#Sandor Clegane x original characters

[houndofsevenhells]

“Of Septons and Hounds” (Sandor Clegane x Original Female Character)

SUMMARY — A recently widowed impoverished spinster, who now finds herself at the Lannisters’ mercy, develops a strange relationship with the fearsome Hound. As the ten year long summer comes to an end, she tries to fight for the man she really wants, while dodging her good-brother's schemes to see her wed yet another elderly lord.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — This is my first ever work in this fandom, I hope I did my favourite fearsome Hound justice. English is not my first language so if you spot any mistakes that is my fault alone. Oh, and there’s also smut.

WORD COUNT — 3,391

Masterlist

The ten year long summer was coming to an end. I could feel it in my bones. Casterly Rock still stood tall and strong, as I suspected it would for another eight thousand years, but everything else around me was changing.

I was savouring a rare moment of peace and hid from the world in the alcove of the rose gardens. The round-petalled, sunset-coloured variety that grew here were my favourite, though of course the crimson ones planted at the very centre were the most magnificent. My good-brother Ser Damion once told me they were the pride and joy of Lady Joanna, and knowing his cousin Tywin I could certainly see why the gardeners worked so hard to keep these blooming all summer long.

As the recently widowed impoverished spinster, who now found herself at the Lannisters’ mercy, I hid in these gardens quite often–mostly to escape my good-brother’s schemes. One should hope his duties as the castellan of the Rock would have kept him busier…

I breathed deeply and felt my head swimming from the sweet scent of the roses. Somehow I knew the crimson ones smelled stronger as of late. I was sure they spoke of impending autumn winds. They had developed a startling, imposing scent that permeated almost the entirety of the gardens and it almost seemed like the flowers wanted to shine just one last time before they would inevitably wilt. Like the one last feast one would throw just before the first snowstorms.

“Well, then.” Suddenly, strong hands grasped my shoulders and I shot up from the bench I was resting on.

I was met with the half-burned face of Sandor Clegane; his ruined lips twisted in a mockery of a smile and his imposing frame blocking the sun from my view completely. 

“Oh. It’s you.” I was clearly relieved.

No less confused than before, Sandor took a step closer.

“Who did you think it was?” he asked. His voice was broken glass, crunching under infantry iron boots. 

“My brother,” I confessed easily. “He is getting fatter on his castellan purse, but is almost as tall as you, Ser Clegane.”

Immediately, Sandor snarled at the title, his grey eyes full of hate. But I stood there proudly, daring him to scold a high-born lady in public. I was riling him up and he knew it, but he let me all the same. 

“Come.” His command was short; an order a captain of the guard would throw at a fellow soldier.

“Is that any way to talk to a lady, Clegane?”

He said nothing to that, just sent me another angry look over his shoulder and then kept walking. I stifled a laugh.

Unlike all those other guards prancing around the Rock in their gold shiny armours, Sandor’s black ring mail and boiled leather seemed to be quelling the sunshine around him.

Unable to help myself, I followed him inside the castle.

His long legs carried him quite a distance further and soon enough I found myself trotting behind him like an ungraceful pony.

“Is that any way for a lady to walk?” he grumbled, though there was mirth in those angry eyes and I grinned as soon as I saw it.

“Is that a jape I hear, Clegane? By the gods, it–” But the rest of that remark died in my throat as he pulled me into a dark corridor that ended with a spiral staircase. He went down and again, I followed.

“Where are we?” I inquired.

“Underneath the barracks.” His rasping voice drifted up to me. Once more, he was leading.

“Lovely,” I sighed and then simply kept following.

At the end of the staircase, there was an old door with an even older-looking lock, to which Sandor for some inexplicable reason produced a rust-covered key. He unlocked the door and it soon became apparent he must have been the first one to do it in quite a while. It took a formidable power to open it at all. I looked at how his muscles bulged under the dark sleeves of his tunic and against my better judgement I did not stop looking until he caught me in the act. 

Without any niceties, Sandor took my hand and led me through the narrow passage, then firmly shut the door behind us; the rusty hinges straining under the task.

“I do appreciate the effort, Clegane, but if I should have to perish, I’d rather not do it under some aimless old stone that decides to drop on my head with–”

“You talk too much, woman.”

He grabbed me and soon my back was pressed against the cold stone wall. I did not necessarily mind. This was what I came there for; it was what I wanted and what Sandor kept giving me for the past year and a half.

I reached out blindly and when my hands found his face I pulled him closer for a kiss. He wouldn’t reciprocate at first, this much I knew, because such was our game. He would let me sense his humours and somehow through a simple touch and kiss I would read him like a book. I realised he would need it rough today and my body shivered with anticipation. I deepened the kiss and finally Sandor moved closer and started to unlace his breeches.

There was scarcely any light source in the old dungeon and I could barely see a thing. Regretful, giving my particular weakness for the sight of the man. Because Sandor was everything I could ever want from a man, even though he would never let me say it out loud. 

But the noose around my neck was tightening. With the summer ending and Her Grace slowly packing to move back to King’s Landing with the children, I knew the proper mourning period after my late husband’s passing was over. As I had no remaining male relatives, Ser Damion Lannister was in charge of any dowry my puny cousin Crakehall branch could offer. Soon, the evil beast that married my sister would force me to wed once more–undoubtedly to another evil beast of his choosing.

“You are shaking, my lady.” The familiar raspy voice brought me back. I sighed because I enjoyed him calling me a lady quite as much as he liked to be called “ser”.

“It’s cold in here.”

“Aye.” He reached under my skirts and I gasped once he pulled down my smallclothes. “So let me make you warmer.”

Another sigh turned into a moan when he put two fingers inside me and curled them. He was not being rough to be cruel, but because he knew I could not stand a slow and tedious prelude.

“So wet,” he rasped into my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “Were you thinking of me all day?”

I could not smell the wine on him this time and I enjoyed the thought that he wanted to experience me sober. I always liked it better when he was not drinking and I thought the incentive for him was that our time together would last longer.

“Actually no, I–” I exhaled and let out a surprised chuckle as he grabbed my thigh firmly to lift up my leg. I rested it against his hip and he added another finger inside me–this time more smoothly.

“Cease your prattling, woman,” he grunted. “Does the dark frighten you so much? Or the creature you find yourself in the dark with?”

I let out another moan as his teeth nibbled at my neck. 

The sensations were overwhelming. The stone wall was cold against my back, and the dank dungeon was not something I would call remotely romantic–it smelled of damp earth and rot, and to be truthful after a day of training in the yard, Sandor smelled no better.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could see him sneering at me.

“Where in the seven hells are you?” He leaned in closer and as he replaced his fingers with his cock, I steadied myself by clutching his arms. “Because you sure ain’t here with me.”

“I am… thinking,” I whispered and it gave him a pretence to claim another kiss from my lips. 

He knew me too well; such was the consequence of two souls connecting the way we have been doing. At first our dalliance was just a mutual understanding–but now it expanded and grew like a root, and despite our better judgement, we started to get to know one another.

“Stop thinking so much, woman,” he grumbled, his voice surely hoarse from yelling at incompetent recruits through all of the morrow. “Look at me. Look at me.”

I finally looked up and saw the faint outline of his face. His eyes no longer resentful, now they glinted with lust. I smiled as I understood the object of that lust was me. 

“Go on then,” I mustered my best commanding tone and moaned as he squeezed my thigh harder in return.

The rough wall behind me, the strong arms I was clutching and Sandor’s hardness inside me all brought me back from whatever hell my mind had wandered to and I set my heart on the now. That is why we worked so well, I supposed. His roughness and my need for it paired together beautifully.

We were both close, I could feel it. Sandor let out a groan and I made myself tighten around him in response. I wished the moment could last longer, but I knew deep down all things that exist in darkness and privacy must one day come out to light.

I reached my peak first and nearly cried out–but Sandor was faster. He captured my lips in another harsh kiss, spilling inside me. I felt how his body tensed, pressed up against me. Still seeing stars, I let him release my leg back down, though I appreciated him still holding me close. I swore under my breath at how unsteady I felt and I heard Sandor chuckle. An oddly comforting thing, that disembodied rough chuckle in the dark. 

I pulled up my smallclothes and straightened my skirts, wincing at the mess that spilled from me. I did not care if his seed quickened, though. Thankfully I was no longer a maiden and knew my sums better than I used to. My monthly blood was still far away and I had more time to take precautions.

My release did make everything better, but I still was not finished with my game of teasing the bull.

“When was the last time you took a bath, Sandor?”

I could not really see it, but I knew his brows were tightly pinched together.

“Last week, I think. Why? Does this dog’s stink offend your ladyship?”

“No,” I chuckle. “Have no fear. I know who you are and I still enjoy your company.”

That, I gathered, stunned him more than a blow to the head could. I heard his clothes rustle. He was putting himself back in order, too.

“The smell of blood and sweat,” he grunted. “Some twisted tastes you have, woman.”

I put my hands in front of me and grabbed at his tunic to pull him closer. This time, he obeyed. I pressed myself against him and I could feel his breath quickening.

“Some twisted tastes, indeed,” I hummed and moved to rest my cheek against his chest. “But I wish we could go somewhere else. Somewhere far away from Casterly Rock.”

Somewhere far away from my sister’s husband, is what I truly wished to say and Sandor knew it well. I could feel him stirring uncomfortably, undoubtedly unsure what to say to that. I knew then that I let myself say too much.

“Well, we’ve got that. The two of us here, nice and private, as the lady commands.”

“Very amusing.”

“I do try.”

His hands moved from my backside then and I felt his fingers in my hair. True to the word he had once given, he was doing his best not to make too much of a mess of my braid. But I knew he liked my hair. He remarked on it often.

We were quiet then, just the two of us in that small dungeon under the barracks of Castle Casterly, and it was as close to peaceful as I have ever felt. I knew I was trying to hold on to this moment just a little bit longer, to somehow keep it from ending. 

To my surprise, it was Sandor that broke our silence this time:

“I do not want to let you go yet.”

I knew what it meant, for him to speak his mind like that. I was fast to answer so as not to keep him in suspension:

“Nor I you.”

I wanted to say more; to say I wished he were mine and mine alone. But that would be foolish. I knew it could never be. I started to trace soothing circles on his back instead; something I knew he enjoyed very much.

After a moment, he spoke again, though his voice was less hoarse now:

“And if I said… I am yours as you are mine?”

The pang of emotion in my chest was as pleasant as it was scary.

“I would say that is all I want.” I placed my palm against his scarred cheek and felt him lean into the touch. “I want you,” I assure him. “I do not wish to be away from you. I do not wish to be married to a lord or a hedge knight or the first drunk who wins against Damion at cards. I want…”

But then the moment faded away and Sandor brought us back to reality:

“What we want doesn’t matter.”

We have been here before, I realised. This was not the first time when both of us wanted the same, but neither believed we could truly take it.

“You know I am no knight. No lord. I’m just their creature, I’m the Hound.”

“Do not say that.”

“But that’s the truth,” he replied, his voice harsh and grating like knives on stone. “I have killed more men than I could even remember. I’m scarred and ugly and hard to look at. You would not be getting a man, you would be getting a beast.”

I knew what he was doing, what he was trying to do. But this time, somehow, I did not want to cower before my better judgement. Winter was coming and I was growing tired.

“Well, fortunately I am good with wild creatures,” I declared in my best lady-like tone. “If I could make your Stranger eat my apple offerings, I am certain you are no more work than that.”

He went silent and even in the dim lighting of the dungeon I could see the conflict in his face.

“Never had a woman like you, with manners and all. I was never meant for any court. If we give in, you’d be wed to a brute.”

I exhaled and decided then that if after a decade the seasons were changing, I deserved a change as well. I have decided then to break the spell of misfortune with a jape and took a step closer to sniff at his neck.

“Well, as your lady wife I could at least make you bathe more often. If that is not a credit to my taming skills, I do not know what would be.”

He laughed at that and even though his laughter would always be short-lived, I still took that as a victory.

“Fuck the court then, eh?” he said and gently held my face in his rough, calloused hands. 

“Fuck the court,” I said sternly, and I knew my swearing always took him by surprise, “and fuck their dances, and fuck their hedge knights. May they all dance themselves off the cliffs of Casterly Rock! And may Ser Damion die of a bloody flux. I hope it is painful.”

“Aye,” Sandor chuckled again and kissed the top of my head. “It is. But do not let them hear you cast your spells. I will do much, but I will not save you from a burning pyre.”

It would not matter if they burned me to ash tomorrow for true. Today I finally had hope.

“I want to be your wife,” I declared. “I want them all to know who protects me. I know you will protect me. They are all afraid of you and–”

“Look at me,” he ordered and I did so at once. “You say this… And you say this knowing what I am? Knowing why they are all afraid?”

“I do not care,” I replied, now close to tears from thinking he would not agree after all. “My good-brother is in charge of my money and in charge of me. I have nothing of my own, no reputation, no lands or keep. Truth be told, you are marrying down, Sandor.”

He laughed at that and I cherished the sound. I adored making the mask fall.

“You are taking advantage of me, woman, is that it?” he rasped, though now his voice lacked all that anger. He seemed almost happy.

“Yes, Sandor Clegane,” I grinned. “I have cast my spells and ensnared you in my power. All of our combined riches of one dragon and two stags shall get us as far as… The Trident, most likely. After that we shall both be whores, but we shall be very happy, indeed.”

“Careful, woman,” he snarled, though his eyes showed no anger.

“Pardon me, my lord.” I gave him my best curtsy.

That earned me a hard squeeze of my backside, but I had no regrets.

“Do you have no fears, then?” he rasped, his hand playing with my hair again. “None at all?”

“Well, I do not particularly care for spiders…”

“By the gods, woman! About me, I meant.”

“Then, no.” My grin grew wider. “You are many things, but you are not a monster, Sandor. I know I can believe your words if you say you would not hurt me.”

“Never.” He rushed to answer this and his hands immediately tightened around my waist. “But I will hurt anyone around you if I need to keep you safe. I will keep you safe, the rest of them can fucking burn.”

“Then I shall dance on the ashes,” I japed again, though my heart threatened to burst out of my chest from happiness. “Come then. Let us find some drunk Septon, I hear your Lord Tyrion knows a few.”

Sandor chuckled and took me by the hand to lead us out of the dungeon.

“He is your cousin.”

“Only by marriage. Remember, I am a Crakehall. Wild boars and lions are not exactly friendly.”

“And hounds are? You are mad.”

“You better wed me fast, then. Such a grand prospect shall not wait forever. But after that, I never want to see or hear the name ‘Lannister’ ever again. ”

We stopped on our way up the stairs and to my astonishment Sandor kissed me right then and there. He looked me in the eye, solemn as always, no doubt waiting for me to change my mind. But I would not. Not when he had shown me what happiness tasted like.

“What is it?” I asked. 

“This may be the most foolish thing I have ever done,” he grumbled. “And that’s saying something.”

I took his hands in mine and shook my head, smiling in a way I hoped was encouraging and not entirely deranged from joy. 

“I am the unreasonable one, Sandor. You shall be my reasonable husband that tames my wicked nature, remember?”

“Am I now?” He smirked. “So you do take me for a husband? I ain’t even civilised enough to know the… vows.”

“Neither does the Septon, if we get one drunk enough to agree to wed us.”

“Nothing will change your mind, then?”

“Nothing shall save you now from this predicament. The hounds are out, the boars are slain, the… I do seem to have run out of house sigils for my japes, but you do know my meaning, I hope?”

“Aye,” he said and this time he seemed to have believed me. “That I do, woman. Now, let us get you that Septon so that I can bed you long and proper.”

