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jaydeewis · 1 year

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“We thank you for the sun that warms us. We thank you for the stars that watch us. We thank you for our hearths and for our torches, that keep the savage dark at bay.”

#red priest #r'hllor #lord of light #moqorro #melisandre #melisandre of asshai #thoros of myr #a song of ice and fire

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laurellerual · 1 year

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Hi !! Could you maybe draw how you imagine Arya's reunion with Nymeria in the books ?

I love your art so much !

Lady Stoneheart, Lem Lemoncloak, Thoros of Myr, Tom of Sevenstreams, Harwin, Gendry, Arya, Nymeria and her pack!

This question is very old lol. When I started drawing this I had a quieter and fun scene in mind, then I started adding characters and I got lost. And I've spent way too long arguing with the color palette of this thing. I give up. I hope you like it as it is.

#asoiaf #asoiaf fanart #arya stark #nymeria #lady stoneheart #catelyn stark #the bwb #the brotherhood without banners #twow speculations #reunion #thoros of myr #harwin #gendry #gendry waters #lem lemoncloack #tom sevenstreams #riverlands #gendrya #arya x gendry

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wodania · 1 year

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New poll time!

Does betting your money mean you think your man (or lady) is going to win? No! Sometimes it’s just funny to bet on the person people least expect to win. Do not fight each other, this is not a melee tourney.

#asoiaf polls #loras tyrell #jaime lannister #gregor clegane #renly baratheon #robert baratheon #thoros of myr #sandor clegane #robor royce #brienne of tarth #tommen baratheon #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #game of thrones #got

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bookgendrya · 9 months

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She looked at their filthy hair and scraggly beards and reddened eyes, at their dry, cracked, bleeding lips.[…]The water splashed across her fingers and down her sleeve, but Arya did not move until the cup was brimming over. When she turned back towards the cages the townsman moved to stop her. “You get away from them, boy-“ “She’s a girl,” said Harwin. “Leave her be” “Aye” said Lem. “Lord Beric don’t hold with caging men to die of thirst. Why don’t you hang them decent?”

Her face throbbed. Her shoulder bled. Breathing hurt. The pain crackled up her arm like lightening. She cried out for a maester. “We have no maester,” said a girls voice. “Only me.” […] “She can’t go much further. She’ll die.” “One less lion. I won’t weep.”

“You stand accused of murder, but no one here knows the truth or falsehood of the charges, so it is not for us to judge you. Only the Lord of Light may do that now. I sentence you to trial by battle.” The Hound frowned suspiciously, as if he did not trust his ears. “Are you a fool or a madman?” “Neither, I am a just lord. Prove your innocence with a blade, and you shall be free to go.”

At the hollow hill, what you said about being King Robert’s men, and brothers, I like that. I like that you gave the Hound a trial. Lord Bolton just hanged folk or took off their heads, Lord Tywin and Ser Amory were the same. I’d sooner smith for you.”

“…till you stand before m’lady.” Renly stood behind the girl, pushing hair out of his eyes. Not Renly, Gendry. “M’lady means for you to answer for your crimes.”

“Whatever treachery you think I may have done, my lady, Podrick and Ser Hyle were no part of it.” “They’re lions,” said the one-eyed man. “That’s enough. I say they hang. Tarly’s hanged a score o’ ours, past time we strung up some o’his.”

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vrshxw · 4 months

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Vengeance.

Sandor Clegane x fem!Martell!OC

Fucking a stranger while being held prisoner by the Brotherhood Without Banners wasn't Adora Martell's brightest idea.

warnings: sexual content (piv), slight!irrelevant!bondage

word count: 1.2k

A/N:!this is only the first chapter of my ongoing fanfic on wattpad (vrshxw), so for additional content check it there!

The small ray of sun that glistened through the cracks of the wooden caravan was the only thing that kept her sane. It was a hope, a reminder of the freedom she had and could reclaim.

The time spent locked away was measured by the strained, drunk voices of the Brotherhood, mainly Thoros'. As long as the sun was still shining he was chirping and groaning and humming. A not so foreign want to smash her head against the filthy wood of the caravan crept in again and again until he went to sleep. But even then, the bastard will start moaning and bluffing.

Adora could only wait patiently and enjoy some of the only moments of silence she'll get until the thieves finished their meal. She only ate during supper, enough to survive and be able to sleep without having a growling stomach and the Brotherhood quickly realised that after some failed attempts to shove food up her throat, thinking she'd starve herself.

The small door suddenly opened, pulling her out of thought. A couple of hysterical laughs were loudly audible, as she heard them throwing some other cursed soul in. "We have found you a friend, princess!" The archer's comment brought an even scowl to her figures.

