it.

"I'll go and water the horse," you mumbled, emptying the coinpurse and darting out with your rations.

What would even the protest be? Don't? Because you're there? Because you wanted him to come to you instead? When he became Kingsguard, you had hoped. He would have been far from the first that went to a washerwoman for comfort, but the man never came and you never saw the women he went to instead. It left room. Room for your fantasies to make the world something it wasn't, make you the woman in one of the winesinks he tapped on the shoulder.

Stranger stood tethered by a wooden post, but this time the black stallion didn't whinny out as you came close.

"Would serve me right to take off and be rid of him while he's gone," you said and rolled your eyes.

Even if that had been a plan, Stranger was a warhorse and you had heard the talk of stablehands. They weren't trained to be pleasant and amicable like a palfrey. The only ones that could safely ride them were their masters, not even all squires could take to their knight's horse.

"She was very lovely," you said and fastened the satchel. "Bet she can make him in a good mood."

As the tears started to well, you hit your head against the side of the saddle making Stranger stomp down.

"Could you let me pity myself for a moment please?" you whispered.

The door to the tavern struck open and you didn't even need to turn to know it was the Hound. He was quick at least. For the first time your heart didn't race as his hands caught your waist and hoisted you up in the saddle.

"Never been in a whorehouse before?" he asked, you only shook your head in response. "Not too grown for a silent treatment?"

"You were tired of my bickering."

Clegane swung up behind you, snorting. "True. Left to me to make a new plan then."

You twisted in the saddle, "We had a plan?"

"Thought going east would be good, doubt they've heard about any Clegane there. Gold to be had in being a sellsword," he replied and grimaced. "Slavers. The eastern shore is full with them, ain't taking you there."

"How is that any different from bands of broken men?"

"It's different," Clegane said but as the village started to grow distant behind you he continued, "A broken man fights to stay alive. Killing, theft, some turn rapers. A bandit with better arms."

"How is that different from slavers?"

"Smarter. Already forgotten the Greyjoy Rebellion?" he asked.

Waiting for Stranger to bob down his head, you kicked over your leg, so your side was to him. It was rare for him to be this talkative. If the woman in the tavern had gotten his warmth, you'd at least savor the rest.

"You fought in it?"

It earned you another snort. "Gregor fought in it, I guarded. Kept to the shores of the Westerlands dealing with raiders," he said and his eyes looked to the road ahead, beyond it and his voice grew distant. "Sure, they'd kill a few men, torch some houses but they'd scurry off the moment one came riding. For every man killed, twice the number of women and children were taken."

"The Ironborn took slaves?"

"Aye, but they didn't keep all of them. Some they gave to their Drowned God." Clegane returned to you, the dark eyes meeting yours. "Tyroshi wouldn't sacrifice you to the waves."

"If any of them win, the Lannisters, the Baratheons or the Stark? Would any pardon you?" you asked.

"Fat chance of that. The King in the North might send me to the Wall if he's anything like his Lord Father. At least that one would take my head himself."

"No slaver is taking me and no King in the North is taking your head," you spat and Clegane cocked his brow. "What?"

"First time I hear you growling," he said.

The camp for the night was made by a small brook, birch trees rising high around the meadow. The sky had gone purple. It was a luxury to be able to roll out your bedroll before dusk was claimed by night. Watching as the water in the kettle came to a boil, you pulled it off the fire. The rabbit, skinned and gutted, sizzled on its spit, and the turnips had been buried into the earth by the edge of the campfire, baking away.

"I'm not making poison," you swore as the Hound's eyes fell on you, steeping birch leaves into the water, "it's good for you."

"A cunning woman now too?" he asked.

"It's just what I've been told, I've drunken it myself so I know it won't kill us. If you don't want to try it then there's just more wine for you to drink."

The Hound returned to sharpening his sword, running the whetstone along the blade, and when satisfied he took to his dagger.

"It's good you caught the rabbit," you said after a while.

"Leave it be."

His voice didn't sound any different, no more angry or tired than before, yet that distant gaze returned. There wasn't even any anger in his face, the scowl was there, but it was a fixture. Hollow.

"We'll figure out a plan," you tried. "I'd rather stay here in Westeros, it's not like I'd be comfertable in a land were there's slaves, regardless if I'm one of them or not."

Rising, you stepped into his view but his eyes didn't catch you. "Clegane?"

The wind made the tops of birchtrees sway, the leaves rustling and wood snapping.

Snapping?

Your gaze left the Hound, peering out amongst the trees. He had been correct, being so scrutinous of the pick of campsite. There were no shrubs, no trees thick enough for them to hide.

One after the other they appeared, eight in all. Their faces gaunt and hunger had made their clothes hang loose to their bodies.

"Clegane," you breathed but the man did not rise, he didn't as much as peer back.

Their eyes, while everything else seemed to have wilted away, what rested within the eyes of those men made every fiber within your being scream out, plead for you to run.

You were nothing more than a lamb that had wandered into a den of lions. Hadn't Clegane heard you? But he always heard you? Why couldn't he hear you?! You opened your mouth to speak, mouthing his name, yet no sound came. Steel gleamed in their hands.

"Sandor?"

A flicker of relief, he must have heard you but when your eyes darted down the Hound sat unmoving. Was this a nightmare? The dark eyes were so distant, like he was stuck somewhere far away.

They'd kill you.

They'd kill him.

You saw everything else in those eyes of theirs too, how slow your death would be. You were more than a threat. A treat. A plaything— until they'd grow bored of you.

"Dog!" the scream rang through the forest.

You stepped back as Clegane shot to his feet, breath catching in your throat as he spun around. The sword was already drawn, and the Hound's helm that had rested beside him quickly came over his head.

"Stranger. Now."

"Leaving?" one of them spun, the blond hair matted into thick clumps. "You be clad in plenty of steel."

"And that told you this was a good idea?" the Hound snorted.

"More of us than you," another spat, an ax ready in his hand.

"Who you serving?" the first man asked. "Lions?"

"Not anymore," Clegane replied, backing up until his hand caught your arm, squeezing. "Stranger. Untie him."

"A broken brother!" the first man laughed and held out his arms, but the sword was no less sharp in his grip. "Do not fret, we ain't here to judge kin! You look strong enough, why not join us? We see to our share of fun and keep each other's backs far better than some lordling twat. That's a good sword."

Silent you turned around, the stallion stood by one of the birch trees already pulling at the reigns that bound it but as you took a step towards it, a third man darted into the path. A gapped grin flashing on his face, the cheeks scarred by pox.

"You cooked that, love?" he asked, nodding to the rabbit beginning to charr by the fire, but you couldn't will yourself to answer. "Cooks and keeps her mouth shut, her cunt tight too?"

"We share in our little brotherhood. Fairness and all that," the first man said.

"I don't," the Hound replied.

"Manners," the man sighed and nodded back, the youngest among them stood with his bow knocked and drawn. "The boy's rather good with that one, been feathering birds all his life. Not so different from feathering men, ain't it so, Tip?"

"Aye," the boy Tip replied.

"I like your helm," the first man continued.

"Do I look like a fucking merchant?" the Hound growled.

"Looks like a dead man to me," another called out.

A stillness laid itself over the meadow. You didn't see what started it, but in a blink of an eye, everything happened all at once. A clang. From your right, a shadow dove in, and the man that had stood before you with his gapped grin disappeared behind the Hound. A spray of crimson shot through the air as Clegane thwarted his sword. A howl. You spun only for the shadow of the Hound to leap from your back again. The next death you saw fully, Clegane cut off the first man's hand, and the sword hit the ground with a thud, the fingers still curled around its hilt. The wail was cut short as the dagger buried into the man's eye. You watched as steel met steel until it hit the softness of flesh, sending up blades of crimson. The Hound was fighting four at once, or rather, he took great care not to. Never staying long enough in one place, his sword veining through the air, but it wasn't a desperate flailing. An arrow buried itself into his shoulder, but Clegane didn't even seem to notice. Cursing, the boy knocked his bow once more. Four became three, three became two, two became-

Four.

You began to twist, to search for the fifth, but a warmth hit your back. You opened your mouth to scream, but fingers clawed at the back of your head. The blade pressing against your throat.

"Shut your mouth," a stranger's voice hissed.

The boy no longer stood with his bow, aiming at the Hound. Taking flight amongst the birch trees. Clegane ripped the ax from the hand of one of the dead and you looked on with the last survivor of the brotherhood as it veined through the air. The boy's shriek made the dagger press even harder at your throat.

"Enough!" the roar made your ears ring.

The Hound's chest heaved, blood clinging to his brigandine. You had seen anger in his eyes before, but never like this, a wildness, a bloodthirst that could make anyone shrink

"Should have run," the Hound rasped.

"Like him? Drop your sword," the stranger said, the boy still wailing, crying for the aid of gods and his mother. "You deaf? Want the bitch to live then drop that fucking sword!"

It slipped out of his hand, and without the stranger having to make any demand the dagger followed.

"So you're not deaf. Now get on that horse of yours. If you ride hard and long enough, I might just leave her here alive."

He wouldn't. Perhaps he'd not take his time with you like his brethren, but there was no mercy in that voice, in the blade that pressed against your throat. So this was it, how you died. Dog. The last word you ever spoke to him, what you had heard echoing through the Red Keep as the King had yelled for his Hound to come. A title, only spoken in contempt or ridicule, was your final word. Not. like. this.

The pain burned bright in your hands. You couldn't see your murderer's face, just his arms, free from steel and wool. He wrung around you, cursing and roaring. The taste of metal filled your mouth. The next had no pain, just a warmth seeping down your throat. The Hound lunged, bodies clashing, and you flew to the side. One hand catching grass and the other, the still twitching leg of a dead man. Away. You just needed to get away.