#Sandor Clegane fic #Sandor Clegane x reader #Sandor Clegane fics #Sandor Clegane fanfic #asoiaf fanfic #Sandor Clegane x ofc #Sandor Clegane x original characters #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones fic #sandor clegane fanfiction

[hustlemeanokay]

The Long Night | Word Count: 38,975 | 25 Chapters

What is that saying? How does one pick up the pieces of an old life? She supposed that was true. Sansa'd had plans. Plans that she thought were shared by another but it appeared that she had, yet again, trusted in the wrong man. Circumstance was the blade that cut her life to pieces this time but she was not the small, scared little girl she had once been. She was the Lady of her house and she would persevere and thrive. And though she'd always secretly thought of him as always being there... she had never thought he'd really be there, let alone be there for her. Two hearts carved by their pasts converging in Winterfell will shape the once crumbling ruin into their home. The halls will hear the laughter of a family again and both will finally find their peace.

Or...

Sandor returns to Sansa instead of dying in King's Landing, just when she needs him the most. He becomes more than just her shield.

Rating M. Chapters have warnings where applicable.

Link to AO3

#game of thrones #my writing #the long night #sansan #sandor x sansa #sansa x sandor #sandor clegane #sansa stark #jon snow #original characters #everyone gets a happy ending #because that's how I roll #fully finished fic #got

[drymushroomfics]

Fraye Hill of House Lannister

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Chapter Four

Fraye walks the gardens once more. She spots Sansa Stark with Joffrey. She tries to not make her presence known but is spotted instantly.

"Your grace.", Fraye says, bowing her head.

"Aw, Fraye. My uncle's... ward. I'm surprised to see you out in the sun considering you're always with your head in a book. Quite useless.", Joffrey insults.

"May she join us, your grace?", Sansa asks.

"She may honor me by walking with my dog behind us."

"Th-thank you, your grace."

Fray lets them walk on, moving next to Sandor. She knows Joffrey only meant to insult her. She hates him but knows she must keep her tongue.

"Hello Sandor.", Fraye speaks lowly.

He doesn't say anything, continuing to follow them.

"I hope you are well.", Fraye adds.

"Why?", he asks.

"Why would I want you unwell?"

"Most people don't care what I am."

"I am not most people. And you'd do well to remember that."

"Of course you're not. You're the talk between all the knights. Pretty little Fraye Hill is looking for a husband and everyone wants her and what's between her legs."

"What's between my legs is only my business and whoever I choose to make their business. It sure in seven hells will not be any of those knights."

"Do you want it to be my business? Is that it? You want the dog to be intbetween your legs little kitten? Is that why you keep talkin' to me? Think you can charm me with that pretty face 'uh yours?"

Sandor can feel himself getting worked up. He feels the anger and confusion rising in him again. He doesn't understand what the girl expects from him.

"What if I did?", she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I'd say you're not in your right mind. Go find some pretty man. Not me."

She gets quiet, unsure of what to say. She can tell he's getting irritated by her. Maybe he doesn't want her after all.

"I understand.", she says after a minute.

"What?", he asks.

"I am sorry. I guess I shouldn't persure someone who doesn't want it."

Joffrey and Sansa don't even notice when she walks away, leaving Sandor to feel a twinge guilty.

#fanfic #fanfiction #game of thrones #ofc #sandor clegane #sandor clegane x original female character #secret love #tyrion lannister #cersei lannister #gregor clegane #joffrey baratheon #sansa stark #the hound #sandor #pining #secret wants #mixed feelings #conflict

[megggyeggy]

The Hound and The Wolf

Trigger warnings: Non con is involved, if you don’t like that kind of stuff then DO NOT READ. 18+ only. Minors do not engage. Some mentions of blood. Physical abuse is involved. Foul language? If that is even a trigger. I believe that is all.

Keira had heard about her father's death from Winterfell, her brother Robb wanted to go to war to avenge their father. Of course, Keira wanted revenge. But their little sisters were in King's Landing. There could have been casualties.

"Are you sure about this?" Robb questioned Keira, who was preparing her saddle bag. "No." Keira answered with raised brows as she looked over at her brother with a soft sigh, "But one thing I'm sure of..is that Sansa and Arya can't be alone in King's Landing for much longer. They don't have anyone they trust or know to look after them. I will go there." Keira reassured her younger brother with a faint smile before mounting her horse.

"I don't like this, Keira." Robb told his sister, worry written over his features. Keira's eyes softened as she looked down at her brother before shaking her head, "I will be fine. Keep Winterfell together while I'm gone." Keira spoke with a faint grin, which Robb let out a soft chuckle while nodding his head. "Of course." Robb responded with a small smile.

With that, Keira rode off to Westeros..

/// //// //// //// ////

Keira had arrived in Westeros a week later; Robb of course couldn't wait for Keira to return with their sisters. He had already started a war. Keira didn't wait to be greeted; she didn't tell the little bastard of a King that she was arriving. She simply stormed into the castle with her chin held high. She slowed her strides when she heard her sister's weak voice, "Your grace. Whatever my traitor brother has done, I had no part! You know that! I beg you, plea-" King Joffrey over spoke her. "Ser Lancel, tell her of this outrage." Lancel, Joffrey's scrawny little cousin paced back and forth as he spoke. "Using some vile sorcery, your brother fell on Stafford Lannister with an army of wolves. Thousands of good men were butchered."

Lancel took a deep breath before continuing to speak, "After the slaughter, The Northmen feasted on the flesh of the slain." The common people began to gasp and mutter amongst themselves in terror. Keira couldn't help but smirk at the outrageous lies being told but she found it quite amusing. She continued to make slow strides, making her way forward. King Joffrey had his cross bow pointed at Sansa, "Killing you would send your brother a message." Keira could hear her sister sobbing in fear, her head hung low. Keira shifted her jaw in anger at this. "But my mother insists on keeping you alive. Stand." King Joffrey demanded as he placed his crossbow down.

Sansa stood immediately as her cries had quietened, her cheeks red and stained with her tears. "So, we'll have to send your brother a message some other way. Meryn," King Joffrey spoke up which Meryn stepped forward and began to approach Sansa. Keira tensed up at this, narrowing her eyes. She was like a mother wolf..waiting to attack at any given time if her pup was to be hurt. "Leave her face. I like her pretty." King Joffrey demanded as he sat down with a cruel smirk on his face.

Meryn grabbed Sansa by the shoulder and punched her as hard as he could in the gut, causing Sansa to cry out in pain. Meryn unsheathed his sword and hit Sansa in the calf with the back of his sword, causing her to stumble to the ground in pain. "My lady's over dressed. Unburden her." Ser Meryn stepped behind Sansa at King Joffrey's orders before ripping the back of her dress open. "If you want Robb Stark to hear us, you're going to have to speak louder!" Joffrey demanded with an evil glint in his eyes. Ser Meryn raised his sword and got ready to strike Sansa which caused her to scream in fear.

Keira was quick to step forward, taking slow and confident strides forward. "I got your message quite loud and clear, Your Grace." Keira spoke up, a smirk on her face when she saw the shock on Joffrey and Ser Meryn's face. As well as Joffrey's dog, The Hound. Sansa looked up at her sister with teary eyes and let out a sob of relief, hugging her sisters hip as she sobbed. Keira looked at Ser Meryn with narrowed eyes, shifting her jaw. She could hear some people murmuring, "That's Wolf Kissed!" The crowd murmured in fear. "If you want to send a message to my brother, why don't you choose someone your own size?" Keira questioned Ser Meryn, her eyes locked on his. She didn't show fear.

"Or do you enjoy beating little girls...because they can't defend themselves?" Keira smirked at Ser Meryn, his jaw clenched in anger. "Watch-" Keira backhanded Ser Meryn as hard as she could, causing him to grunt in pain..his lip split open from the harshness of the strike. "You can't hit him!" King Joffrey complained with an angry pout as he stood up now. "Kill her!" Joffrey demanded but a new voice spoke up. "What is the meaning of this?" Everyone froze, Keira turned her head to see Tyrion Lannister. "What kind of Knight beats a helpless girl?" Tyrion scoffed while Ser Meryn sheathed his sword and snarled angrily, "The kind who serves his King, Imp!"

"Careful now, we don't want to get blood all over that pretty white cloak." A new voice spoke up, an older man with black armor said with a smug look on his face. Keira smirked at Ser Meryn and hummed, looking him up and down. "Although, it would look much better with a splash of red." Keira spoke in a low threatening tone, the man whose name Keira did not know, looked her up and down with a curious gaze before smiling at her with an amused gaze. "Lady Stark," Tyrion greeted Keira with a look of surprise, Keira smiled politely at Tyrion. "Lord Tyrion." She returned the greetings before helping her sister stand.

"Someone get the girl something to cover herself with." Tyrion demanded, which The Hound was quick to walk over to Sansa and yank his cloak off his back and placed it onto her shoulders as she bowed her head in shame. He didn't seem to give Keira a second chance. "She is to be your Queen." Tyrion scolded his nephew with narrowed eyes, making his way up the steps. Joffrey glared down at his Uncle with narrowed eyes, "Have you no regard for her honor-" Joffrey scoffed, "I'm punishing her." Joffrey explained as if that explained anything. "For what crimes?!" Tyrion exclaimed with raised brows, "She did not fight her brother's battle, you halfwit!" Joffrey's voice seemed to get softer, in embarrassment perhaps. "You can't talk to me like that! The King can do as he likes!" Joffrey raised his voice near the end of his sentence.

"The Mad King did as he liked, has your Uncle Jaime ever told you what happened to him?" Tyrion spoke with narrowed eyes, "No one threatens his Grace in front of the Kingsguard!" Snarled Ser Meryn as he stepped one foot closer. "I wasn't threatening the King, Ser. I am only educating my nephew. Bronn, the next time Ser Meryn speaks..Kill him." Tyrion demanded as he kept his eyes locked on his nephew. Bronn simply nodded while Keira stifled a snicker. "That was a threat. See the difference?" Tyrion exclaimed as he looked at Ser Meryn with raised brows. Ser Meryn kept awfully quiet now, a coward is always a coward. Tyrion turned and began to walk towards Sansa and Keira. "I apologize for my nephews behavior." Tyrion apologized to both the Stark Sisters.

//////

Keira had gotten settled in King's Landing, she even had her own chambers now. How exciting. Sansa wouldn't return home, and Keira wouldn't leave without her. Not only that, but Keira couldn't find her youngest sister, Arya.

"Rest for tonight, take a lavender bath. Yes? I've had your handmaid's prepare one for you." Keira told Sansa with softened eyes, kissing her sister on the forehead before taking a step back. "I'll be back in the morning, okay? You aren't alone anymore." Keira reassured her sister with caring eyes. Sansa quietly nodded as she looked at her older sister with bloodshot and teary eyes. "Thank you." Sansa whispered softly. Keira swallowed thickly as she faintly smiled and nodded, "Always, little sister." Keira spoke just above a whisper before turning and exiting the room.

Keira made her way down the corridor with her chin held high, she let out a soft sigh as she walked. However, when she turned down the corridor, she had bumped into someone. "Pardon-.." Keira said with a smile, but her smile dropped when she saw who it was. Sandor Clegane. The Hound.

Sandor stepped forward while Keira stepped backward until she was pinned against the wall. Sandor placed his hand beside her head as she looked her up and down with a smirk. She knew that look. Nothing good ever came of that look. "You think the King will be okay with the little wolf ruining his fun?" Sandor spoke in a stoic voice, his eyes holding a certain glint within. Keira forced a smile as she let out a scoff, "Oh, I'm sure he is having a tantrum as of now-" She grunted in surprised when The Hound grabbed her by the bicep, squeezing so harshly that she was sure her arm would snap in half. "The King doesn't have any use for you," Sandor said through gritted teeth, his eyes narrowing as he glared into her eyes.

"That means he will either kill you...or he will reward some of his men with a little wolf.." Sandor said, an evil grin forming across his features. "And I do sure hope I am one of them, little wolf." The Hound's voice dropped, leaning in closer as he took a sniff of her scent. Keira glared up at Sandor as she gritted her teeth, "Unhand me." Keira snarled angrily, which caused Sandor to cackle. "Or what? What can you do to me, little wolf?" The Hound snapped, barring his teeth. "What're you doing, Clegane?" A familiar voice spoke, Keira turned her head to see Tyrion. Oh, her hero. Keira looked back at Sandor who removed his hand from her and looked at Tyrion with a bored expression.

"Never mind it..I was only-"

"Go find a tree to piss on." Tyrion demanded, which caused Sandor to glare in the dwarf's direction before turning and walking away. Keira cleared her throat and raised her head to try and show that the interaction didn't bother her one bit. But the way her heart was pounding against her ribcage, said otherwise. "Thank you, Lord Tyrion." Keira spoke in a calm voice, looking at the dwarf with a softened direction. "That is twice you've helped my family. I'm grateful." Keira said with a faint smile, while Tyrion looked surprised that she spoke to him so kindly before his eyes softened. "Would you like me to escort you back to your chambers, Lady Stark?" Which Keira smirked down at Tyrion.

"I appreciate the offer, Lord Tyrion. But that won't be necessary." Keira spoke softly as she started to walk away. "You need to be careful, Lady Stark. The Hound wasn't wrong. You are of no use to The King nor the Queen. Who knows what The Lion will do to The Wolf away from its pack." Keira arched her brow at Tyrion's analogy. Keira looked down at her feet, pursing her lips in thought. He wasn't wrong though. She was in danger. "I'll keep that in mind, Lord Tyrion." Keira responded before walking back to her chambers.

/// /// /// /// Two Weeks Later /// /// /// ///

Keira was laying in her bed, in a deep sleep..she had a dream..a curious dream. There was a baby lion that was feasting on a corpse of a wolf. The baby lion was surrounded by corpses of wolves. Keira didn't get to finish her 'wonderful' dream because she was yanked out of her bed by her hair, she cried out in pain as she dug her nails into the gloved hand that was intertwined in her hair. She blinked fast to try and focus her sight, looking up to see Ser Meryn. Keira grunted in annoyance, "That isn't a face I wanted to wake to,"

Keira grumbled before hissing in pain when the Knight shoved her to the ground harshly, she fell to her side and didn't have time to catch herself. She was still in her nightgown slip, it was sheer and didn't do much to hide her body. She stumbled to her feet only for Ser Meryn to grab her by the hair again and drag her along, "The King has great plans for you, Wolf Kissed." Ser Meryn sneered her nickname with venom, dragging her to the throne room where King Joffrey sat, The Hound standing guard in front of him like a good dog.

Ser Meryn shoved Keira to the ground in front of the iron throne, Keira groaned in pain when her knees hit the ground. Keira looked up at King Joffrey with narrowed eyes, her lips twitching into a smirk. "Is that how your mother taught you to wake a lady?" Keira questioned which some of the crowd in the throne room had chuckled at her remark but Ser Meryn easily backhanded her which caused her lip to split open, some blood dribbling down her lip and onto the ground. Keira's head jerked to the side and she let out a moan of pain, her eyes narrowing.

"Lady Keira, if you are going to stay here in King's Landing. You will need to have some type of use. You can't just stay here without pulling your weight." King Joffrey said with a smirk, his eyes raking over her body that her sheer nightgown did nothing to cover. Keira looked up at King Joffrey and shifted her jaw to loosen it from the harsh impact. "Oh yes, my apologies." Keira snorted as she shook her head in amusement, "And how will I pull my weight?" Keira said with an amused gaze, looking up at King Joffrey who clenched his jaw.

"By doing the one thing that you were created for. Baring children." King Joffrey said with a smug look but it quickly dropped when Keira laughed loudly, "Sorry-..sorry..it's just-.." Keira snickered as she tried to stop herself from laughing, shaking her head. "You're not my type, your Grace. I'm flattered, though." Keira said with an amused gaze which it was Joffrey's turn to smirk and chuckle. "Not my children, you dumb wench." Joffrey spat as he looked around his Kingsguards and his eyes landed on The Hound. "Dog..how would you like a little breeding bitch?"

King Joffrey questioned Sandor, who smirked faintly down at Keira. His eyes raking over her body slowly before he hummed in approval. "Aye." Is all Sandor said which caused Joffrey to chuckle, looking down at Keira with an evil glint. "Alright then, you two shall be wed!" He exclaimed, while a Septon had begun to emerge from the crowd, standing next to Sandor. Keira's brows raised as she looked at Sandor with a glare before looking at the Septon. "What? Now?" Keira scoffed softly which Sandor nodded his head with a smirk. "Your father is dead. You don't have any family here aside from my beloved. No one to hand you off. You're no one special. So, no need to make it all grand." King Joffrey chuckled and gestured his hand towards Keira which Ser Meryn grabbed Keira by the hair and yanked her to her feet.