And then, it was dark a quiet again. The new companion was silent as fuck, not even moving from the place in which the thieves put him. Adora cleared her throat, trying to get some reaction out of him. A man it seemed he was, a voluminous man, by the struggle of the Brotherhood to get him in. What kind of man his size let some cunts like them to capture him? She was dying to get the bag off her head and see him. The tight ropes around her and the smelly bag on her head that caused more grease to appear in her hair were the aftermath of a failed attempt of escaping. Damn the archer! If it wasn't for him she'd be far already. But no, he had to fire his arrow right into her already too weakened calf. The wound was long forgotten, one of their pathetic excuse of a healer made sure to add some salve on and bind it with rags. That was several weeks ago, months maybe, she was sure it was healed, however she couldn't test it due to the bindings around her.

She cleared her throat again, louder this time, bored by the man's quiet nature. After some minutes of listening to his even breath that reeked of cheap ale, Adora finally realised that he was unconscious. She huffed loudly, the first sound she let out for some good days.

Was it a couple of hours? Or just mare minutes? The dornish princess couldn't say. The man finally moved, letting out a hoarse groan.

He attempted to move, and only after he tried he realised that there were ropes that bound his whole body tightly.

A bitter voice laughed at him.

His eyes travelled in the dark of the caravan to catch the glimpse of the figure of a woman. Her binds were matching his, however she had a bag over her head, that prevented her from seeing his face.

The man's gaze continued to scan his surroundings, only finding unknown, the small ray of sun on the roof that allowed the smallest amount of light in showing him just that.

"Lost?" The woman's mocking voice stopped his gazing around. It was almost like her stare could burn through the bag on her head, allowing her to see every one of his chaotic moves, that ideed signaled that he was confused.

"Who the fuck are you?" He asked, thankful she couldn't see the look on his face, because if she did she would've seen a perplexed idiot.

He could feel the woman's smirk under her bag. "Someone not very differed from yourself"

The man let out a sound that could be classified as a laugh, even though it was more like a sneer. "I doubt that"

Her nostrils flared "You might be right actually, I could never stink the way you do"

He scoffed at her response, yet finding it quite appealing. He was need of a bath indeed. He could tell the woman also haven't got the chance to bathe in a while, but it was clearly not as bad as in his case.

"You don't know what I'd give for a bath" He grumbled, now paying a precise attention to the smell of his sweat.

"And perhaps a maiden or two to massage your shoulders as you do so, I take it?" She rose a brow inside the dullnes of her bag, her tone obvious, familiar to the nature of men.

"I might make you to do so, you seem quite content with it" He straightened his posture, stretching his tired bones.

She let out a 'hmph', tilting her head. "Well, I am quite entertaining"

The corner of his lip twitched. "Bet you are." For the first time he took his time to check her out and analyse every inch of her.

Feeling his deep stare, she crawled closer to him as fast as she could due to the ropes. She stopped next to him, bringing her chest forward. He somehow twisted is hand in the bindings and made a move to grip her arse.

She let out a faint chuckle, understating he had the same desires-no, desperations as her.

It was plain that neither of them had the chance to fulfil their needs. He took advantage of the fact that she wasn't able to see his face. She might be the only woman who fucked him wiggly, except the older whores that would fuck any man without remorse, but still they were paid whores and she was a willing woman for all he knew.

She ended up in his lap, undoing her breeches as his hands were tied behid his back unable to move, leaving all the word to be done by her.

Both of them groaned feeling her grind against him before succeeding to slip inside her with an even guttural moan. Her shoulders were pressed against his armoured chest, leaning on it to help herself ride him with the lack of balance the ropes around her legs gave her.

Adora found herself letting sounds loud enough for the members of the Brotherhood outside to hear them, the rough slapping of her bottom on him, along with his groans there and there. A faint headache would root at the level of her head from all the noise she was doing, as she felt herself tightening around him, but it was good, not only because she was close to her peak, but because it felt like revenge, like those thieves outside were paying for it with their ears falling off and unsuccessful curses.

And she continued to do so, until she, herself was tired of the vengeful sounds she was making.

read future chapters on wattpad

#sandor clegane #sandor clegane x oc #sandor clegane smut #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #a song of ice and fire #house martell #dorne #thoros of myr #the brotherhood without banners #smut #fanfic #mdni #the hound #sandor clegane fanfic

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stavosmissionary · 11 months

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Stavos or beric/ thoros for pride req :)

kiss of death

#valyrianscrolls #beric dondarrion #thoros of myr #beric x thoros #my art #oh they. they drive me insane #thanks so much for sending old man love <3

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emprcaesar · 6 months

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bro is literally jesus

this is my evidence that lady stoneheart is going to be very crucial in TWOW. like i don’t know unite the north? whether it be from crowning arya with robb’s crown or something else i feel like she’ll carry on robb’s legacy. she is just a much robb’s vengeance as she is catelyns. robb very much plays the jesus role he dies but his memory lives on, through lady stoneheart.

#religious imagery #makes me go crazy #you put hints of religion in media #and my ass will EAT IT THE FUCK UP #this is really stupid but i like it #matthew 12:40 #asoiaf #asoiaf books #game of thrones #house stark #arya stark #catelyn stark #robb stark #lady stoneheart #twow #the winds of winter #asoiaf theory #you like my highlighter color :)#thoros of myr

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poorshadowspaintedqueens · 1 year

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Do you think Robert Baratheon was actually haunted by the memory of Elia’s children in the Lannister red cloaks, in the same way Ned Stark and Thoros of Myr were?