The fingers trembled, red and slick. Your hands, your blood. Deep gashes ran along your palms. It couldn't have taken that long, you didn't stare at the bloody hands for an eternity before your fingertips brushed over your neck. Whimpering as the pain shot out and without thought, you pressed against your throat.

"Clegane?" your voice weak, frail, but behind you could hear grunts, a heavy thud that grew wetter and wetter, and the cracking of bone.

The world had begun to spin and the boy's cries, you could hear them again, "Mother, help me! Please, help me! MOTHER!"

Why? You would have given them food if they were hungry. It wasn't fair.

Tipping onto your side, Clegane straddled the man, his fingers had dug into the man's face and each time he brought the head up you could see the back, its shape long gone.

"Clegane?"

Another thud, another wet crack.

"MOTHER! MOTHER!"

"Sandor?" it left you nothing more than a pipe.

There they were, those dark eyes of his, a fury like no other gone in an instant, and the next, Clegane's hands were on you. Pressing at your throat.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you whispered, tears blurring your view. "I didn't mean to."

Cursing under his breath, Clegane ripped up the scarf underneath his bevor and pushed it into the hand pressing at your throat. How much time, how many words would the gods give you to make this right?

"He's dead. It's done."

"I would never have called you that. Never. But you were... it was like you couldn't hear me, I'd never... I'm sorry, please forgive me."

His brow furrowed before his free arm slipped in by your legs and the ground left beneath you. Carrying you to Stranger's saddle.

"The food," you said.

It was a ruin, the rabbit had fallen into the fire, and the kettle kicked over.

"Fuck the food," he snapped and steadied you on Stranger's back, taking your hand to where he pressed. "Keep that there. Press it down. Hard."

You offered no protest as Clegane turned around. The sword and dagger returned to his hands. The Hound ran between the trees, and the boy's cries finally stopped before he appeared again.

Worry writ across his face. It looked too close to sorrow.

"I'm sorry I called you that. I never thought of you like...," you said as he swung up in the saddle. "I'm sorry, Clegane."

"You're not going to die, so save your pardons for some other day," he replied but if that was a promise or a command, you couldn't tell.

A lone candle lit up the small chamber, the heavy scent of incense tickling your nose and the bed soft beneath you.

"Let's see if you can't lift that for me, love," the innkeeper hummed and tapped on your hand, still pressing the bloodsoaked scarf against your throat.

Reluctantly you obeyed.

"Aren't you lucky, any deeper and you'd be a goner," she said, "if you've not bled out yet, you'll not do it now."

Her hands cradled yours, sucking at her teeth. "These will give you more trouble, but better that."

Behind the woman, the Hound sat on a chest by the door, his gaze burning her back.

"The only issue will be if it festers, but I'll see if we can't make that less likely."

"No burning," the Hound's voice tensed.

"I treat my girls with honey," she replied, pulling out a jar from one of the pockets of her apron.

You bit your lip as she began to dab it along the wound of your neck before turning her attention to your hands. The innkeeper humming as she worked.

"Seeing as you said this was work of some broken men, you two can have the room for free for tonight," the woman peered back at Clegane, her hand closing at your wrist as if he was to pull her away, "and I know who you are. We're not busy tonight, no one here to bother you, but lions like to prowl here. I won't lie when they come, so the two of you best leave early. Have I made myself understood?"

Clegane only offered a nod. Rising, she brushed her hands off the apron and gave you another warm smile before handing you the jar of honey. "You should reapply it but keep some linen over the wounds, not so much that it cannot breathe but enough so you're not pestered by flies."

"Thank you," you said.

"I hope you safely reach your family in Highgarden," the woman replied and slipped out.

"It is kind of them to let us stay for free," you said as Clegane locked the door.

He stayed by it, his hand gripping the handle. It fumed out of him, filling up the room.

"You're angry," you noted, an ache forming in your chest. "I should never have called you that."

Clegane snorted, and the bed creaked as he sat by its end, peering back over his shoulder.

"Think that's what troubles me?" His gaze stayed on you, wandering down to the hands laying at your sides. "Good work I've done, keeping you safe."

"I'm alive."

"Barely," Clegane replied and looked ahead, starting to unbuckle his pauldrons.

The brigandine slid off his body and the mail followed until he only sat in his undertunic. There was no red stain where the arrow had hit, the layers of steel had kept it from his body.

"Eight, you faced eight men alone and lived. How many can attest to such a thing?" you tried.

"There's no glory in killing rats. They had no armor and barely enough strength to swing their blades," he said and rose, pulling the cloak over his shoulder. "Go to sleep."

"Where are you going?"

"Seeing if killing broken men gets me wine," he muttered and the door slammed shut behind him.

You shuffled to the side of the bed, wincing as you pulled yourself up to sit, pain throbbing in your neck. The blood still clinging to your dress had begun to brown, and your fingertips traced the stains that ran down your breast.

Waiting, you came to know the small bedchamber well. The pattern of the bubbles that speckled the glass of the lone window, the scratches that ran along the wooden floor where furniture had been dragged and rearranged over the years. You wanted to be excited. The sole bed would only mean one thing, but what did it matter to lay beside him if he did not want you? If it wasn't your comfort he sought? The hurt of such a truth would have been easier another night, but the broken men's eyes hadn't gone. It didn't matter that they lay cold, gazing blankly at the night sky. Fear can't be waved away like some fly. It burrowed deep. If he could touch you, claim you. If you could be the one to allow it, for it not to be taken. The candle by the windowsill had all but burnt away when the door creaked open.

Clegane's voice was thick and drink had left it even more grating than usual, "Told you to sleep."

"I couldn't."

"Hard thing when sitting up," he replied dryly.

The floorboards creaked under his heavy footstep and you looked up, meeting his gaze, drunk and sullen.

"You did good," you said. "We're alive, surely that is what matters."

You smiled. Offered what the man had told you was the reason he had come for you at the Battle of Blackwater but Clegane winced as if you had just put a dagger in his gut.

"You heard the woman, she knows me. Won't be a place in the Seven Kingdoms where I'll go and not have some bugger that heard of me. This?" his hand shot out, but as it closed in on your face it slowed and the finger that traced down along the curve of your neck made your body tingle. "If I failed you a first time, I'll fail you a second time. I'm no fool."

"You did not fail me."

"Did that plenty today, done it for days now," he said and laughed as you frowned. "Not blind, woman. I see your face, how miserable you are."

"It isn't— I'm not miserable."

A small part perhaps, but it was loneliness, bitterness to not be wanted. But you didn't want his touch from desperate pleads or nagging, what sort of love was that?

"There it is," Clegane breathed. He lowered, looming above you. "Don't think I see it in your eyes, woman? Your lies might not be as rotten as the rest of them, but it's lies all the same. What woman wants a man that can't even protect her?"

"You're being cruel," you whispered.

"The fuck I am," Clegane hissed. "I've been plenty patient. Others take me, you think this a cruelty? You're that dumb? It's a kindness."

"You call me dumb and say it kindness?" you replied, a shrillness growing in your voice. "I think I have made it clear what I feel for you, if you do not want me then that is something I must come to terms with, but it is cruel to mock me for it."

As Clegane leaned forward, the pain in your neck made you tip back. Was this another one of his quips? As his hands found themselves on either side of your face, linens twisting as they balled into fists.

"Wanted to keep you safe. Unharmed. You'd never feel pain again. Look where that got me. Wanted you to never weep, and is this not your tears?" His thumb brushed by your cheek, wiping the tear away. "I can kill whoever tries to hurt you, but when you regret me and these are mine and not by some broken men? Can't offer you any comfort then."

"And you call me dim," you whispered. "These tears rest by your feet, Sandor Clegane." The tip of your fingers brushed over his stubbled cheeks, and the corners of your lips tugged. "Only you its comfort."

It was another cruelty, how quickly the man's eyes could change, for them to look down on you so intently. Leaving the rest of you to catch up, heart pounding in your chest, breath hitching.

"You could kiss me... if you like," the last words barely left your lips a sound.

Closing your eyes as Clegane lowered.

The lips you had only dreamed of didn't meet yours, his nose grazed your chin, and as his warm breath hit the nape of your neck, a sigh escaped your lips, "Please?"

Pain kept you bound, from hooking your arms around his neck and pulling up. He was near. The warmth traveled down and the tip of his nose brushed by your collarbone.

"You're being cruel."

A whole other than his first. It had hurt but this was torture, his mouth was so close to the laces of your underdress. If he just caught the string with his mouth and tugged, the dress could be gone. He could see all of you, touch all of you.

You squirmed as he moved up, whimpering.

"Not cruel," the rasp was a low hum in your ear. "Savoring something new."

"Please..."

"Never had a woman plead like this," he continued, and his face nuzzled in by the side of yours, gently as not to strain the wound by your neck.

It didn't matter. Your hips bucked up, but you couldn't reach him, his left hand sliding down and pinning you to the bed.

"Keep still."

Clegane pushed up, the scowl returning to his face as he inspected your throat. It wasn't until he looked at your hands that he sat up. Red splotched the wrappings of your left hand.

"It's nothing, I swear I'm fine," you said but the hands were already sliding in underneath you.

"You need rest."

Leave it to him to even make this a haggle.

"We could be gentle," you tried as he placed you back on the bed, no longer laying on its short end.

"Had too much wine for that and my patience is strained thin as it is," he grunted and walked to where his armor rested.

"What are you doing?" you asked.