Ser Meryn dragged Keria to Sandor and the Septon, shoving her into Sandor's chest who caught her roughly with a stoic expression, staring down at her with narrowed eyes. Although, within his eyes-..she could see the amusement.

///// ////// ///// ////

Keira was a married woman now-..or she officially will be when she and Sandor consummate. Which is why Sandor was dragging her roughly by the arm to Keira's chambers. He shoved her inside and she just barely caught herself, gasping softly. Keira turned to glare at Sandor as she gritted her teeth. "If you think I will lay a fucking hand on you-" Keira was backhanded harshly, her head jerking to the side and she had to grab ahold of her bedpost to keep herself from falling. Keira cupped her cheek as she looked at Sandor with wide eyes who looked at her with a cruel smirk.

"Keep talking, girl and I will fuck you bloody." Sandor warned as he began to approach Keira who quickly climbed onto the bed to try and avoid the man. Sandor patiently began to remove his buckskin belt, not bothering to remove his armor.

"I will not let you do this, you fucking imbecile!" Keira snarled only to yelp in surprise when Sandor grabbed her by the ankle and yanked her towards him. "I warned you, little wolf." Sandor said as he grabbed Keira by the shoulder and tossed her onto her stomach on the bed. Keira reached behind her and shoved her hand against Sandor's armored chest. "Don't fucking touch me!" Keira snarled, barring her teeth like a cornered animal. Sandor simply laughed as he looked down at her with an amused gaze.

"What will you do, little wolf?" Sandor questioned in amusement as he shoved his pants down his legs before yanking the skirt of Keira's nightgown over her hips, he let out a hum of approval at the sight of her pussy. "Freshly shaved, it's as if you knew." Sandor proved with a smug smirk, grabbing Keira's arms and pinning them behind her back harshly. Keira hissed in pain, and she could feel angry tears threatening to spill. "Please, Ser!-"

"Ser?! I am no Ser! I am a dog, remember?!" Sandor raised his voice now; it was filled with venom. "And you are my little wolf. A little breeding bitch." Sandor said with a smirk, even though he truthfully didn't care to have children. That's not why he was doing this. It was for the pleasure. Hot and angry tears rolled down Keira's cheeks as she closed her eyes tightly. "Please, don-..Ah!" Keira's pleads were interrupted when she felt Sandor pushing the head of his cock into her cunt. She wished she could say she was dry as a desert, but that would be a lie.

"Seven hells," Sandor growled through gritted teeth when the woman's walls clenched around his cock. He grunted softly as he sheathed himself deep inside of her, balls deep. Keira couldn't stop the moan that escaped her. Sandor raised his brow and smirked widely, "Are you enjoying this, little wolf?" The Hound mocked her, which caused Keira to glare back at him, tears continuing to roll down her cheeks. "Fuck you." Keira snarled which Sandor wiggled his hips inside of her, "You are." Sandor responded with a wide and cruel grin.

Sandor gripped Keira by both of her forearms and began to pull her back against his hips, pounding into her. The movement made the bed shake, the bedpost clanging against the wall with each thrust. Moans were being dragged out of Keira's mouth as she screwed her eyes shut, Sandor grunted along with each thrust. "What would your brother think?” Sandor mocked her as he thrusted harshly into her, drawing a sob of a moan out of the woman. “Hell, what would your father think? Perhaps he is looking upon you now, seeing you clenching your cunt around my cock.” Sandor continued with mocking Keira.

Keira cried out softly as she screwed her eyes shut even tighter, Sandor thrusted even harder into her which Keira could feel the tip of Sandor’s cock surely bruising her cervix. The sudden pain caused her body to jolt forward which caused Sandor to snarl, “Where do you think you’re going? Stay right here, little wolf.” Sandor chuckled out as he gripped her forearms even tighter as he pounded into her.

Keira could feel her stomach twisting and tightening, she felt the way her insides warmed up. Keira let out a loud and drawn out moan when she came around Sandor’s cock. Sandor let out a breathy laugh as he continues with his harsh and quick thrusts. Until he sheathed himself deep inside her, releasing his sperm deep inside of her. Keira could feel Sandor’s thick cock throbbing from inside of her as he emptied himself within her. Sandor pat Keira’s ass before leaning down, whispering into her ear.

“What a good bitch..you’re a natural.” Sandor chuckled out as he pulled himself out of her and he grabbed a cloth, wiping himself off before tossing the dirtied cloth onto the bed beside Keira. “Clean yourself up.” He said in a stoic tone before pulling his pants up. Keira glared at Sandor before sitting up with a wince and she smacked Sandor across the face. Sandor and Keira both seemed to freeze, staring at one another. Both stunned that she had done so. Sandor grabbed Keira by the jaw, yanking her close to him. “You only get one of those. Next time, I’ll fuck your skull.” Sandor warned Keira with narrowed eyes, gritting his teeth angrily before shoving her back onto the bed harshly.

Sandor then exited the room, leaving Keira to clean herself and comfort herself. Keira grabbed the dirtied cloth with a scowl, glaring down at it as she squeezed it in her fist with a snarl. She took a deep breath as she looked at the door that Sandor had exited from, tears flowing down her cheeks before she inhaled sharply. “Winter is coming.” Keira whispered softly as she clenched her jaw before she began to clean herself.

#sandor clegane #the hound #oc #original female characters #game of thrones #game of thrones the hound #the hound got #sandor clegane x reader #smut #non con #dub con

[spinel224]

Her Protector- Sandor Clegane x Oc

*So I struggled with how i wanted this to turn out and i’m actually pretty proud of it. this is also a lot longer than i expected so that's cool.*

Summary: Nelly has started her life in Kingslanding and all seems quiet. maybe she got to comfortable. at least she has someone to protect her.

Warnings!: strong language (use of the word fuck and the r word), attempted sexual assault, graphic violence.

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Nelly turned eighteen after a month at Kingslanding. She was seventeen when King Robert went to Winterfell and turned eighteen shortly after arriving to Kingslanding. She often spent her time wandering the halls of the Red Keep, or writing to her father back home. On occasion she was able to spend time with her brother- when he wasn’t on guard duty atleast. Her brother was the SwornShield of Princess Marcella, so he didn’t have a lot of free time.

However, Nelly was often with Sansa. As she was engaged to Prince Joffrey she was a target. Arya was less of a concern, especially since she was often at her dancing lessons. Due to her position as Sansa’s guard, Nelly spent a lot of time with Joffrey’s guard. Most referred to him as The Hound, though Nelly had a tendency to call Sandor. It confused him at first. Though after a while he became used to it. He was one of the few people she could trust in Kingslanding, him and Lord Varys at least. 

The strange thing about Nelly’s stay in Kingslanding was Cersei Lannistar. Cersei was polite to her, and it never seemed forced or fake. Nelly wouldn’t lower her guard though. Shortly after Nelly’s arrival in the Red Keep, a tournament was held in honor of Ned’s new position as hand of the king. Nelly’s disliked jousts and tournaments, she felt they were for no one put pompous knights. 

Nelly was invited to sit with the Royal family, as per Cersei’s request, Robert had approved, saying he wanted to speak with his old friends daughter. She politely refused, saying she was not royalty and had wished to stay with Lady Sansa. So she did. She sat behind Sansa, ever alert to any dangers that may arrive. The first few jousts were uneventful and the young woman barely payed attention to them. Lord Baelish sat beside Sansa, whispering nonsense into her ear. He told her the story of The Hound and how he gained his scar. Ending the story by saying Sansa was not to repeat it to anyone, as Sandor would go into a rage. 

Nelly grew irritated with LittleFinger, he annoyed her tremendously. There was a scream. Out of instinct Nelly grabbed for her sword. Then she saw what happened, a knight lay on the dirt with blood spurting out of his mouth. A splinter of wood stuck out of his neck. Nelly realized that The mountain had been jousting. She was so focused on Baelish she didn’t  see him arrive.

Resting her hand on Sansa’s shoulder, she looked over to Sandor. He had a mix of emotions on his face, anger, fear, disgust, and indifference. As if he knew she was looking at him, he turned and locked eyes with her. She grew embarrassed from him catching her staring. A clicking sound was heard approaching the Starks. Looking back to the jousting area Nelly recognized the knight approaching. Ser Loras Tyrell also known as the Lord of Flowers, and to some as the pillow biter. 

Nelly had known the Tyrells for a long time, she knew that Loras was fond of men but she didn’t really care. Loras delicately handed a beautiful red rose to Sansa. The young girls cheeks flushed as she accepted his favor. Then he trotted off to his position opposite Gregor. Nelly felt nervous. She and everyone else knew it was uncommon to win against Gregor Clegane and win. 

Gregor was thrown from his horse. In his rage he yelled to his squire who came running to his side. Unsheathing his large sword he swung and easily beheaded the animal. Nelly flinched at the sight, she loved animals and seeing one killed due to anger was gross. The Beast went towards Loras and knocked him from his horse. He began swinging at the smaller man who cowered behind his shield. 

“Leave him be!” Came a gruff command. Nelly looked to where the Royal family sat, Sandor began storming down the steps and quickly made his way to his older brother. The Hound got in between the two and pushed The Mountain back. Sandor stood back, looking at Gregor in anger. The Fox felt her cheeks heat up at Sandor's actions. She found it very attractive that he defended the younger knight. The brothers continued to fight for a few more minutes until Robert commanded them to stop. Once the order hit Sandor's ears he threw himself into a kneeling position, Narrowly dodging Gregor's sword. 

After that The Mountain stomped off like a child who was scolded by their parents. Ser Loras held Sandor's arm in the air proclaiming him the victor. Nelly smiled at the man and found herself applauding him, while everyone clapped for the white knight. After the joust Nelly found herself wandering the halls of the Red Keep. she was not needed as the girls were with their father. As she went to turn the corner, she was grabbed by three guards. She didn’t recognize any of them. The two of them had her arms pinned above her head and the big one was groping her bottom half sneering at her. Nelly was kicking and went to scream. The man on her left slapped his hand over her mouth. “Not very pretty are you? No idea what  that dog sees in you. I’ve seen hags more attractive than you. But the whores are all busy with the king so you will have to do.” The woman clamped her teeth down on hand covering her mouth. He howled in pain but Nelly didn’t let go. She bit down so hard when he finally pulled his hand away, his finger came right off. 

While the big one was still trying to remove Nelly’s clothing,  the one man was on the ground crying in pain holding his hand. The man on the right, suddenly let out a shout of surprise and then blood splattered onto Nelly’s face and neck. The man on the right had a sword pierced through his face. As he fell to the ground, her savior then grabbed the big man and slammed him into the wall. Nelly scooted herself back and wiped her eyes. Sandor Clegane held her attempted rapist by the neck. Sandor was twice as tall as the man who had her on her back, Nelly looked to the man she had bit. He was laying on his side holding his wound and staring at what was happening in front of him. 

The wounded man then looked to Nelly and pushed himself up running out of the hall and off to God's know where. “You think you're strong do you? Holding down a woman and forcing yourself onto her. You're not. Your a fucking coward and a bitch. Look at me.” The man being held by the neck looked at Sandor while gasping for breath. Then Sandor plunged his sword through the man's stomach and pulled it to the side, disembowling him. The large man dropped the gasping man to the ground, where he sputtered and clutched at his gut.

Turning to Nelly, his gaze softened. “It’s alright Pup. I won’t hurt you.” He lowered himself and gathered Nelly in his arms, and went towards the directions of Nelly’s bedchambers. She was shaking, but not because of the man holding her, because her adrenaline had spiked when she ripped that mans finger off. “No need to shake Little One. I’ll take you back to your den and get you cleaned up.” Not long after he said that he was shouldering the door open and gently placing the girl on her bed. 

It was like she wasn’t in control of her body anymore. She felt disconnected and lost. Nelly stared at the floor trying to steady her breathing. A shadow had been cast over the girl and she looked up quickly, still feeling like she was in danger. When Sandor had kneeled infront of her, placing himself between her legs, it had finally registered that she was safe. Sandor Clegane had saved her. Her expression went from fear to confusion. Even crouching, Sandor was taller than her. When they stood side by side, Nelly only went up to his chest. Kneeling on the floor, the gruff man held a damp rag. “I’m gonna wipe your face, alright Pup?” The woman nodded softly, as he began cleaning the blood off of her face gently, Nelly looked at his face. His scar didn’t bother her, even this close to her. She found him highly attractive regardless of what anyone said. His expression was soft, yet guarded. 

“Why Pup?” Her voice broke him out of his concentration and he looked at her. “Your sigil is a fox, and you're small. So Pup it is. Unless you’d like me to call you something else.” “Something else?” She replied with a small smile gracing her lips. The man let out a small huff, or maybe it was a chuckle, its hard to tell with him. “I got a few.” Intrigued, Nelly asked what they were. “Hummingbird for starters, then there’s Kitten, but I don't think you’d fancy that one. Little Doe is one I could use too.” Nelly’s face heated up and she realized that he had stopped wiping her face and was just looking at her. 

Swallowing, the woman slowly placed her hands on the mans shoulders. “I wouldn’t mind if you called me any of those Sandor.” For a moment, he looked pained, then he rested his forehead onto hers and closed his eyes. “I never thanked you for saving me.” He scoffed at her, and moved one hand to cup her chin and lock eyes with her. “Don’t waste your breath on a dog like me, Little Doe.” He got up from the ground and went to leave. In a panic Nelly shot up from her place on the bed and ran to Sandor with a ‘Wait!’. He spun around quickly, startled by her outburst. 

When she reached him she grabbed his shoulders and hoisted herself up, placing a kiss to his lips. He froze for a second, but then he placed one hand on her back and one cupping her face. Letting out a small sound of satisfaction, Nelly wrapped her arms around his neck as best she could. Growling, Sandor moved her backwards and then somewhat roughly pushed her onto the bed. The whole time the two remained connected, Sandor hovered over Nelly. It was passionate, and somewhat rough, but still completely gentle. Then, the man pulled away panting. He stood on his knees on the edge of the bed, he looked like he had just been stabbed. Confused, Nelly sat up looking at him, trying to catch her breath. “The fuck are you doing!” She was lost, didn’t he enjoy it too? She certainly did. So why did he push her away? “I thought…didn’t…were you not interested?” Sandor’s face softened again. Then he held her chin and locked eyes with her. “Even if I am. We could never be together. I’m a dog and you're a fox. It will never work.” She started to feel desperate. She genuinely had feelings for Sandor. She found him attractive, both physically and mentally. He was strong and protective, and the whole time she had been in Kingslanding she always saw him nearby, it made her feel safe knowing he was nearby.

“I’m not a Lady or a Knight, Sandor. And you’re not a Lord or a Knight. We have nothing standing in the way of that.” “You are a Lady. You’re a GreenWood, and as far as i know you’re father never disowned you.” She was upset. Why couldn’t he hear her. She was saying she wanted to be with him. “But. That doesn’t mean I’m gonna leave you. I’ll keep you safe and kill anyone who tries to hurt you, Little Doe.” That made her calm down. Maybe he did want to be with her. She just had to be patient. “You should rest, Pup. I’m sure that won’t be the last time someone tries to pull that on you.” She nodded quietly and watched the man before her. After a moment of hesitation, the man leaned down and placed his lips on hers for a brief moment. 

After that he had left and ordered her to bar the door when he did. She hardly slept that night. She kept feeling the panic that the man she bit would break down her door and force himself on her, or just kill her altogether. He didn’t. However, the next morning Ned came knocking on her door. The last man had run off to the king as soon as the sun began to rise. He spent the night licking his wounds then decided to try and play victim. On the way to the king Ned had questioned Nelly on what happened. So she told him everything. What they had said to her, what she did to try and stop them, and how it ended. 