Not the same way. But also Robert is the sort of man who will do absolutely anything (e.g. fighting, drinking, eating, sex, hunting, etc) to avoid dwelling on things he doesn’t want to think about. So is he haunted by the crimes committed in his name? Maybe. But he’s not likely to think about it too much, and to avoid the subject if someone dares to bring it up. Given the people who surround him, I doubt anyone would try. Maybe Jon Arryn, but only if it’s necessary.

We know that Jon Arryn was the one who delivered the bones of Lewyn Martell to Prince Doran after the war. We are not told what happened to the bones of Elia and her children. One assumes they were also returned to Dorne, unless someone saw fit to give them a Targaryen fire burial, which seems highly unlikely under the circumstances. But what seems clear is that Robert was not in any way involved in this process.

Ned is partly haunted, I think, by how close he came to saving those children. He may even have been within the walls of the Red Keep, confronting Jaime, while Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch were doing their bloody work in Maegor’s Holdfast. That, coupled with how close he came to saving Lyanna, only to lose her too, means those children will forever be associated with everything Ned has lost and all the people he could not save.

It’s not like that for Robert. Robert “lost” Lyanna, but he wasn’t the one who found her bleeding out and held her as she died. He gained a great deal by the deaths of Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon, but he didn’t even give the order for it, so it was in his interests to distance himself as much as possible. Now, choosing to reward Tywin by making his daughter queen is not a great way of distancing himself, and it’s mentioned more than once in the books that Robert may have been relieved that Tywin did the killing so he didn’t have to. When he refers to the dead children as “dragonspawn” to Ned, I read that as Robert trying to deny the guilt he does feel, and trying to convince himself that he did the right thing by not punishing Tywin. (Ned, we know, wanted Tywin executed for murder and cruelty.)

Thoros is a different case altogether. He has basically zero power is this entire situation; he was just a soldier and a priest witnessing a war and finding only horror in the atrocities, rather than triumph. It’s part of his personal journey, but its impact on the larger narrative isn’t felt until much, much later.

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #Robert Baratheon #Eddard Stark #Thoros of Myr #Elia Martell #Aegon VI Targaryen #rhaenys martell

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amuelia · 2 years

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Greenbeard said, "Here's the wizard, skinny squirrel. You'll get your answers now." He pointed toward the fire, where Tom Sevenstrings stood talking to a tall thin man with oddments of old armor buckled on over his ratty pink robes. That can't be Thoros of Myr. Arya remembered the red priest as fat, with a smooth face and a shiny bald head. This man had a droopy face and a full head of shaggy grey hair. - Arya VI, aSoS

Dondarrion? Beric Dondarrion had been handsome; Sansa's friend Jeyne had fallen in love with him. Even Jeyne Poole was not so blind as to think this man was fair. Yet when Arya looked at him again, she saw it; the remains of a forked purple lightning bolt on the cracked enamel of his breastplate. - Arya VI, aSoS

Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr, before and after

#asoiaf #thoros of myr #beric dondarrion #a storm of swords #a song of ice and fire #valyrianscrolls #the brotherhood without banners #the lightning lord #2022 #character designs

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charonean · 1 year

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My brain is ping-ponging between thinking about Thoros and Beric and the nature of consistently resurrecting someone when they don’t necessarily want it but you /love/ them and you can’t just let them die; Stannis and Renly and how he had to take care of his younger brother during the siege when he was just a teen because his older brother was gone and their parents were dead (and then later on being the one to kill his younger brother after the two of them went to war against one another); and Jaime and Brienne just being... in love. They’re just there... being stupidly in love.

#the fic Light The Way really did check a lot of boxes for me character-wise #all my faves were there #and now they're in my brain #asoiaf #game of thrones #beric dondarrion #thoros of myr #stannis baratheon #renly baratheon #jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #braime

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ravenofthefandoms · 1 year

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The Lucky Stag: Part 3

Word Count: 4621 (oopsies)

Pairing: Sandor Clegane x reader

Characters: Sandor Clegane, original character (Marlys), original character (mentioned) (Jeremiah Bryne), Morgan (mentioned), Lem (mentioned), Gatins (mentioned), Brotherhood without Banners, Thoros of Myr, Beric Dondarrion

Warnings: some gore (it’s Game of Thrones), some mild angst, some mild fluff

A/N: Hi :) sorry for disappearing but life has been hectic. I’ve been wanting to write again, especially after House of the Dragon. Hopefully, people still wanna see more of this. Hopefully, for a time, I’ll have more regular updates and posts. As I said a while back, there are some Podrick x reader posts I have brewing plus some ideas for House of the Dragon. This one isn’t super exciting but I’ve got some plans for the next few chapters that should get the blood pumping if you will

Tags (let me know if you would like to be removed since it’s been so long): @anita-e-taylor, @my-bitch-loki @orange-sherbxrt

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters outside of my own original characters. The others belong to George R.R. Martin. I do not own any of the gifs used. They belong to the original creators.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

You had been walking for ages, or what felt like it at least. Walking where, you did not know. Sandor had muttered to himself while he held you outside of the burning tavern, something about finding the men so he could tear them to bloody fucking pieces. Unfortunately, you had nothing but the singed, smoky clothes on your back and the aching hole in your chest left to your name. You knew, in reality, that it had only been a day and a half since your life had turned to ash but time no longer felt as it did before. Your eyes always felt dry, and your voice caught in your throat more often than not. Sandor could count the words you’ve spoken on his two hands.