Why? It was perfect, he was perfect. His back turned to you, Clegane slid on the mail shirt, and the brigandine returned to his shoulders.

"Where are you going?"

"You need rest," he repeated, "I stay, that won't happen."

Turning to put on his cloak, you saw it, the fabric of his breeches straining. He... he was... you had done that? Clegane came closer, walking around the edge of the bed. Had he changed his mind? But you couldn't look away as he lowered, his breath tickling your neck.

Rasping into your ear, "Hear me now, woman?"

"What?"

The snort made you wince, rearing back your head.

"Pardons, never had my cock make a woman lose her hearing," Clegane said, his voice even thicker than before.

"Did you say somethi-" But the question turned to a whimper as Clegane's teeth caught your ear.

The bite made the tingling inside grow to a throb.

Your hands shot up, trying to latch onto his shoulders but he caught you by the wrists. "Such pretty sounds you make."

Clegane released you, staggering back, a grin spread on his lips. The last of his cups had caught up with him. The wildness, so similar to what had been in his eyes as he had killed the broken men met you.

"I'll taste those lips come morn," he swore and the grin grew wider as you failed to hide your disappointment.

"If this was done it mocking, then you are beyond cruel," you whispered.

"Drunk too much. I'll not have my first kiss forgotten."

With that, he yanked up the pauldrons and walked out, locking the door behind him. Watching from the window, you saw the Hound slink into the stables. The cuts in your hands didn't even allow you to deal with what he left behind. It wasn't until your body had calmed that you recalled his words.

First kiss.

The Hound had never kissed a woman before?

Thanks for reading!

Listen, getting into the emotional iceberg that is Sandor Clegane takes time. If you wish for more spice, I'll gladly provide it. But like culinary spice, text spiciness comes in levels🔥🔥🔥 So, if you have a pitchfork and wish to point it my way? En garde muthafucka!🤺

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~ Sandor Clegane ~

imagines

✿ You Can Stay [GN!Reader]

✿ The Risk Game [F!Reader]

✿ Need [18+]

✿ Keep Quiet - [18+]

✿ First Time For Everything [+18]

✿ This is the part where you kiss me - [Lannister!Reader ]

✿ Sweet Cream Foam - ModernAU [I] , [II], [III]

✿ Seasons Greetings - [ModernAU]

✿ A/B/O Headcannon - Lily

✿ Magic!Au Headcannon - Clover

✿ Goodmorning - [x]

series

✿ Pretty Words For a Drunk Poet [completed]

✿ Underneath a Poet’s Feet [WIP]

~ Theon Greyjoy ~

imagines

✿ Alphabet Prompt

~ Podrick Payne ~

imagines

✿ As You Are [F!Reader]

~ Tormund Giantsbane ~

headcannons

✿ Crush [GN!Reader]

~ Miscellaneous ~

imagines

✿ Happy Hearts Day w/ jon, arya, sansa

✿ Black Cats w/ dany, sansa, margaery

✿ Flowers - w/ dany, sansa, arya, brienne, margaery

✿ Love Language [various]

✿ Indirect ‘I love you’s - w/ podrick, tyrion, sandor

✿ Bad Days - w/ sandor, podrick, oberyn

♡ House of the Dragon ♡

~ Erryk Cargyll ~

imagines

✿ Scissors and Sword - [Targaryen!Reader]

♡ Attack on Titan ♡

~ Bertholdt Hoover~

imagines

✿ Alphabet Prompt

updated 1/24/24

#poiboidrabbles #game of thrones imagine #imagine #sandor the hound clegane #sandor clegane x reader #x reader #masterlist #reqs open #ill fix it later #not done #got headcanons #got x reader #theon greyjoy x reader #margaery tyrell x reader #sansa stark x reader #arya stark x reader #brienne x reader

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pinkykats-place · 2 years

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SanSan FanFic Recommendations

Sansa Stark &

Sandor Clegane

In Flores, Amare by blodeuweddbach

Complete | OneShot

What Little Birds Do by Perelynn

Complete | 11 Chapters

All that came before by Hummingbird_3419

Complete | 10 Chapters

The Red Wolf by QuotethTheRaveneth

Incomplete | 10/? Chapters

Harrenhal by emmsi

Incomplete | 32/33 Chapters.

The Bird and the Hound by DarcyAmaryllis

Incomplete | 5/? Chapters https://archiveofourown.org/works/19800187/chapters/46879261

The Beast in Me by Persephonereigns

Incomplete | 13/? Chapters

Bird’s Flight by rosewatered

Incomplete | 14/? Chapters

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15170702/chapters/35180918

The Great Escape by thewolfhoundandlittlebird

Incomplete | 50/? Chapters

The Puppeteer and the Doll by gardakuka

Incomplete | 14/? Chapters

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21522007/chapters/51301240

The Sweetest Thing There Is by LadySansaClegane

Incomplete | 13/? Chapters

#sansan #game of thrones #fanfic recommendation #ao3 fic rec #sansa x sandor

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winterfell-fantasy · 9 months

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>>masterlist<<

hello! here is my current masterlist so it's easier for you guys to find oneshots you want to read!

here's a list of characters i write for + rules!

stark + greyjoy family:

robb stark

jon snow [coming soon]

lannister + baratheon family:

tyrion lannister

joffrey baratheon

targaryen + mormont family:

aemond targaryen [coming soon]

jorah mormont

others:

mance rayder

tormund giantsbane

sandor clegane

edmure tully

preferences:

how you meet

pregnancy

cheating

#game of thrones #house of the dragon #game of thrones imagines #got blog #game of thrones masterlist #house of the dragon masterlist #masterlist #imagine masterlist #stark #snow #targaryen #lannister

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mjolnirswriststrap · 5 months

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Taking Requests

I love the idea of doing a request every day leading up to Christmas.

My account is less than a year old so I’ve never had the chance to do any.

I want to do it for inspiration, and to keep writing fun for me.

Don’t be afraid to request ANY dynamics or situations, I’m here to have fun!

I’ll do a 1000 or so word oneshots for these characters:

Bucky Barnes

Steve Rogers

Natasha Romanoff

Yelena Belova

Loki Laufeyson

Thor Odinson

Peter Parker

Bruce Banner

Wanda Maximoff

Pietro Maximoff

Peter Maximoff (Quicksilver)

Logan Howlett (Wolverine)

Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)

Hank McCoy (Beast)

Raven Darkhölme (Mystique)

Aegon Targaryen II

Aemond Targaryen

Daemon Targaryen

John Snow

Jaime Lannister

Brienne of Tarth

Sandor Clegane

Lee Bodecker

Ransom Drysdale

Steve Kemp

Sherlock Holmes (Henry Cavill)

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underatedcharactersunite · 4 years

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Howling At The Moon!

Summary; Sandor unexpectdly finds his mate, as expected she is human... Pairing; Werewolf!Sandor Clegane x Female Reader WordCount; 1, 059 Warnings. Strong Language, Slight A/B/O themes but not a lot, possessiveness ,Angst, Fluff, Slightly OC Sandor A/N - Day 2 of Spooktacular October begins. Day 1 can be read here I can write a part 2 to this if people want me too. Also part of @deansamore end of year challenge

»»————-　🎃　————-««

Sandor had a secret that endangered everything. Before you, Sandor preferred solitude, he relished in existing alone. Sanford was able to conduct himself in any manner he deemed fit. He moved and travelled freely. Sandor was a law onto himself and he preferred it that way.

However, his life invariably played brutal jokes whenever Sandor felt his life was a lesser hell than usual. As Sandor marched through Kingslanding he searched the large gathering of people. While he was unable to detect an immediate threat, he caught a peek at you. His brown eyes momentarily flashed crimson as a protective possessive growl rumbled in the back of his throat. Mate. His subconscious reiterated.

Sandor was no fool. While his parents had failed to educate him on his true self, he spent many hours reading up on the specifics of his kind. The additional information Sandor read the clearer the reasoning his parents failed to educate him became. They believed he would never locate his mate. After his accident, they promptly sold him to the Lannisters where Sandor memorized and trained to become a skilled Swordsman.

In his spare time, he educated himself on dealing with a full moon, what his crimsons eyes meant and the possibility of Sandor meeting his mate. Sandor understood the craving he would soon experience to be close to you. As you met his intense stare, you smiled his iron heart fluttered, Sandor was doomed.

Over the coming days and weeks, Sandor slowly began to approach you. As it turned out you owned a fruit and vegetable stall, everything that you were unable to sell that day, you gave away to the people who were struggling to buy food. Sandor found it adorable the way you often communicated passionately or whenever a child visited your stall attempting to purchase a piece of fruit you bestowed it to them for free. Other the other hand, whenever the two of you were in the comfort of your home, you spoke of your distaste for King Joffery. It certainly reiterated that you were meant to be his mate.

When the battle of the Blackwater crept closer like a vile illness, Sandor grew terrified. He had only just established a relationship with you, You were no highborn lady, he couldn’t kee you with the Queen Mother or lady Stark, you were utterly defenceless.

Or in his mind, you like him encountered many trials and tribulations in your life. You were skilled with a dagger and a bow and arrow, you could fight. Sandor only wished he could be the one to protect you.

“Would you relax, I am sure the mighty Lannisters will win the war against Stannis Baratheon. its obvious men will die, I just hope the Gods will spare you.” You poured Sandor another glass of wine as you began to walk away, Sandor grabbed your hand.

e God’s will have nothing to do with my survival. I am coming back to you regardless. No fucker is going to get in my way. I’ll cut every one of those bastards down. As will you, anyone comes at you, you cut them down. I don’t care if they are Lannister or Baratheon. Better yet, make sure they’re still alive and I’ll give them one hell of bloody death.” Laying a hand firmly on Sandor’s shoulder, you pressed a gentle kiss onto the burnt side of his face.