After her walk with Ned, they made it to the small council room. However, the council was not present. Robert sat at the head of the table, Cersei sat to his left and Ned to the seat to his right. The man Nelly bit was standing to Nelly’s right, but far enough away that Nelly could move if he went for her. Joffrey was sitting next to Cersei and Sandor stood behind him. Robert looked at the girl. “Lady Spinel, Ser Manson claims you attacked him and two other guards while they were on duty last night. Is that true?” “No your Grace.” Cersei looked at me as if she felt bad. “Look at her my Love, she’s scared.” Nelly hadn’t even noticed but she was shaking again. her hands were placed infront of her, which she never did, they were always on her sword or behind her back. The Queen softly encouraged Nelly to speak my truth. Looking up and briefly she locked eyes with Sandor. He nodded at her slightly, so only she could see. So she did. She told them what had happened from beginning to end. Well excluding the part in her chambers. 

Robert stood in a rage, at first Nelly feared it was directed at her. It wasn’t. Manson- the man who she bit- was jailed for attacking and attempting to rape a Lady. Sighing in relief, she bowed to royal family and was dismissed and given the next two days off to recoup from the attack. Thanking Ned for the respite she returned to her room. Once she changed into something more comfortable, she sat at her desk and began to write a letter to Jon at the Wall. After sealing the letter, she went to have it sent. After seeing the raven off Nelly returned to her room. When she entered she saw a plate on her desk that wasn’t there before. On the plate was a piece of cake and a class of grape juice. A small note sat next to them. 

The note read: ‘Your brother never stops talking about you. Always said how you prefer juice over wine and have the biggest sweet tooth he’s ever seen. I was given a piece of cake at dinner tonight, I hate sweet things so I gave it to you. Figured it would be better than wasting it. Don’t do anything stupid from now on, I can’t always be there to save you.’

Smiling, Nelly knew exactly who wrote the note and gave her the snack. She finished it slowly, enjoying the moistness of the cake and sweetness of the frosting. The juice was still cold and tasted fresh. Shortly after finishing her snack, Nelly changed into her nightclothes and climbed into bed. Falling asleep she dreamt of her home and the man she had fallen for.

#writing #fan fiction #fanfic #original character #game of thrones #Sandor clegane #Sandor clegane x oc #sandor clegane x reader

[storycollectorstash]

New Blood

A Game of Thrones Fanfiction

Ive been writing this for a few months and I thought I would share the prologue and the first chapter with y’all!!

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Westeros was buzzing. Word has gotten around about a new foreign power is joining Westeros. 

Polina was once a fertile land, but a drought had struck leaving their farmlands dry and barren. The King, Kenneth had sought a new way to give his people food. He had struck a deal with King Robert. He would take a small piece of land and use it to build a farm and alliances with the houses of Westeros. 

King Kenneth had sent his 2 eldest children to Westeros in hopes of either finding a marriage to further ensure the alliance or making allies to ensure the land could be kept. Many citizens all over Westeros had thought Good ol’ Robert was crazy letting these people claim land and build a keep. But their outcries of protest were silenced when they saw how they had treated everyone. From High lords to the poorest man on the streets, the Siblings had proved they would be no threat unless provoked.

While passing through a small town outside of kings landing to their new home a group of bandits had begun to raid the town. Quickly all the Polina guards had rushed helping innocent people, attacking all threats insight. Even the Prince and Princess had helped defeat them. They’re strength had earned the respect of many who heard They truly lived up to their sigil, The Bull. The bull is known as a powerful beast that protects their herds and As the saying goes, ‘Never mess with the bull or you’ll get the horns’ 

After they had finally set up camp, they got to work farming the land and sending what they could back to Polina. After a few months of a great Harvest. King Roberts hand had dies with in those months and he sent word to them about joining his travels to Winterfell, know neither of the siblings had seen the north. With excitement they both accepted and this is where our story begins. 

#game of thrones #sandor clegane #tyrion lannister #original character #sansa stark #sandor clegane x oc

[just-some-random-blogger]

Safe Keeping | 4

Part 1 2 3 4 5

"What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes." I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine husband... a fine father."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 8k+ | cw: fem!reader, DEATH of characters/animals/monsters, POV shifts, mentions/depictions of violence, forced marriage, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional constipation, miscommunication, The Hound being abrasive, canon typical casual misogyny/violence, themes/mentions of menstruation/pregnancy/miscarriage, baby fever, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: ❗❗please proceed this chapter with caution. i killed a bunch of characters/animals (well and monsters but i think deserve lmao)!!! ALSO POV SHIFTSS!!!! originally posted on ao3 but felt like posting it on here. also fyi i post this story on ao3 first

Tagging: @otteropera @poisonsage808 @glitterandgoldfinds @the-queen-of-sorrows @j3nn-1

The Hound found himself wrong about the thieving, wrong about the missing livestock. He was so wrong it nearly cost him lives, including his own.

He was so sure about himself when he went into the woods, so sure that he was going to find at least two men, at most five, luring sheep there. It was the men he was prepared for. Fuck the livestock, the farmers can get them back after he killed the fucks stealing them.

Ah, the farmers, barging into his wife's estate... into their house, into house Clegane. 

Fuck 'em, fuck the lot of them, complaining again, complaining about their sheep and their cows. He had enough of their yapping, now was the time to act.

Fuck 'em twice for being shocked when he said he'd go into the forest to kill the fucker causing all of them trouble.

The superstitious peasants warned him. The Hound heard; he even humored them by letting a few spring chickens, boy-soldiers in the making, 'aid' him as he went to the forest.

Between the young farmer's lad, Andrew, and the man-boy, Carter, who he had been training be a soldier, it was actually the Hound who was the one most frightened by that thing that stared back at them.

It looked as though it was twice his damn size. It was darker than tar, and stinkier than shit. It made an unholy sound before attacking them.

He doesn't remember what happened after that in all honesty. His instincts kicked in and he can't recall what he had done. All he knew was, in the end, the two boys were cheering and dragging a black corpse all the way back out of the woods.

The villagers looked at him. They walked towards him and shouted. It was not an unfamiliar greeting-- being pursued by villagers, and yet, it shakes him; it takes him off-guard. They come upon him and begin to weep at his feet. They thank him. They thank them as they hug each other. The thank him as they wave at him. They thank him as they touch his armor like a devout would touch an idol.

The Hound is perturbed.

"Thank you, milord! You killed the beast!"

"You saved our sheep!"

"You saved our families!"

"You saved our lives!"

The Hound was never one to back down, but Sandor found himself taking steps back when a group of children ran up to him and began to ask him how he killed it. Their little hands and big eyes demanded answers from him. His insides rise up to his mouth.

The children begin to talk about how they can go to the woods now.

"Oi!" Carter calls to the ones in front the Sandor, "you do know there's more than one woodland monsters, aye?!"

"But now milord Cligay killed one! He'll teach us how to kill the o'vers."

"It's Clegane. Lord Clegane! And even then, you buggers can't just play in the forest. The brown bears still live here."

"I haven't seen a brown bear!" a little girl cries out. She looks to the Hound, walking up to him, grabbing his hand, "there aren't any brown bears in the woods, right, milord?"

Sandor looks at the small thing. His hand burns at her touch. Her hand was not even hot, not even big enough to grasp half his palm and yet he feels lightheaded. He feels like he's going to pass out.

The Hound finds their sentiment to be all too much at one point. He grumbles he's going home; he's got much work to do. The villagers thank him as he leaves.

When he gets home, just as he gets near the gate, he beholds Lady Clegane, the people's champion, his poor bride. She is outside, speaking to some peasants; it was all she did as of late.

A breeze blows and her dress dances with the wind. Her hair follows as well, and along goes the air from his lungs.

She is the sun. He is a mountain trying to reach her.

Sandor, who hadn't realized that he stopped in his place to gawk, is shaken out of his trance when the stable boy opened the gates for him. The small child named Polly, about as old as his wife when she fled this place, nods at him and motions, "pardon, milord," he says nervously, "I didn't know you were waiting for me to open the gates."

The Hound looks at the boy as he walks in, "I wasn't," he gruffs, eyeing him as he passed, "don't worry about it, laddie."

Lord Clegane looks away from the stable boy when he hears the shrill cry of a babe. He spots the maester walking over to his wife with a wailing child in his arms.

He thinks about the letter he had to write to the Citadel, requesting a maester come to Brown Wood.

Lady Clegane thinks her husband's initiative for it stems from his sense of duty as a Lord, but she'll never know he did it for her, for her to know if she really did have a late blood cycle, or if she lost a baby. Maester Yannick told him it was, regretfully, the latter.

The Hound waited for his lady wife to tell him about it, to ask him to hold a mourning ceremony for the unborn child. She never did.

Sandor watches Lady Clegane willingly embraces the woman who thanked her up and down, over and under, for saving her baby. She tells the weeping woman that it was not her work but maester Yannick that saved the babe. Maester Yannick says it was not his work but the gods.

Sandor tastes something putrid in his mouth when his wife coos at the child, who immediately calmed when the maester reunited the small thing to mama. His insides tingle at the sound of his lady's laugh.

He curses under his breath when she turns to him. He realizes then he had stopped in his tracks again.

The Hound begins his march.

Lady Clegane greets him, but he is not strong enough to reply with a greeting himself. He doesn't know why he stops to tell her that he killed a woodland monsters though. She looked very shocked after hearing that.

He wonders if she was disappointed. He wonders if she wanted him dead.

She touches him and questions if he was injured. Sandor flinches and steps back. She recoils her hand quickly and wipes it on her skirt-- disgusted.

The Hound says she shouldn't worry her pretty squirrel head, then walks away.

His footsteps are heavy as he heads to his office. He didn't want to go through the fucking endless piles of paperwork, but the apprentice he had couldn't grasp basic mathematics quite yet, so, there he went, to go through paperwork in a musty office.

He wonders if doing this shit made a difference to her, or if she'd always see him for what he was: a groom, forced upon her as a joke from a stupid blonde boy; a beast with ill features and temper; a Hound.

He is almost tempted to look over his shoulder at the loud sound of baby's laughter. He doesn't, cause he wouldn't see anything but a wall of he did anyway.

He wonders when she'd ask him again, when she'd ask for a child from him.

He promises he'd be gentler this time, gentler.

He doesn't mean to be so rabid with her.

She just had such an ablaze spirit, she was so fierce, and so vivid that he found himself wanting to devour her whole-- a true predator.

He wishes he could be more than that. He could be more than that to her, but it's so hard to fill in to be someone you're not. The Hound was not a proper lord, he was not that pretty boy Alistair. He can only do so much.

Sandor would do much and more for her than that scrawny, faerie pretty-boy ever could.

She might not like it, but he'll do his best to give her what she wants, to give her a family in stead of the one she lost. She will never love him, but he knows she'll love all the children he could give her, and that was more than enough, more than he could ever hope for or deserve. 

I carefully walk up to the office, clutching my hands together as I prepare myself to knock on the door.

I clear my throat and retell myself what I mean to tell my husband. My palms begin to gush like geyser. I dread the fight I know will be had because of this topic.

I let out a soft gasp when someone calls me from behind.

It was the stable boy, Polly. He had run up to bow and greet me good morning. I smile at him and reach out to him. I brush his hair back, "good morrow, Polly, dear."

The boy grins and bows again, "I'll be learning how to ride a horse soon, milady!"

I link my hands together as I chuckle, "my! Will you now? How awfully courageous of you."

The boy pushes his shoulders back, "it's no'ffin, milady. Just what a man ought to do. I would go to war for you, milady, I would!"

"My boy," shake my head, "I pray you never need to do such a thing. I hope you enjoy riding though. I find that I do not."

"Do you find riding scary? I wouldn't! I'll let you ride with me once I know how, promise," the boy nods as he places a hand on his chest.

"You are very kind," I smile, "I thank you for it, Polly."

The boy puffs his chest out and bows, "I'll be goin' then, milady!"

I chuckle as I watch Polly run off as quick as a rabbit.

My soul nearly leaves me when I turn around and see the Hound looming over me.

I gasp and step back. He reaches out to me and grabs my arm. He keeps me upright and leans down, "you better stop calling the boy dear." He releases me and begins to walk off, "he's already in love with you as is."

I blink rapidly at his words. I turn to him and watch him march away before scurrying after, "he's a child."

"Aye," says Sandor, "all the children adore you."

My stomach curdles at his words; I am unsure why. I rub my hands together, not sure what to make of myself, or what to reply.

"What were you doing outside my office?" he asks.

I run up in front of him and grab his arm, "there is something I needed to discuss with you."

Sandor stops. He looks at my hand on his arm, "can't it wait?"

I pull my hand away and shake my head, "I understand that you are very busy, my lord, but I-"

"Fine," he mutters, "I'll lay with you tonight."

My eyes widen and I topple back at his words, "what?"

The Hound steps forward, keeping me upright again, "that's why you're here, aren't you?" He releases me, "your bloods have waned."

I feel my face burn. I gulp and force a smile, "I-" I chuckle nervously and straighten up, "y-yes. My bloods have waned."

Sandor watches me closely.

I rub my neck and blink rapidly, "I thank you for your thoughtfulness," I dig my thumb nail into my pointer finger. I turn from my feet then to Sandor, "but that is not what I wished to speak about."

His face falls. It's not anything noticeable but I have become quite good at it, reading his face. He purses his lips then says, "be done with it then, I've got work to do, pretty squirrel."

I feel my face burn even more at his horrible nickname.

A group of women had been complimenting my dress when the Hound passed. I knew they did not know he would react that way, but it did not help the embarrassment I felt when the women asked my husband if he thought my dress suited me and he replied 'pretty for a squirrel'.

"I wanted to tell you that I... I still very much wish to be the one to speak to the people about their concerns," I am unable to look at him when I say this, "it is not because I think you are unfit for the task, my lord, but I have seen the way you act around them."

"Like a dog?"

I knit my brows deeply and look to him, "Daisy is a dog. And I love her very much."

"That makes one of us."

We stare at each other for a long, blistering moment. My throat constricts at his words, "... Sandor."

His face contorts. He scoffs and averts his gaze, "don't say my name like that."

My heart begins to race, it twists and clenches. I step forward and reach out to him, "I see how you try to listen, how you try to help, but it scares you-"

I gasp when he rips his arm away before I can even touch him. He grabs me instead though, ripping me close as he leans down, "I'm not scared of peasants."

My eyes water. It's not even because his grip hurt, but because it was as painfully clear as it could get that this man did not like me at all, no matter what I did.

The Hound mutters softly, "do what you wish," he releases my arm, "you want to do my work so badly then? Fine. I didn't want ya to do anything you're not meant to, but have it your way."

I scratch my eyes before my tears could fall. I try to look at him as I speak, but the tears threaten to fall when I do. Instead, I fix my eyes on the floor, "I do not do this to upset you, Hound. I do this because I mean to help you. I swear it."

He is deeply disturbed by the softness in which these words are spoken. Hearing himself be called Hound was unreasonably heart piercing.

"I do not like it when you are angry," I whisper, "it would have been fine if it was only directed at me, but you spur everyone around you."

I flinch when he calls my name.

I shake my head, "if it pleases you, lord, I will do as you said the other day. I will no longer speak to you. I will not bother you. I will not stand in your way." I step back and pick at my fingernails.

Sandor holds back from stepping forward.

"Maester Yannick has been giving me herbs to help with conception, but he said that I should be in good spirits when... consummating... I do not think we should do anything tonight--" I look to him through my wet lashes, "unless you want to--"

"No, I do not," he says coldly.

I gulp. Tears begin to stream down my face. My lips quiver. I shudder. Of course he doesn't want me.

I curtsy and walk off. I break into a sprint after a few steps, as I am no longer able to hold in my sobs.

Sandor watches this. He furrows his brows, unnerved by the interaction, gutted by the fact it ended in tears yet again. He replays the conversation. Was his touch truly that hard? He looks at his hand. He curses loudly and storms off to fuck all.