On the first night, your friend, Marlys, was gracious enough to let you stay with her and her husband. She insisted that it was her duty as your friend, however. Another thing she tried to insist on was you sleeping in her and her husband’s bed, which he had heartily agreed to. You refused, though. Instead, you curled on the hay floor near the fireplace, Sandor sitting against the wall near your feet.

Marlys was truly a kind woman, and you felt badly now for the way you were when you stayed there that night. You supposed that you shouldn’t, considering your grief was fresh and intense. The next morning, you and Sandor broke your fast with Marlys and her husband before they gave you enough food for a day of travel and a skin of water. Their kindness made tears well in your eyes. As you said your goodbyes, Sandor waited outside for you.

Your childhood friend pulled you into a tight embrace. Tears spilled onto each others’ shoulders as she whispered her condolences. After a night of rest, you realized that you weren’t the only one who grieved your brother’s death, and held onto Marlys as tightly as she held onto you. “I’ll miss you, (Y/N). Promise you’ll come back someday.” You nodded in response, not trusting your voice to be steady.

Letting go, you walked out to a patiently waiting Sandor. “Ready?” He knew what your real answer was, the same as anyone else’s would be. Your nod was good enough for him though. With one last tearful look towards probably the one place you wish you could stay, you began walking.

The first day of walking had been largely uneventful. Sandor led you with, surprisingly, gentle hands. Whether on your elbow, on the small of your back, or even holding your own in his, he never let go of you until you needed a break or it was time to set up camp. He found a clearing off the side of the path you had been traveling. With no ax, he was unable to cut any logs to build a proper fire, and instead gathered twigs and sticks from the surrounding copse of trees. As he gathered the firewood, you sat and prepared the area where the fire would blaze. Stones from a nearby stream were set in a circle to keep the flames contained. You handed it over to Sandor when he returned. He began to stack the wood, stuffing fallen leaves and tall grass into the center.

By the time you sat and made yourself as comfortable as you could on the hard ground, Sandor had the tinder smoking, then smoldering, and finally beginning to burn. As the fire slowly grew, Sandor moved to sit next to you. His eyes watched you carefully, unsure what to do or say. He had never been good with words, most of them crass and rude. He didn’t want to be crass or rude with you though. When it came to you, Sandor wanted to make you smile and laugh, to see the glimmer in your eye when you spoked animatedly, to keep you warm during the chilly nights, to-... He shook his head slightly, needing to derail this trail of thinking. As odd yet enjoyable this sensation was, there were priorities to be dealt with first. He needed to track down those sons of bitches that hurt you so and make them regret ever being born.

“Sandor,” you murmured. He looked down and grunted. “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me.” He suddenly found his hands, fiddling with a small twig, to be much more interesting.

“Don’ thank me. I’ve been more trouble than not,” he muttered. A soft chuckle, more of a sigh than anything, fell from your lips and you shook your head, almost as if he had made some silly joke. Pride swelled in his heart for a moment – hearing any sort of sweet sound from you was a blessing. You didn’t respond to his words, only scooted closer to him as a chill began to creep into the air. Your shoulders grazed his, body heat warming you as much as the fire in front of you. “You should get some rest.” His eyes flicked down to you, the smallest of bitter smiles gracing your lips.

“Aye, I should.” You looked up at him; the lack of, well, everything in your eyes made him uneasy. He knew as well as you that rest would not come easy, if at all. Your eyes returned to the flames, your gaze becoming unfocused in them. A long moment lasted before you spoke again. “I don’t know what to do anymore.” Your voice was soft, barely more than a whisper. Sandor kept his gaze fixated on your face, waiting for you to continue. “I’ve always known what needed to be done. Cook the venison, bake the bread, serve the ale, keep the tavern running, watch over my-... watch over my brother.” The last few words came out slightly strangled, as though you choked on them. “I am lost now.”

Another long silence fell between you before Sandor reached over and took one of your hands in his own. “You’re not lost. You’re not broken neither.” Your gaze lifted to meet his own. “You’re strong. And I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll protect you, if you let me.” You were able to offer him a small, watery smile along with a quick nod.

“Thank you, Sandor.” Your eyes returned to the flames for a moment longer before you closed them. “I want nothing more,” you said softly. Again, silence fell over the two of you, nothing to hear aside from the crackling of the fire. Sandor was unsure how long he stared into the dancing flames before your head nodded onto his shoulder and soft snores filled the air.