“I know what to do, the arrows and the bow you brought to me are right by the door, just-in-case.” Sandor didn’t know what to say to you, so he brought you into his lap, wrapping his large arms around you tightly.

“I won’t lose you, I won’t”

Luckily for the both of you, the two of you were indeed alive. Both of you fought valiantly as you fought for your lives. You both desired to get back to each other, but returning to each other was met with further complications. Sandor decided he had enough of Joffery’s cruelty and reign. The night the Blackwater burnt is the night the two of you began a new life.

‘Life proved to be harder for Sandor when the two of you began life on the road. He was no longer able to plan his visits around the full moon. He was suddenly making excuses about going away to collect firewood. However, you were not a clueless person, it rapidly became apparent to you something was wrong.

Refusing to force Sandor’s confession, you continued to pretend to be clueless Sandor was acting strange. It was the moment, you and Sandor encountered the Brotherhood without banners for the first time, did catch a glimpse of Sandor’s crimson eyes. With Thoros’s blade to your throat, Sandor lost every ounce of control, he unleashed the beast within as he fought against Berric Dondarrion despite the man’s enlightened blade. When the fight was over and Sandor collapsed to his knee’s he cared nothing about his surroundings, only you.

Sandor panicked when he witnessed your face shocked and void of all emotion. When Berric let both of you go despite Arya’s protest, the moment he was away from everyone, he collapsed to his knees.

“Please don’t fear me...Not you..I’ll leave if you want me too.”Observing Sandor so desperate and pleading for your approval, you crouched down yet even there he still managed to tower over you.

“I don’t want you to go anywhere, but I need you to tell me exactly what is going on.” Resting a hand on Sandor’s face, he despised how relaxed he felt almost immediately.

“This is not an easy thing to tell you...I’m...I’m a werewolf.” Sandor expected many things, the idea of you fainting, calling him a monster, a thousand questions rumbling off of your tongue like a tidal wave, but not what you were currently doing. You were in hysterics. A pure look of joy etched over your face.

“That’s brilliant, I presumed you were having an affair, until I examined everything and then realised you only ever disappeared on whenever there was a fullmoon. Not to mention how possessive and jealous you are. It all made sense”

“Wait you know.”

“Of course, I do. Now why don’t we go find somewhere to camp, I get the feeling we are not done dealing with Arya Stark just yet…”

#deansamoreendofyearchallenge #sandor clegane imagines #Sandor clegane imagine #game of thrones imagine #Game of thrones imagines #sandor clegane one shot #sandor clegane oneshot #game of thrones one shot #game of thrones oneshot #got imagines #Got imagine #got one shot #got oneshot #Spooktober 2020

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gameofcleganee · 5 years

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Scarred

Pairing: Sandor Clegane/The Hound x reader

Summary: Request from anon: I have a request! Sandor/Reader where the reader is being really lovey with Sandor and kissing him everywhere and she kisses his scarred side and he pushes her away but eventually gives in because she’s persistent that she will kiss him there and that he doesn’t have to worry because she loves his face. Thank you!

Warnings: language,

The sky was black and all you would hear was the fire crackling and the occasional stomps from your horses. You had eaten dinner a few hours ago and now you were just waiting for sleep to take over. It was a chilly night, but resting closely by Sandors side helped keep you warm.

Feeling his body so near made you want more, so you moved yourself onto his lap. Sandor put his big hands on your hips and looked at you in anticipation. You slowly leant forwards, pecking his lips, like testing the water. Cupping his cheek, you proceeded to plant another kiss on his lips, this time with more passion. You could feel Sandor tightening his grip on your hips.

“What’s this all about?” Sandor asked.

You smiled at him. “Nothing,” you said. “Do I need a reason to show affection?”

He didn’t say anything, you had left him in thought. Affection and care was something he had little to no experience with, so you weren't surprised.

You carefully used your hand to shove his hair away from his face, revealing his scarred face. You leaned in and lightly kissed Sandors scarred temple. He quickly flinched, turned his face away and scoffed at you.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing girl?” he asked rhetorically.

“I’m sorry, does it hurt?” you asked. He just glanced at you before looking away again.

“No,” he spat.

“What then?” you asked, concerned.

“Why are you doing this? You’re worthy of something better than a damn dog,” he said, sounding almost offended.

“I don’t know why you’re saying that,” you said. You didn’t know what to say. Sandor had grew to become the most important person in your life. You loved him, and him you, but he had trouble realizing it, and maybe even believing it. He didn’t think he deserves the love and affection you gave him. “Why are you saying that?”

“You don’t find me disgusting? I’m a bloody dog. I’ve done horrible things,” Sandor said. “No person in their right mind would want to get close to someone like me. I killed-”

“Shut your mouth,” you interrupted, not letting him continue his self defeating talk. “You were Joffrey's sworn shield, it wasn’t your intent to do any of those awful things. He would have killed you if you had refused. Do not blame yourself for those things,” you put your hand back on his face, making him look at you. “Fuck the king. And fuck your brother for what he did to you. You are a good man. And a handsome one, may I add,” you said, smirking at him. You put your hand back in his hair, this time he didn’t refuse. “I will kiss your scar, because I don’t find it disgusting, and because I love you,” you said, and planted another kiss on his temple, this time with even more passion. When you pulled away, Sandor was quick to pull you back into a deep kiss. You put your arms around his neck, and his around your waist.

“Seven hells, woman,” he said. You just chuckled at the man as he pulled you into yet another kiss.

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royalydamned · 5 years

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Things left unsaid

(Sandor Clegane x fem!reader)

(gif is not mine)

Warnings: death, adult language

Summary: After your tragic death Sandor is regretting things he didn't have a chance to say.

|A/N|: I'm a hoe for angst, I couldn't resist. This has been in my head for so long it felt great to let it out. This is NOT after the Battle of Winterfell, nor any other specific time.

-----

Fire have always been connected to the worse things in his life. The hot flames turning everything they touched to ashes, the unbearable heat when he was near. It wasn't calming. The only thing he saw was pain, destruction, loss.

Watching your ice cold body slowly dissappearing in the flames, knowing it was just a shell of your being didn't make him scared for once. He was as angry as he could. Like his own fire was burning inside him with rage and guilt, making him numb to any other feeling, blind to anything else then your body slowly turning into nothing.

He couldn't see you anymore through the light. It still felt like a dream. Like a nightmare which was hunting him since he first laid his eyes on your beautiful smile. He dreamed of not seeing the life in your eyes anymore. Not hearing your voice say his name, while you were peacefully sitting next to each other away from preying eyes or sharp tongues of people passing by you.

'I'm sorry Clegane. I wish there was something we could have done.'

Sorry. He had never been more annoyed by this man. He didn't need anyone's sympathy. He wanted to be alone, get drunk and pretend you were still waiting somewhere. Anywhere. If you didn't mean that much to him he wouldn't even bother himself coming here, to see the last proof of your life being destroyed.

'What kind of fucker is that God of yours to let an innocent woman die in such a way' Sandor growled in response. 'Why does an ugly cunt like you deserve to come back, but she does not.'

Unable to stand there any longer he headed to the closest tavern and sat into the darkest corner there was. For the first time in his life he didn't mind the annoying chatter or laughter of the drunk people. He couldn't really hear them.

Everything was so distant suddenly. It felt like it wasn't real, he felt like he was asleep somewhere on the ground where you will soon find him and wake him up. That he will see your face again looking at him with warm smile as he will slowly open his eyes.

Hell he wished. He wished he was just imagining this. He couldn't bear the thought of not having you around anymore. He never understood how you could ever talk to such an ugly old dog like him. How could you ever touch him without the slightest hint of disgust in your beautiful face, talk to him without fear in your gentle eyes or say I love you with a loving smile playing on your lips.

He didn't believe you. He was a stupid bastard for answering in such a way. 'You don't know what you're saying Dove.' Who would have said that one sentence would be his biggest regret. Who would have said he will never have a chance to properly respond anymore.

He just needed to get away from everyone. He needed a quiet place where he could spend this horrible night, without any annoying fuckers offering their 'deepest regrets'.

The mead burned in his throat, not relieving his pain or anger, only making it worse. He already felt lighter in the head, not being able to control his emotions like he did when he was sober he already felt grief and anger written all over his face. He felt weak and angrier every passing second.

Fake cunts. He thought and growled dangerously at a woman making her way towards him, when his knees gave away under his weight and alcohol he drank. He didn't need anyone's help.

With gawky walk he made his way out of the taver, throwing a few coins at a wench who brought him his mead while he was leaving.

Sitting under the tree you used to talk under every night, he took out his own flask still half full with ale and took another big sip and closed his eyes finally alone.

Suddenly everything felt real. He saw you in his arms as life left your body. He could feel your gentle hand on his shoulder as you were trying to reassure him, calm him. Your empty eyes staring at him as your body grew cold and stiff. Taking everything in, he believed. He finally believed and it felt even worse.

He gulped and opened his eyes, focusing them on a figure in front of him. There you stood. In a beautiful white dornish gown like you couldn't feel the cold, you smiled at him softly.

'Seven hells woman, I'm not drunk enough to be seeing such a things' he mumbled under his breath not believing what he was just seeing. 'Standing there in that pretty dress and bare feet while my fucking balls are freezing off.' You laughed slightly kneeling in front of him into the snow and put your hand on his leg. 'I'm sorry' he whispered after a moment of silence between you two. 'You didn't deserve this.'