Sandor wakes before the sky does. He opens his heavy lids and sighs. He turns to his right on instinct; he watches his wife stretch out her arms in the expanse of nothingness between them. He likes to think that she is reaching out to him. He likes to think that if he reaches back, it'll make everything fine between them.

But then again, it had never been fine between them in the first place.

He makes sure not to touch or move her. Last time he did, she woke up. She truly was a light sleeper.

He slowly gets up. He quickly gets dressed. The moment he gets out of the room, he heads to his office.

He's finished his work by the time he hears a dog barking. He looks to the window, the sun looks back at him. He stands, stretches, and walks over to the sill, pushing the curtains open. He sees her, Lady Clegane, cuddling the mutt she named Daisy. Fucking Daisy. Polly, the stable boy was waving a stick, but the bitch could not care less about it, too preoccupied by her master.

He watches Daisy lick her neck. He watches how she scolds the dog for it but giggles anyway. Sandor sniffles. His mind wanders to the one time he had his face pressed on her neck like that. Fucking dog.

He watches the pair go inside. The Hound heads to the dining room promptly after.

He mutters to himself, trying to decide how to start, "I don't meant to make you cry-- I keep making you cry-- Fuck-- .... I know you don't like me," he stops in his tracks before he can get to his destination. He mutters to himself some more.

Fuck it.

He hears the telltale patter of Daisy's paws. It makes his fingers tingle.

When he gets to the dining room, he furrows his brows at the emptiness.

Lucy gasps at the sight of him. She topples back then regains her composure. She puts the plate of food she was holding down on the table with a bang. She looks at him and curtsies, "your food, milord."

"Where is she?"

Lucy's glare darkens, "she is dining with the servants."

He chuckles drily. He feels disappointment. He feels hurt. He immediately plays it off, "pretty squirrel's finally had enough of me."

"WILL YOU STOP CALLING 'ER THAT!" Lucy bursts, taking the Hound off-guard.

They both stare at each other, as if equally as shocked by the outburst.

Lucy fumes. Sandor freezes. The former decides she's already spoken, so she might as well continue, "she is a lady! You took her for this," she motions vaguely. "You need her," she speaks firmly, "just as much as she needs you."

The Hound scoffs. His insides burn and curdle at the idea of the little girl needing a beast to keep her safe. He snaps, "well, go ahead and tell her I will gladly be her hound and breed her little monsters as thanks for her nice, warm castle!"

Lucy makes no attempt to hide the revulsion she feels at the sound of the hound's words.

"You know what," he snarls, "why don't I breed her right now as a thank you?"

Lucy's face drops. She runs up to the Hound when he begins to storm off. She crumples like paper when he shoves her away. He doesn't do it hard enough that she shoots off to the table, but it's enough for her to get the message: he was deadly strong.

Lucy does her best to stop him. She cries and begs and screams. She digs her heels into floor and yanks him back but it doesn't do much, it doesn't do anything.

The Hound only stops when he finally sees her.

Lady Clegane is laughing with the servants as they watch Daisy roll on her belly for food. She feeds the dog just as Lucy runs up in front of him, severely distraught and tear stained. Lucy pushes her hands on his chest and begs him to punish her instead.

The Hound is sickened when Daisy runs up to him and whines. He recoils his hand when the bitch licks it.

"Lucy?"

Sandor flinches at the sound of his wife's voice and turns the other way.

I was in the middle of playing fetch with Daisy when she caught wind of something and ran off to the gate. Usually, this meant Sandor was home. Lo and behold, this moment was not any different.

I turn away immediately when we lock gazes.

The Hound had a large cut of meat on his shoulder. He grunts as Daisy barks and runs up to him, "fuck off, bitch."

He does his best to avoid the dog, nudging her away firmly with his leg as he walks up to a wagon and plops the hind of a cow on there. He hisses at Daisy when she gets on her two back legs and rests one good leg and bad one on his hips.

"Daisy!" I call.

She ignores me.

Sandor looks over his shoulder, "your mam's calling you, dog. Go on!"

Daisy clearly doesn't understand, or doesn't care, and barks at Sandor when he shoves her away. 

"Daisy!" I call and jog up to her when she follows Sandor out of the estate. I run up to the gate and watch as she is chased by the Hound. She runs as fast as her three paws will allow, clearly enjoying what she thought to be a game.

"Come here, you stupid bitch!" the Hound screams.

I turn to one of the men near me. I call Arron over and tell him to tell the Hound not to chase after her. He does just that, "milord! She will stop running if you stop chasing!"

I make a face as Lord Clegane curses and does his final attempt at catching the dog.

"Shall I bait Daisy with some meat, milady?" Arron asks.

I am about to respond but then there is a loud shriek from afar. It makes my blood go still.

The Hound immediately stops, straightens up, and looks at the distance.

I turn to Arron in a panic and tell him to get bait for Daisy. He quickly does that and calls for the dog to come back.

A bunch of peasants run and scream towards the estate; they scream milord.

Sandor goes to them.

When he reaches the panicked townspeople, he tells them all to shut the fuck up and explain what's happening. The old one clamours out that her daughter's been taken, says she was herding the cows then she was suddenly screaming, and he tried to reach her but it was too late. He says his son went to the woods to try and save her sister.

The Hound nods. He easily decides to go into the woods. The man's other son to leads the way.

In truth, the boy didn't have to go with him, he could just head to where the animals were fleeing, but he allowed it because he recognized the boy to be one of the ones in training. He has no idea what his name was though.

He was glad to hear the screams when he did, at least the ones that sounded human.

The Hound sees a lad and a lass running up to him, "RUN WHILE IT'S DISTRACTED!"

The boy by his side screams back, "the Hound is here! He's going to kill it!"

Well, Sandor was only meant to save the girl, and now that the girl was about to run past him, he didn't have to do anything, really. For some reason, he felt compelled to press on. Maybe it was the lack of his sense of self-preservation as of late, or no, don't call it that; it was his need for a distraction, his need prove something.

He sees it, the monster and its fresh kill. It must have been one of the girl's cows, or at least what was left of it. Gods, the abomination was a messy eater. He was glad, at least, it seemed to be starved and solely focused on eating.

His boots stomp into a puddle of blood when he charges at the thing and cuts its head off. That's was quick... and simple...

He's shocked when he hears a hellish scream behind him and gets knocked into a tree.

The Hound is dazed. He hears the battle cry of two voices. He watches the brothers do their best to stab at the thing that towers and claws at them. He promptly gets on his feet and charges at the disgusting fuck, managing to chop off its arm before it chops off the boy's head.

Just as he thinks he's about to get the upper hand, another vile beast pops up from the shadows. He fixes his footing and slashes his sword for his life.

One of the boys get injured. The boy's scream attract the monsters towards him, allowing the Hound to stab through one of them when it's attention is averted.

By the time one of the two vile cretins drop to the ground, the two boys are running for their lives with one monster on their tail. The Hound is forced to chase after them and curses the boys for running. He's not as quick as he was before.

He screams and grabs a rock, chucking it at the slimy tar creature. He throws and shouts some more until the monster is turned back and running towards him.

He slashes the stupid fuck with his sword when its close enough. It still picks a fight though.

He's losing his breath.

The next thing he knows, there's another monster screaming from behind him. The Hound prepares for the one behind him, but it doesn't reach him because its busy ripping something off it with a growl. It chucks something to the side. There is a separate whine that hisses with the wind.

The Hound finally kills the first monster that attacked him. It doesn't take much for him to kill the other as its belly was already gushing with viscous blood.

Once he's the only thing alive and standing, catches his breath and curses. He looks upon the fallen black creatures before him and reckons he ought to get out there before more come out.

But then he hears a rustle to his side. He immediately goes on the defensive and readies for another fight.

He follows the sound of heavy breathing.

His face drops when he hears the way the dog whines when he's spotted.

The Hound sheathes his sword and drops to his knees. He looks at Daisy, her one front paw bent, the other one not. Her hind legs were twisted unnaturally, her side was clawed. She was soaking in red, both hers and otherwise. She was panting and quickly losing blood.

Sandor reaches out to her. Her eyes were wide and teary. She leans into Sandor's touch and licks her nose in a panic.

He begins to feel a rage burn in him. He begins to feel loathe. He whisper-yells, "you stupid dog. You should have stayed home."

Daisy's breath quickens. He realizes see that she is trying not to whine. Gods, the pain she must be in.

He is about to tell her she was stupid for doing that, he is about to tell her she didn't need her help, he is about to tell her she was so fearless for no reason, but then Daisy whines. It was the most horrible thing he's ever heard.

Sandor huffs like he had been stabbed. He grips his hilt tightly, "thank you for saving me, Daisy."

Sandor screws his eyes shut and decides on what he has to do.

He draws his sword. Daisy does not flinch when he presses the sword onto her neck. He thinks about the day they'd first met. 

Fearless.

He strokes her face with his hand once. He screws his eyes shut when he feels her shiver. 

So afraid.

"You're a good dog."

His next stroke pulls Daisy's final breath.

The Hound stands. He looks upon his dog.

He screams.

He screams.

He screams, hell-bent on summoning more monsters. He kills three more stupid fuck, particularly enjoying how he butchered killing a young one.

He takes Daisy's body after. She is rigid against his chest when he reaches the village. He barks out an order to the villagers: burn those fucking monsters he killed. They were more than happy to oblige.

He passes the family he had helped. They are about to come up to thank him but they don't when they see what was in his arms.

He is swarmed with dread with what he is faced with when he reaches the estate. It was very clearly as search party for Daisy.

"SANDOR!" I cry out when I spot him from the distance. "DID YOU SEE DAISY WHEN-" I stop myself when I realize he is covered in blood. Suddenly, I feel awful for not asking him if he was injured before anything else.

His form becomes clearer as I jog up to him and call, "ARE YOU AL-"

I stop in my tracks when I see him adjust something in his arms. I knit my brows and continue walking towards him. Was it a head of a monster? Why was it brownish and not black?

The Hound gives me a solemn look as he inches closer. I furrow my brows at his expression.

It takes a second then suddenly, it clicks.

I let out a horrified cry.

The Hound buries Daisy in the garden himself. Everyone in Brown Wood watches. I force a glance at my poor dog, even though I wanted to do nothing but turn away. Her injuries chill me to the bone. Lucy stands beside me, clutching my arm as she weeps, but does not look at Daisy once.

Maester Yannick speaks some words for her, as per my request, before Sandor covers the grave.

Once it was done, maester Yannick comes to me and says he will plant daisies at her grave come morrow. I cannot find solace, I cannot find myself to care.

"Did you have to slit her throat?!" I demand lowly, voice aching and angry. I eye the Hound with hot contempt and cynicism, "was there REALLY no saving her?!"

"My lady," the maester holds me back, "I saw her body. Lord Clegane showed her mercy."

"Did you enjoy executing your mercy?!" I wail, ripping my arms away from Lucy and Yannick. My gaze does not trail to them at all, as I am intent on getting answers from my dog's executioner.

The Hound's face is blank, it enrages me.

I snarl through tears, "gods, I hope you did! I hope you savored finally being free of your bitch!"

Lucy calls after me as when I storm away. She means to run after me but shoots a glare at the Hound before doing so. She is momentarily stunned when he sees how distraught he looks at the moment. 

Sandor marches out of the estate.

I jolt awake when I hear the front door opening. I wipe my face and quickly stand from the chair in the middle of the living space. The fireplace near me had already burned out.

After the sound of locks disappear in the darkness, I take the unlit candle on the table beside me and walk up to the burning candelabra to light it.

I hear heavy footsteps draw closer.

Boots skid, "fuck."

I look up after lighting my candle. The Hound looks back at me.

"What are you doing?"

I purse my lips and turn to my feet. I clutch my candle, finding it hard to speak. 

"Lucy kick you out of her bed?" he mutters then begins to walk off.

I look up and follow after him. I finally muster out, "you arrive later and later."

He scoffs.

"It's been five days. I fear you'll not return by the tenth."

I pull my head back and stop in my tracks just as the Hound turns and chuckles, "don't worry, little girl. I like the wages of a Lord. Your hound isn't running."

"I know you're not running!" I snap, "I wonder why you think so poorly of yourself!"

"I think poorly of myself?" he hisses and points to his chest.

"Yes!" I bark and push myself up on my tiptoes to prove a point, "and since you are so keen to put words in my mouth, I hope you shove all the fucking pie the unwitting peasants gave you down your blasted throat!"

The Hound is shocked by my profanity. His face slips into confusion.

I heave and pull back, intent on walking away. And I do. I should have never waited for him.

"What fucking pie?"

I snap and turn back at him, "the one you could have eaten fresh had you spared a moment this morning before leaving for a monster hunt!"

Sandor is wholeheartedly confused.

I am aggravated by his expression. I wave my hands, unintentionally putting out the flame of my candle, "they love you, Hound! They're thankful and grateful!"

Though it was darker now, I see his face pinch in to a sort of disgusted disbelief. The sight infuriates me, it squeezes my heart, it pricks me frustration. I wipe my face and repeat the words that were spoken to me, "tell Lord Clegane that without him my children would be dead. Tell Lord Clegane that he has saved me family from hunger. Tell Lord Clegane that me, and my sons, and my sheep are happy to-"

"I didn't do it for them," Sandor cuts me off with a hand raise.

I purse my lips and slowly pull my head back at his words.

He lowers his hand and eyes me for a moment. I see how his gaze drinks my figure. He clenches his jaw and looks away, "you should be asleep."

My jaw slacks.

I wait for him to look at me. I wait for him to ask if I was going to sleep with Lucy again. I wait for him to apologize for keeping me up worrying. I wait for him to bring up Daisy. I wait him to do something, but he doesn't.

My eyes water, "my lo-"

"Good night," he dismisses and turns around to walk away.

"Aren't you-" my voice cracks, "-going to ask me to go to bed with you?"

He stops in his tracks. He does not look back, "do you want me to?"

I furrow my brows deeply. I feel like I was drowning. I let out a shaky breath and wrap my arms around myself. I shake my head and turn away. I chuckle dryly, "forgive me for even asking."

Sandor turns back, jaw hanging, hands clenched. He does nothing but watch.

"Do you know what's going to happen now, little girl?"

"Yes."

"What's going to happen?"

"You're going to fuck me."

Sandor laughs lowly, placing his hands on my cheeks. He swipes his thumb on my lips, "filthy mouth."

He kisses me deeply.

"Tell me honest," he mutters through kisses, "have you ever done this before?" he speaks as his hands paw at my sides, "I would not judge you if you did."

I squeak when he touches me between my thighs.

He draws out a deep breath, "no, of course you haven't; you're a good girl."

I gasp at the sound of thunder. I jolt up from my bed-- I turn to my side, seeing a sleeping Lucy's form-- or I mean, Lucy's bed. I look for Daisy in the room as I slowly push the blankets off me. I still when I realize she wasn't here.

I huff and wipe my face. I try to push away the thoughts of Daisy out of my head. I try not to think of her so much because I end up melancholy and furious. I, instead, find myself drifting to the dream I just had-- been having.

The mind can be so treacherous. I nibble my lower lip and rub my belly.

I tried, you know. I went to the Hound the morning after we fought about his coming home late. I tried to make peace with him. I tried to persuade him. I tried to kiss him.

I gasp again when another crack of thunder echoes through the room.

He wasn't having it though. He pushed me away and told me it was wrong, that we shouldn't be doing that. He left the estate shortly after. He hasn't been home since.

I get out of bed and light a candle for myself. I walk to my bedroom and light any of the candles that went off on my way. I wrap my arms around myself and rub my skin. I open the door to room as softly as possible, though it didn't really matter in the end because it was pouring outside and the noise wouldn't be loud.

With a barely audible creak, the door opens.

And it was also empty.

I sigh at the made bed. I walk towards it and smoothen out the already smooth sheets. I decide to get dressed for the day.

I head to the office, which as empty as the bedroom. I light the candles there.