The next morning, you awoke with a start, images from the past few days haunting your dreams. The sun was just beginning to climb over the horizon, though the chill of night still hung in the air. A shiver ran down your spine as your body began to wake from its slumber. Your tailbone and legs ached as you stood and made your way to the stream. The water was cold and brisk. Dipping your hands in the babbling brook made your arms break out into gooseflesh. You cupped the water in your hands, gently bringing it to your face. The freezing shock was necessary, you felt, before you began on your journey again. When you returned to the fire, Sandor’s eyes were open and sought out your approaching figure.

He said nothing, something you were accustomed to after a few months of knowing him. Sandor would never be considered a particularly chatty man. However, sitting in silence with the large man brought you a sense of peace and calm.

You nodded once at the question in his eyes, and he rose to his feet. There was nothing for you to gather or put away, only the still-smoldering embers of the night’s fire. Sandor kicked dirt over it, if only to ensure that the flames would stay smothered rather than springing back to life. Once again, he guided you to the path with sure steps. There was a bloodlust in his eyes as he tracked the men that he was intent on killing. It didn’t scare you, strangely enough. For once, it made you feel… protected. You couldn’t say that you remember a time when you felt protected. Your brother, gods rest his soul, was strong and protected you from men who were too handsy or too violent. There was always the silent agreement, however, that you were the one that protected your brother. You raised him, cared for him, and made sure he grew to be the man that he was beginning to be. This sensation from Sandor, it lifted a weight off of your shoulders that you had not realized was there. A shadow that had hung from you for as long as you could remember.

Gently, you shook these thoughts from your head. You instead focused on the path ahead, watching and wary of your surroundings. Many hours passed, early morning turning into early afternoon. As though he was indeed a hound picking up a scent, Sandor stopped suddenly. He turned to your left. You turned as well, trying to see or hear or smell whatever it was that he was sensing. After a few moments, you could hear the sound of raucous laughing, as well as cursing. It was enough for Sandor to tug you along gently, despite his long, angry strides.

You walked just behind Sandor, the sound of laughter growing as you continued to walk closer. An ax laid next to a stump and a pile of chopped logs. From where you stood, you could see four men, all somewhat familiar, sitting around a fire. Sandor stopped, looking back at you slightly with a warning in your eyes. It was something you understood quickly. You nodded and took a step back.

That bloodlust was back in his eyes, if it ever left. He grabbed that ax and began stalking towards the group of men. By the time they realized what was happening, it was too late. Sandor swung his ax with a yell at the first man, lopping off his head with ease. It was at this moment that you turned around, hand pressed to your mouth to keep the bile down. It wasn’t that you had a sudden guilt about the silent agreement between you and Sandor to avenge your brother. In fact, you quite enjoyed the ferocity with which he swung his weapon. What made your stomach churn was the memory that it returned to you: your brother’s corpse. The grisly nature of the scene unfolding was something that you found you just could not watch. Squelching flesh as it was maimed by steel still reached your ears. Your eyes closed quickly, taking deep breaths to keep your stomach calm. As the final man whimpered in pain, you could hear Sandor speaking to him. You weren’t sure what Sandor said, his voice too soft to be carried over the wind. You did, however, hear the dying man scream at the giant before him.

All you could hear was further grumbling from Sandor. You did not open your eyes nor did you remove your hand from your mouth. The crunch of leaves and sticks stopped behind you. “It’s over now, little flower.” His hand gently came up to grab your wrist, pulling it away from your face. Your eyes opened slowly, looking up to meet Sandor’s own gaze.

“Did I scare ya?” There was something in his voice that had you shaking your head quickly.

“No, Sandor. I just… I couldn’t watch.” He nodded softly. Your hand drifted up slowly to rest on his scarred cheek. “Thank you.” Your voice was more frail than you expected or wanted it to be. “They met the ends they deserved.”

He nodded his agreement.

“Aye, they did. There are still more. The one who led them, with the yellow cloak. We find him, and your brother will have been avenged.” You nodded, looking up at him with a fierceness in your eyes that made his heart stutter a moment. With no more need to stay, the two of you continued back on your journey.

Surprisingly, you did not walk as far as you thought you would have to before the sounds of men reached your ears again. It was distinctive this time, and much closer than the last group of men had been. Sandor looked down at you, nodded, and then headed towards the noise, ax ready to attack.

To both your own and Sandor’s surprise, the men you sought were standing on barrels with nooses around their necks. A handful of men, no more than ten, stood around them, and one sat above on the tree branch. Swords were partially drawn in caution, until one of the men spoke.

“Clegane.” He was a handsome man, the one who spoke. An eye patch covered his right eye, a crop of sandy hair cropped close to his head. If it weren’t for the setting you found yourself in, you would think him to be some dashing knight that you, as did many of the other girls in your village, dreamt of being swept away by. You stayed close to Sandor, however, almost hiding behind him as a child does behind their mother’s skirts.