'That is on the gods to decide' you answered. A slight wind blew a few locks of your hair into your face, covering it. He knew he will never be able to see it again. He wanted to look at you while he had the chance. As gently as he could he brushed the hair out of your face with his rough hands making you chuckle softly. 'And some still think of you as a monster.'

'Some?' he laughed dryly awkwardly putting his hand to his side. There was a long silence between you. He just stared at your face trying to remember every small detail, your every inch, every color in your eyes, everything he never wanted to forget. He couldn't imagine not being able to remember the features of your face, the light in your eyes everytime you laughed or saw something that made your day, the frown you formed your brows into when you were focused on work you were doing at the moment.

'Don't be the beast the lords shaped you into Sandor' you whispered cupping his cheek with your hand. He hated how real it felt. He hated how he felt your gentle touch on his skin, how he still felt your warmth and scent. He hated how much he loved it. 'You did regrettable things, but it's never too late to start doing the right ones. I know you have a kind heart, don't let your scars define you.'

'I-' he began but the words got stuck in his throat. Looking into your eyes, realizing everything he lost with you, he couldn't speak. 'I'm sorry' he said at least, his voice hoarse and quiet.

'You already said that.'

'No.' He shook his head and took swing from his flask to get some courage. He knew how much he was going to regret not telling you when you were alive. He needed to tell you now at least. 'I'm sorry for what I said. The truth is I-' groaning he punched the ground. 'Fucking hells woman I love you' he blurted looking straight into your eyes. He had never felt so weak, desperate, pathetic. He couldn't tell the truth to the real you, and now he almost couldn't tell the truth to a ghost.

Your face didn't change. You were still looking at him, soft smile playing on your lips like your forgave him everything he had done, everything he had regretted, everything he had fucked up. You were too good to be gone. The world seemed worse without you in it.

'I know' you whispered leaning closer to him. His eyes closed wanting, needing to feel you with him for the last time. But he couldn't smell you scent, nor feel the heat from your body just soft wind blowing across his face like the gentlest touch of your hand.

When he opened his eyes he didn't see your face near his. He didn't see you anywhere and he knew that was a goodbye. You were gone and never coming back.

With an angry growl, loud enough for others to be mistaken by an animal wounded by a hunter he threw his flask away, so far he couldn't see where it landed in the dark.

Looking at the night sky, he felt something missing in his chest. It was the heart he gave you knowing you will never bring it back, for you took it with you to your grave.

#sandor clegane #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane oneshot #the hound #the hound x reader #got imagine #game of thrones #got

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certifiedskywalker · 7 years

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Beauty and The Beast - Sandor Clegane

A broken man comes to the inn you work at, a split leg and tarnished spirit. Maybe you can heal him, both body and mind; and show him just how a speck of beauty can turn a beast into a good hearted man.

Warnings : ROUGH Langauge, BRIEF unwanted touching, slow burn romance thingy. Words : 5826 (longest writing I’ve ever done, but it’s good!)

Life in The Vale was calm and pleasant, for the most part. While you called home a few miles away from the Bloody Gate, you still felt the mountains around the small inn you lived in could protect you from any harm. You had never known anything else; the stone cliffs and high peaks were a part of you as you were of them.

The innkeeper even knew better than to disturb you as you sat above the small tavern. Your ritual of sitting on the crag above was known by the frequent visitors of the inn. If they saw you up there, enjoying the sunset, they’d wave. Men would often whistle, trying to get your attention. You were known through this part of the Vale as the most beautiful. You simply ignored their calls and fixed your eyes on the sky.

Most of the time, they were far too small for you to even notice. Your eyes would be glued to the warm blush colors of the evening sky, not on the ants down below. You’d only clamber down from your high spot when the first sliver of the moon shone on the horizon. Then, and only then, would you return to the small keep.

Except one day, a man caught your eyes. It was the fact he was being carried by four other men that seized your attention. The men rushed their wounded cargo inside the inn, yelling for help and water. Nerves prickled down your spine, just enough to get you on your feet. Darrick wouldn’t take too nicely to their demands of aid; even if they were justified. So, you made your way down the rocks, running into the tavern to stop your employer from making a scene. As it turned out, you were a bit late.

“Who’s this? Why’d ya bring ‘em here?” Darrick had his hands on his hips, his round, grubby face scowling at the men that barged in. One of them looked to be a knight, with shining armor and a sword sheathed in fine leather.

“We found him, he was bleeding badly. He still is,” the knight said. Darrick’s expression only grew more sour and you prepared to step in. “He’s The Hound, the guard dog that fled the Blackwater. The Lannisters would pay to see him returned.”

“Joffrey Baratheon is dead,” Darrick shouted, silencing the floor of the inn. “Cersei Lannister will not want the crowd protector of her dead child unless his head is on a spike.” You stiffened at the thought of the Lannisters killing this man, even if he was The Hound. No one deserved their cruelty. They went as far to kill Robb Stark at a wedding; a wedding!

“We should patch him up,” you said, causing Darrick to look past the knights that brought the man inside. Darrick raised his eyebrows, glancing at you and then The Hound. “We can,” you looked over at the killer being hoisted up, “hold him for ransom. If that doesn’t pan out we can find some other use for him.” Darrick let out a gruff laugh, his fat folds trembling as he did.

“Oh Y/N, you’re lucky that you’re pretty,” Darrick turned away, “your so naive.” You felt your hands curl into fists at his words; you couldn’t let the Lannister kill someone else. Looking down at The Hound, you could see just how dreadful his situation was. He was far from conscious and if he did open his eyes, his dirty hair would hinder his sight. The leg of his trousers was soak in crimson blood and his leg bone poked out of his flesh. Despite his apparent wounds, you could see the strength in him; but if you didn’t help him soon, he would die.You turned to the knight in the clean iron armor, who was looking at you with confusion.

“Well don’t just leave him there! Bring him to the extra room in the back.” The four men heaved The Hound up, following you as you led them past the wooden tables that littered the inn’s floor. The extra room, normally saved for high priced customers, was quite large. The cot in the corner was longer than the rest of the beds in the inn.

“Set him down there,” you said, pointing to the bed. The men set him down with a big groan from the cot. You walked out to the inn’s kitchen to find the store of the healing herbs, bandages, and milk of the poppy. You took everything you could carry, rushing back to the man bleeding out on Darrick’s finest sheets.

When you returned to the room, the knights had removed the man’s armor and left him only in his cloth clothing. The Hound was also trying to haul himself up but the one knight that remained kept him down; or tried to.

“You have to stay down, you’re going to make it worse.” The knight was far from threatening or forceful, so The Hound pushed him away with ease.

“Fuck off, boy,” he spat as tried to push himself up once more. Before he could, you walked in, bringing his attention to you. You could see his brown eyes through his long hair, peering up at you with an unreadable expression.

“You are going to make things worse if you try to walk,” you said walking over to the desk. You set down your medical materials and turned back to him. “Lay back down, Ser... “ you trailed off, not knowing The Hound’s true name. You had only heard the horror stories of his treachery and cage-less temper.

“Clegane, Sandor Clegane,” he hissed. His voice was gruff and it sent a chill down your spine. “I’m no Ser either,” he added, slowly leaning back against the bed. You walked over to the edge of the bed, feeling the eyes of the knight on you.

“Why do you stay?” you asked, meeting the knight’s blue eyes. They reminded you of the sky before sunset, crisp and bright; but something lingered behind his eyes. The look you saw in the eyes of lustful men was mirrored in his expression.

“To aid you, my lady. I’ve heard about the beautiful Y/N L/N across the Eyrie and would enjoy helping you.” You smiled sweetly at this, but he knew it was fake. You didn’t enjoy his attempt at flattery. Moving your attention back to The Hound, the knight shifted angrily on his feet. His attempts to help only gave him grief and he sensed another let down.

“You can have Darrick organize a room for you if you’re so concerned for this man’s health. You are not needed as of now.” The skinny knight let out a huff and walked out of the room.

You leaned over The Hound, studying his split leg. Gently reaching a hand out, you moved some of the fabric away. Clegane let out a hiss as you pulled part of his pants out of his bloody flesh. Ignoring him, you pursed your lips as you thought of a way to mend it. Finally coming to a solution, you walked over to your healing supplies. You tied a smock around your body to keep any blood off your gown. You looked over and saw The Hound watching you.

“Do you want milk of the poppy?” You asked as you looked over ot the desk to grab the things you needed. You heard the man behind you let out scoff.

“No,” he said, a hint of agitation in his voice. At this, you turned and walked back over to him. You set the bandages and salves on the edge of the bed. You looked back at him, meeting his eyes. A section of his hair had fallen to the side, revealing the other half of his face. The mangled, burned skin frightened you at first, but you looked away before you were caught staring for too long.

“It’s going to hurt,” you said, busying yourself with unraveling the dressing for his leg. You glanced back up at him for a brief moment and found him looking at you with an incredulous expression.

“No shit, it’s gonna hurt,” you clenched your jaw at his words. Before you could snap back, Clegane let out a rough cough. A bit of blood came up as he hacked and you frowned.

“That’s no way to speak to the woman who’s going to save your life,” you said, trying to keep calm. You grabbed a cloth and wiped at his mouth, clearing away speck of blood.

“I’m already dead, lass,” he said softly, “there’s no point in trying.” He gently pushed your hand away from his face, causing you to frown.

“Well your groaning and coughing will keep paying customers awake during the night; so I have to do something.” You carefully leaned over him, looking at his leg to see how much of the supplies you should use. While you did that, Sandor was watching you.