I sit down on the desk and go through the papers, the letters of requests, the list of complaints, the finances, the works. I rub my eyes, willing my sleep away. I look out my window, seeing barely any hint of sun through the dark clouds.

I don't know how exactly how much time passed between then and when Arron burst in, but it must have been a while, considering how nice it felt to stand after hearing him shout, "HE'S HOME, MILADY!"

I immediately blow out the candles as Arron tells me the Hound was in the living area. I thank him for telling me, gather my skirts, and jog out of the room.

I cannot hear the click of my heels over the sound of the persisting rain-- the persisting storm.

I stop in my tracks when I see a trail of water in the corridor that led to my bedroom.

A crack of lightning bolts through the sky when I walk in and ask "where have you been?!"

The Hound is dripping in rain water. He has his back turned to me. He is undoing his armor.

I clench my fists and storm up to him. I circle in front of him the same time he walks towards the closet. He stops there, still undoing his armor, back turned to me again.

I scowl, "Hound! I'm speaking to you!"

He looks over his shoulder, the one he was trying to undo, "what? I can't hear you over the rain."

I burn hot with anger and march up to him, "I asked where you've been!"

The Hound looks down at me. He releases the grip on his shoulder, "does it matter where I've been?"

"Yes!" I snap, "you haven't come home in 7 days."

He scoffs, "thrilling to know you've been counting," he points to the window, "well, as you can see, it's fucking storming."

"It wasn't storming the day you left," I hiss.

"Well, it was when I decided to come to my beautiful wife," he leans down and jeers.

I knit my brows at him and pull back when I smell the alcohol in his breath.

He takes my chin between his fingers, "come on give us a smile."

I pull away from him, heart racing, chin burning, even though his touch got my skin damp with rain water.

The Hound straightens up and undoes his armor again.

I step away from him, "Job said he saw you in the next town over."

"Who the fuck is Job?" he asks, not bothering to look at me.

"Polly's father."

"The stable boy?" he turns to me.

"Yes," I hiss and I feel anger build up in me.

He says nothing.

I nearly choke when I say the next words, "he said he saw you coming out of brothel."

The Hound stills. He drops his hands to the side.

Both of us just stand there for a moment. The rain seems to intensify, and so does the tension between us.

"Tell me the truth," I mutter, "do you-"

"It was the town with the fucking unavailable inn," he shifts in his spot to turn to me, "I went to the brothel instead and paid for lodging there."

I purse my lips at his words. That was not what I was going to ask him. I battle with myself, trying to find the words I want to say. I revise my words over and over again in my head. There were so many things I wanted to say, yet so little ways to make it easy to speak out.

I shake my head, "am I very hard to want?"

Sandor feels rain water drip from his fingers.

I don't know how I feel about the bewildered and perplexed expression that spreads across his face. I do know one thing at least, I feel too exhausted to cry.

I sigh and shrug, "I am no fool, Hound. I learned through the gossip of my maids and my aunts growing up that men are simply like... this. It is their nature to stray. Of course, I hoped different for myself, but we cannot have it all, can we?"

"But I didn't do anything," he snaps. He deflates, "I swear by the gods, old and new."

I press my lips into a tight smile. I slowly walk up to him. He watches me intently. I hear his breath hitch when I begin to undo his armor for him. I half expect him to make me stop. He doesn't.

Sandor steps forward. There's barely any space between us anymore. His heart is racing. His hands itch to touch. He releases a breath when his hand comes to my side.

My stomach swirls at the feel of his palm but I do nothing. Neither do I look at him when I mutter, "maybe you should."

Sandor watches me remove his armor. He furrow his brows and whispers, "what?"

I drop the steel plate to the ground with a clank. It is loud even with the sound of pouring rain.

He doesn't like it when he receives no reply. He takes my wrist. I stop my task. His hand is warm albeit the dampness, and so very gentle. 

I finally look up at him.

He leans closer and speaks louder. He shakes his head and furrows his brows, "what did you say, pretty squirrel?"

I raise my brows, "maybe you should."

"Should what?"

"Do something in the brothels."

His face falls. We stare at each other for a moment. He is clearly in disbelief.

I pull my hand out of his grip. He almost doesn't let me.

"It's not a trick, I swear it."

"What are you saying?" he shakes his head faster and finds himself playing on the offensive, "you want me to be with someone else?!"

"I want a baby," I mutter.

Sandor's face falls again, but then it twists. It is unbearable to look at.

"Find a woman you desire," I turn away from him, "and give her your seed. You may keep her here if you like, and I will let her take care of the babe, but the babe will be mine."

His lips part.

"You're right. I don't want the memory of my family to be tainted by monstrosity-"

He shakes his head once more.

"-and I am the last of my line. My line lives on with House Clegane. People remember names, not blood."

He takes my hand, "I desire you."

I cannot help it. I begin to cry because of that. I break into both tears and laughter, "you needn't shield my heart, Sandor."

Sandor's stomach drops, both at the fact his own words have been used against him and with how his name was spoken.

I place a hand on his cheek.

His knees go weak.

"We've both hurt enough," I smile, "I know you think otherwise, but I'm not a little girl. I know sometimes winning means admitting defeat when the loss is great."

He grabs both my wrists when I try to pull away. I gasp when he does so. He holds me for a second then releases my wrists to capture my cheeks instead. He wipes my tears with his thumbs. He swipes my lips, "I love you."

I screw my eyes shut and cling onto his forearm. I let out another laugh, "I don't think you hurt people that you love, my lord."

The Hound is pierced through his armor.

He doesn't put up a fight when I pull his hands off me.

I continue to undo his armor. He doesn't move an inch.

"Will you sleep with me tonight?" he whispers. The sound of the rain is too loud that only him and the gods heard it.

Sandor had been out of it ever since his pretty squirrel ate his insides. He was thick faced, literally and figuratively; he's learned to take pride in it, to find solace in the fact all the years of flesh ripping torture-- figuratively and literally, had made him indifferent to what people think, made him apathetic, numb.

And yet her smile that day was worse than a sword through the spleen. Her disbelief in his words-- because she was right, you don't hurt people you love-- was heart wrenching, blood draining.

What do you say to that? How do you fix that?

You don't.

He knows you don't. You can't fix something like that.

And since this truth has dawned on him, since this truth has slit his throat, he's been a headless, mindless fucker. He was a dead man walking, and one more unwitting monster attack away from making it real.

"MILORD!" Carter cries, raising his sword to hack at the monster who managed to swipe his lately-been-aloof Lord Clegane.

The boy is fired up; his blood is pumping enough to enable him to cut the black demon's arm off and sequentially pierce it through its heart. Carter does it with a scream and regrets it a moment later; after all, they were in the middle of the woods.

They have to get out of here.

Sandor makes a pained noise. He feels heat surge down his arm and cold shiver up his spine.

"YOU'RE BLEEDING!" Carter gasps, mortified that his lord's armor was scraped off his back. The boy realizes suddenly that his Lord, the fearsome Hound, was not invincible. This newfound truth rips into his ribs the way, he thinks, the monsters would.

The boy immediately takes the Hound in his arms, though it wasn't like he could actually carry him if he wanted. Sandor steadies himself on the boy; Carter struggles even with that task. 

Still, the smaller manages to support his Lord out of the woods.

The next thing Sandor knows, he's screaming and thrashing. He vaguely hears the sound of footsteps skidding away from him.

"What's happening, Maester Yannick?!"

A deep sigh, "he probably feels the pain now."

Sandor realizes he's sat down on a stool, leaned against a table, or at least he was before he started flailing his arms around. He lets out a guttural cry as he pushes himself up. He realizes he's in the ward, being attended by the maester, and his wife was present and very troubled.

"My lord!" Yannick exclaims, raising his hands in both surrender and an attempt to soothe, "it's alright. I have stitched your wounds closed. Do not tear them open "

Sandor huffs through his nostrils. He turns to his side when he hears the soft way his name was spoken. Lady Clegane walks closer, hand wanting to reach out to him. He almost reaches back but then she digs her nails into her palms.

He sinks into the stool and watches her look at him. Her eyes are glassy. Why are they always glassy?

"My lord," Yannick walks towards him, "I'm going to wrap your wounds now."

Sandor huffs in agreement, or more accurately, acknowledgement. His eyes are still fixed on her though. He watches her hover around him, evidently unsure about approaching him.

He wants to reach out to her. He wants to touch her, to soothe her so, so badly.

He's shocked when she decides to take his hand and whispers, "shall I get you milk of the poppy?" 

Sandor looks up at her. Her voice was shaky and he hates how worried it sounded, how desperate. He hates how her eyes were constantly red. He knits his brows, "no."

She hisses, "are you certain? Your gashes are deep. No one in the world would fault you for wanting something to relieve the pain."

"I want to feel it," he mutters, "I want to feel."

She looks between the two of them in a panic, "but you've lost so much blood--"

"Perhaps," Yannick interrupts firmly. He starts binding his wounds, "he wants to feel precisely because he's light headed after losing blood."

Sandor straightens up slowly as he is instructed to. His attention is solely focused on the sensation on his hand though, on how the jittery squirrel was rubbing her soft fingers on his calloused skin.

She persists with this action until his chest and back is bound, she persists until Maester Yannick leaves the room, she persists until, next moment, she drops on her knees beside him. The Hound reacts in an instant.

He gets on the floor beside her, uncaring how it hurt his back, and clutches her face. He calls her name in horror.

"Are you punishing me?" she whispers as water in her eyes threaten to spill.

Sandor knits his brows deeply. He can't speak. He's too afraid to. Everything he's said up until that point has done nothing but rip them both apart. He was a hound after all.

"Are you trying to kill yourself to get back at me?" she mutters, distressed, pained, and defeated.

His face contorts even more. He hesitates but then shakes his head, "no."

"The boy said you've been acting differently as of late!" she grabs his wrists, "ever since I told you what I wanted from you."

His lips twitch. He looks away.

She tightens her grip, "please."

He is suddenly so acutely aware of his injuries. The pain throbs all the way through his heart.

"Please," she begs softly, "just tell me what you want from me-"

"Everything."

The way he responded was quick, as if it was practiced, as if it was reflex.

He avoids her gaze. He takes a deep breath. He waits for a response he somehow knows will never come.

When he turns to her, he notices how her face dropped. Gods, Sandor. Get it together.

"I want-" he starts but cannot continue because of how guilty he feels over the sight of her wobbling lip.

Sandor's hands loosen. They melt from her cheeks, down her shoulders. He grips the area, as if she was water about to slip through his fingers. He releases a breath, and with it, it seems, his thoughts escape. He mutters somethings that mean nothing. She doesn't understand anything.

She whimpers, "I have nothing left to give; you already have it all."

The Hound freezes when his cheek is touched, when his scar is touched. It's like it's being burned all over again.

"Is there something I can give you now?" she huffs uneasily.

He sighs. He feels the wounds throbbing; he feels his head pounding, "no."

"Then will you let me go now?" 

No. No, no, no, no-

"Or, please, at least loosen your grip."

Immediately, Sandor releases her shoulders. She sequentially lets out a breath and rubs the area. There is an imprint on the area of her exposed skin.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck-

"Do you want me to stay?"

Yes. "Do you want to stay?"

"I had planned to finish some errands before going to bed."

Sandor averts his gaze then slowly crawls back to his stool, "then leave."

It almost hurts as much as his cuts how quickly she stands. She looks down at him, "I will leave you to your solidarity."

Please don't go.

"I will tell Maester Yannick to come back to attend to you, Hound."

Hound. It sounds like shattering glass.

Sandor listens to the click of her heels as she leaves him.

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[ravenofthefandoms]

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

[ao3feed-tywin]

Gendry's Son | Male Reader X Harem

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/cgpi4zK

by Hollunk

After a 30 year reign, Y/n Baratheon has fallen on the field of battle. Facing the final Blackfyre Rebellion. Taking the final Blackfyre down with him. But he refuses to give in to death, and is reborn in the body of the supposed second son of Robert Baratheon, Orys Baratheon.

Words: 3623, Chapters: 1/3, Language: English

Fandoms: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage

Categories: F/M

Characters: Sansa Stark, Arianne Martell, Elia Sand, Daenerys Targaryen, Margaery Tyrell, Myrcella Baratheon, Original Female Character(s), Reader, Ashara Dayne, Jeyne Westerling Stark, Cersei Lannister, Robert Baratheon, Joffrey Baratheon, Tommen Baratheon, Ned Stark, Tywin Lannister, Catelyn Tully Stark, Brandon Stark, Bran Stark, Robb Stark, Jon Snow, Gendry (A Song of Ice and Fire), Arya Stark, Benjen Stark, Jon Arryn, Varys (A Song of Ice and Fire), Petyr Baelish, Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Olenna Tyrell, Bronn (A Song of Ice and Fire), Sandor Clegane, Brienne of Tarth, Thoros of Myr (A Song of Ice and Fire)

Relationships: Sansa Stark/Original Male Character(s), Arianne Martell/Original Male Character(s), Elia Sand/Original Male Character(s), Daenerys Targaryen/Original Male Character(s), Margaery Tyrell/Original Male Character(s), Myrcella Baratheon/Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s), Ashara Dayne/Original Male Character(s), Jeyne Westerling/Original Male Character(s), Catelyn Tully Stark/Original Male Character(s), Cersei Lannister/Original Male Character(s)

Additional Tags: Aunt/Nephew Incest, Sibling Incest, Shameless Smut, Older Man/Younger Woman, Older Woman/Younger Man, Westeros (A Song of Ice and Fire), Essos (A Song of Ice and Fire), Greyjoy Rebellion | Balon Greyjoy's Rebellion Against the Iron Throne, Parent/Child Incest

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/cgpi4zK

#ao3feed #fanfic #ao3feed tywin #ao3feed tywin lannister

[gothhippiecrafts]

Roleplay/Writing Partner wanted

Hello, I'm currently on here looking for someone to roleplay/write with casually. Before I carry on for to long let's get a firm boundary addressed, I only wish to write with people 21+ years old. If you are not 21 years old or older please do not message me. Thank you.

When it comes to genre and plot I tend to lean towards slow burn romances, and I do prefer working in past settings or magical modern settings. I also have a few fandoms I am craving, but if I'm being honest I know their not everyone's cup of tea and will not take offense if you are not interested in them. I also enjoy original content hashed out between me and my partner. I also adore OOC conversation, so many friendships have come from roleplaying. I adore this. Another point is I am on eastern time and work morning shifts.

What sort of characters do I play? I prefer one of my mains to be a female role. But I'm completely fine also playing a two mains at once and the second can be my partner's preference. I am looking for someone who is open enough to write as both male and female characters, trans characters are also welcome. OCs are welcome and I'm willing to play canons for you to ship them with, I do ask the same in return.

Here is a list of my fandoms and the OCs I have for them.

🧡Game of Thrones: I have a OC I ship with Sandor Clegane (The Hound), her name is Dawn Baratheon, she is the sister to Robert Baratheon. She unfortunately has issues with her arranged husbands passing away in odd ways and ends up in the Red Keep more often than not.

🖤Naruto: Music Hatake (Muse), I ship her with Master Jiraiya. She is the cousin of Kakashi Hatake. Her ninjutsu is a plant based, she controls chakra through her feet and can use this technique to make seeds grow and use the plants during battle.

🧡Supernatural: Clementine Jones, I would ship her with John Winchester or Castiel. She is a young woman who has become a solo hunter. Using a cross road demon to make a deal to get knowledge from. Fortunately for her she made a solid deal that has yet been cashed in. This naturally makes the demon she made the deal with angry.

🖤 Hellboy: Abyzou, I ship her with Hellboy, she is a lava demon with the same lore of the actual demon I named her after. Her curse involves infertility and child mortality.

🧡X-Men/Deadpool: My OCs for this fandom are not finished because I've never wrote with them. I would be open to shipping with Hank McCoy (Beast), Cable, or Logan (Wolverine)

🖤Star Wars: Rey x Kylo Ren (Ben Solo), I love writing as Rey for this. I'm also open to making a OC for this fandom too.