“The fuck you doing here?” Another man asked. This one had long hair gathered into a knot atop his head and a deep red cloak hanging around his shoulders. His gaze flicked to you, seemingly amused.

Sandor pointed at the soon-to-be hanged men. “Chasing them.” His hand, still gripping yours, tensed slightly. “You?”

The second man to speak looked back at the men before responding. “Hanging them.” He seemed almost bemused in the way he spoke, as though it were just another sunny afternoon.

“Any particular reason?” Was Sandor’s somewhat irritated response. The clipped conversation had your eyes darting between the men as they spoke.

The first man spoke again. “They’re our men, or they were. They attacked a nearby sept and murdered the villagers. Burnt down a tavern in the next village too. Why do you want them?” His eye flicked to you, as though just realizing that the Hound was not alone. Curiosity made his head quirk to the side, his lone eye seeming to look you up and down. Not in the way you were used to men doing, but in a way that made your skin crawl. Like he was reading your body, your mind, and your soul. There was a part of you that felt sure he could hear every thought in your head.

“Same reason.” Sandor jerked his head to you. “It was her tavern they burnt. Her brother they murdered.” Your hand tensed in his, and he squeezed it gently. “She saved me.”

“Saved you? A surprise anyone would think to do that.” The second man seemed to be quite witty, or at least thought he was. There was a twinkle of mirth in his eyes that you could see, even from your distance.

Sandor looked down at you once again before returning his gaze to the men in front of him. “Aye, it is.” A pause and he started walking towards them intently, you following behind him. “They’re ours.” Sandor said, a statement of fact rather than a request.

The first man moved forward. “It is the Brotherhood’s good name they’ve dragged through the dirt.

“Fuck your name.” Sandor’s response was instant. The two of you came to a stop in front of the men. “They’re ours. I’ve killed ya once before, Dondarrion, happy to do it again.” In response, a man in the small crowd drew an arrow, pointing it at Sandor. You frowned and moved to the side between the archer and Sandor, releasing his hand in the process. “Drop that arrow, you bloody girl.” His eyes remained focused on the man he addressed as Dondarrion. “Tougher girls than you tried to kill me.” Sandor raised his ax, pointing it at the archer but careful of where he knew you stood next to him. A beat of silence and Sandor turned to start stalking towards the archer.

“You can have one of them.” Sandor turned back.

“Two.” It was almost incredulous how they seemed to barter over the lives of these men, who got to kill them. The two men who spoke with Sandor looked at each other. The second one nodded to the first, Dondarrion, who in turn nodded to Sandor.

They turned to the three men whose fates they so casually debated. Sandor went to the one on the farthest left, looked him up and down, and swung his ax back. It was grabbed, however, by the second man before he could bring it down. “No, no, no. We’re not butchers. We hang them.”

“Hanging? “ Sandor’s voice was annoyed. “All over in an instant. Where’s the punishment in that? Not enough after what they did to her brother. What they did to her ho-” Your hand on his arm stopped Sandor in his rant. He looked down to you, where you shook your head. There was no point in arguing. The other four you found died in pain and suffering. It was enough for you. Sandor pursed his lips and shook his head slightly.

“They’ll die.” Was the simple answer from the red-cloaked man, whose hands rested so casually upon the pommel of his sword.

“We all bloody die, except for this one here.” Sandor looked back to Dondarrion, making your brow furrow in confusion. You turned to look at the man as well, still standing a bit behind Sandor. The man looked at you, a small, almost knowing smile upon his lips as he held your gaze. It unsettled you a bit, so you looked back and up at the men facing their deaths. “I’ll only gut one of them.” The bartering nearly made you snort with laughter, but you held it in.

“No.” Dondarrion switched his gaze from you to Sandor as he spoke. The giant man next to you turned and glared at the man.

“Chop off one hand.” This time you couldn’t help the snort of laughter, the gazes of the men around you turning upon you suddenly.

“We gave you two out of the three, out of respect of the lady’s loss. That’s generous.” His eye held a bit of warning for Sandor, telling him not to push his luck. Sandor sighed and looked down at you. You nodded and he turned back to Dondarrion.

“Bunch of nances,” he grumbled. Sandor threw his ax to the ground in annoyance before looking up at the men. “There was a time I would’ve killed all seven of you just to gut these three.” Your brow quirked at his statement but you paid it no further mind.

“You’re getting old, Clegane. Or maybe your lady love has just made you soft.” Again with the mirthful look from the red-cloaked man, whose eyes roamed you freely. His gaze, though holding no malice, roamed over you with far less intensity and far more interest in the decolletage visible from the top of your gown. This was the gaze you were used to from men, and did not unsettle you like the other man’s did.

Sandor’s eyes turned to a deadly glare at the man before turning back to the men soon to be killed. “Well, he’s not.” His foot moved to the barrel that the first man stood on and kicked it from underneath his feet. He dropped suddenly and a sickening crunch was heard as he struggled against the noose. Sandor moved to the next one, turning back to you first with a question in his eyes. Your eyes leveled with his before flitting to the man in the middle.