Your had a stubbornness about you that reminded him of the Stark girls. Arya would always give him a hard time, while Sansa wouldn’t let it show how much Joffrey had hurt her. He furrowed his brows at the memory of the two girls, a part of him missing them. He felt his lips form half of a bitter smile and was glad when you didn’t see it.

“I’m going to have to set the bone, stitch it up, and then wrap it,” you said aloud. You looked over at The Hound, his eyes still fixed on you. “Are you certain you don’t want milk of the poppy?” The Hound nodded and you mentally readied yourself.

“I’ve been through worse,” Clegane said. You nodded and dipped your fingers in a cleaning salve, gently spreading it around his wound. Your ears picked up a hiss of pain, but you focused on your careful work. “There’s a spot on my neck that could use a bit of that stuff,” he gestured to his neck with a heavy hand and you glanced up at him. His dark eyes were trained on your face when you moved over to examine his neck.

Peeling away the blood soaked fabric of his shirt, you could see the wound clearly. You let out a sigh before getting more salve on your fingers. You lightly brushed your fingers against his bloodstained skin, letting the ointment soak into the bite. You did your best to ignore how close you two were, but you had to get your mind off of it.

“How did you come to get so battered?” The Hound let out a throaty, forced chuckle. You pulled away from his neck, glancing at his face. He wasn’t the cleanest man; dirt and blood covered his face and tangled in his beard. Only something big would’ve been able to inflict the damage you had seen. Perhaps a bear or Shadowcat.

“I was,” he paused and you turned your attention back to his leg. “I was trying to protect someone, tryin’ to keep ‘er safe.” As he talked, you grabbed the gauge for his leg in preparation.

“What attacked you?” you questioned, trying to keep him talking. Clegane only let out a scoff, rolling his eyes and shook his head.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he spat. You gazed up at him, holding his eyes as you did. The Hound shifted in his spot, his stone cold exterior melting under your glare.

“I would,” you said firmly, “knowing how your wounds were inflicted would aid me in treating them.” You started to unravel the binding, still looking into The Hound’s face. “Now,” you said, “tell me.” His eyes flickered with something you couldn’t place before he spoke.

“A huge beast of a wom-” before he could finish, you reached over and snapped his broken bone back into place. The bone was slick with blood, but you managed to align it. The Hound let out a loud howl of pain, however it was brief.

“You’re a tricky lady,” he grunted out. An amused smile formed on your lips as the brutish man before you winced and grimaced in pain.

“It had to be done,” you said, wiping your hands on the dirty apron you wore. With now clean hands, you grabbed the needle a thread. As quickly, and as carefully as you could, you stitched up his flesh. The Hound tried his best to stay still, but the jabs of the needle stung after a while. When it was done, you sat back to admire you work. Then you reached for the binding.

“I’m going to have to wrap this around your leg to keep the bone set, so stay still.” He let out a huff, looking at the blood around his leg.

You studied the man, wondering what he was like before his leg split. How many people had he killed in the name of the Lannisters, or just because he wanted to? He wouldn’t be killing anyone for a while after you were done with him. He’d walk with a limp now, be a tad slower too.

Carefully lifting his leg, you wrapped the bandage around the wound. The Hound’s face would twitch and flinch in pain, trying his best not to show how much the injury pained him. You were about halfway through the binding when he started to complain.

“Ya, done yet?” You kept your eyes glued on your work, ignoring him. “It stings a bit, ya know,” he said dryly. Your eyes snapped up to met his, smiling sweetly.

“I thought you had been through worse?” you teased, squinting your eyes at him. The Hound scoffed and leaned back against the headboard of the bed.

“You gotta mouth on you. Only known one girl that ever talked back to me like that.” You shifted and went back to your work.

“What happened to her?” you asked, your voice betraying your thoughts. The deeds The Hound had done for Joffrey were well known. It wouldn’t surprise you if the young king had his dog kill a woman that refused him. Clegane shifted at your tone, sitting up a little from his spot.

“I didn’t hurt her,” he claimed, “I don’t hurt women.” You looked up at him, still waiting to hear what happened to the girl that talked back. He swallowed hard, “she was the person I was trying to protect. But she left me to die.”

“You must’ve deserved it then,” you said with no emotion. The Hound stiffened at your words but he felt you were right. Part of him still wanted to die, wanted to be done with all the petty Lords and stubborn Ladies; but life seemed to still have it’s hold on him. Or at least you were too hard headed to let him just die.

“Aye,” he said dejectedly, “I did.” You curled your lips together and looked up at his eyes. Dirt still covered his face, hiding the man you were trying to save.

“I’ll get a rag to wash you up.” You stood, walking over to the desk at the far side of the room. Sandor Clegane’s eyes followed you as you moved. You obviously didn’t enjoy him, so why were you helping him? His head was too cloudy with pain and exhaustion to think about it properly. So the tired man just watched as you dipped an old rag into water and made your way back to his bedside. You leaned down again, looming over him.

Your eyes scanned over his face, landing on the scarred skin there. The flesh looked to be mangled by flames, with spots of red interlaced with his skin tone. Carefully reaching out, fearful he’d push your hand away, you brushed the rag against his face. His brow furrowed when you cleaned the burned side, watching your expression change from soft to thoughtful. He could only assume that you were thinking about his ugliness, the disfigurement that made him look like the monster everyone in the Seven Kingdoms blabbed about.

“Don’t like whatcha see, lass?” He didn’t know why he even asked. Of course you didn’t like looking at him; no one did. Clegane waited for a snarky answer, but you simply moved the rag to the other side of his face without a word. Once his face was clean, you looked him in the eyes. Something had changed in your eyes, as you looked at the man before you.

“It’s just different,” you said finally. “You’re different, Sandor Clegane.” You dipped the rag in the water once more, handing it to him. “You can clean the rest of yourself,” you stood and looked down at him. “I’ll check in on you in the morning, you should still be alive.”

Sandor let out a husky laugh, “maybe. If I do live, you still gonna give to the Lannisters?” You met his eyes once more, a question on your lips.

“I thought you were passed out when I said that?” The Hound remained quiet, still waiting for your answer. “No, Clegane,” you said finally. “I had to give Darrick a reason to let me treat you. Holding you ransom seemed to win him over.”

“You’re a bright girl, Y/N” he said, with almost a hint of affection in his voice. Your name sounded foreign coming off his lips. He must’ve remembered it from the prissy knight tried to flirt with you. “You shouldn’t be workin’ in a tavern out in nowhere.” You smiled softly and shook your head.

“I’m right where I belong,” you turned back to the door, opening it. “I’ll see you in the morn, try to rest Clegane.” Without another word, you left the room. Sandor shifted against the bed, the wet rag still in his hand. He looked down at it; his thoughts drifting to one of the only people in the world that had showed him a lick of kindness.

You were leaning with your back resting against the wall. The air inside that room was musty with misuse, as the inn hadn’t had a highborn guest in years. That wasn’t the only thing that made it hard to clear your head. Who knew The Hound had fear and a heart. Defending and protecting a little girl seemed below what he was used to, yet it was what lead him to you in the first place. Maybe he wasn’t the beast everyone said he was.

A few days had past and Sandor Clegane was still alive. There were a few times over the last week where things were rocky and you had to stay at his bedside. One night, he had a fever and the shakes. You had to hold a rag to his face, trying your best to soothe him.

“It’s your body getting rid of any infection,” you had said calmly and dabbed the rag at his forehead. “You’ll live,” you had said, even when you had fear in your heart. You had brushed his hair from his damp skin and his eyes had moved to meet with yours. You had seen a flicker in his eyes when you had looked at him, but he tried his best to hide his emotion.

“Whatever you say, lass,” his voice had been rough with pain with he spoke. “No one will cry for me if I do die anyway.” Your brows had furrowed at his words, but bit your tongue. There was no comforting him with words, you had to the best with what you had.

So you kept holding the rag to his forehead, until his large hand wrapped around your wrist. You had met his eyes once more, but his face was as serious as stone. Your hand fell limp in his grip, your gaze had softened on his face.

“Why are you helping me?” His voice was so hoarse, it almost didn’t sound like his own. “You could be with your husband and your children, but instead you’re stuck with a sick, evil man.” You had frowned and shook your head.

“I don’t have a husband, or children. And I’m here because I want to be.” The Hound let go of your hand then, his jaw had been clenched as you spoke. “I want to help you because there are very few kind people left in the known-world.” You had placed the rag back against his head and he didn’t fight back. He let you help him, your every word playing through his mind.

Now, Clegane was healed. He stilled resided in the bed, until Darrick snapped at you for wanting payment; after all it was the best room he owned.

“He’s been in there for days,” he shouted, “we’re losin’ gold!” You nodded and the innkeeper smiled wickedly. He lunged towards you, as quick as he could on his stumpy legs. His sausage fingers grabbed a hold of your jaw, pulling your face close to his. “I’ll get what I want, what I deserve, one way or ‘nother. Even if it means selling your whore ass out to high payin’ patrons. You’re a known beauty afterall, wouldn’t mind a taste for meself.”

Darrick’s spit coated your face, making you cringe away from him. He let out a loud, boorish laugh. He let your face go, pushing you away from him. You rubbed your jaw, turning to walk out of the kitchen. Making you way to The Hound’s room, you wondered if he was ready to try walking yet. It’d be a step towards paying Darrick back.

You knock at the door and you hear Clegane’s voice sounding from behind the door. He told you to come in, so you pushed open the door. To your surprise, he sat on the edge of the bed. He looked up and met your eyes.

“Let me help,” you said, taking a step towards him. You held out your hand to him and he let out a raspy scoff.