Buffy The Vampire Slayer: Kay Shultz, a once slayer turned into a vampire who was given a soul by her watcher. I ship her with Spike (William)

If interested in any of this, or if you have questions PM🖤

#roleplay #21+ roleplay #hellboy #reylo #got #game of thrones #naruto #rp #creative writing #writing partner #x-men #supernatural #john Winchester #the hound #jiraiya #castiel #writing #deadpool rp #game of thrones roleplay #buffy #btvs

[houndofsevenhells]

“The Hound That Lies” (Sandor Clegane x Original Female Character)

SUMMARY — The hour of the wolf comes and a certain chambermaid still cannot fall asleep. She goes out for a walk to cure her insomnia and runs into none other than the Hound. Drunken confessions and deep introspection ensue.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — This is the "Upstairs, Downstairs" of the Red Keep that nobody asked for. Told from the perspective of another person, but very Sandor-centric. It's mostly written due to my deep adoration for him as a character. English is not my first language so if you spot any mistakes that is my fault alone.

WORD COUNT — 5,032

Masterlist

My days as a palace servant in King’s Landing started before dawn and stretched late into the night, sometimes well past the hour of the bat. The servants of the royal palace all had their place and duties and nobody stepped one toe out of line; not unless they wanted to be subject to strict punishments–or a fate even worse than that.

The royal household of king Robert Baratheon, first of his name, consisted of the usual army of servants. Aside from us, the household staff included the royal guard, the captains, the marshals, the grooms, the pages, and the Kingsguard. Those, however, stayed in the barracks and in their own palace quarters. Truth be told, we rarely saw them at all.

The army I belonged to was an army of another quality, though those in charge of it still drilled and ruled their subordinates in a way no lesser than the most sadistic of the captains. 

The first layer of those closest to the king, and therefore to gods themselves, were the seneschals, the chaplains, the stewards, the cupbearers, and the chamberlains. Then there were the wardrobe masters and the raiment mistresses, who ruled the realms of the royal garments. Under them was the head maid, who held her own regiment of nearly a hundred chambermaids that scrubbed floors, mended clothes, stripped the beds of the dirty sheets, delivered sheets and clothing to and from the laundresses, and did everything else under the sun expected of the servants of the highest quality and the lowest breeding.

The kitchen staff I knew very little of and they equally knew very little of us, the waiting staff, but we all uniformly hated the lady’s maids. They were the nobility of the servants and rarely deigned to acknowledge us, the chambermaids, for anything more than lowly serfs.

Ever since I came to King’s Landing, there was hardly any disturbance in my daily routine. As the servants we had very little money and very little spare time to spend it. Most of us lived in the servants’ quarters in the lowest parts of the keep–those that had their own families and lived in the city were considered lucky.

Most nights, if I could allow myself the luxury, I tried to fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. But that night, the night when I met Sandor Clegane, sleep just would not come to me. I tossed and turned until the hour of the wolf, when finally I was too fed up with myself and I went outside to the palace gardens to take a walk. 

Most of the time, even the foulest of guards would leave us serving girls well enough alone, but still I took a sharp dagger with me and hid it beneath my skirts. As I wandered the gardens alone, I tried to be as silent as possible. Taking in the air as a cure was one thing, but being an airhead would be another. And I have lived too long to allow myself to be stupid.

“Walkin’ around at night, girl? Are ya that reckless or that stupid?” A gruff voice startled me and when I turned around, a half-burned face of Sandor Clegane was right there before me, looking down on me with a sneer. 

I swallowed hard and my hand went straight to the hilt of my dagger. I felt it underneath the fingertips and it made me feel marginally safer. But the man in front of me was huge, at least two feet taller than me; his presence dark and frightful.

“Oh,” I said, trying to make my voice sound normal. “It’s just you.”

“Just me?” He scoffed and took one step closer. The smell of wine immediately hit my nose. He had a bottle with him and now paused to take a swig from it. “Now, I ain’t arguably the worst you can meet in those gardens at night, girl, but what in seven hells do ya mean by ‘just’?”

“I meant…”

“Hm?”

I took a deep breath and forced myself to look him right in the eye. The Hound and his menacing presence in the keep were just one of those things that one had to get used to while working for the royal family. The Baratheons and the Lannisters were united as one family now and all of us had to get used to the change of regime. 

Not that serving under the Targaryens and the Mad King had been such a privilege. 

But the fact of the matter was, I have served under the Mad King’s rule and survived. I was not about to let a Lannister dog push me around.

“Nothing. What are you doing here?” I asked.

Clegane scoffed again and for a second I thought he would try to hurt me, but then I noticed he was swaying a little and I exhaled. Most of the household staff knew that a drunk Sandor Clegane was much less menacing than a sober one. And because Clegane was never sober, usually he would release his anger in the training yard–not on the serving girls. Which was still more than what could be said about the noble Kingsguard.

“Same as you,” Clegane grumbled. “Can’t sleep. Too much to drink, too many voices, too many memories.” He looked away from me then and I thought that would be the end of our conversation, but it would seem we must have found each other on one of his chattier nights. “You get nightmares, girl?” he asked, his attention back to me.

“I do,” I replied before I could help myself. 

But that was why I was there, wasn’t it? I doubted he would remember that conversation the next day, let alone in an hour, so I decided to talk to him a little. Maybe we would bore each other to tears and then I would finally fall asleep.

“What kind?” he asked.

“What?”

“The nightmares.”

“Oh,” I sighed, “Most nights I just lay awake, full of fear, before the nightmares even happen. So most nights I just take a walk instead.”

“Does it help?”

“No.”

He laughed at that, if his particular kind of bark could even be called a laughter, and nodded as if he knew exactly what I was talking about.

“So you go out and you find me here.” He looked at me more closely and leaned forward. I did my best not to cower before him. It was not his face that frightened me. It was the height and the sheer bulk of the man that did it. Even dressed in a lighter dark surcoat instead of his usual heavy armour, Clegane could strike fear into the hearts of men with little effort.

“What do your nightmares tell you, girl?” Clegane asked and I frowned at the forwardness. 

“I do not wish to say,” I muttered. “I do not know you.”

What I meant was, I did not trust him at all. Just like the Grand Maester, Clegane was a Lannister creature. It was known. After what the palace household had lived through during the sack of King’s Landing, I would never trust a Lannister with anything.

“But that is my point, isn’t it?” Clegane took a long drink from his bottle. “You don’t know me. I don’t know you. So. You can tell me anything. You have a secret,” he pointed to me, “I have a secret.” He touched his own chest, swaying a bit once more. “I won’t tell another soul, but I know you won’t, ‘cause I’ve seen you here before, girl. No one who’s lived in this bloody place half as long as you have could survive by spilling secrets.” His half-burned lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. “Or am I wrong?”

I thought about what he said and then I thought about what I saw after the sack. I only survived because I was small enough to hide in the cupboard in the pantry where the head maid stored the cleaning supplies. “Mouse” is what some of the other chambermaids called me, because I would scutter from place to place, always quick and always silent. Being a mouse had saved me that day. Mostly it saved me from the Mountain That Rides and his men.

But Sandor Clegane was not his brother, this much I knew. Just like the current king was not his horrible son. Most household staff avoided both, if they could help it–the crown prince and his horrible shadow were always together, but if you looked closely, you learned quickly that they couldn’t be further apart. I have never seen the younger Clegane hurt or kill a girl, but I have scrubbed the floors in the royal apartments where the Mountain did the unspeakable to the poor Princess Elia.

“You are not wrong,” I admitted. “I think… It sounds about right.” 

I was grateful that the gardens were shrouded in darkness, because the memories of that day brought tears to my eyes that were now threatening to spill.

“So spit it out.” Somehow, Clegane’s voice made it easier to control myself. “Do ya want to sit?” 

He walked past me then, quickly and remarkably quietly for a man of his size. He sat down on the grass and I followed his lead. 

“The night is dark, girl. No one will see you, no one will see me, no one will hear us.”

My blood ran cold then and I scolded myself for being so foolish. Was he…?

My hand went back to my dagger. I looked at his neck, then to his armpit.

It must have shown in my face, what I was thinking of, because he sneered again and took another swig of his wine, before adding:

“I meant for a conversation, fuck’s sake. If I wanted to, I could’ve killed you ages ago. Why would I bother now?” He paused. “Oh. It ain’t the killin’ you’re thinkin’ of. No, I don’t do that either, girl. I’m no raper.”

‘Unlike my brother’ hung right there in the air above us, unsaid.

I sighed and I settled on the grass beside him. Clegane took another long drink from his bottle, then passed it to me.

“No, thank you. I must refuse.”

“You must?” He scoffed. “A proper little thing, ain’t ya…”

I pursed my lips in distaste at being called that. It felt too familiar for the chance acquaintances we were.

“I used to drink a lot,” I said, finally brave enough to make my tone as harsh as I really wanted it to sound. “But I do not, not anymore. I used to drink to hide my troubles. But the problem with drink is, your troubles remain just where you left them and they haunt you the next day.”

The Hound frowned and when he spoke next his voice was heavy with surprise, but devoid of judgement:

“You used to drink a lot?” He raised a dark brow. “I’d have never thought to picture that.”

“Why, because I’m not a soldier like you?” 

I knew better than to call that man a knight, but I was tempted just to show my lack of regard for the Lannister dog.

“Nah, I suppose that doesn’t matter.” He looked away then. “So what stupid things did you do to finally make you shake the habit?”

I was surprised by the question; by the suggestion of kinship between us. But I realised there was one, whether I liked it or not.

“My mother,” I hesitated, and the Hound’s dark eyes were on me again. “My mother was a mean drunk. But when she did not drink, she was even meaner.”

Clegane looked at me then and I saw a glint of recognition in those dark, angry eyes. But then, the hour of the wolf was the darkest part of the night. I might have been mistaken.

“‘D ya fuck any strangers?”

“Not enough wine in this keep to make me fuck you, if that’s what you’re after.”

He let out a laugh. The hoarse sound of it was grating like a crunch of broken glass.

“Yeah, that ain’t what I’m after, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Well, I am glad to hear we understand each other.”

“That what you were looking for when drinking, little one? Understanding?”

“Sometimes.” I sighed. “Sometimes I drank just to feel something. You know how it is. Everyone is drunk in a tavern, everyone pretends to be each other’s friend. But that isn’t so. Strangers are not your friends, they could not be farther from it.”

“Aye, they care about nothin’ and no one other than themselves.” The Hound nodded. “Drink and pleasure, little one. That’s what the world is to ya when you ain’t careful.” He took another swig from the bottle. The smell of wine hit me again and I turned my head away. 

“And you said awful things, too, did ya?” he asked.

“Hateful things,” I whispered. “That is why I stopped. It did me no good.”

“Hateful things…” The big man rolled the words on his tongue like he was curious. “Pretty little thing like you, eh?”

“Pretty things can still be poison.”

He smirked darkly at that.

“Yes, they can. You have the truth of it, girl.” 

He was silent for a while and I turned my head towards him to check if he was still there. He was. He was looking at the guard standing beside the closest entry to the garden. The guard looked young and utterly exhausted. He swayed from time to time and Clegane seemed very amused by that.

“Yeah, usually it’s knights and us soldiers drinkin’ to forget.” He pointed at the guard. “Like him there. The men that drink too much and go around lookin’ for fights. We drink our cheap wine and our ale and then we go around lookin’ for nothin’ but trouble. Sometimes fightin’ people we’re not supposed to. Sometimes… Other things.” He took another swig.

“Sometimes I would even lay with strangers to feel better. To feel something.” 

I did not know why I said that, but that got me his attention, so I decided to throw caution to the wind and say it all:

“To feel something other than my feelings. Other than dread and sadness. But that did not happen. In the morning, my nightmares were still present.”

“I understand,” he replied and it was my turn to be shocked. “Wantin’ to feel the warmth of someone’s touch.” He said that so bitterly that I almost felt the bile in my own throat. But there was sympathy in his voice, even though it was hard to read his face, half-covered with the burn scars.

“Aye, someone to take away your pain, even if for a night.”

“Yes,” I said, surprised. “That… That was it. How…?” But then I hesitated. Of course he would understand what that was like. He wore the worst thing that had happened to him right out there on his face. There was no hiding from it, no covering it. He had to wear it every day and live with others looking upon it always. 

I felt like a fool for even asking, but the question hung there in the open. Finally, Clegane spoke:

“I know it. You thought someone would care about you, keep you warm, but in the end they never did. Did they?”

“No.” This time my answer came easier. “They never did.”

“Aye, nobody cares about people like us, little one. We are the servants. We’re here to serve.” He chuckled darkly and pushed the empty bottle away. “People don’t care a lick for ya, only for what you can give them. And when you give it… Well, then you’re no better than those slaves in Essos.”

“Is that how it feels for you?”

He turned to me so quickly that I flinched and for a second I was afraid he would attack me. But all he did was look into my own eyes; long and intently. His eyes were ones that must have seen much, but mine own had turned hard over the years, too. They no longer belonged to the girl who came to King’s Landing with songs in her head.

“Yeah.” Finally, he leaned back. “What of your family? Do they care so little about you?”

I was not always a palace maid and I had not always worked in a household as grand as the royal palace. I was born as a Rivers, in a poor hovel in the Riverlands; a ghastly place north of another village that most likely no longer existed. My mother was a drunkard, a local busty tavern wench, and due to her reputation I also had two older half-sisters. They despised me as much as I despised them.

Scrubbing floors and mending clothes had been my daily bread since the moment I could walk and take care of my own needs–that was the day I finally became useful. That usefulness took me out of that gods’ forsaken village, until little by little I travelled from the Riverlands to the Crownlands, moved from house to house in search of my own destiny, and from dusk till dawn I scrubbed and cleaned the nobles’ messes. From a lowly laundry maid at the age of seven, I worked my way up on my hands and knees, until the skin of my hands perpetually blistered and cracked from soap and lye.

“No,” I replied, my tone harsher. “There is no one.”

The Hound still looked at me like he was trying to read my face for lies. But there were none. I had no reason to lie to him. I told myself once more that he would not remember we ever had this conversation come morning.

“I have no family either,” he said grimly. “No family to speak of.”

I knew the Mountain was not dead, otherwise we all at the palace would have heard of it long ago. To now hear the admission from Clegane’s own mouth that the brothers despised each other was striking. 

“So no one cares whether we live or die,” I concluded. “I imagine that is why we accept whatever people give us. It is either that, or…” I think on it. “That, or the emptiness.”

“Aye.” His voice was softer now. “But people do bad things all the time. It ain’t the end of the fuckin’ world. Not even the end of your life. So you’re still allowed to want things.”

I frowned, trying to piece together the confusing shreds of that thought. The wine must have finally run to his head.

“Are you saying even monsters deserve to be loved?”

He laughed darkly and there was little joy in that bitter sound.

“Aye, little one. Mayhaps you are a bad person, I don’t know ya. But all of us are, in a way.”

The truths he gave me struck something within me. 

“By the gods, you are honest.” I sigh. 

“I’m a lot of things, girl. Honest, for all my faults, is one of them.” He paused briefly. “A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he'll look you straight in the face.”

We sat in silence a while, but then the big man had more questions for me:

“Don’t you ever have any desire to drink again? There must be a time when you think to yourself, just one, just to forget, just to numb the pain, just for tonight?”

I considered that. Then decided to remain truthful:

“Yes. I do sometimes, yes. But then I remember how miserable wine made me feel the next day and how much pain it caused me. And how much shame it brought me. The things I did… Remembering helped me not to drink again.”

I looked up and there was a strange, wistful look in Clegane’s eyes, as though he were remembering something.

“But it did feel good while it lasted, did it not? At least, for a time, you had no aches, no hurts, you did not feel. You could forget your pain for a while, did that not feel good?”

“Ah,” I smiled sadly. “But that is why the drink is so treacherous.”

“Aye,” he agreed with a smirk. “A cruel mistress.”

I nodded. 

“But it did make me forget,” I admitted. “Then I felt ashamed I forgot. And then it ruined me and I had let it, gladly. But in the moment, when you drink, yes, that is true. You forget the bad things. That does feel good. It is a perfect poison for those in pain and misery.”