“Did you kill my brother? With your own sword? The man you hung from a tree with the deer he had killed.” Your steely gaze leveled on the man, a pathetic whimper leaving his mouth. Violently, he shook his head, muttering what you believed to be lies. You had no proof save the the cloak around his neck. The cloak was not something you recognized, but the pins holding it together were. Those were the pins you had bought your brother for his sixteenth nameday. Your hand reached up, grasping the pins gently as you looked at them before you ripped them off. You put your bootclad foot on the edge of the barrel, leveling to meet his eyes once again.

“Mistress, please, I’ll give you anything.” The final words barely escaped his lips before you pushed the barrel over and the air was stolen from his lungs. With this man, there was no snap, only the strained gasp as his throat quickly began to become crushed against the rope. You kept your gaze upon the thrashing man’s face, watching with a deepset frown as his eyes seemed to bulge from his face and the color drained from his face to only be replaced by a blue hue. Dondarrion, who had sidled up next to you, quickly kicked over the barrel of the last man, who also choked. As soon as the third man began his suffering, you stepped back. The two men who Sandor seemed to know watched with varying expressions as Sandor looked at the middle man’s feet. The red-cloaked one seem bemused as Sandor removed the man’s boots and compared them to his own feet, while the other seemed intrigued.

“Got anything to eat?” Sandor finally asked once he pulled the new boots onto his feet. The men nodded and began walking to where they had set up camp. It wasn’t far, but far enough from the road where the deadmen hanged that you could no longer hear the creaking of the rope as their limp bodies swayed in the breeze.

A few men had stayed behind, assumingly to cook the game they had hunted and keep the fires stoked. You sat next to Sandor on a log, your knees drawn close to your chest. A leg of rabbit was in your hand but your gaze stayed on the lapping waves of the lake next to you. Two men sat on the log to your right and the man called Dondarrion on the left. The red-cloaked man soon joined you, a skin of something in his hands. “Enjoying yourself?”

Sandor examined the rabbit bone, cleaning it of its meat. “I prefer chicken.” A small smile graced your lips before you took another bite from the leg.

“Would you like to introduce us to your friend, Clegane? It is the proper thing to do.” The red-cloaked man passed the skin to Sandor, who took a swig of it before handing it to you. You took it, the burn of alcohol bringing a slight relief to you.

“Not really,” he replied. You nudged him with your elbow, though this was only met with a grumble from the man. “(Y/N), that is Beric Dondarrion, leader of this… whatever it is. And that bald cunt with the topknot is Thoros of Myr. This is (Y/N).”

They both nodded to you, which you returned. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady.”

You snorted and shook your head. “I’m no lady, Ser. But I thank ye, for the food. And the justice.” Though you spoke of it, it didn’t really feel as though justice had been served. Those men were dead, but so was your brother. You wondered if the dull ache in your heart would ever leave, or even lessen at all. The men seemed to be able to see the dull look in your eyes. Sandor’s hand gripped your knee gently, tossing the rabbit bone into the flames. Your eyes met his, and a small smile lifted the corners of your lips. He nodded and turned back to Thoros and Beric, though his hand didn’t leave you. The aforementioned men shared a look, noticing this surprisingly sweet gesture of comfort from the Hound.

Beric nodded at your words before returning his attention to Sandor once again. “You ought to join us.” You listened as Sandor snorted, responding to Beric. At this point, you tuned yourself out of the conversation, the only thing anchoring you to reality was Sandor’s hand on your leg. You finished the rest of the rabbit leg that had been given to you earlier, tossing the bone into the fire.

Your eyes lingered over the water, lapping at the muddy shores. The image of the strangled man kept flashing in your mind, but you steeled yourself against it. He suffered, hopefully more than your brother did. This was not enough, but it had to be. You would make it so.

The men continued to speak, Sandor’s thumb rubbing soft and slow circles against your knee. He stood, giving one reassuring pat to your leg before he walked to the edge of the lake and began to fiddle with his pants. You averted your eyes quickly, attempting to keep a soft blush from your cheeks as your eyes found the first thing that wasn’t Sandor. Unfortunately, that thing was the amused gaze of Thoros of Myr. Suddenly, something he said registered in your brain. “You’ve brought him back? Not healed him, but… how?” The man who called himself a priest chuckled into his drink.

“I prayed.” Beric pulled up his shirt to show you many scars, many of which should have killed him. “Six times, isn’t it?” Beric nodded to Thoros’ question. “I just got lucky. Or he did, I suppose.” Beric dropped his shirt as Sandor returned from relieving himself.

They continued their conversation, though you only payed half a mind to it. The fact that Beric had died six times but was still standing before you, very much alive, was incredible. They continued to talk about fighting, cold winds, and mysterious creatures that sounded like tales that the old women in the village would tell you as a child. “It’s not too late, Clegane.” This was the last thing Beric said to Sandor, silently awaiting an answer to his proposition. Sandor gave a soft sigh, staring at Beric before looking down at you.