“I don’t need your help,” he said and you raised your eyebrows. He set his hands on the edge of the bed and prepared himself to stand up. He would fall without support.

“Without my help, you would’ve died. Now,” you hold out your hand again. The Hound reluctantly took your hand. His long fingers wrapped around your hand, making it seem smaller than it actually was. You didn’t mind the roughness of his skin as he pushed up on his feet. He was a bit wobbly as he took a tentative step forward. He leaned on you for support, but you didn’t mind it. His leg seemed alright and he’d be able to walk without a cane.

You walk him towards the door, your other hand holding onto his forearm. He lands a step awkwardly on his foot, causing him to stumble. You caught him, your grip tightening on his hand and arm. Clegane mutters a curse under his breath and you feel the heat of his body against your own as he leaned on you.

“Easy now, Hound,” you said and he shifted his weight away from you. He straightened his posture and looked down at you. “You’re alright, one step at a time.”

“Sandor,” he said, looking into your eyes. He wore a strange expression on his face that you couldn’t place. “Call me Sandor. The Hound…” he paused, “was a name forced on me.”

“Alright, Sandor,” you said, testing his name on your lips. You carefully led him back to the bed, helping him sit back down. You let go of his arm, using your other hand to help him on the edge of the bed. Before you could speak, Sandor let go of your hand.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said quietly.

“Being polite now, are we?” you teased and Sandor looked up at you. The startings of a smile rested on his lips, but he didn’t seem to notice; you did.

“Be quiet, will ya?” he hissed, making you grin. “I haven’t said that to you since the first night,” he added. You nodded and smiled softly.

“It’s fine,” you said. “You’ll have to get on your feet soon, though,” you walked over to the desk and picked it up a bit.

“Why is that, little bird?” He asked and your cheeks flushed pink at the nickname. Him speaking to you so kindly had caught you off guard. He wasn’t like the men in the tavern that would rather see you bare than speak to you. Sandor spoke to you like you were the same as him.

“Darrick demands payment, and he will get it.” You turned back to face Sandor, who nodded. “I talked to him this morning.”

“You mean he yelled and you listened?” You swallowed hard at his words, grinding your teeth together. “I heard it through the door, nothing in detail.” You nodded with a frown and Sandor seemed to tense up. “I’ll pay my dues,” he said tiredly, “no need to stress.” You nodded at his words, a spark of curiosity igniting a flame.

“After you pay him back, where will you go?” Sandor stayed silent. He hadn’t thought about where he would go. His heart told him to stay here, never let someone like you get away from him; but when did The Hound ever listen to his heart?

“North maybe,” he lied. You nodded again, wondering what was waiting for him in the snow. Certainly not you. “Or South, it depends on the road.” You met his gaze again, his brown orbs staring back at you. A heavy silence fell over the two of you, waiting for the other to speak. You couldn’t bear it any longer, so you dared to voice your thoughts.

“Maybe you shouldn’t even go on the road.” Your suggestion caught his attention. Sandor straighten his back, looking at you with careful eyes; as if he were scared to look away from you. As if he did, you’d disappear all together.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice tinged with slight contentment. He didn’t venture to show anymore emotion, fearing that, if he did, you’d reject him. You smiled softly at him, hopeful for your future for the first time in years. You’d felt alone in the Vale, in the tavern, for a while. If Sandor stayed, maybe he could join you at your special cliff to watch the sunset.

“Yes, I fear Darrick might miss you too much,” you teased lightheartedly, and The Hound chuckled. A real show of joy, the first show since you had met him.

“Wouldn’t want to piss him off, now would I?” You curled your lips together at the notion. Your mind drifting back to Darrick’s threat, sent any spark of happiness into the chamber pot.

“No, you wouldn’t,” you said. Without another word, you left the room; thus leaving Sandor alone and slightly confused. What was the pretty girl from the tavern hiding?

“Who knew you’d be useful,” you teased, watching as Sandor chopped wood. The tall man stopped assaulting the tree before him, glaring at you. Although, there was a notion of amusement in his eyes you didn’t miss.

“Are you ever quiet?” He asked and you grinned. He rolled his eyes and continued to chop the tree in small pieces, still aware you were nearby. You watched at the muscles in his back flexed with each swing of the axe. His arms were equally as muscled and you couldn’t help but watch as he worked. Before you gawked any longer, you shook your head.

“Rarely,” you said, addressing his question. “How’s your leg? Your neck?” Sandor brought the axe down with one strong swing, splitting the tree in half. He slowly turned to look at you again, less annoyed this time but frowning nonetheless.

“Better,” he said, his voice tart with anger. Though, it was all an act and the two of you knew that; even if neither of you dared to admit it.

“Are you ever happy to see me?”

“Rarely,” he said, mimicking your answer. In truth, seeing you was what got him through the boring days. You reminded him that he was living for something; something he could not, and would not, share. He turned back to his work without another word.

Despite the strength in his every movement, it was hard to believe that, just a few days ago, Sandor was too weak to move. Now he was up and laboring to pay Darrick back.

“I’m going to make my last rounds in the tavern, so when you’re done here come get some ale.” Sandor glanced over his shoulder at you, a softness in his gaze.

“Will do, little bird,” he said and turned back to his work. “I’ll see ya in a bit.” You couldn’t help but smile at his words and you walked off back towards the inn.

Your good mood spread as you poured ale for pleased customers. The evening rush was in, and soon you’d be able to make your way to your spot on the stone peaks. Everything was going fine until Darrick stumbled out of his chambers. Your employer reeked of sour ale and wine, his face greasy with grimy sweat. Your body tensed as he lumbered over to you.

“Hello sweet beauty,” he drawled, the fumes of alcohol wafting to your face. “Your rounds are over yeah?” Darrick’s swinish hands grabbed your arm, his grip tightening on you. “Come to my bed and be a good little girl, will ya?” He pulled you to him, away from the patreon you were serving. His foul breath fanned across your face and made you cringe.

“You’re making a scene,” you hissed at the innkeeper, but he only chuckled.

“Oh, all the men in his room want’a fuck you,” he spat, “you ain’t kidding nobody.” You pulled away from him then, your body racing with anger. Darrick only lunged forward, grabbing you again. “Even that mutt of yours wants you in his bed. I’d kill ‘em to get first chance at you.” You struggled in his arms but he fondled your ass before you started yelling.

The tavern’s patrons, even the few that were there, just watched. Then you realized, Darrick was right; you were just a pretty face for travellers to ogle at. You felt tears burning in your eyes at the thought that no one cared about you. Darrick continued to touch you, even as you continued to struggle. You shouted and screamed but no one did a thing.

Just when you were about to give up, Sandor Clegane stormed in. His hand was still gripping the axe, his knuckles white due to the tightness. Your eyes locked with his and he marched towards you and Darrick. The innkeeper, upon seeing the mountain of a man stalking towards him, dropped you to the ground.

Without a word, but a few helpless cries from Darrick, Sandor grabbed the fat man by the neck. You watched in awe as Sandor backed him against the wall, holding him there by his neck. Sandor of seething and you could tell by the swift rise and fall of his shoulders, he wasn’t going to let Darrick get away with what he had done.

“If you ever,” Sandor hissed, “touch that pretty lady again, I’ll chop off your cock and feed it to the pigs outside.” Darrick, even in his drunken state, nodded quickly. With one motion, Sandor let the man fall to the ground and he turned to you. He extended a hand to you and you took it without hesitation. He lifted you off the ground and you instantly rested yourself against his tall frame. He let go of your hand, wrapping his arms around you.

“I’ve got ya, little bird,” he said gently, his voice soothing you. One hand moved, holding your upper arm tightly while the other rested against your back. He pulled you away from him, looking into your eyes with sincerity. “Go get yer things, we’re leaving.”

You nodded and went off to your cramped quarters to grab anything you might need. Some gowns, family heirlooms, and blankets for the coming winter. By the time you had everything, Sandor was standing in the doorway. You glanced up at him and his brow furrowed at the sight of you. Your eyes were red and tears covered your cheeks.

“You’re alright now,” he said, walking towards you. “I won’t let them hurt you,” his hands carefully wiped away your tears. Sandor was scared that the slightest touch may set you off, or hurt you. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he hurt you. His movements were shaky, since he wasn’t used to showing much affection. He couldn’t even remember the last time; maybe when he covered the Stark girl with his cloak after the little King prick had her beaten.

But you didn’t care if he fumbled when he touched you. You were just happy he was going to take you away from the tavern, away from Darrick. You carefully reached a small hand to brush against his large one, closing your eyes when you touched. You felt the last of your tears escape down your cheeks and the man before rubbed them away.

The beast the locals claimed Sandor Clegane was, was not who stood before you. He had changed, learned from his brush with death. You cared for the man in front of you, not the man he had done; the things he had done. So when you opened your eyes and your hand caressed the burned side of his face, it didn’t bother either of you. Sandor’s eyes shut, wondering why he hadn’t tried to find you sooner. You brought his face closer to you, letting your lips graze his cheek. You pressed a soft kiss there, a thank you and a promise for more all at once. Sandor longed to pull you closer, kiss you like he meant it; because he did mean it. He wanted to be able to love someone, to love you, without fear. You were the only woman that showed him how to care, about life and something more then himself; and he wouldn’t let that go.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low as he spoke, “we should go.” You nodded after pulling your lips from his cheek. He grabbed your bag and you stopped by his old room so he could find the armor he had left. When you both made your way back out to the main section of the inn, everyone had left. They probably feared what Sandor might’ve done to them; afterall none of them came to your aid. Even Darrick was in hiding.