I realised then that it was the sense of no judgement I was getting from conversing with the Hound that really drew me into this talk. He did not judge and he repaid me with honesty. That was so much more to offer than the monstrous kinds of misplaced affection I had found in King’s Landing over the years.

“Is it too much to ask that you tell me your name, girl?” 

The way he asked seemed like a taunt, but there was a strange tenderness in that scarred face that made me feel at ease, even as his dark eyes studied me so intently.

“Laina Rivers.”

“Laina Rivers.” He seemed amused by that, a faint smile playing on his scarred lips. “A pretty name for a bastard.”

I gave him a sharp look.

“There is a sad irony in that,” he said, obviously not afraid of my silent threats in the slightest.

He smiled and there was no humour in that half smile, but the anger in him had settled at least.

“So who was your father?” he asked. “What great lord fathered you and left you in the world to fend for yourself?”

“I do not know.” I stumbled through my words a little, because his bluntness struck me once more. “But I hate him sometimes. For doing so.”

The Hound nodded and then the anger resurfaced in the unburnt half of his face. The other still showed nothing. But there was another layer to his anger now; as though there was just a touch of sadness underneath it.

“You never sought after him? You don’t even know who he is?”

“No.” I shook my head. “My mother told me very little. And she was always angry when I asked. So I stopped asking. I was a skittish child, always desperate for her to love me. I wanted to please her, to be a good daughter. Especially since I had two sisters to compete with.”

“And did it work?” He sneered. “Did your mother love you?”

“Not the way I wanted her to,” I replied, my voice barely louder than a whisper. What was that strange power he possessed that made me want to confess to him so easily?

“She loved me in her own way, I believe. But she was not kind. I think she despised having bastard daughters, despised us for being bastards. Even though that was not our fault.”

“No, it is not your fault,” he agreed and hearing that almost brought the tears back to my eyes. 

There was sadness in his voice, I could hear it for true. The masks were starting to come off.

“It is never the fault of the child,” he continued. “Yet they have to suffer. That just shows how this fuckin’ world is, ain’t it?”

I remained silent, but he still expected me to say something. And I was too interested in the conversation to leave now.

“What about your own parents? Did they love you?”

For a long moment, Clegane remained silent, as though he wanted to give me a different answer; considered it, to avoid giving the real one. But it did not seem like his heart was in it. Finally, he spoke, with some hesitation:

“No, my father did not love me. And my mother, well – I do not know if she hated me, loved me, or just did not bother to see that I existed at all.”

It was so hard to hear that I could not speak for a long while. 

“When did you get these scars?” I asked carefully.

“I was seven.”

He knew I knew then, or at least that I suspected, and now had my suspicions confirmed. I straightened my back and he waited for me to say something, but I would not. I would not intentionally harm him with my words now, I refused. Even if he was a Lannister creature.

“But you are true-born, are you not?” I said instead, frowning, and tried to reconcile what he said with my own conviction. 

His laugh was like snarling dogs in a pit.

“That does not guarantee a parent’s love, little one. My father was a lord, you know. And a cruel, bitter man.”

That was not the moment to remark on his own bitterness and so I held my tongue.

“No, I suppose being a lord’s son does not guarantee it,” I muttered. “But for the longest time I thought… I thought that if only I had a real name, if I was true-born then maybe my mother would be kinder. Maybe she–”

“No, if she cared, she would have loved you no matter what.” The Hound sighed. My mouth nearly gaped at that answer. 

“There are many bastards who are not high-born and who still have good parents,” he said. “It is not about your name or birthright. It is about whether there is hatred in a person’s heart. And by your account, your mother did not have much love in hers.”

I sat there in shock at the profound truth that came from this man’s mouth. 

“I misjudged you,” I admitted and immediately felt my face grow hot with embarrassment.

“Aye.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I am used to it.”

“But,” I said, “that is also why I left the Riverlands. I went from place to place, finding work and getting good at being a maid. I was looking for something to replace that love. And when I came to King’s Landing… Well, now I work in the palace.” I laughed bitterly. “A lot of fucking good it got me.”

He laughed then with me, a deep and harsh guffaw.

“Aye, King’s Landing. The place where every man and woman goes when they think their talents would amount to something. So many people lie and die in this stinking hell, so many more become lordlings and queens and kings… Aye, they all think they’re something special. Something more.” He pauses and looks at me with a mixture of bitterness and amusement. “Did you fall for their lies, too?”

“I did.” I nodded. I felt ashamed for having been so naive.

“You are not alone,” he said, almost like he was mocking both of us. “This place chews people up and spits them out like they are nothing. It’s the worst of men, the biggest of fools, the lowest of scum that the Seven Kingdoms have to offer. All gathered here for the pleasure of the royals.”

I wondered then how come he was not afraid to say what he thought; why did he said it so openly. All my life I had obeyed every rule and strict guidance of my superiors. I received a lashing once and I still bore the scars of it on my back. I vowed never to let my tongue waggle ever again.

Any palace chambermaid found gossiping, or behaving in a way unbecoming of a decent lady, would be punished–or worse, thrown out and left without income, forced to leave His Grace’s employment with a stained reputation and no way to fend for herself. 

So I decided to ask:

“How is it that you are not afraid to just speak your mind? This place is crawling with whisperers. Don’t you have a lord or a master that would punish you for speaking so?”

The Hound smiled, almost as though he was amused at the thought.

“Why should I be afraid? They are all afraid of me.” He shrugged. “Who cares what these nobles think? The people who know me already know I speak my mind, and the ones who don’t have heard stories. And as for my master, I have none. I have no one to answer to besides the king, and he doesn’t care a lick about the likes of me.”

“I think I have heard the stories,” I admit.

“Aye. A famous man, me.” He leaned towards me, his voice hard again. “You know why they call me the Hound?”

I shook my head, though my eyes went to his chest where the sigil of his house was plain as day on his surcoat – three black snarling dogs on a yellow field.

“It is because I hunt down their prey for them. Anyone they ask me to, I ride them down. Criminals, traitors, even children… I have cut down many in my life and only some of them were monsters.”

We were silent then, until he spoke again:

“Many different names they call me, but I mislike that one the most.”

“I understand.”

“Do you now?”

“I do. Of course I do. A hound is a dog used for hunting and it is an animal, not a person. The man sitting here with me is just that, a man. Not a dog.” 

He is rendered speechless after that and we look at each other for the longest moment.

“How old are you, girl?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You speak with the knowledge of someone older, yet you are small and slight and so I wonder…” He reached towards me and I forced myself to stay in place. For some reason, I knew he would not harm me.

Clegane touched my shoulder and it was as if to check that I was real.

“I am old enough,” I said, slightly amused. “And I hope to talk to you again sometime. But it will dawn soon and I must go back to my duties.”

“Aye.” Clegane smiled at that and I smiled back. “Fare-thee-well, Laina Rivers.”

“Fare-you-well, Sandor Clegane.”

#Sandor Clegane fic #Sandor Clegane x reader #Sandor Clegane fics #Sandor Clegane fanfic #asoiaf fanfic #Sandor Clegane x ofc #Sandor Clegane x original characters #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones fic #sandor clegane fanfiction

[drymushroomfics]

Fraye Hill of House Lannister

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Chapter Three

"Ser Clegane.", he hears.

He stops for a moment, wondering what she'll say.

"I can hold my drink if you ever need a drinking companion.", she adds.

He doesn't say anything, his mind whirrling with explainations of his interactions with Fraye Hill. He walks away quickly. He walks to his room, immediately downing wine. 

He's never had anyone take any interest in him. Not a women; especially a Lady. His head filling with pessimistic thoughts. He wonders if someone is playing a joke on him to get his hopes up so she can laugh in his face. He wonders if the girl is honest and just wants to know him. He can't understand why in the seven hells she would take anytime out of her day to talk to him as if he wasn't some ugly beast. 

He sits down in his chair, drinking more wine. When he saw Fraye in the throne room being welcomed by Joffrey and the other Lannisters, he immediately noticed her beauty. She lit up the room in a way he'd never seen before. He didn't know how to feel when she looked him in the eye and smiled. No one has ever looked at him like that. He knows it can't be a trick. He'd only just layed eyes on her that very day.

Sandor also thought about how Joffrey treated her, making his bloody boil. He knew she had but a fortnight to pick a suitor and Joffrey had talked about it constantly with his mother, joking about who he would force upon her and how he hoped she would be treated like the whore she was. Sandor finds himself angrier by the minute, thinking of anyone bedding her. He picks up the pitcher of wine, throwing it across the room.

He feels confused. No one has ever worked him up in this way. She only offered to drink with him. Offering someone a drink means nothing. He doesn't why he feels so strongly for someone he doesn't know well. All he knows is that he hates how it makes him feel. He wants nothing more than to avoid her. But deep down, he knows he can't stay away. He feels like he wants to keep her safe. Something in her smile and gaze makes him want to protect her at all costs. He knows that he can't let his feelings be known and must protect her from afar.

a/n: Hope everyone enjoys. I know they're short chapters so far but I think I'll make them longer as the story progresses. Let me know your thoughts. Thanks for reading!

#sandor clegane x original female character #sandor clegane #game of thrones #secret love #fanfiction #fanfic #ofc #original female character #conflicted feelings #mixed feelings #anger #confusion #feelings are confusing #sandor #sandor x ofc #the hound #drinking #wine

[phantombmoll]

                                          The Fall Of Aubouroc 

Plot: It’s not just weak men who are made weak by love.

The best of us suffer at it’s hands, the strongest of us are broken by it’s power. Whether that love is of power, of coin, of the fight, or, of our fellow men and women.

This is the story of the fall of a Lady and her rise as a protector of the living. This is the story of Adelais Aubouroc.

Bronn x OC then Sandor Clegane x OC. Incredibly slow burn and I mean the slowest of burns where her and the Hound are concerned haha - especially given she doesn’t meet up with him again until Ray finds him.)

Genre: Adventure/Romance/Drama (and all those lovely ones that Game of Thrones fall into!)

Features all the usual suspects in terms of Game of Thrones Characters.

Find it on Fanfic.net and AO3 by searching The Fall of Aubouroc or Phantombmoll (Unfortunately if I add the links tumblr won’t put the posts in the tag searches!)

A/N: So I don’t know if it’s quarantine getting to me but I recently felt a spark in my creativity and I’ve decided I’m going to completely finish this fic (I wrote four new chapters in about a day). Whilst I’m gathering bits together and letting chapters ‘bake’ (sit before I edit them). I thought I’d make a gifset (gifs aren’t mine) and post it for The Fall of Aubouroc story as a whole. I think I’ll do more individual ones with chapter tasters as I update though!  (I did format this text but it hasn’t worked and I have no idea how to fix it)

#Sandor Clegane #Bronn #Bronn of the Blackwater #The Hound #Game of Thrones #Game of Thrones fic #game of thrones fanfic #sandor clegane x oc #bronn x oc #original character fanfiction #the hound x oc

[spinel224]

Nelly’s opinions

This is a little blurb about my GOT Oc’s about the cast.

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The Starks: Nelly was always very close to the Starks (she considers Jon a Stark even though he tells her not too). Jon is like an older brother, they understood each other when it came to their families (Nelly with her abusive mother and Jon being a bastard and hated by Cat). Nelly was also fairly close with Robb but she distanced herself so as to not cause any rumors. she wasn’t very fond of Sansa when they were younger, but when they went to Kingslanding she grew protective over the younger girl. She was always fond of Arya as she reminded Nelly of herself. Bran and Rickon where also close to Nelly, (Nelly found Bran when he “fell” out of the tower. Ned was like a father to Nelly, she admired him greatly and was greatful for giving her a place at Winterfell. She wasn’t big on Catlyn but she never hated her.

Theon: At first she dispised Theon, he constlantly flirted with Nelly and tired to bed her. However, after Ramsay she realized Theon wasn’t all bad and was probably incredibly distressed over his childhood. she was devastated when he died.

Robert Baratheon: She had mixed feelings over Robert. She didn’t hate him, but she hated how irresponsible he was. She wished to see the man her father spoke of. The man who fought for his people, she never saw that man.

The Lannistars: She doesn’t really care for most Lannistars. She dispised Tywin and Cersei. Tywin for his constant need for power and Cersei for what she did to Bran. She didn’t really have an opinion on Jaime until he left Brienne for Cersei, then Nelly hated him. She likes Tyrion though, she found him smart and admired him for what he did at Blackwater Bay. She hated Joffrey the moment she saw him. Nelly wanted him nowhere near Sansa, the only upside to him was his SwornShield. Marcella was her favorite of the children, her brother being her SwornShield, she learned quiet a bit about the Princess. she was heartbroken when Marcella died, along with Nelly’s brother. She never really had an opinion of Tommen but she felt he was a good kid.

Sam and Gilly: Nelly loves them. As she is very close to Jon she wrote to him often. Due to that she learned quite a bit about Sam and when she heard he found Gilly she was elated.

Stannis + the Red Lady: Nelly hates them, They ended up sacrificing Nelly’s second brother to their Lord of Light. She dispied them. 

Ser Davos: Nelly is incredibly fond of Davos. He took on the role of her father when she couldn’t be with hers. They consider themselves family and Nelly would do anything to keep him safe.

Danearys Targaean: She hates Dany. She never liked her. Nelly disliked her need for blind loyalty. So when Dany demanded Nelly bend the knee, Nellly was livid and refused. This caused a lot of tension and was one of the reasons Nelly wanted her dead.

Lord Varys: Nelly is good friends with Varys. He is one of the few people she actually trusts. He never lied to her and never used her. Which is why she had to convince him not to betray Dany. Nelly knew he would be killed.

Tormund: He’s like her older brother. He makes her laugh and kept her safe. They are very close.

Sandor Clegane: They are in love your honor. They met when Robert visited Winterfell but became close while Nelly stayed in Kingslanding with the Starks. When Sandor left during the Blackwater she wanted nothing more than to go with him. But she couldn’t leave Sansa. Especially since she had lost Arya, she would never forgive herself. They were reunited at the Wall, Nelly was with Jon and she broke down when she saw him again.

#game of thrones #fan fiction #fanfic #writing #original character #Sandor clegane #Sandor clegane x oc #sandor clegane x reader

[diamondcitydarlin]

“You don’t want it for me because you don’t want me to die,” Sandor explained and it, of course, made perfect sense- there was, in some measure, a sense of selfishness for his well being. “There is no shame in that, but it doesn’t negate who I am and what must be done.”

“I meant what I said,” she pressed. “There is nothing to be gained from killing a man who is already dead, particularly when that man may kill you in the process. There is so much more we might do together.”

- I Burn, I Pine, I Perish (A03)

#my gifs #my fic #vevynne lannister #sandor clegane #sandor x oc #original character #game of thrones #game of thrones oc #CUTE #AND SAD #JUST LIKE MEEE

[kaellecappuccino]

Asoaif prompt

Modern!au

Sandor and Sansa have two children : Florian, 12 yo and Lili 8 yo.

Sansan decide to go on vacation without their kids, for two weeks, to the opposite of the world. They leave their children under the guard of Alienor, Sandor's sister (not dead in this world).

But as Sansa and Sandor are away, Lili gets kidnapped by an armed man, leaving Alienor powerless. Begin a seach for the little girl, lead by Alienor and her ex-girlfriend Myrcella Baratheon. In the same time, Florian would do anything for his little sister and decide, with the help of other children, to search for her.

Alienor and then Myrcella :

Sansa and Sandor, lately warned, go back to their town, recontacting ancient friends of them, mafia agents : Jaime and Brienne in order to fing their daughter.

The story is about Alienor, her love stories, about her and her brothers, and about Sansan's family. What do you think?

#game of throne #asoiaf #aesthetic #alternate universe #modern au #sansa stark #sandor clegane #writing prompt #sansan #sansa x sandor #sansan prompt #oc #original character #clegane sister #myrcella baratheon #myrcella x oc