His gaze held yours for a long moment, longer than you’ve had before. A soft emotion that you couldn’t quite place entranced you. “Well, what do ya say, lass? Ever been to the North?” You shook your head slightly. “Would ya like to?” A brief moment of clarity washed over you. You accepted Sandor’s offer of protection. You thought that, once your brother’s killers were caught, he would see it as a job done. Or maybe he would simply refuse to bring you, a woman, on what was doubtlessly a dangerous adventure. It seemed that this was not the case. How it seemed, at least to you, was that Sandor was intent on staying with you. And this thought made your heart feel a little brighter than it had before, and a smile painted your mouth. A real smile, one that reminded Sandor of the smiles you would offer him back in the tavern. The smile that always made his heart skip a beat, despite that particular sensation frightening him.

“Aye, I think I would like to see the North. It’s not like there’s much left for me in the Riverlands.” Beric nodded his head to you while Thoros raised his skin and took another drink. Sandor offered you a small, secret smile before taking your fingers in his hand as discreetly as he could. It wasn’t discreet at all, but thankfully, neither Thoros nor Beric felt the need to say anything.

#game of thrones #game of thrones fanfic #reader insert #Sandor Clegane #sandor clegane x reader #sandor the hound clegane #The Hound #the hound x reader #Brotherhood Without Banners #thoros of myr #beric dondarrion #sandor x reader

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muadweeb · 1 year

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LADY STONEHEART AND FRANKENSTEIN'S MONSTER

#lady stoneheart #catelyn stark #beric dondarrion #thoros of myr #r'hllor #undead #frankenstein #grrm #affc #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls

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stachedocs · 1 year

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Kat's beloved plotbunnies | A Song of Ice and Fire | Introducing THAEDA STONE of Strongsong (of the Brotherhood without Banners) For each man the bell only tolls twice. Once to commemorate his coming to the world. The second time to mourn his departure from it. For a long time now Thaeda Stone thought that despite their ancient wisdom, the first of House Belmore must have made a mistake. The words rarely carried certainty. For her alone, the bells began to sing the day she was fathered and have not yet stopped since. First time they rang in the year 270 After the Conquest, at the tourney at Ironoaks where many victories were celebrated — among them first and foremost the birth of Morton Waynwood — but none were felt as passionately as the victory of Lord Nestor Royce over the Lord Benedar Belmore. Lord Royce made Benedar a joust loser and while the defeated washed dirt off his back and mourned the loss of his best horse, the champion made him a loser once more in his own bed where he lay with his good lady wife until sunup. At the tourney at Ironoaks, Nestor Royce took Benedar Belmore’s triumph and he took his dignity. He also took the Lady Marla Belmore’s heart to keep forever. Second time the bells struck when Thaeda of Strongsong was born nine months later and almost all would believe her as Lord Benedar’s own. She came out of her mother with a head of hair like molten copper, almost as red as the leaves of a weirwood. Almost all were fooled and would be forever and a day were it not for the mother’s pride that punctured the secret, her love for Nestor Royce, and her spite. Lady Marla made her daughter out of love, for herself to have and soothe her loneliness. She lost her too soon to her husband’s pridefulness, because what purpose did a bastard have in the house but to remind him every day of his dishonour? So the third song the bells chanted when Thaeda Belmore died on her tenth name day and when she instead became Thaeda Stone, sired anew by Nestor Royce. He fostered the small girl — Ted as all familiarly called her — with a surprising show of dedication no-one had expected of him. And while Runestone and The Gates of The Moon were not quite places for little girls, they were a home fit enough for women who aspired to toughness. Women, who above all admired resilience and integrity — for that was what the mountains taught them and what they knew. And when the bells tolled for the fourth time, it was to shatter these principles. The bells set off a chain of events like the spring avalanches, and brought with them first the death of Lord Arryn, then the coming of Catelyn Stark and her peculiar prisoner. A disquieting tilt of power over the Vale. And then, finally, the failing of Lord Nestor to stand with his cousin against Lord Protector Petyr Baelish on account of a bribe, of all things. Lord Nestor proved that Ted was always a mere afterthought to his legitimate children; that honesty was an afterthought to ambition. Taeda felt it was time to speak against the cowardice and hypocrisy of men, but feared it might be too late. Because what purpose did a bastard have in the house but to remind everyone of their dishonour?

A/N: She's here! As an OC, Ted was actually born some nine or ten years ago when I first read ASOIAF, only she was never given an opportunity to grow. So this is a big THANK YOU to all who have inspired and enabled me to finally bring her to life. A special thanks goes to @samwilsonns and @kingsroad. I love you guys, thank you for everyhing!

#ocappreciation #fyeahasoiafocs #fyeahgotocs #fyeahgameofthronesocs #my ocs #oc: thaeda stone #lem lemoncloak #thoros of myr #brotherhood without banners #lady stoneheart #catelyn stark #lem lemoncloak x oc #oc: marla borrell #m* edit #my writing

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