“There’s a horse outside,” you whispered. Sandor’s hand found yours and you guided him to the stables. A black mare stood proudly as you saddled it. The Hound tied the bags to it as you petted it’s head for comfort.

“C’mere,” Sandor said, bringing your attention back to him. You walked over to him and his hands found your waist. Before you could say anything, he lifted you up and onto the horse. You glanced down at him, but soon realized he was going to get on too. He heaved himself up and settled himself behind you. You grabbed the reins, handing them to him.

“Where do you wanna go, little bird?” His voice was soft and low in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. You turned your head to face him, his eyes peering down at you.

“Maybe North, maybe South,” Sandor smiled, actually smiled at you. The rare sight was burned into your memory; as was the last glimpse of the stony crag you used to climb as you both rode down the road, letting it fade out against the soft pink sky.

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mwaaizawa · 2 years

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Should I start writing one shots and drabbles again?

#sandor clegane #joey tribbiani #one direction #oneshot #drabble #fanfiction #greta van fleet #harry styles #harry potter #dark harry potter smut

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poisonsage808 · 1 year

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♡ poison’s rules ♡

♡ requests, imagines, headcannons ♡

the less detailed the prompt, the more i can work with! (specifics you want to see you should absolutely include)

♡ oneshots ♡

pm me! it will make it easier because i have questions, i just do

♡ ships ♡

what i need from you:

• specify platonic or romantic

• gender preferences/ sexuality

• features, personality, hobbies, likes and dislikes (the more descriptive the better, feel free to add more!)

• pick one or two fandoms for me to choose from

- Game of Thrones

- House of the Dragon

- Stranger Things

- Ouran Highschool Host Club

- The Arcana

♡ 🔞 to get an 18+ reply you have to have your age in your bio (please don’t interact with my 18+ post if you’re underage, it makes me uncomfortable and i’ll block you)

♡ what will poi write?♡

• fluff, angst, hurt/ comfort

• most tropes

• AU’s

• love, love, love stories!

• 🔞 smut, kinks, suggestive themes

♡ what won’t poi write? ♡

• noncon

• adult/minor

• incest*

• yandere/ abusive relationships

*with the acceptation of Targaryen’s and their queer customs

♡•FANDOMS•♡

♡ Game of Thrones♡

• Arya Stark

• Brienne of Tarth

• Bronn

• Daenerys Targaryen

• Gendry Waters/ Baratheon

• Jorah Mormont

• Margaery Tyrell

• Podrick Payne

• Sandor Clegane

• Sansa Stark

• Tormund Giantsbane

• Tyrion Lannister

♡ Q&A ♡

Q: in [fandom] i like this character but i don’t see him on your list, will you consider writing for [character]?

A: probably! most of the time i really want to be able to do justice to the characters i write for (i try to be AT LEAST 70% confident they won’t turn out too ooc) but i’m more than willing to branch out if so ask/ pm me! or put in an ask with a backup character provided and i’ll see what i can do :)

updated 1/13/23

#poiboidrabbles #request rules #masterlist #game of thrones imagine #house of the dragon imagine #stranger things imagine #the arcana #rules

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kaellecappuccino · 4 years

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OKAY BUT PICTURE THIS

(it's an OS)

Cersei was more than nervous at this point. Entrench in the deepest of the Red Keep, she couldn’t hear any more the sound of fighting, nor the roaring of those damn dragons. She shivered.

She thought she could defend the city. She thought she could. The Targaryen bitch seemed preoccupied by taking over the North first.

“Let them kill each other.” she thought. Let the Boltons and the rest of the late Stark’s bannermen sacrifice themselves for her and her kingdom. She hoped Tyrion would be caught in the mess and die burning. She hoped his wolf-bitch of a wolf would too, hidden somewhere in a whorehouse.

But something went wrong. The Boltons were dead before the Targaryen touched Westeros’ ground. The Stark bitch had returned to Winterfell.

Some said she appeared from nowhere in the Vale, as if Nature has shielded her for a time, before returning her to the world of men, half-wolf, half-woman.

Some said Littlefinger was hiding her, dying her hair dark, and that she poisoned him, one kiss at the time.

Some said she got help, that a monk, a cripple and a woman protected her and took her back to the North.

Cersei didn’t know what to believe. She didn’t know who to hate, so everyone deserved it now. The bitch took back Winterfell, and the Bolton’s armories were burned to the ground.

But there was nothing to be worried about, she thought. The Starks and the Targaryen girl would fight to their death and she won’t have to do anything about it.

She jumped at the sudden sound of something crashing just above her head. Her hands shaking, she took a sip of wine. The Mountain didn’t move, his dead eyes fixed on the door. She felt reassured by his presence. Her champion. Whoever would come for her, he’ll kill. He’ll kill them all, she thought, all of them, in a blood bath more glorious than any fire.

She drank some more. And then, when all of her enemies will be dead, she’ll rule. She’ll rule this bloodied land, wounded by wolves, and dragons, and snakes, and everything would be alright. And she drank again.

She remembered the letter. “Surrender”. An alliance. Who would have thought ? Wolves and dragons, hand in hand to destroy her. She hoped for a time that one of the two bitches would try to kill the other. But then she heard about the Stark’s bastard, returned from the dead, sharing his couch with the Dragon Queen. She heard about the pardon of the Greyjoys, the eldest daughter leading the biggest army afloat of all time, after slaughtering her uncles, helped by Faceless man. A Faceless man with a face she had long forgotten, a little girl she thought dead.

She heard about Dorne betrayal, letters exchanged in great secret between their slut princess and the Dragon Queen, an army on the move.

In King's Landing, people were roaring : hunger, diseases, death were spreading into those rats’ houses.

No one was to be trusted. Everyone was betraying her. All enemies. Only Ser Gregor was loyal.

The door opened with a loud bang. This was it. In the gloomy light, only one silhouette was standing. Tall, large, he walked to them, slightly limping. As he came closer, she recognized him and a great furor twisted her guts :

-You… You fucking traitor…

He stared at her with a deadly eye. His half-face was terrifyingly ugly, his dark hairs no longer poorly covering it up, as they were attached in a bun.

The Hound. Her fucking dog. He betrayed her son. Would have he been there, none of her children would have died.

He was holding a sword longer than her arms.

-You think yourself a match for your brother, dog ? I’ll take as much pleasure as him to see you roast on a pike.

Gregor’s demeanor had changed, as if, somewhere deep in his dead brain, something clicked seeing his brother. Cersei took a few step back, giggling madly :

-Coming here alone, and with a fucking limp. You think too highly of yourself.

-Two things bitch, he finally spoke. One, I’m not here for you. Two, who says I’m alone ?

And then she saw him. The second silhouette. Thinner, with no limp...and a hand that wasn’t moving.

Her twin walked into the light. Jaime had changed. His gold curls were short, messly cut, and he grew a beard. He was wearing red, but not the Lannister’s. She thought for a second he was here to save her.

That’s what he promised to always do, wasn’t it ? To save her. Protect her, at all cost.

He followed her, when she married Robert. He was there, always. He always came back to her.

His green eyes were sad and angry.

He loved her.

-Jaime...

Lost in a fog she couldn’t get out of, she didn’t register the younger Clegane attacking ferociously his brother. She could only see her own kin walking towards her, his eyes shining as if he was crying.

He loved her.

But she stepped back, her hand losing its grip on her cup who fell loudly on the floor, almost empty. He has a sword at his belt.

He loved her.

She turned back and ran. Stairs. She took them. It was just an indoor balcony. She could see the Cleganes brothers fighting, in a blur. Was she crying ? She felt something grabbing her skirt and she jerked away, tearing the fabric apart.

Jaime wasn’t saying anything, or she couldn’t hear.

But he loved her. Surely he will listen to her despair, he will save her.

-Jaime, you love me ! You always have ! she screamed.

A single tear rolled down his cheek, but he still got closer. She tore her bodice, displaying her white, full breasts :

-Jaime, she cried, I fed our children… Our children, and they took them away ! All of them ! Away !

He stopped.

-Tommen, and Myrcella… They took them ! And Joffrey, our first born, Jaime, they killed him, killed our baby…

But suddenly he was on her. She fought, he fought. Downstairs, they kept fighting as well.

She felt his hands, both his hands, flesh and gold, press on her throat. Breathing was hard.

-They were your children Cersei. Yours and yours only.

The pressure intensified. He loved her. He was crying.

-And I was a fool… I loved you…

He loved her. Surely he will save her from those monstrous hands that kept her from the air.

-I loved you … and you never did…

She couldn’t see anything anymore. He kept pressing, tears streaming down his face, sobs shaking his throat. Her fight was getting less and less fiery.

There was a flame downstairs and the air was suddenly filled with the most inhuman scream he ever heard. But he kept pressing. So hard he felt his gold hand starting to slip from his wrist, detaching itself from him. And as Cersei went limp, her head hanging from her neck at the edge of the balcon, wobbly in the void, his hand fell, and hit the ground just below with a thud. At the exact same time, the screaming stopped and all that was left was a strange echo.

Shaking, Jaime got up and climbed down the stairs. In front of him, Sandor was kneeling beside what looked like a giant torch. He never saw him that close to flames.

As he got closer, he realized his large sword was firmly planted in the fire. And that there was a man burning in it.

What was left of a man.

He put his hand on Sandor’s shoulder. The big man was crying. He looked up at Jaime :

-I... I couldn’t...let him die burning…

Jaime smiled weakly. His gold hand reflected the bright yellow of the fire. He didn’t consider getting it back.

-Get up brother. Let’s leave the monsters here.

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